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 THE SQUADROON
 
 BT THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 TRAVELS WITHOUT 
 BAEDEKER 
 
 THE BODLEY HEAD
 
 THE SQUADROON 
 
 BY ARDERN BEAMAN 9 
 
 LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD 
 NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMXX
 
 
 0? t i 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 .' '.
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 LONG, long ago, in the good old days before the 
 Country and the Service had gone to the 
 _^ dogs, Uncle John commanded a Regiment of 
 Heavy Dragoons. He has just written to 
 me. " How is it," he asks, " that we can hear nothing 
 of the doings of the Cavalry ? When they've been 
 engaged in some of the biggest battles in history 
 those two young rascals of mine write and say, 
 ' We fairly put it across the Hun,' or ' The Hun 
 airly put it across us.' " That is their graphic way 
 of describing a great victory or a crushing defeat ! 
 And I can get no further details out of them 
 whatever — and all the others I know are equally 
 reticent. You've always set up to be a bit of a 
 scribe. Of course your delivery is damnable— but 
 there's sometimes some good sense in your sermons, 
 and, whatever the rest of the family may say, I've 
 always believed with your poor mother that you write 
 them yourself. Now you've been with a Cavalry 
 Brigade through the most stirring time of the war, 
 why don't you write an account of their life out there 
 — a plain unvarnished tale for the old fogies like 
 myself who could not go out, and even more for the 
 youngsters who follow after, so that, in years to come, 
 they may know what manner of life their predecessors 
 led in those great days? " 
 
 vil
 
 x FOREWORD 
 
 Politicians delivered slighting speeches about them in 
 Parliament. Eminent writers held them up to ridicule 
 and obloquy in the press. During this time the 
 Cavalry, when not sedulously training for the next 
 gap scheme, or when not actually employed upon a 
 gap scheme, were taking their turn in the trenches, 
 or were furnishing large working and digging parties 
 in the line to relieve the Infantry of those arduous 
 and hateful duties. But towards the end of 1917, 
 when the conscripts had begun to appear in France, 
 a horse soldier could hardly pass an Infantry detach- 
 ment on the road without being greeted by ironical 
 cheers and bitter abuse. 
 
 Then came the Cambrai offensive of November 
 20th. This was a revolution in trench warfare. 
 Secret, swift and sudden our blow was struck. The 
 Tanks and the Infantry achieved a brilliant success. 
 The Cavalry failed to pass through and were with- 
 drawn to Fins. A few days later came the crush- 
 ing German counter-stroke. Our forces, elated by 
 their splendid victory, had pushed forward into a 
 salient, a dangerous salient which they were far too 
 weak to hold. They were thrown back ; in places 
 fighting with magnificent stubbornness, in places not 
 fighting at all. The situation was grave in the 
 extreme. Where the fight w r as fiercest, where the 
 issue was most critical, where the enemy was coming 
 on with no opposition, there the squadrons of cavalry 
 were galloped up, through the confusion, and flung 
 into the battle line. And, as in 1914, the tide was 
 again stemmed. 
 
 A few months later, on March 21st, the Germans 
 launched their mighty offensive. The right of the 
 British Army reeled, and foundered beneath the on-
 
 FOREWORD xj 
 
 rushing wave; and there followed the most, dark and 
 melancholy episode in tho whole story of the war. 
 
 When the storm broke our Cavalry were on the 
 extreme right of tho line, facing St. Quentin. For 
 two days and nights those trained, tried soldier- 
 fought a steady, dogged rearguard action. Then, by a 
 lino piece of organization, amid all the tumult and 
 confusion of disaster, the Ied-horses were brought to 
 Poutoise, the men were withdrawn thither from the 
 line, and what remained of the Cavalry was once 
 more a mobile mounted force. 
 
 The fate of Paris now hung in the balance. The 
 reserves of Foch were in motion ; the British Fifth 
 Army had almost ceased to exist. It was imperative 
 to check the Clemum advance until the upcoming 
 French Corps should have time to deploy and to form 
 their order of battle. 
 
 From Poutoise a long column of Cavalry set out 
 for Noyon. They reached it at midnight, and found 
 it in flames, occupied by the Germans. Before dawn 
 they rode forward to deny to the enemy the heights 
 of Porcquericourt. All that day a bitter battle raged 
 around the Bois des Essarts, and for the first time 
 since the beginning of his offensive the enemy, in that 
 quarter, made no progress. "When night fell, those 
 dismounted horsemen, worn by five days of continuous 
 fighting, perished by the biting cold, dug themselves 
 in upon the line which they had held at the close of 
 day. At four in the morning a Division of the great 
 French " Iron Corps " relieved them in their line, and 
 the road to Paris was barred. 
 
 Before dawn the column — not so long a column 
 now— was on the march again, towards Moutdidier. 
 Ragged, sleepless, with red -eyed, bearded, haggard
 
 xii FOREWORD 
 
 faces, the famished, worn-out men spurred on their 
 famished, worn-out horses. Montdidier was found to 
 be already in the keeping of the French, so there fol- 
 lowed a merciful night of food and sleep for man and 
 beast. During the night news came that Amiens was 
 in imminent danger. Early next morning the column 
 was on the road again, hastening northward. All 
 day they marched, and not till long after midnight 
 did they arrive in the neighbourhood of Cottenchy. 
 Scarcely had they off-saddled and picketed down, 
 before " Boot and saddle " sounded. The situation 
 was indeed desperate. The enemy had reached the 
 ridge above Moreuil, not more than five miles distant 
 from Amiens itself. The Paris- Amiens railway was 
 almost in their grasp. 
 
 Our Cavalry moved rapidly across the Luce river, 
 galloped up the eastern slopes, swept back the enemy 
 from the extremities of the ridge, and proceeded to 
 counter-attack the Bois de Moreuil. One squadron 
 instantly tried to charge through the wood ; others 
 dismounted and advanced through the thick under- 
 growth on foot. At sunset, after a stern battle of 
 varying fortune, the wood was ours. Infantry came 
 up and took over the line, and the Cavalry withdrew 
 into support to the valley below. Next day the enemy 
 made a sudden and determined attack. Our line 
 broke. The Germans carried the wood and began to 
 advance down the slopes towards Amiens. Again the 
 Cavalry came up at a gallop and flung themselves into 
 action. "Where they came into action, there they 
 remained for two and a half days. Our wreckage 
 drifted through them, dull-eyed, vacant, apathetic, 
 moving without haste and without fear, indifferent 
 alike to life and death, irresistibly carried along by the
 
 FOP^YORD xiii 
 
 receding tide. Alone the handful of Cavalry held its 
 ground, beating off attack after attack. And when its 
 line had become so thin that it could no longer hope 
 to sustain another attack, repeating the tactics of 
 1914, it went forward itself and attacked the enemy, 
 driving him headlong out of Hangard Wood. 
 
 Early on the morning of April 2ud, the blue-grey 
 uniforms of France came surging up the slopes, and 
 Amiens was saved. Not only Amiens, but Abbeville 
 and the British Army. — £/*.-*■* 
 
 All that passed long ago. But since those dark 
 days of March I have observed that the horse soldier 
 can ride where he pleases without fear of insults and 
 derision. 
 
 The purpose of this narrative, however, is not 
 unduly to extol the occasional performances of the 
 Cavalry, nor to excuse their many failures and their 
 long periods of seeming inutility. It aims only to 
 paint in plain and faithful colours the life and senti- 
 ments of that small body of young officers and of 
 other ranks which goes to make up a Squadron of 
 Cavalry in the field. 
 
 If any there are, elderly persons, and senior 
 officers of the old school, to whom the ideas, opinions 
 and language of these modern young soldiers may- 
 appear unseemly, or even outrageous, I would have 
 them to remember the old platitude that it is by their 
 deeds, not by their words, that aH men must be 
 judged. 
 
 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 chaptm 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 fAQS 
 
 I. 
 
 Joining thr Squadroon 1 
 
 II. 
 
 My Companions . 
 
 
 
 
 
 IS 
 
 III. 
 
 Billets 
 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 IV. 
 
 Rumours 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 59 
 
 V. 
 
 Day Marching . 
 
 
 
 
 
 77 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thb Gap .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 108 
 
 VII. 
 
 Cambrai 
 
 
 
 
 
 116 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Armekns 
 
 
 
 
 
 126 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Trench Party . 
 
 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 X. 
 
 The Devastated Area 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 175 
 
 XI. 
 
 March .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 189 
 
 XII. 
 
 April .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 216 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Reconstruction . 
 
 
 
 
 
 231 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Great Advance . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 249 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Travelling Circus 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 276 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Last Lap . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 287 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The Great Raspberry 
 
 
 
 
 
 296 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Apres la Guerre Finit 
 
 
 
 
 
 300 
 
 XIX. 
 
 L'Envoi 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 304 
 
 i.V
 
 THE SQUADROON
 
 THE SQUADIIOON 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 JOINING THE SQUADROON 
 
 ONE September evening of 1917, after a series 
 of wonderful vicissitudes and adventures — 
 about which I tried to tell you at some length, 
 but which Mr. Lane has insisted on my 
 cutting out — I completed the journey from Waterloo 
 Station, via Havre, Rouen and Frevent, to the Head- 
 quarters of our Cavalry Brigade. 
 
 On reporting my arrival I was received with much 
 courtesy and kindness by the only Staff Officer who 
 at the moment was in the office. My request to be 
 allowed to live with a certain Squadron of a Regiment 
 to which I was strongly attached by personal ties was 
 readily granted ; and half an hour later I set out for 
 that mess which, during the next momentous year and 
 a half, was to be my moving and happy home. 
 
 At the time of my arrival, the Headquarters of the 
 Regiment were billeted in a handsome chateau stand- 
 ing far back from the road in the dignified seclusion 
 of its own flowery gardens, wide lawns and deeply 
 wooded park. The Echelons were billeted in the one- 
 streeted village of the valley below ; and two other 
 
 B
 
 2 THE SQUADROON 
 
 straggling villages in the neighbourhood contained 
 the three Squadrons. So difficult is it to find stabling 
 and shelter for horses that a cavalry regiment in 
 rest billets is of necessity widely scattered ; and at this 
 time the whole area of the regimental command was 
 enclosed within a circumference of not less than four 
 miles. 
 
 I paid my respects to the Colonel, his Second-in- 
 Command, his Adjutant and his Intelligence Officer, 
 which little community made up the mess of R.H.Q. ; 
 that is to say the person and the court of the 
 most absolute despotism that still exists within any 
 liberal constitution. It says much for the strong 
 sense and the native justice of the average not very 
 enlightened public school Briton, that the powers of 
 the regimental command — boundless powers for good 
 and evil, for happiness and misery, for reward and 
 punishment, for favouritism and vindictiveness— are 
 so seldom abused. 
 
 In a spacious panelled room of no great age and of 
 strangely mingled refinement and crudity, hung with 
 the portraits of some ancestors and ornamented with 
 carvings of game and fruit, I was regaled at tea 
 with such a profusion of farm delicacies as would 
 have excited the envy of the rationed tea-loving folk 
 at home. Sugar, milk, cream, fresh butter, jam, 
 honey and cake were bountifully displayed upon the 
 long oak table. 
 
 The owner of the chateau, a middle-aged man of 
 ancient and noble lineage, was away at the war. His 
 mother and wife, however, with two small sons and 
 their governess, were in residence. As is common in 
 rural France, this aristocratic family of most polished 
 manners, cultivated minds and distinguished persons,
 
 JOINING THE SQUADROON 3 
 
 sat, ate and for the most part lived in their kitchen. 
 In a second kitchen leading out from that in which 
 the family had their being, two long tables were 
 spread three times daily for the domestic servants 
 and for about twenty retainers who laboured on the 
 chateau grounds. 
 
 In our endless wanderings over Northern France, 
 
 we visited many chateaux. Almost all were modern, 
 
 because, we were told, the mediaeval country places of 
 
 the old nobility had been destroyed in the maniac frenzy 
 
 of the revolutionary wars. And, wherever we found 
 
 the family in occupation of its chateau, it was always 
 
 leading a life of unpretentious simplicity. Nor was 
 
 this simplicity the outcome of want, for those frugal 
 
 French landowners are always well to do, and often 
 
 even opulent. Terrible memories of the Revolution 
 
 seem to have stamped out for ever in that land idle 
 
 luxuriousness and wanton ostentation of wealth ; which 
 
 are indeed so unnecessary to the common weal that, in 
 
 spite of the absence of these things, it would be hard 
 
 to imagine a more happy, prosperous and patriotic 
 
 people than the rural population of Northern France. 
 
 Sadly realizing that the time had come when I 
 
 could with decency eat no more of the good things so 
 
 temptingly laid out before me, I took leave of my 
 
 kind hosts, and, accompanied by my kit on a half 
 
 limber, set out on foot for the Headquarters of C 
 
 Squadron. When the Regiment had arrived in that 
 
 area, the C Squadron billeting officer had had the good 
 
 luck to win the toss for choice of billets and had taken 
 
 the one-squadron village. Squadrons always much 
 
 prefer a village to themselves than to sharing a larger 
 
 village or town with other Squadrons or with other 
 
 units.
 
 4 THE SQUADROON 
 
 A walk of about two miles brought me to a pleasant 
 agricultural village clustering about the banks of the 
 Canche, and surrounded by orchards and vegetable 
 gardens. On the right-hand side of the main street, 
 within freshly painted iron railings of vivid green, 
 stood a red brick house, taller and more important 
 than any other in the village. Over the arch of its 
 iron gateway fluttered a green and white flag. 
 
 " That's the mess, sir," said the limber driver, pre- 
 paring to get down and unload my kit. 
 
 I walked up the little flagged path to the door of 
 the house, feeling very ill at ease. Entering for the 
 first time a crowd of strangers is, to the sensitive, 
 always a highly trying experience ; and, if these 
 strangers are very young, the experience is all the 
 more trying : for youth is the severest and most 
 intolerant of critics ; nor are its standards always 
 reasonable or humane. I walked into the inevitable 
 kitchen, where the mess cook was preparing dinner, 
 while two more mess servants washed plates, peeled 
 potatoes, cleaned glasses and generally busied them- 
 selves about the coming meal, at the same time 
 chatting in fragmentary pidgin-French to a silver- 
 haired, harsh-visaged old dame and a middle-aged 
 woman of less harsh but not more pleasing aspect. 
 
 " The mess, sir ? In there ! " said one of the men, 
 indicating with a half-peeled potato impaled upon 
 a fork the door on his right. I walked in and intro- 
 duced myself. Six or seven young officers were 
 disposed about the room. One sat in front of the fire 
 reading ; another was writing letters ; another who 
 was thin and extraordinarily long, and wore pince-nez, 
 was playing patience, humming a little soft crooning 
 accompaniment to his game ; two others were having
 
 JOINING THE SQUADROON 
 
 a spirited argument in a corner of the room. Anothor, 
 thickset, with shaggy head, nobbly forehead, large 
 rugged features, and protruding lower jaw, from which 
 a massive pipe seemed quite naturally to grow, 
 appeared, in a very loud voice, to be laying down the 
 law. As soon as they became aware of my presence, 
 each stopped his immediate employment to stare at 
 me. I stood for some moments in embarrassed silence 
 under what I morbidly felt was a suspicious and 
 hostile scrutiny. Then a rather bald, rather short 
 young officer of bright rosy complexion, dark lustrous 
 eyes and strong regular features, who seemed to be 
 doing accounts, carefully gathered up a number of 
 currency notes, methodically arranged them in bundles, 
 put them along with his account books into a despatch- 
 box, locked the box, put the key in his pocket, got up 
 and gravely shook my hand. 
 
 " Hullo, Padre ! " he said. " We've been expecting 
 you. The Skipper's out — won't be back till dinner. 
 I'm Lucas." 
 
 He then introduced me all around, and took me 
 over to the billet which he had already been kind 
 enough to fix up for me. 
 
 This was my introduction to the Squadron, or I 
 should say " Squadroon," as at this time, for some 
 reason of unknown origin, we pronounced all words 
 ending in " on " as " oon." 
 
 With the exception, perhaps, of a Battery, no unit 
 is so isolated and so independent as a Squadron of 
 Cavalry. It is the fighting unit of Cavalry. It is the 
 largest body of men and horses that comes under the 
 direct and personal command of a single officer. In 
 billets it is usually in sole possession of a village ; in 
 the field its success or failure depend entirely on the
 
 6 THE SQUADROON 
 
 skill and understanding of its own Leader. The 
 normal composition is a Major or a Captain in com- 
 mand—always Majors in the peaceful security of 
 reserve regiments at home, usually Captains in the 
 searching reality of the field— a Captain or Subaltern 
 as Second-in-Command, four Troop Leaders ; a Squad- 
 ron Sergeant- Major ; a Squadron Quarter-master 
 Sergeant; and a hundred and fifty rank and file. 
 Actually in France there are three or four super- 
 numerary officers, and a considerable deficiency in the 
 number of the rank and file. 
 
 The Squadron Leader is responsible for the train- 
 ing of his command in all the various branches of the 
 art of war, for the maintenance of discipline, for the 
 welfare, recreation and happiness of his men, and for 
 the care and condition of his horses. It is further his 
 province to diffuse a lofty spirit of esprit de corps 
 through all ranks of his command, and to inspire, by 
 his own personal example, an enthusiastic devotion 
 to the manly and military virtues. 
 
 The well-being, the happiness and often the lives 
 of a hundred and fifty of his fellow men depend upon 
 his lightest word. In his own mess he is supreme. 
 If he be a man of strong character, his power is 
 immense. The minds of young impressionable 
 officers are deeply influenced by his personality. If he 
 sets a tone of negligence, licentiousness and ribaldry, 
 that will be the tone of his whole mess. If he sets an 
 example of cheerful, manly conscientiousness, his 
 subalterns will be cheerful, manly and conscientious. 
 And the spirit that animates the officers is the spirit 
 by which all the other ranks of the Squadron also are 
 animated. 
 
 Again, if the Squadron Leader is a man of high
 
 JOINING THE QUADROON 7 
 
 ideals, deep understanding, large conceptions and 
 sensible of his huge human responsibility, he has an 
 illimitable field upon which to expend the talent of 
 silver that has been loaned into his charge. 
 
 The Squadron Second-in-Coinmand holds the 
 office of Chancellor of the Exchequer and chief of 
 the "Q" department. He controls the public and 
 the private monies, pays out the Squadron, keeps 
 up the Acquittance rolls, administers the Canteen, 
 and runs the officers' mess. Pie submits innumerable 
 indents for every imaginable article of human and 
 inhuman use, from boots to bombs, he visits daily the 
 cook-house, billets and sanitary arrangements of each 
 Troop; and, when in action, to his extreme disgust, 
 he remains behind in command of the led horses. In 
 these multifarious duties he is ably assisted by the 
 S.Q.M.S. 
 
 Each of the four Troops is led by a Lieutenant or 
 Second Lieutenant, who may have the help of a 
 supernumerary officer. He has a Troop Sergeant as 
 his right-hand man and strong supporter in all matters 
 of training, routine and discipline, and a Second Ser- 
 geant who is charged with the endless activities of the 
 Troop " Q " Department. The Second Sergeant finds 
 out all deficiencies of clothing and necessaries and 
 equipment, submits indents accordingly to the 
 S.Q.M.S. ; is answerable for the sanitary arrangements 
 of his Troop, and the cleanliness of their billets, is 
 deeply concerned in the drawing and issue of rations ; 
 and, in the Troop feed store, he reigns supreme. 
 
 The Troop, which, on paper, consists of about 
 thirty other ranks, is divided into four Sections. Each 
 Section is under the command of its own Section 
 Loader, a Corporal or Lance-Corporal. One of these,
 
 8 THE SQUADROON 
 
 the Hotchkiss Gun Section, is of paramount im- 
 portance, since the fire power of that harsh-working, 
 delicate and capricious weapon is, in theory, equal to 
 the fire power of forty men. 
 
 As, in rest, the gun team have double the hours of 
 training, double the amount of equipment to clean, 
 and have in action double the weight to carry, double 
 the hours on duty and more than double the casualties 
 of the rest of the Troop, and as they receive no extra 
 pay or no official compensation of any kind whatever 
 for their additional labours, the Troop Leader always 
 gives them such small privileges as lie in his power ; 
 extra pass, for instance, and the best billet in his 
 Troop area. 
 
 In addition to the Hotchkiss Gun pack, the Troop 
 has a pack to carry entrenching tools and cooking 
 utensils, a pack of reserve ammunition, and possibly 
 a food or an explosive pack. 
 
 These packs are usually carried by sturdy little 
 Welsh ponies, which sometimes acquire almost the 
 domesticity of a dog. They are often allowed to roam 
 around at large, they frequent the cook-houses, devour 
 the savoury remnants of the men's dinner, attend 
 cricket and football matches, and are generally a great 
 source of amusement to all and tremendous favourites 
 in the Troop. 
 
 Such is the command of a Troop Leader. Owing 
 to its mobility it is, when skilfully handled, a compact, 
 flexible little striking force of great power. Over this 
 command he exercises the same function and inspires 
 the same spirit as does his Squadron Leader over the 
 whole Squadron. 
 
 In every walk of life we find that the lower is a 
 man's position, the harder is his work and the less is
 
 JOINING THE SQUADHOON 9 
 
 his pay. Similarly, in the Cavalry, no officer has more 
 arduous duties than those of its most junior com- 
 mander, the Troop Leader. 
 
 In billets, he is up with the sun to take his horses 
 to exercise, to put his Troop through some tactical 
 scheme, or to take his N.C.O.'s out for special instruc- 
 tion. The rest of the morning is fully occupied with 
 stables, and with inspections of clothing, rifles, iron 
 rations, washing, saddlery, gaspirators and equipment- 
 After lunch there is a tactical: or musketry parade, or, 
 if possible, an inter-troop game of some sort. That is 
 followed by evening stables. If it happens to be his 
 tour of orderly officer he visits all the stables of the 
 Squadron at " night feeds," that i3 to say at about 
 eight o'clock. And again after half-past nine at night 
 he goes around every horse in the Squadron to see 
 that the line guards are alert, that the horses are 
 properly rugged up and that none of them are loose 
 or in a position to kick one another. 
 
 In the line his duties are the same as those of a 
 Platoon Commander in the Infantry. During a whole 
 tour of five days in the front-line trench, he is lucky 
 if he gets five hours' sleep. During his tours in the 
 support and reserve line, what time he is supposed to 
 be laying up a store of rest to sustain him through the 
 strain of his next tour in the front line, he is lucky if 
 he does not spend the greater part of every night on 
 working parties, and of every day on fatigue duties. 
 
 But his chief difficulties lie in the fact that he is 
 the point of contact between the two sharply separated 
 classes inco which our Army is divided ; between the 
 class of officers and the class of men. Great High 
 Commanders dictate orders, lesser commanders and 
 staff officers transmit them by wire, despatch rider and
 
 10 THE SQUADROON 
 
 runner, till they eventually reach the subaltern, who 
 invariably has the unenviable task of putting these 
 orders, through his own personality, into execution. 
 Any fool, sitting in the warmth of his Headquarters 
 after a good dinner and a bottle of generous wine, can 
 take up his pencil and write, "Please detail working 
 party of 50 men with proportion of N.G.O.'s to meet 
 RE. guide at L5b37 at 2230 2/3 January." 
 
 Several hours after the writing of this billet doux, a 
 sodden, mud-splashed runner at last finds Priel support 
 trench. He raises his blanket that serves as door to 
 the " baby elephant " in which the officers are sleeping. 
 A bitter gust of sleet drives in behind him, waking 
 most of the occupants. By the time he has trodden 
 on several hands and faces, all are awake and grimly 
 expecting the worst. The Skipper switches on his torch. 
 
 " What the hell's 2230 ? " he growls. 
 
 They work it out. 
 
 " Humph ! 10.30 ! It's ten to twelve now ! Who's 
 turn for working party ? " 
 
 " Mine," says a slight, fair-haired boy. 
 
 The Skipper looks at the tired, old, child-face with 
 a pang of pity. " Right-ho, Jimmie, just come here 
 a minute." They get out the map and discuss what 
 N.C.O'.s and men are to go while the other officers 
 settle down in their blankets on the muddy floor and 
 try to sleep again. 
 
 The details of the party having been settled, the 
 Skipper says : 
 
 " Well, bye-bye, old boy ! Afraid you'll have 
 a pretty blinking time. Tell the Sergeant-Major 
 to fix up some soup for the lads, and give me a shout 
 when you get back. Cheerioh ! " 
 
 Then comes the hardest job in all an officer's
 
 JOINING THE SQUADROON 11 
 
 province. At midnight, on a bitter winter's night of 
 driving sleet, he has to get woken up, and turned out 
 in full equipment, fifty dog-weary men. lie has to lead 
 them in the slushy darkness through a maze of pitfalls 
 and dangerous obstacles to some not very clearly 
 defined point. And, if the guide is still waiting there, 
 after another painful march, he has to keep them 
 working for four hours or more at what is to the 
 soldier the most hateful of all duties. 
 
 The ignorant may think that an officer has only to 
 say unto his men " Go ! " and they goeth, or " Come ! " 
 and they cometh. But actually the soldier has been 
 for so long nursed and led by the hand, that he is in 
 most cases quite incapable of carrying out the simplest 
 order without careful supervision. If an average 
 Lance-Corporal is told to be at a certain cross-roads 
 five miles away from his billet at a certain hour, the 
 chances are considerably against his arriving there at 
 all, and overwhelmingly against his being there up to 
 the appointed time. If a football team of soldiers are 
 about to play a match, no matter how important, and 
 if the team is not under the management of an officer, 
 there will be a delay of anything from a quarter to 
 three quarters of an hour after the agreed time of 
 kicking off before all the members of that team are 
 present on the field. 
 
 These are the elements with which Troop Leaders 
 have to deal, night and day, month in, month out, 
 through all the changing conditions of war, personally 
 and at first hand. 
 
 If ever a class deserved well of its country, it is the 
 least paid, least decorated, least considered, most killed 
 class of fighting subalterns. 
 
 Such then was the composition of the Squadroon.
 
 12 THE SQUADROON 
 
 We were a little world of our own. We had our own 
 domestic policy, our own foreign policy, and our own 
 very definite opinions on all external matters of con- 
 temporary interest ; and at the same time we kept very 
 much to ourselves. In the name of the Regiment we had 
 a deep though silent pride ; nevertheless, under a super- 
 ficial courtesy, we regarded other Squadrons with grave 
 distrust. There had been little matters of missing 
 horses and missing saddlery — never quite satisfactorily 
 explained. The allocation of doubtful claims too, when 
 Squadrons had been billeted in the same village, was a 
 constant source of soreness. So we liked best to live 
 in isolation under our own Monroe doctrine. The 
 Squadroon was in every sense our home and our world. 
 Far away in a big chateau lived the Colonel. He loomed 
 austerely large on our horizon as the dispenser of rasp- 
 berries and plums in a fairly equal proportion. But his 
 occasional visits were not welcome because there was 
 always the disturbing uncertainty as to which might 
 be the particular fruit of the day. Still further away 
 in a still larger chateau lived the Brigadier. Even still 
 further away in an even still larger chateau lived the 
 divisional General. And, we believed, somewhere in 
 the nebulously distant land behind the sunset, in a 
 chateau of fabulous and unimaginable immensity, which 
 none of us would ever see until we went to heaven, 
 lived the Corps Commander. 
 
 Our relations with our Generals were, on the whole, 
 of a pleasant nature. If, on our way back off leave, we 
 hit upon one of their chateaux, and if, at about lunch- 
 time we happened, quite by chance, to walk past the 
 window with a preoccupied air, the odds were that a 
 Staff Officer would come out and cheerily bid us to the 
 board.
 
 JOINING THE SQUADROON 13 
 
 " What's that boy's narao ? " the General would ask 
 in an inaudiblo undertone. 
 
 " Smith, sir, Twelfth Hussars," answers a Staff 
 Officer. 
 
 And as we came somewhat shyly forward, the 
 General would greet us genially by name, thereby set- 
 ting us at once at our ease, and filling us with a glow 
 of pride to think that, after not having seen us for so 
 many months, he should still remember our very name. 
 We feel sure we must indeed have made an im- 
 pression at that last meeting, and we pull up our chair 
 with a new confidence in ourselves. 
 
 And as we are plying a busy knife and fork, we may 
 notice, with a kind of incredulous surprise, that some 
 of the Staff Officers, who keep receiving messages, 
 writing replies and getting up to go out and answer 
 telephone calls, wear a drawn and weary look as though 
 they really had been doing some work. Afterwards 
 the General would ask us a few conversational ques- 
 tions about the state of England and the condition of 
 the horses ; and where we were billeted. When we 
 gave the answer to the last, he would say : 
 
 " Yes, yes, La Vaccpierie, of course, yes ! Slipped 
 my memory for the moment ! " 
 
 And then the chances were that he would send us 
 on our way rejoicing, in a car. 
 
 Even on the rare occasions when they invaded our 
 isolated fastness, and showed a penetrating and em- 
 barrassing curiosity in the smallest details of our 
 economy, they were invariably genial, and unfailingly 
 kind to the young officer and the soldier. 
 
 This kindness probably springs from joyful 
 memories of the days — now seen, as the past always 
 is, through a rose-coloured medium— when thev
 
 14 THE SQUADROON 
 
 themselves were careless, light-hearted subalterns ; and 
 from the thought of how different was the lot of a 
 subaltern in those gay, irresponsible, days from what 
 it is now in this grim and deadly war. Perhaps, too, 
 they feel a sort of sub-conscious gratitude to the fighting 
 animals upon which their own exalted position is so 
 securely founded. 
 
 In action these Superior Beings were of necessity 
 unseen, and were then only associated in the common 
 mind with the failure of rations to appear. But at 
 other times all ranks of the Squadroon regarded these 
 genial dwellers in remote and shadowy regions with a 
 kind of detached affection. 
 
 To a person concerned with the condition of his 
 fellow man, observant of the varieties of character, and 
 interested in the motions of the human and the equine 
 mind, the Squadroon afforded a wide field of operation. 
 
 In the officers' mess there was a continual fusion 
 of the old order and the new. Before the war all 
 cavalry officers were men of social standing and ample 
 means. They were often proud of their position, and 
 sometimes inclined to be contemptuous of people less 
 favoured. The Cavalry still contains large numbers of 
 this class ; but it is now about equally composed of 
 officers drawn from various other and less opulent 
 grades of society. This mingling of the different 
 social grades was luminously exemplified in the Squad- 
 roon. We had officers who bore great names that had 
 long been illustrious in the history of England ; we 
 had officers who owned large estates and big fortunes ; 
 officers whose fathers had risen from obscurity to 
 affluence ; officers who had made centuries at Lords ; 
 officers who had been distinguished by their prowess 
 in all the various fields of athletics and of sport. We
 
 JOINING THE SQUADROON 15 
 
 had officers, too, who were yeomen farmers ; officers of 
 unknown origin and mysterious antecedents ; officers 
 who had risen from the ranks of the old pre-war Army ; 
 officers sprung from the office stool and from the 
 lower rungs of the commercial ladder, who, hefore 
 joining up, had never shot a bird or ridden a horse. 
 
 When the new order began to arrive there was 
 naturally some conflict of the sensibilities. Their 
 accent, their clothes, their table manners, their figures 
 of speech, jarred at first on the polite nerves of the old 
 order. And, on the other hand, the somewhat ex- 
 aggerated refinements, the exquisite dress and the 
 fashionable jargon of the old order, excited some 
 amusement in the minds of the new. They had often 
 seen and often laughed at some stage representation of 
 a society fop. From pit and gallery they had long 
 been familiar with the appearance and the speech of 
 many of the most tremendous knuts of the dramatic 
 world. But now for the first time in their lives they 
 found themselves in close relationship with people who 
 looked a part and spoke a language which hitherto 
 they had known only upon the stage. And for a time 
 they were not quite sure whether their new companions 
 were not acting, and whether they were not expected 
 to laugh at these seemingly affected utterances. Some- 
 times they did laugh, sometimes they sat in uneasy 
 and suspicious silence, and sometimes, boldly entering 
 into the spirit of the game, they joined in what they 
 believed was an imitation of Gilbert the Filbert. So, 
 in the beginning, awkward situations occasionally 
 arose. But as time went on, the son of the people 
 learned with wonder, from his own observation, how 
 high a standard of honour, devotion and self-sacrifice 
 lies hidden beneath the blase manner of the Etonian.
 
 16 THE SQUADROON 
 
 And the Etonian learned, with equal surprise, what 
 qualities of reliability, leadership and loyalty were 
 almost always to be found in his colleague of less 
 exalted origin. 
 
 Gradually the differences in breeding and deport- 
 ment became less and less perceptible, and in course 
 of time each entirely ceased to be conscious of the 
 superficial peculiarities of the other. And in some 
 cases deep and enduring friendship grew up between 
 these beings of such widely different traditions and of 
 such widely different circumstances. 
 
 Sometimes, however, an officer would join who fell 
 short of the Squadroon's standard of playing the game. 
 After long and patient trial, the Skipper would decide 
 that he was unfitted for the sacred trust of thirty 
 human lives. Then it mattered not whether he had 
 wheeled a coster's barrow or whether he wore a 
 coronet, he disappeared and was no more seen in the 
 land. 
 
 Similarly, in the ranks, great changes were in 
 process. Every trade and every denomination of the 
 lower middle classes was represented in the Squadroon. 
 The formerly peaceful civilian, who used to talk about 
 the brutal and licentious soldiery, now learned to 
 appreciate the rough and sterling qualities of the old 
 soldier — his unfailing cheerfulness under all hardship, 
 his indomitable courage in danger. And the old 
 soldier, who used to look upon most civvies as softies, 
 now discovered with half-incredulous wonder that 
 clerks and shop-walkers could be true chums and stout 
 fighters. 
 
 Between the officers and men there was a strong 
 camaraderie, and a genuine feeling of affection. Any 
 man of the most ordinary education could, if he so
 
 JOINING THE BQUADKOON 17 
 
 desired, rise to a commission. Consequently, the 
 ranks fult no animosity towards a superior class which 
 had now been more than half made up from their own 
 numbers, and no jealousy towards a caste into which 
 they themselves could at any time enter. When, at 
 intervals, the Squadroon was called upon to submit 
 names of candidates for commissions, the number of 
 applicants was always singularly small, and sometimes 
 even none at all. 
 
 The officers took a deep interest in each individual 
 man of their commands. They knew his character, 
 qualities, foibles, trade in civil life, and all his domestic 
 circumstances. And each man knew that if he found 
 himself in any sort of difficulties, if he wanted any 
 advice about his private affairs, or if he needed any 
 help in his correspondence, he could always have the 
 generous and whole-hearted help of his Troop Leader. 
 
 Out of such heterogeneous elements was the Squad- 
 roon compounded. But at the time of my arrival, the 
 wise and liberal rule of a broad-minded Leader had 
 welded all the divers parts into one harmonious whole.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 MY COMPANIONS 
 
 LUCAS had taken me over to my billet. 
 "I'm afraid it's not up to much," he 
 _^j said, " but you see, ther're nine of us already 
 fixed up and this is a small village. It's 
 the only other room I could find." 
 
 I assured him that it would do me proud. 
 
 "Right-ho!" he said. "I'll send you over old 
 Grampus for a first servant — he's pretty thick and 
 awfully slow, but a steady old file and honest." 
 
 Grampus soon arrived breathing hard. I do not 
 know whether at first I was more shy of him or, lie more 
 shy of me. As we unpacked my kit I ventured on a 
 few little commonplace pleasantries, but received no 
 response except more hard breathing. Soon I dis- 
 covered that he was hard of hearing as well as of 
 breathing. By degrees, however, our mutual shyness 
 wore off, and we became great friends. 
 
 My room was in a peasant-proprietor's modest, two- 
 storied homestead. It was reached by a single flight 
 of wooden stairs, narrowly enclosed, in gloom, between 
 two walls. The room itself was small ; it had a stone 
 floor destitute of any sort of carpet or covering, and it 
 contained a huge wooden double bedstead ; a chest of 
 drawers, of which the drawers were filled and locked, a
 
 MY COMPANIONS 10 
 
 very small iron wash-hand-stand, a small rickety table, 
 and one small rickety chair. The walls, which had 
 once been colour-washed, were adorned with some prints 
 of saints, a print of the Sacre-( Vur and a larger print 
 of the Madonna and Child. Over the bed hung a 
 cruciiix. The one small window looked down on to 
 an orchard and out across a stretch of fresh green 
 pasture. 
 
 Since then I have been lodged in scores of small 
 village houses of that type, and in all of them my room 
 was almost exactly the same as in this first billet. The 
 prominent features in each were the size and comfort 
 of the wooden bed, and the presence of those touching 
 emblems of piety. The simple French labourer on the 
 soil understands well the pleasure and importance of a 
 comfortable resting-place after the long hours of toil ; 
 and in their humble homes the circumstance of that 
 repose, which repairs the wastage of the day and 
 which gives new life and strength for the morrow, has, 
 perhaps unconsciously to them, taken on almost the 
 form and sanctity of a holy office. 
 
 I changed into slacks and walked over to the mess. 
 All the young officers to whom I had already been 
 introduced, and some others as well, were sitting 
 around the fire, likewise in slacks. From a side table 
 an enormous gramophone was rendering " Hello, my 
 dearie, I'm lonesome for you." I was duly presented 
 to those I had not met before and place was made for 
 me in the circle around the fire. This room was large 
 and lofty, with a wooden floor and three big double 
 windows. It was evidently the salon of the house, 
 very little used by the family themselves, and now, 
 with characteristic thrift, hired out to us at the rate of 
 four francs a dav. A large oval table, which had been
 
 20 THE SQUADROON 
 
 lengthened for our accommodation by the insertion of 
 
 two spare leaves, occupied the middle of the floor. 
 
 This table was covered with a kind of washable 
 
 oil-cloth, and the oil-cloth was now covered with a 
 
 coarse cotton table-cloth, upon which an abundance 
 
 of crockery and cutlery was laid out for dinner. Our 
 
 kind hostess had included the loan of these necessary 
 
 articles in the hire of the room, taking care, however, 
 
 to cover the wear and tear by her exorbitant bills for 
 
 farm produce. The room was rather loudly ornamented 
 
 with glaringly gilded mirrors, illuminated texts, a 
 
 heavily gilded clock in a glass case, and, also in a glass 
 
 case, a Virgin and Child, profusely compassed around 
 
 in gaud and tinsel. A few coloured prints, a few crude 
 
 portraits or enlarged photographs of ancestors, the 
 
 inevitable pictures of sacred persons, and a crucifix, 
 
 hung upon the walls. In a conspicuous position hung 
 
 a photograph of a member of the family laid out upon 
 
 his death-bed. An exhibition so unexpected, appeared, 
 
 to the British mind, ghastly and out of place as a 
 
 drawing-room ornament. But such photographs are 
 
 common throughout the homesteads of rural France. 
 
 The people are altogether more simple and nearer to 
 
 nature than are we in Britain. Their belief in the 
 
 Bon Dieu is an ever-present reality in their lives ; and 
 
 not, as with us, spoken of only with awkwardness and 
 
 shame. The bodily functions are regarded by them 
 
 with no excess of delicacy. And the greater works of 
 
 nature, birth and death, to which we attach such an 
 
 awful importance, are accepted by them, calmly and 
 
 without fear, as the will of God. To these simple 
 
 people the new-born babe is beautiful, and the body of 
 
 the beloved dead is beautiful; and so we find the 
 
 photographs of both in their drawing-rooms.
 
 MY COMPANIONS 21 
 
 Presently the door opened and a very tall, lean, 
 loose- limbed officer lounged in. 
 
 " Hullo, Skipper, had a good day ? " came a chorufl 
 from the fireside. 
 
 " Top-hole ! awfully interesting. I'm as hungry as 
 
 a blinking lion ! Is dinner " Then seeing mc he 
 
 came forward and shook hands. "So you've come to 
 live with us, Tadre? You'll find us simple people, 
 plain of living and blunt of speech ! Hullo ! scoff up ! 
 come on, chaps ! " And we sat down to dinner. 
 
 There was a winning frankness about the Skipper's 
 manner and a charm about his drawling conversation 
 that at once made me feel perfectly at home in my 
 new surroundings. 
 
 Now there are two predominating factors in the 
 life of France. One is the weather. Much of our 
 time out here is passed in trenches and in the open 
 air ; and bivouacs, barrages, raids and battles can all 
 be even exhilarating experiences under the genial 
 warmth of summer skies. But continuous exposure 
 to rain and bitter cold, long immersion in mud and 
 freezing slime, depress even the most indomitable 
 spirits. The other and supreme factor is one's 
 company. In the constant society of dull and narrow 
 companions, all days become monotonous and intermin- 
 ably long; all life spiritless and dreary. But in bright 
 and congenial fellowship, even this hideous war can 
 become a pilgrimage full of enchantment and of 
 wonder. Long fast marches through the day, long 
 slow maiches through the night, short snatches of 
 rest in ruined hovels, sojourns in stately chateaux, 
 spells in the front line, weeks of working parties, the 
 endless repetition of training, the wearisome routine of 
 life in rest, occasional plunges into the gaiety of cities,
 
 22 THE SQUADROON 
 
 all seem in sympathetic company, one long joyous 
 picnic. I, therefore, during this my first meal in the 
 assembled mess of the Squadroon, took careful note of 
 those who were going to be my close and constant 
 companions of the future. For other reasons too the 
 individualities of each were of great interest. It is a 
 well-worn truth that Nature shows herself best in her 
 smallest works; and that Aristotle first began his 
 consideration of a commonwealth in a family. That 
 craft to which we give the high and sounding name of 
 Statesmanship is indeed no more than the difficult art 
 of composing, for the common good, conflicting 
 interests and conflicting passions with firmness, tact 
 and equity. In every squadron and in every company, 
 within a microscopic range of vision, there are always 
 interests and passions in bitter conflict; and the 
 qualities displayed in dealing with these conflicts, and 
 the means employed in settling or aggravating them 
 are, to the student of politics, a most entertaining and 
 instructive spectacle. In every intimate community 
 the personality of each individual imposes, in measure 
 to its strength and vividness, an influence upon the 
 whole. And I was now in the position of having laid 
 bare, under my own eyes, the workings of the machinery 
 of a miniature state. 
 
 I early discerned that I had the privilege of living 
 in a remarkable mess. Each member, though some 
 were still children in years, was a man of strong 
 character and definite opinions. The one outstand- 
 ing personality, though by no means the strongest 
 character, was the Skipper. Not only in that little 
 mess, but in any community whatever, his excep- 
 tional gifts and his singular nature would, I think, 
 have raised him to considerable prominence. He was
 
 MY COMPANIONS 23 
 
 the most sophisticated person I have ever known. 
 None knew better than himsolf his own strength and 
 his own weakness ; no ono was more fullv aware of 
 his own great virtues and his own great faults. lie 
 always thanked God, he said, that he was so hope- 
 lessly weak-minded, because that was the reason of 
 his having had such a wonderfully good time, as he 
 had never had the strength of mind not to do any- 
 thing that he wanted to do. And he always attributed 
 the peculiar sweetness of his own nature to the fact 
 that in all his life he had never been seriously out of 
 love. In his youth, his whole-hearted and exuberant 
 joy of life, his charm of manner, his wonderful good 
 nature, his lively wit and inexhaustible fertility of 
 fancy, his chivalry, his love of all kinds of adventure, 
 his versatile skill in every form of sport and game, his 
 zeal and enthusiasm in his military duties, had won 
 for him a wide-spread popularity. 
 
 So wide indeed was this popularity that it would 
 have entirely spoiled many a boy of stronger character 
 than his. But underneath the gay and careless 
 exterior there were saving depths of thought, and of 
 soundness, and a strong native honesty. His own 
 emotions were deep and fiery. When he loved, man, 
 woman, or dog, he loved to the full capacity of his 
 glowing heart. The cause of a friend was his cause, 
 to the uttermost extent of his service, his purse and 
 almost even of his life. His every undertaking, from 
 autumn manoeuvres to a supper-party, was under- 
 taken with a flaming enthusiasm. The low passion 
 of hate was entirely wanting in his disposition. And 
 he had the keen and almost instinctive penetration 
 which always goes with natures so highly sensitive. 
 Consequently, as years went on, he learned with
 
 24 THE SQUADROON 
 
 sorrowful disillusionment that the good which he so 
 freely ascribed to others existed often only in his own 
 imagination, and that the emotions, the passions, the 
 enthusiasms of the world in which he lived were, in 
 comparison to his own, cold and shallow. The world 
 was ever ready to take all and give nothing. This 
 discovery, which in no way altered the outward manner 
 of his existence, sowed in him the seeds of cynicism 
 and raised in his mind troublesome doubts concerning 
 the purpose of the life that he continued to lead. He 
 was still the leader of his garrison, still the sought- 
 after favourite of dinner-party and dance. But he 
 understood now how worthless a thing is the public 
 favour; how soon idolism can turn to envy and to 
 malice ; how rare a grace is gratitude ; how seldom 
 leap up the immortal fires of the soul, except in petty 
 angers and in petty hatreds ; how fleeting friendship 
 can be when the smallest demand is put upon it. 
 
 So, because he understood these things, his popu- 
 larity sat light upon him. He often returned to his 
 charters, far into the morning, after a night of revelry, 
 of which he had been acclaimed the life and soul, with 
 no satisfaction at his success, filled only with contempt 
 for himself and disgust at the emptiness of it all ; yet 
 knowing well that he would do the same again and 
 again. Like all ardent and generous spirits he was an 
 enthusiastic hero-worshipper ; and, in proportion as 
 his belief in human sublimity decreased, his admira- 
 tion of his favourite hero, Jesus, increased. At about 
 the time of the outbreak of war, he had, although 
 virtually living the same old life, arrived by some 
 process of his own at a rather antiquated form of 
 philosophy. The most precious thing on earth, he 
 held, was happiness. The highest dispensation of
 
 MY COMPANIONS 25 
 
 man was to radiate happiness. And the greatest 
 happiness of man was to see none but happy faces 
 around him. While striving to live up to this principle 
 he expected to find in return only ingratitude, deceit, 
 and often the contempt which mistakes forbearance 
 for weakness. And when, as was inevitable, there 
 was an unconscious response, often from the most 
 unexpected charters, he knew a greater joy than he 
 had ever experienced in the revelries and sporting 
 achievements of his youth. A new faith in mankind 
 began to grow in him. Again he trusted fully, and, 
 where the trust of another man might have been 
 betrayed, his trust was rarely betrayed. And, on the 
 rare occasions when it was betra3 T ed, he felt no anger ; 
 only that unsatisfactory satisfaction which we all feel 
 at the fulfilment of some ominous prediction of our 
 own. 
 
 In the second year of the war a wound had com- 
 pletely broken his constitution. This bodily mis- 
 fortune had undoubtedly had a great share in bringing 
 him to the moral standpoint at which I found him on 
 my arrival. He was thirty-one years of age, with a 
 faith unfaithful in humanity, an illimitable love and 
 tolerance in his heart ; so weak that he had sometimes 
 to be helped on to his horse ; and with a content and 
 happiness in his mind which no suffering could 
 diminish and which no disappointment could embitter. 
 
 Nevertheless, with all his broad understanding and 
 with all his just estimation of the vanities of human 
 nature, he was himself childishly vain of many things 
 childishly vain of his long row of ribbons, of his red 
 and blue chevrons, of his wound stripes. He was 
 childishly delighted, too, with praise of himself or of 
 his pupils by a superior, and could be stimulated to
 
 26 THE SQUADROON 
 
 the most extraordinary efforts by a small word of 
 appreciation. And, on the other hand, he was im- 
 patient of correction, and apt to be momentarily 
 resentful and even insubordinate if sharply reproved, 
 though the dark mood passed quickly again into 
 cheerful, smiling reason. And, in spite of his bound- 
 less tolerance for the frailties of others, certain 
 phases of human shallowness, such as the attitude of 
 the conscientious objectors, the incredibly rapid re- 
 marriage of war widows, the howl of the men of forty- 
 five, who, having sent their sons to death with such 
 patriotic fortitude, protested so abjectly in the press 
 against the most minor service on their own part — 
 sheltering, as it were, behind the bleeding bodies of 
 their children— the screams of terror and the frenzied 
 shrieks to stop the war that arose as soon as a bomb 
 fell within earshot of certain people, who, until that 
 moment, had been loudly demanding that the war 
 must be carried on, no matter at what cost of blood, 
 until Germany should be utterly crushed, moved him 
 sometimes to contemptuous denunciation. And more 
 often his ire was excited by the calm assurance with 
 which the middle-aged arrogated the right of exemp- 
 tion from all danger or hardship until every young 
 budding life should first have been sacrificed. 
 
 His language was often astoundingly foul-mouthed 
 and blasphemous, and he spoke sometimes on delicate 
 subjects with a brutal directness that, in other people, 
 might have jarred horribly upon the sensibilities. 
 Through its whole long course the war has had a 
 steadily coarsening influence upon the manners and 
 the speech of those engaged in it. Yet somehow this 
 did not seem to me to be reason enough that a person 
 of delicate fibre, and one whose chief delight was the
 
 MY COMPANIONS 27 
 
 soul-filling organ notes of Milton, should often use 
 language which a Thames bargee might well envy. It 
 may have been the protest of a vigorous honesty 
 against all manner of sham and sanctimonious 
 hypocrisy ; but I am more inclined to believe that 
 he was deliberately preaching, under the cover of 
 this popular guise, his own somewhat unpopular 
 doctrine. Ridicule, which is the most powerful 
 weapon in the armoury of mankind, is one that has 
 been used, through all the ages, with deadly effect 
 against virtue. He now hit upon the ingenious 
 device of turning their own proper weapons against 
 folly and vice. In foul and filthy language he extolled 
 all that was noble and endearing. The stark hideous- 
 ness of sensualit}' and drunkenness he exposed in 
 disgusting words of vivid and pitiless imagery, and 
 with an irresistible humour that kept his audience in 
 a roar of laughter. Such was his skill, if indeed 
 preaching was his motive, that not one of his 
 subalterns ever suspected they were being preached at. 
 This was the man who, from force of circum- 
 stances, from parity of age and from, in many points, 
 a community of ideas, became my close companion 
 through the crowded and tremendous happenings 
 of the next eighteen months. He was the one con- 
 stant quantity in our mess. Some of the others are 
 still with the Squadroon; but there was a continuous 
 coming and going. Classes and schools took a steady 
 toll. The Divisional School, the Hotchkiss Gun 
 School at Le Touquet, the Equitation School at 
 Ca}-eux, the Tactical School at Dieppe, the Musketry 
 Schools, the Army School of Scouting and Sniping, 
 the Signalling School near Amiens, all deprived us 
 of members of our family for varying periods of
 
 28 THE SQUADROON 
 
 varying strenuosity. Sickness, and the frequent 
 accidents incidental to a close association with horses 
 claimed a number of victims. Wounded heroes pro- 
 ceeded in pain and pride to Blighty. In most cases 
 all these returned in due course to the fold, and the 
 vacant chairs were filled again. But after we had 
 been in action there were usually empty places at our 
 board and empty places in our hearts that would 
 never again be altogether filled. 
 
 In the Infantry action is continuous and life is 
 short. In the Cavalry action is less frequent and life 
 is longer. Consequently, in the Cavalry there matures 
 a closer camaraderie and a deeper affection which 
 gives to every casualty a heavy weight of loss and 
 sorrow. 
 
 And now, Uncle John, I must carefully guard 
 against a strong temptation. If the truth be known, 
 I had, for some time, forgotten the purpose with 
 which I embarked upon this book. Sitting here, in 
 my mediaeval castle on a summit of the wintry 
 Ardennes, dominating far and wide the wooded 
 steeps, the mazy rivers and the straggling hamlets 
 of newly liberated Belgium, I had, I fear, forgotten 
 you and the promise I had made. I promised you 
 that I would, to the best of my poor ability, draw an 
 impressionist sketch of Cavalry life in France. And 
 now I find myself becoming deeply involved in the 
 fortunes of the Squadroon. It would indeed be a 
 labour of love to try and paint the natures of every 
 one of those boys whom I came to know so well ; to 
 draw their many foibles and their many failings as 
 well as their sterling virtues ; for we love our friends 
 — faults and all. It would be a labour of love to 
 delineate their features, to portray their persons in
 
 MY COMPANIONS 2iJ 
 
 living colours, to trace the development of their young 
 minds, to record their characteristic utterances, so 
 that you could seem to see them all, and to recogni/e 
 each one individually by his distinctive peculiarities 
 of manner and appearance ; and so that you could 
 seem to hear, above the loud notes of the gramophone, 
 the merry din, the pointedly personal chaff, the rough 
 and tumble, and the spirited arguments of our mess. 
 Knowing your deep interest in psychology, I am 
 tempted to try and describe, each by each, their 
 origins, the many influences that tended to form 
 their characters, the different ways — and with what 
 results— they handled their men, their widely different 
 outlooks on life. And, more interesting still, the 
 extraordinarily rapid expansion of intellect which, in 
 so many cases, was brought about in them by the 
 conditions of war. But the biography of any single 
 high-spirited boy, during the period of his war service, 
 would in itself fill a weighty volume. And the 
 number of such boys who passed through the 
 Squadroon during my sojourn with it was legion. 
 
 So, resolutely resisting a temptation which would 
 make this bjok inordinately long, and which would 
 throw into a false perspective the tremendous opera- 
 tions in which we bore so small a part, I must show 
 you superficial glimpses only of these boys as they 
 appear now and then, for a fleeting moment, on the 
 moving picture of our portentous pilgrimage.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BILLETS 
 
 A 
 
 T the time of my arrival the Regiment had 
 just sent up a large working party to the 
 neighbourhood of Loos. This party had 
 taken away from the Squadroon more than 
 
 half its effective strength. The result was that we 
 found ourselves in the situation most distressing to 
 the cavalryman, of having only one man to every 
 four or even five horses ; and consequently of having 
 the whole of our time taken up with the monotonous 
 routine of watering, feeding, grooming and exercising 
 this large number of animals with a so small propor- 
 tion of men. Exercise was held before breakfast; 
 and, to ease things as much as possible by getting all 
 the horses exercised in one party, every officer turned 
 out, riding one of his own chargers and leading the 
 other two. In this way both first and second servants 
 were set free to lend a much-needed hand in their 
 own Troops. 
 
 Theoretically, this exercise was a fruitful period 
 of instruction. A great deal was said and written 
 about it by the Higher Command. It provided a 
 providential outlet for the literary activities of an 
 energetic but out-of-work Staff. A continual stream 
 of paper concerning it flowed steadily down the proper
 
 BILLETS 31 
 
 channels to the Troop and Section Leaders, gathering 
 volume in its course from the suggestions and 
 remarks of the offices through which it passed. A 
 time like this, the pamphlets ran, when, owing to the 
 ahsence of the working party, we were entirely relieved 
 of Regimental, Brigade and Higher Training, was 
 exceptionally favourable to the training of the 
 individual. While out at exercise, it was ordained, 
 Squadron Leaders would propound tactical problems 
 to their subalterns ; subalterns would in turn pass 
 these on to their Section Leaders ; Section Leaders 
 would instil them into the bony heads of their men. 
 Map reading would be thoroughly and systematically 
 carried out. Dismounted action and led horse drill 
 would be practised. No time could be more suitable 
 than exercise for Road Equitation and the intellectual 
 development of the horse. These, and a hundred 
 other injunctions of divers sorts, descended upon us 
 daily. The ideas and the principles were in all cases 
 admirable. But between theory and practice there is 
 a great gulf fixed. No General believes that a Section 
 can ever be of less than six men. No General believes 
 that one man ever has to groom more than two horses. 
 And no General has ever been up early enough in the 
 morning to see a party out at exercise. 
 
 Indeed, on those sharp mornings of early winter, 
 exercise in itself was a whole-time enterprise, fraught 
 with pain and peril. At the start our fingers were 
 numbed with cold. The horses were fresh and cold- 
 backed. We tried to rein our bucking steed with one 
 numbed hand, while with the other numbed hand we 
 tried to hold on to two or even three kicking, jumping, 
 plunging, screaming brutes. A space of about a 
 hundred yards of road was filled by this seething
 
 32 THE SQUADROON 
 
 union of unhappy men and fractious animals. Heels 
 and teeth flashed in all directions to the accompaniment 
 of shrill squeals and bass blasphemy. Dull thuds 
 resounded as a well-directed kick got home on the ribs 
 of another horse ; and angry imprecations filled the 
 air when, as often happened, some rider was badly 
 kicked or bitten. After a few minutes of movement 
 things quieted down somewhat; but under these 
 circumstances it was quite impossible to do more than 
 to impress upon the men the names of the villages 
 we went through, and the names of the conspicuous 
 land-marks and villages visible on the surrounding 
 country-side. 
 
 Exercise usually took about an hour. Afterwards 
 we trooped in to breakfast with heads cleared, with a 
 pleasing glow of moral virtue and physical warmth, in 
 the very best of spirits and with the heartiest of 
 appetites. The Skipper alone looked grey and drawn 
 after the exertion and made his meal off one boiled egg 
 and a glass of hot water ; but his disabilities in this 
 respect were a continual subject of badinage, and only 
 tended to increase the hilarity of the occasion, 
 especially when he rose from this rigid diet, and, if 
 there happened to be any in the mess, devoured large 
 quantities of chocolate. He knew quite well that 
 chocolate was as bad for him as is drink for the 
 drunkard, but in spite of laughing adjurations to be 
 strong, and half-serious efforts to keep it away from 
 him by force, he could no more resist chocolate than 
 the drunkard can resist drink. 
 
 At one time and another I have lived in many 
 kinds of communities, in private houses and hotels, in 
 clubs and messes, in hospitals and camps, on shipboard 
 and in trains. In none of them had breakfast ever
 
 BILLETS 33 
 
 been more than a mildly sociable function, in most of 
 them it had been heavily overclouded with gloom, and 
 in some of them, even to break silence at it had been 
 positively dangerous. This light-hearted gaiety and 
 voluble mirth at the breakfast table then, seemed to 
 me a singular peculiarity of the Squadroon. 
 
 After breakfast we sat around the fire for half an 
 hour or so, smoking the morning pipe. The con- 
 summation of this pleasurable rite was generally 
 attended by animated discussions on a wide variety of 
 subjects. Sometimes, with little knowledge and much 
 conviction, we laid down the law on weighty matters of 
 Weltpolitik and higher strategy. Sometimes we delibe- 
 rated, with more knowledge and less conviction, on the 
 home affairs of the Squadroon. Sometimes, if not in 
 argumentative mood, we unmercifully ragged some one 
 of our number, adding mild violence perhaps, to the 
 force of our pungent and personal invective. Then 
 the subalterns went out to stables, leaving the Skipper, 
 Purple Lucas, our Second-in-Command, and myself 
 in undisputed possession of the mess. Purple, you 
 remember, was the methodical, unemotional, good- 
 natured officer who received me on my arrival in the 
 Squadroon. He took little part in the many argu- 
 ments that raged about his ears, unless his opinion 
 was directly challenged, and then, if he did make a 
 statement at all, it was definite and sound. He now 
 sat in his favourite position, with his chair tilted back, 
 his feet up on the mantelpiece, his hands in his 
 pockets and with the muscles standing out on either 
 side of his purple-tinged face from the exertion of 
 supporting Archie. Archie, the darliug of his heart, 
 was a huge and ponderous pipe. Its bowl had become 
 so choked up that it held no more than a thimbleful 
 
 D
 
 81 THE SQUADROON 
 
 of tobacco; nevertheless Purple positively declined 
 either to scrape it out or to exchange it for any normal 
 pipe of a quarter the "weight and four times the 
 capacity. Carefully releasing it with both hands from 
 the vice-like grip of his jaws, he swung it clubwise 
 against the fender till a few ashes fell out and the 
 house shook to its foundations. Then, pulling a chair 
 up to the table, he soon became deeply immersed in 
 figures and finance. Presently word was brought that 
 the S.Q.M.S. wished to see him. This excellent person, 
 by whose grace we ate our daily bread, was at once 
 admitted. An old reservist of many years' service, he 
 combined with his handsome figure and melodious 
 voice, a great measure of that charm and humour, and 
 a great measure of that natural dignity of bearing 
 which is the heritage of Erin's poorest sons. He was 
 conscientious and constitutional in all his works. On 
 those few occasions in the year when, by the unwritten 
 law, it is permitted to the soldier to get drunk, he got 
 thoroughly, conscientiously and constitutionally drunk. 
 At all other times he was a model of decorum and 
 propriety. One grave failing indeed he had ; a failing 
 that is common to the Celtic blood. He could not 
 keep out of a scrap. When the Squadroon was 
 engaged in open warfare, surrounding villages or 
 bounding from ridge to ridge, when it was in action, 
 counter-attacking a hard-held wood or desperately 
 holding on to some steel-swept slope, there, sooner or 
 later, in the forefront of the battle, would be found 
 Micky O'Grady. Rifle in hand he gloried in the 
 tumult and the fury of the fray. Towering in the van, 
 he shouted exultant yells of encouragement and 
 defiance to friend and foe, oblivious of his neglected 
 duties far behind, oblivious of the corn and forage we
 
 BILLETS 
 
 should never see, oblivious of the rum and rations we 
 should never taste. No reprimands however sharp, no 
 wounds however frequent, could keep him for very 
 long, in times of stress, back with his waggons or 
 away from the firing line. 
 
 Purple and he soon became involved in profound 
 mathematical calculations, working out the prices at 
 which canned salmon, sardines, cling peaches, wild 
 woodbines, tame brasso and the other multitudinous 
 flora and fauna of the canteen could be sold in order 
 to yield a profit of four per cent. 
 
 " Come on, Padre," said the Skipper, rising. " We 
 won't be a party to these shady proceedings of the 
 financial underworld ! Let's go and have a look at the 
 old hairies ! " 
 
 So we strolled out to "stables." 
 
 The eighth wonder of the world is the way in 
 which a tiny village can absorb and give shelter to an 
 incredibly large number of horses. When we stepped 
 out on to the single main street of the village, not a 
 horse was visible, nor was there any building which 
 gave the slightest suggestion of being able to house 
 horses. But the Skipper led me through front door.-, 
 down little alleys, up secret passages, around outhouses, 
 into barns, cowsheds, cartsheds, granaries, under the 
 arches of gateways, and to all sorts of unexpected 
 places in which horses were more or less comfortably 
 lodged. In one shed three cows and two horses fed 
 out of the same manger in peace and amity. In 
 another the space was equally divided between a pack 
 pony and a pig. In another several sheep jostled the 
 horses for their hay. Under lean-to's and gateways 
 horses were tethered to carts, and to many sorts of agri- 
 cultural implements. There were too, providentially,
 
 3G THE SQUADBOON 
 
 a fair number of dilapidated and deserted out- 
 houses. These were made, apparently, of mud ;on 
 a foundation of lattice. Much of the mud had fallen 
 away, leaving great gaping holes to the wind and rain . 
 Owing to the war money was tight ; every vigorous 
 male was away with the colours and all female labour 
 was more than fully occupied in the fields. So these 
 outhouses were allowed to fall further and further into 
 desuetude and decay : an ill-wind which, however, blew 
 great good to our horses. We covered over the holes 
 in the roof with tarred felt, we screened the gaps in 
 the walls with canvas, we cleansed the floors of their 
 deep deposits of filth, and we proudly led our horses, 
 sometimes up or down a number of steps, into these 
 palatial homes. 
 
 We were received on the confines of his territory 
 by Tubs, the Leader of the First Troop. He drew up 
 his short rotund figure and saluted with precision and 
 gravity. Then he niggled his knees nervously to- 
 gether, and his round, dark face assumed an expres- 
 sion of almost childlike apprehension. It was evident 
 that he suffered from extreme shyness in the presence 
 of me, a stranger. His appearance and deportment in 
 no way coincided with the popular conception of a 
 leader of light horse. 
 
 Fiction and the drama have agreed to represent 
 the young cavalry officer as a debonair and dashing 
 personality, not overburdened with brains, beautiful of 
 figure, slender of limb, richly raimented, wonderfully 
 booted, adored of the fair, the idol of the boudoir and 
 the envy of the ballroom. In the sterner field of war 
 he is depicted as inspiring his men with his ringing 
 words of glory ; as performing, sword in hand, prodi- 
 gies of personal valour, and as having won the
 
 BILLETS 37 
 
 undying admiration and love of his companions and 
 subordinates by those same external qualities of voice 
 and person, and by his animal quality of courage. 
 
 Tubs did not by any means fill this accepted 
 picture of a leader of men. He had none of the god- 
 like beauty, none of the dazzling physical attributes, 
 none of the rich resounding voice. He was short and 
 round, he stammered a little, and he had a tendency 
 to loudness in his dress. His heart loved yellow 
 handkerchiefs, yellow waistcoats, bright buttons and 
 shining badges. In the presence of high seniors he 
 suffered much, and so great was his shyness that he 
 was often rude when he wished most to be polite, and 
 often miserably at his worst when he wished most to 
 impress. According then to prescriptive standards, 
 he was not the beau-ideal of a subaltern of Light 
 Dragoons. But his seniors asserted that in all the 
 British Army there was no finer Troop Leader, no 
 officer who could get more willing work out of his 
 men, than Tubs. For externals are proverbially 
 deceptive, and the hero of real life is usually a less 
 ornamental person than the hero of romance. An 
 untiring application to his work, a thorough know- 
 ledge of all his duties, a rigorously conscientious 
 discharge of these duties under all circumstances, 
 cheerfulness in hardship, cool clear-headed skill in 
 action, and a warm and practical benevolence towards 
 his men, united with that kindly sense of humour 
 which lights up for us the minds of others, are the 
 only hoops of steel by which an officer can grapple to 
 himself the hearts of his men ; and by such a chain 
 of sterling steel had Tubs closely bound his Troop to 
 himself, 
 
 " How now, Tubs ? " said the Skipper, returning
 
 38 THE SQUADROON 
 
 his salute, "what of the First Army? Anything 
 untoward ? " 
 
 " No— all right," replied Tubs seriously. 
 
 He had that indefinable but by no means un- 
 common air of almost asking to be ragged by the 
 humorous, and, I should imagine, of asking to be 
 bullied by the bully. We walked around his scattered 
 commando, remarking on the condition of the horses, 
 looking at the shoes of some, feeling the legs and 
 examining the injuries of others. Each Section 
 Leader called his own little command to attention as 
 we entered his area, walked around his horses with 
 us, and answered any questions concerning his Section 
 which the Skipper might put to him. 
 
 Having gone the round of the First Army horses, 
 we were on the point of departing for the Second 
 Army, when Tubs exclaimed : 
 
 " I've fixed up a new table in our mess-room," and 
 added with wistful eagerness, "Will you come and 
 see it ? " 
 
 " Rather ! " said the Skipper. 
 
 Tubs led the way, followed by Arthur Jenner, the 
 M.G.G.S. of the First Army, or, in other words, his 
 Troop Sergeant. 
 
 Arthur's was the distinction of being the first 
 British soldier to draw German blood in the war with 
 the white weapon, having killed with his own sword 
 two Uhlans while out with a patrol on one of the early 
 days of the retreat from Mons. A farmer in civil life, 
 like most farmers he regarded all innovation and 
 progress with sceptical and sardonic pessimism. It 
 was evident now from the expression on his face that 
 he did not hold with wasting time and money on such 
 fal-lals as mess tables.
 
 BILLETS 89 
 
 We entered the front room of a small cottage. An 
 iron cooking-range occupied one end. On ono Bide 
 of tho range Madamo was baking apples : little old 
 wizened apples, just liko her poor little old wizened 
 self. On the other side two great black dixies bubbled 
 and steamed under the expert supervision of Scully, 
 the Troop bobberchie. We greeted Madame in in- 
 different French ; we said the war was " no bon " and 
 that wo hoped it would soon be over. Then, 'after 
 listening patiently for some time to the copious recital 
 of her woes, we turned to inspect the new table. It 
 was a plain affair, long, and made of rough planks. 
 Along either side was an equally plain and solid 
 bench. But plain and simple as this furnituro was, 
 it afforded immense comfort to the men, who without 
 it would have had to take their meals standing on 
 their feet, or sitting on the cold and stone-flagged 
 floor. 
 
 The mess tins of the men, all bright and shining, 
 their knives, forks and spoons were already laid out 
 for dinner. 
 
 "What are we on to-daj 7 , Scully?" asked the 
 Skipper. 
 
 " Stew, sir." 
 
 "H'm! a novelty!" said the Skipper. "Let's 
 have a look at it." 
 
 Scully raised the lid of the nearest dixie, disclosing 
 a seething mass of nasty grey matter. 
 
 " That's the fourth day running you've put 'em 
 on stew. I wonder they don't murder you, Scully ! 
 Can't you manage a roast ? " 
 
 " Meat ration too small, sir. Got some worry nice 
 biscuit duff in 'ere," indicating the other dixie. " They 
 eats it wiv jam."
 
 40 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " How were rations to-day ? " 
 
 " Pretty niiddlin', sir, excep' the meat. Three men 
 in a loaf. The bacon is short and werry bad — and no 
 veg ; but they're pretty rniddlin' on the 'ole, sir." 
 
 "They still each subscribe a franc a week for 
 extras, don't they ? " asked the Skipper. 
 
 " Yes," said Tubs. rt This week we got some 
 cabbage, Brussel sprouts, a tin of cornflour, two tins 
 of tomato and some milk." 
 
 " Stuff to give 'em," said the Skipper. 
 
 We then made a minute inspection of the little 
 room. The Skipper was almost as finical as a 
 medical officer about meat safes, fly traps, putting 
 bread into nose-bags, immaculacy of utensils, and all 
 those measures which are supposed to prevent the 
 outbreak of disease. 
 
 "Where's your grease-trap, Scully?" he asked. 
 
 Scully led us out into the back yard and proudly 
 showed us this device so dear to the medical heart. 
 The Skipper looked at it long and earnestly. 
 
 " Don't look as if it's been used much," he said at 
 last. 
 
 ''It's new, sir — only made it this morning. The 
 old one got choked up, so I filled it in and made this 
 'ere," said the ever-ready Scully, pointing out a little 
 mound a few yards off. 
 
 Looks of deep meaning passed between Tubs, 
 Arthur Jenner and Scully. Arthur Jenner, Scully 
 and the Armee Britannique in general did not hold 
 with grease-traps. But the Skipper was delighted 
 with the new table and the whole mess room. 
 
 " Nice work ! " he exclaimed as he went out. " But 
 what did you pay for it ? " 
 
 Tubs named a small sum.
 
 BILLETS 41 
 
 "Plight! I'll ask Tuiplo if ho can spare it out 
 of the canteen." 
 
 "Oh no, really not, Skipper," said Tubs. "It's 
 nothing — I'd really rather pay it myself." 
 
 " All right, old boy, if you insist — awfully good of 
 you." 
 
 As we walked along to the next Troop, the Skipper 
 expounded his views on such payments by an officer 
 out of his own purse. 
 
 " Up to quite a short time ago," he said, " all our 
 boys had plenty of money. A Troop Leader's reputa- 
 tion depended on the fatness of his horses. The 
 Government ration was not enough to keep them even 
 in condition. If he wished then either to win praise 
 for the big condition of his horses or to escape 
 continual nagging on account of their thinness, he 
 had to spend large sums of money on extra corn and 
 fodder out of his own pocket. As the war went on, 
 temporary officers began to join the Cavalry. Many 
 of these, who were of humble origin, had no private 
 means whatever. Some were married, some had 
 relations dependent upon them, and their pay was 
 hardly enough to keep even themselves, much less to 
 support the weight of these additional burdens. To 
 maintain thirty odd horses would not only have been 
 to them a grievous charge, but would have been 
 totally beyond the powers of their purse. Conse- 
 quently, although they might have worked harder, 
 their horses compared unfavourably with those of 
 their richer comrades." So the Skipper had laid 
 down a positive rule in the Squadroon that no officer 
 was to pay a single farthing of his own for the food of 
 his horses. " If any rich bloke," he said, " likes to 
 add a little to the comfort of his men, that's quite
 
 42 THE SQUADROON 
 
 another matter — and one that won't in any way help 
 him on in the Service at the expense of his poorer 
 brethren. But as to the horses, no one feels more for 
 the poor hungry devils than I do ! But in my humble 
 opinion their starvation is a matter between the 
 Government and the Society for Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Animals, and not one for indiscriminate 
 charity ! " 
 
 " Surely it's not as bad as that '? " I asked, much 
 shocked. I had still to learn that the Skipper was 
 somewhat given to extravagance in his images of 
 speech. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "Well, with a great deal of slave-driving the men, 
 constant grazing, everlasting pinching and scraping, 
 feeding, watering and haying up every other hour, we 
 can just get them big enough to pass a General's 
 inspection. But there's no foundation ; and, after a 
 couple of days in action, they fall away to rags again. 
 And even then, whenever we graze, heavy claims 
 follow us. So we still have to pay a good deal. The 
 only difference is that, as I am responsible for every- 
 thing that happens in the Squadroon, I pay these 
 claims instead of the Troop Leaders. Of course," he 
 continued in a stage whisper, " it may be a deep and 
 dark policy on the part of the authorities to keep the 
 horses hungry, so that when they see the Hun, they'll 
 tear and eat him — that is if they ever do see him," he 
 added a little bitterly. " At present they only tear the 
 seats out of the men's breeks ; and we can't get them 
 replaced for love or money, wheedling or wangling. 
 A rear view of the Squadroon on Church parade is 
 hardly decent even now. I shudder to think what it 
 will be like if we don't get some clothing np soon."
 
 BILLETS 43 
 
 We now approached the borders of the Second 
 Army. Dane, the Army Commander, came forward 
 to meet us. He walked with wido, slow deliberate 
 steps, his broad shoulders humped, his massive rugged 
 head thrown forward, and his bulldog jaw sunk deep 
 into his chest. His complexion, usually yellow, was 
 now a damp and deathly white, which, with him, was 
 the danger signal of volcanic passions seething within. 
 He saluted, exclaimed with bitter woe that during the 
 night half a sack of corn had disappeared from his feed 
 store, and burst forthwith into a voluble denunciation 
 of certain person or persons unknown but strongly 
 suspected of this heinous theft. He vehemently 
 urged the Skipper to have half the Squadroon court- 
 martialled on the spot, and to inflict on the other half 
 field punishment up to the utmost limit of his powers. 
 While this storm of invective was still raging, the 
 Second Sergeant, who had been away parading the 
 sick, arrived upon the scene. He explained that 
 owing to the feeble lock and rickety door of the feed 
 store, he had taken away the half-sack of corn, and, 
 for greater security, had locked it up in his own 
 billet, where it was even now reposing in perfect 
 safety. Dane's face expressed mingled sheepishness 
 and delight; sheepishness at having "created" about 
 nothing ; delight at having recovered his lost treasure. 
 His career had been somewhat singular. He had 
 been at a Public School. During his last year, 
 when preparing for the examination into Sandhurst, 
 financial misfortune had overtaken his family, and 
 he had enlisted as a trooper in the cavalry of the line. 
 Three years later, on the outbreak of war, he went 
 with his Regiment over to France in the rank of 
 Corporal, and was early promoted to a commission
 
 U THE SQUADROON 
 
 for distinguished conduct in the field. But he never 
 forgave Fate the scurvy trick which she had played 
 hirn at the outset of his career ; and he had brought 
 with him, from his three years' service in the ranks, 
 all the old soldier's inveterate habit of cribbing at 
 every trifling inconvenience in times of ease and 
 plenty. The circumstances of those last years of 
 adolescence had tinged with bitterness against the 
 fortunate and the happy a mind by nature already 
 gloomy and morose. He trusted no one ; his hand 
 was against every man ; he had a morbid belief that 
 every man's hand was against him. He proclaimed 
 himself agin the government, a radical, a socialist ; 
 although he had no real understanding of what these 
 terms might mean. But he had brought with him 
 also from the ranks all the old soldier's inveterate 
 habit of being more than worth his weight in gold in 
 times of hardship and danger. And, deep down in 
 his heart, beneath this superficial sea of ugly passions, 
 he cherished a strong affection for his comrades, a 
 paternal benevolence for his Troop and a very excep- 
 tional love for all animals. From sunrise till after 
 the night feed he spent almost the whole of his time 
 among his horses, taking the utmost pains and the 
 keenest delight in devising any means that could at 
 all add to their welfare. So, because we all knew the 
 solid virtues and the warmth that dwelt in his heart, 
 we either regarded as a huge joke or took no notice 
 whatever of his occasional dark and sulky moods, and 
 his occasional outbursts of uncontrolled temper. 
 
 The affair of the half-sack of corn having come to 
 a sudden and satisfactory end, we hastily changed 
 the subject and went on to look at Dane's horses. 
 Rumour had it that, if there was a likelihood of our
 
 BILLETS 45 
 
 remaining much Longer in our present billets, a Corps 
 horse show was going to be held. The laurel most 
 coveted by keen young officers was the prize for the 
 best conditioned and best turned out Troop. Dane 
 had already put his heart and soul into carrying off 
 the palm. Clippers and singeing lamps were every- 
 where at work. Barny O'Leary, the skilful puller 
 of hairs, ceaselessly plied his light, deft fingers 
 through mane and tail. Spud Mitford bandaged legs 
 and tails with exquisite art and sounds soothing to 
 the equine ear. Jock Mason plaited manes with an 
 elegance that might have excited the admiration of a 
 silken-tressed maiden of bashful fifteen. The Skipper 
 and Dane, who had in common a wide knowledge and 
 a deep interest in horsemastership, carefully appraised 
 the condition and appearance of each horse. Dane 
 then led us, with some pride, into his new feed store. 
 This wa3 a little wooden shanty, which had been built 
 by his Second Sergeant and himself. On the door 
 was conspicuously posted up a large notice, showing 
 the time, quantity and composition of each feed, and 
 the times of watering. Inside Paddy Gilligan sat on 
 a log of wood, chopping chaff with a small hand axe. 
 In one corner stood a huge cauldron, simmering with 
 a savoury mess of pottage, destined to add sweetness 
 and nourishment to the evening feed. Opposite was 
 a bed-like framework of close meshed wire, on which 
 the hay was shaken, so that the nutritious seed sifted 
 through and was caught on a waterproof sheet spread 
 out beneath. Near it was a large biscuit tin, in which 
 linseed cake was soaking, with a thick stick pro- 
 truding, with which to stir the slowly dissolving, 
 glutinous mass. Turned inside out and hung out to 
 dry on a line, were the nosebags, each nosebag
 
 46 THE SQUADROON 
 
 inscribed in large letters with the name of the horse 
 to which it belonged. Outside the door lay the 
 haynets, already filled. Dane, who usually helped to 
 make out the feeds himself, carefully examined the 
 linseed and the chaff. He and the Skipper then 
 entered into a long discussion about some technical 
 detail as to the advisability or not of giving hay before 
 corn or corn before hay at certain times of the day, 
 taking into consideration the horse's phenomenal 
 length of bowel and extraordinary smallness of 
 stomach. The delicate point having been satis- 
 factorily settled, we were just walking away, when 
 Dane followed us. 
 
 " Oh, by the by, Skipper," he said, " I've just fixed 
 up a top-hole bit of grazing with the old man in my 
 farm ! He's been awfully decent about it, says we're 
 quite welcome, and it will do the land no end of 
 good." 
 
 " Good ! " said the Skipper. " But you're quite 
 sure there's no misunderstanding ? " 
 
 " Oh no, none whatever," said Dane, laughing 
 heartily. 
 
 When we had left, the Skipper turned to me with 
 a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " I know these enthusiastically amicable arrange- 
 ments between old Dano and the civvies ! " he said. 
 " They usually end in a thumping great claim and a 
 pile of correspondence as high as Mount Everest." 
 He mused in silence for a while, and then, as though 
 voicing his thoughts, he said, "The only trouble 
 about Dano is, not that he might neglect his work, 
 but that he might overdrive his men. I'm sure, on 
 the whole, though, that within reasonable limits the 
 harder they are kept at work and play the happier
 
 BILLETS 47 
 
 they are. I only go around his Troop about twice 
 a week, and then only because I know he loves 
 showing off the improvement in his horses and all 
 his latest little wheezes. It's the right sort of " 
 
 " Mon capitaine, capitaine ! " 
 
 Arrested by this cry and the sound of hurrying, 
 shutHing footsteps, we stopped and looked behind us. 
 An old, slight man, with bent back, nut-cracker face, 
 toothless gums and a stubbly beard, hobbled up to us 
 with the aid of a stout gnarled stick. Ho burst into 
 a torrent of words of mingled respectfulness and 
 abuse. His breathlessness, his indignation, the 
 rapidity with which he spoke, and his extreme paucity 
 of front teeth made his speech most difficult to under- 
 stand. We gathered that he had laid up a store of 
 hay in his loft against the winter — to feed to his 
 boasts, and that he had just discovered a hole in the 
 wall through which certain pigs had been for a long 
 time stealing this hay. We took pigs to be a figura- 
 tive word for British soldiers. At this point of his 
 impeachment he became totally unintelligible from 
 fury. The Skipper was not a master of the French 
 language. He patted the old man kindly on the back 
 and directed him to the mess. There, he said, the 
 old man would find the Capitaine en Second, who 
 knew well how to understand the so beautiful language 
 of Picardy, and who, after thorough investigation, 
 would see, if indeed we were to blame, that full 
 reparation was made. The old man hobbled off, 
 muttering angrily. Such words as " eoehons," "sales 
 betes" and a vehement declaration that the Anglais 
 were worse than the Boches, were wafted back to us, 
 his voice becoming louder as the distance between us 
 and him increased.
 
 48 THE SQUADROON 
 
 The Skipper leaning on his thick ash plant, 
 watched the pathetic, retreating form. 
 
 " No wonder they hate us so," he said at last. 
 
 " Hate us ? " I asked in surprise. " Why, I 
 thought they were all over their brave British Allies ! " 
 
 " Well, look at that poor old devil. Two of his sons 
 were killed at Notre-Dame de Lorette ; the other is 
 away with his Regiment in Champagne. There's only 
 himself and that fat daughter of his to keep their show 
 going — and we go and pinch their hay ! " 
 
 " But we don't know yet that our fellows pinched 
 it ! " I protested. 
 
 " Of course they did ! " said the Skipper. " And 
 when rations are short they pinch potatoes too — dig 
 out the roots and carefully put back the plants. And 
 if you and I were in their place we'd do the same ! 
 It's to prevent all that sort of thing and the consequent 
 unpleasantness that Troop Leaders get their men to 
 subscribe so much a week to buy vegetables." 
 
 " But you don't really think they hate us ? They 
 must know we're not in their blessed country for our 
 own amusement ! And, besides, they make pots of 
 money out of us." 
 
 " Perhaps they don't hate the Infantry. Our men 
 generally get on excellently with them after they've 
 settled in a bit. But Cavalry are bound to be unpopular- 
 You see, the horse is always so hungry that he's an 
 omnivorous animal — and he does an enormous amount 
 of damage. He strips trees, he eats doors, mangers, 
 hayracks, posts and rails, carts and agricultural imple- 
 ments. He kicks the bottom out of his standings, and 
 he shoves his silly head through the flimsy, walls of the 
 outhouses. When out on schemes or manceuvres he 
 destroys crops wholesale, and, when he is theoretically
 
 BILLETS 49 
 
 grazing on the roadside, pastures, which are the bole 
 winter maintenance of the local cow, often have a way 
 of mysteriously disappearing. No, it's an unflattering 
 rejection, but the arrival of the gay and gallant Light 
 Dragoon in a French village is never welcome — because 
 of his inseparable association with that voracious and 
 destructive quadruped, the 'oss ! " 
 
 I was beginning to make due allowance for the 
 Skipper's little habit of exaggeration. 
 
 We sauntered on, up a little side street to the 
 domain of the Third Army. Jimmie and Jerry received 
 us with the usual compliments. In appearance Jimmie 
 was more like the cavalry subaltern of romance than any 
 other I have ever seen in the flesh. He was of middle 
 height and slender form, with a keen, eager, handsome 
 face, fair curly hair and clear blue eyes. lie wore 
 clothes and boots of the latest cut and fashion, but of 
 quiet tones and in perfect taste. His voice was rich 
 and full, and he moved with an air of easy confidence. 
 13y forging his birth certificate he had managed to pass 
 through Sandhurst and out to France when he was 
 only seventeen years old. And now, though still a 
 child in years, he was a veteran soldier in experience. 
 In his short life he had seen more of misery and horror, 
 more of agony and death, more of nobility and devotion, 
 than is seen by the ordinary person in the whole 
 course of a long and eventful lifetime. He had the 
 strength of character, the fixity of purpose and the 
 worldly knowledge;of a man of more than twice his age. 
 A certain hardness, the lines about his face, his general 
 deportment, were those of a man well on in the 
 thirties ; and only at rare intervals the soul of the child 
 looked pathetically out from under this mask of man- 
 hood, startling the observer into momentary and 
 
 E
 
 50 THE SQUADKOON 
 
 protective pitifulness. There would in all probability 
 have been a great career before him, if God had not 
 willed it otherwise. 
 
 As we went the round of his horses, Jerry, his Troop 
 Sergeant, a very gallant old soldier of a somewhat 
 volatile and "excitable nature, volunteered volumes of 
 information on all sorts of relevant and irrelevant sub- 
 jects, some small measure of which was undoubtedly 
 correct. When we had seen the horses, Jerry cordially 
 invited us to inspect the Troop Store. Jimmie's eyes 
 shot him a murderous glance. 
 
 " I'm afraid those rifle racks aren't finished yet," 
 he said, " we only managed to get the wood last 
 night." 
 
 " Never mind," said the Skipper, " we'll have a 
 look-see." 
 
 Jerry, with much officiousness, fussed ahead, and 
 fumbled ostentatiously with a large and obviously 
 newly bought lock. We entered a ramshackle room in 
 a ramshackle little old house. Inside, the rifles of the 
 Troop were neatly arranged along the wall. Above 
 the rifles, from an exactly dressed line of nails, hung 
 the swords, in their brightly burnished scabbards. 
 Over these again hung a shining row of freshly painted 
 tin hats, blazoned on either side with a rectangular 
 patch of the Regimental colours. Along another wall 
 stood the picks and shovels, painted black ; above them 
 the posh headropes, blancoed snowy white. Iron 
 rations, spare shoes, ammunition, Very pistols, ground 
 flares, Troop flags and all kinds of equipment not in 
 immediate use, were neatly stored and stacked around 
 the remaining space. Everything polishable shone 
 with brilliant lustre. 
 
 " I'm not awfully keen on all this spit and polish
 
 BILLETS 51 
 
 myself," said the Skipper to me, in a low aside. " On 
 a sunny day you can see a squadron shining like a 
 holio seventy milos off. But orders are orders." 
 
 »' Not ours to ask tho roason why, 
 Ours but to shiuo and die ! " 
 
 Jerry was immensely proud of the store, and 
 beamed with gratification at the warm words of 
 praise that were bestowed upon it. 
 
 Bidding au'voir to Jimmie, we leisurely strolled 
 off towards the Fourth Army. This was established 
 in a single large outlying farm, up a steep hill, about 
 three-quarters of a mile away from the village. Re- 
 tracing our steps down the main street of the village, 
 we stopped for a moment to exchange greetings with 
 the buxom proprietess of the extaminet " To the Re- 
 union of the Good Cultivators," where, of an evening, 
 the Squadroon quaffed washy French ale or throat- 
 rasping "vin blank," and retailed with ever-growing 
 snap and volume the latest rumours from the base. 
 After a brief interchange of pleasantries, we con- 
 tinued on our way for a few yards, till our eyes were 
 arrested by a conspicuous notice board, indicating by 
 an arrow the direction of the Squadroon Canteen. 
 The Canteen was one of the apples of the Skipper's 
 eye. 
 
 " Let's have a look in at this busy scene of com- 
 mercial activity," he said. 
 
 We proceeded about ten yards down a narrow 
 uueven alley and looked in. It consisted of the tiny 
 front room of a very small and empty house. The 
 window, which was destitute of glass or frame, had 
 been skilfully transformed into the semblance of a 
 counter. Within, a number of shelves contained a
 
 52 THE SQUADROON 
 
 slender stock of those necessaries and delicacies 
 which are dear to the soldier heart. Another tier of 
 shelves contained a not inconsiderable library of 
 widely assorted literature : books which had been, 
 from time to time, the gift of different officers of the 
 Squadroon. Inside, a short, stoutish, dapper man 
 was hard at work carpentering. His coat was off, 
 his sleeves were rolled up, and he sweated freely from 
 the exertions of his labour. But, even under these 
 unfavourable circumstances, he radiated an air of 
 pre-eminent smartness in appearance and demeanour. 
 He sprang to attention as we entered. His strong, 
 healthy-lmed face and his keen brown eyes were 
 lighted up with the mingled lustre of intelligence and 
 benevolence. His profile was not unlike that of 
 Napoleon. I felt at once that I was in the presence 
 of a great man. 
 
 "Good morning, Sergeant-Major," said the Skipper, 
 and they fell forthwith into a long talk about the 
 Squadroon band, the recreation room, the pierrot 
 troop, the messing budget and the state of the canteen 
 finances, in all of which concerns the S.M. was an 
 enthusiastic and vital force. 
 
 " And how's business, McGeorge ? " asked the 
 Skipper, turning to the man behind the counter. 
 
 McGeorge was a canny old Scotsman, who united 
 the treble office of S.Q.M.S.'s batman, storeman and 
 Canteen keeper. He was an old reservist from Dundee, 
 and he wore the ribbons of South Africa, Mons and 
 the French Croix de Guerre, as well as two wound 
 stripes. 
 
 " It's verra guid indeed, sir. We sell a-thing as 
 fast as we get it up. The boys are aye wantin' mair 
 cigarettes— and they're wantin' writing paper, that
 
 BILLETS 53 
 
 we canna get. If you cud dae onything tae get us 
 mair " 
 
 The Skipper made a note in his pocket-book. 
 
 " Come on, Padre," he said, " the Fourth Army 
 will have filed away from stables if we don't get a 
 move on." 
 
 We proceeded to get a move on. 
 
 "I suppose," I said as we plodded up the bill, 
 "that the canteen makes a goodish bit?" 
 
 " No," said the Skipper, " hardly anything at all. 
 Just enough to carry on and to pay for teas after 
 football matches and a few little things like that. 
 It'd be a dam shame to make money out of a canteen." 
 
 11 Some do," I said. 
 
 " We don't," said the Skipper. " I've an awful 
 horror of accumulating funds from people who are 
 never going to have the use of them — in the same 
 way as I have a horror of dying myself with money 
 unspent." 
 
 " It would be worse to die without money to spend," 
 I replied. I 
 
 "Yes, of course it would," admitted the Skipper, 
 laughing. " I dare say, if I'd had the running of the 
 Canteen myself, it would have gone smash long ago- 
 But old Purple is a solid rock of sense. When I 
 suggest hiring half a dozen rolling royces to take the 
 Squadroon to the Corps Point to Point, or some other 
 little trifle, a shade beyond our four per cent, profits, 
 he firmly puts his foot down ; and I have just enough 
 financial sense not to press the point — so the Canteen 
 gets along swimmingly." 
 
 " The S.M. seems a pretty smart sort of chap," I 
 said, by way of making conversation. 
 
 " He is that. All S.M.'s are. You see, any average
 
 54 THE SQUADROON 
 
 ass can become a colonel or a general in the ordinary 
 course of seniority, if he just hangs on and puts in his 
 time. But it takes a super-man to become an S.M. 
 Look at the hundreds of other men he has to compete 
 against on equal terms during all the time he is 
 climbing up to warrant rank ! But even among the 
 super class of S.M.'s my William Henry stands out 
 head and shoulders. He's a most exceptional fellow* 
 He's only a boy now, but he's been S.M. since Mons. 
 We had another fellow, an S.M. and a great friend of 
 his, who took a commission early on, and went off to 
 Infantry. He was a most excellent fellow too, but 
 not in the same street as William Henry— and when 
 we last heard of him he was temporarily commanding 
 a brigade. William Henry has been offered a com- 
 mission over and over again, and he'd have risen like 
 a rocket, but his heart and soul is in the Squadroon 
 and nothing would induce him to leave it." 
 
 The hill was steep. We paused a few moments 
 for breath. 
 
 " That old McGeorge is an excellent old chap too," 
 he continued. " I shall never forget him in one of 
 those infernal wood fights near Noyon. It was the 
 usual shemozzle. No one knew where the hell any- 
 one else was. Old Eiffel Tower and I and McGeorge 
 and a couple of other men went down a cutting to try 
 and get touch with the Frogs on our right. We soon 
 came almost on to some fellows in grey. ' There 
 they are,' I said, ' stop here and I'll go liaise.' ' L-l-1- 
 look out! they're B-B-B-Boches,' said old Eiffel. 
 ' They can't be,' I said— and on the instant they let 
 fly at us. More Boches came rushing on, crashing 
 through the wood, shouting and roaring horrid German 
 noises. Poor Rumbold dropped stone dead ; and then
 
 BILLETS W 
 
 old McGeorge toppled over like a shot rabbit. There 
 wasn't much time to waste "We were surrounded on 
 three sides. Poor old McGeorge never said a word, 
 hut gave us a look that will haunt me to my dying 
 day. He lay there writhing like a dumb animal in 
 agony. ' He's got a missis and three kids. C-c-c-can 
 I have a t-t-t-try to get him away ? ' said old Eiffel. 
 I nodded and took his rifle. Old Eiffel wiped his 
 pince-nez, slung McGeorge across his shoulders, and 
 started off back with his great long hairpin legs 
 striding out all they knew. A wounded man's about 
 the heaviest thing on earth. The other lad and I 
 dropped down behind a bush, emptied our magazines 
 into wherever Boches showed up through the under- 
 growth, and then we turned and legged it in most 
 undignified haste. We soon caught up old Eiffel, who 
 was pretty well done in ; but he staggered along with 
 McGeorge till we got to a bit of an old trench line 
 where our people were holding on. And so old 
 McGeorge was got away. He wrote regularly every 
 week from hospital in Rouen, telling us how he was 
 getting on ; and as soon as he was discharged from 
 hospital he never stopped worrying to get back to us. 
 Hullo ! here's old Bill." 
 
 The Fourth Army Commander met us at the gate 
 of the great square courtyard of his farm. A Second 
 Lieutenant in rank, he was a middle-aged man. His 
 figure was short and sturdy, his face dark and 
 weather-beaten, his turn-out soberly neat and trim. 
 And he bore himself with that air of self-respect and 
 native dignity by which the hereditary farmers of 
 England are generally distinguished. He had served 
 for years in a famous Yeomanry Regiment, had come 
 out with it in the original Expeditionary Force as a
 
 56 THE SQUADBOON 
 
 Corporal, had been promoted to Sergeant for gallantry 
 after Mons, had risen to Squadron Sergeant Major, 
 and had finally, with many misgivings and no pleasant 
 anticipations, taken a temporary commission in a 
 Regular Regiment. 
 
 " They've finished grooming, Skipper," he said, 
 " they're getting on with their saddles." 
 
 " Right-ho ! We'll have a look at the billets." 
 
 We were conducted to a small, bare room, con- 
 taining only a huge wooden bed. This bed was shared 
 by the two Sergeants. Then we were led across the 
 filthy and malodorous farmyard, into a barn, and up 
 a rickety ladder, to the loft. Through the gaps of 
 missing tiles in the roof, and through chinks and 
 holes in the wall, the wind moaned and whistled. A 
 space of wooden flooring had been swept scrupulously 
 clean. Along it, neatly folded, lay the blankets of 
 the Troop. Over each man's blankets was his kit, 
 arranged in the regulation manner. 
 
 " Pretty Arctic, what ? " said the Skipper. 
 
 " Ah ! That is cold," said Bill. " But they get 
 a goodish bit of hay apiece to put under their blankets." 
 
 " How do you think you're fixed up here on the 
 whole ? " 
 
 " Pretty well on the whole, Skipper. Good stables, 
 decent mess-room. The old people in the farm are 
 very decent. They won't let us use the pond though, 
 and it's a long way to water. But the men are quite 
 happy — they like being on their own — and," added 
 Bill with a smile, " I think the old lady gives 'em a 
 good deal of cafe avec .' " 
 
 "Oh! Quatresous?" 
 
 "Ah, oui." 
 
 "What on earth are you talking about? " I asked.
 
 BILLETS 57 
 
 Bill explained those idiomatic terms for coffee 
 with a stiff tot of rum in it. 
 
 "Come on, Padre, this is no place for us ! " said 
 the Skipper, and we started home again. 
 
 When we reached the brow of the hill, the Skipper 
 stopped and leaned on his thick ash stick. His face 
 was drawn and grey, and he looked, as he always did 
 after any exertion, utterly worn out. But he smiled 
 broadly and made a comprehensive and somewhat 
 dramatic gesture of his outstretched arm. 
 
 " Now, Padre, you've seen my little kingdom ; my 
 high officers of state, my great Army Commanders, 
 my stalwart braves, my hungry steeds ! Do you 
 wonder Pm the happiest man in France ? Seriously 
 though, life is very easy and delightful for me with 
 such splendid subalterns and such first-rate N.C.O.'s 
 and men." 
 
 I made some what I hoped was appropriate answer. 
 The Skipper, of course, was posing. He knew, and 
 he knew that I knew, that in some measure the 
 excellency of his subordinates was due to his own 
 policy. The deliberate offender he punished to the 
 full extent of his powers. But he never blamed the 
 trier, however stupid his mistakes, and he encouraged 
 every atom of initiative in every rank of his subordi- 
 nates. Where such initiative resulted in failure or 
 even in disaster, he took all the blame himself, 
 although his vain nature bitterly resented blame. I 
 felt now, as he leant back there, with both hands 
 behind him, half sitting on his stick, that he wanted 
 me to say something to this effect, so, being human, 
 I remained silent. 
 
 In thoughtful silence, he looked out for some 
 moments across the peaceful landscape to where, in
 
 58 THE SQUADROON 
 
 the far distance, a line of sausage balloons showed 
 dimly visible against the autumnal sky. 
 
 " But if I'd had the pluck of a mouse," he said at 
 last, " I'd have gone long ago to Infantry — and long 
 ago I'd have been sleeping in state beneath a Colonel's 
 wooden cross ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 RUMOURS 
 
 OUR mess was now composed of the Skipper, 
 Purple Lucas, the four great Army Com- 
 manders, whom I have tried lightly to 
 sketch in the preceding chapter, Eiffel 
 Tower, two supernumerary officers and myself, making 
 in all a total of ten. Such a number was not always 
 easy to accommodate in small French villages, and it 
 was generally the custom, when squadrons found 
 their messes grown to an inconveniently large size, 
 to divide up into two messes. But that was a 
 measure to which the gregarious Squadroon was 
 strongly averse and to which it never resorted except 
 in cases of absolute necessity. As long as we could 
 all be together, what did a little overcrowding matter ? 
 At worst, when all other grievances failed us, it gave 
 us something to grumble about, and it never failed 
 to remind Dane that other more favoured persons, 
 Colonels, Generals and Staff Officers, were living in 
 luxurious chateaux. 
 
 For the time being, however, we were lucky, 
 because our mess-room was large and there were 
 space, crockery, cutlery and even chairs for all. But 
 there was an uneasy feeling in the air that we should
 
 60 THE SQUADROON 
 
 soon be on the move. Orders had gone forth to recall 
 the working party before its days of bondage had 
 been half completed. The Adjutant, preoccupied, 
 walked portentously with transparent mystery on his 
 brow. The Intelligence Officer had been seen half- 
 buried beneath a pile of newly arrived maps. The 
 Colonel had come around and, carelessly, as though 
 in afterthought, had asked questions about iron 
 rations and ammunition. All these things were 
 significant. The Quartermaster, of course, had long 
 ago told us the actual day on which we should move 
 and the actual place we were moving to. He was 
 then, as indeed he nearly always was, right ; but he 
 shared the fate of other prophets in their own country. 
 " Another ration rumour ! " every one said whenever 
 he lifted for us the veil of the future, and his predic- 
 tions were forthwith dismissed from our minds as 
 unworthy of serious notice. 
 
 One evening the Squadroon were gathered on the 
 village bridge over the Canche taking shot and shot 
 about with a miniature rifle at rats in the stream. 
 They were discussing the coming move. 
 
 "Another blinking gap, I suppose," said Jimmie, 
 with an air of resignation. 
 
 " What else could it be ? " snapped Purple. 
 
 " All right, old red-neck, don't be so nappy ! We 
 might be going to Italy, Ireland or Palestine — and it 
 wouldn't be the first time, by a long chalk." 
 
 Here Dane broke into a jeremiad. His coat was 
 open ; he took his hands out of his pockets, put his 
 thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, planted his 
 feet wide apart, shifted his pipe with teeth and tongue 
 into the remotest corner of his mouth, and let him- 
 self go.
 
 RUMOURS 61 
 
 (< 
 
 It's — it's just like them to go and move us now, 
 when at last we've got every horse beautifully fixed 
 in under cover ! The best stabling we've ever had iu 
 France ! " Before rumours of the move came, Dane 
 stoutly maintained they were the worst stables he'd 
 ever seen. " And here have I been sweating blood for 
 weeks for the blinking horse show — and now it's all a 
 blinking washout ! Flint, the new vet., said I had the 
 Troop Competition absolutely sitting. It really is the 
 blinking limit. Gap be blowed ! It's not a gap 
 this time of the year ; it's just because some General 
 doesn't like his billets and wants a bigger chateau ! 
 I bet that's what it is ! " 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder if they're not moving us, just 
 to do you out of that Troop prize," said Tubs darkly. 
 He always took a puckish delight in working up Dane. 
 
 Dane looked at him suspiciously for a moment — 
 then continued his lamentation, crescendo. 
 
 "Oh, shurrrup Dano ! " said Jimmie, "you're 
 scaring every rat on the country-side with your blink- 
 ing hot air." 
 
 " Never mind, Dano, it's only for life ! " said Bill. 
 " The Cavalry always was a travelling circus, and I 
 reckon it never won't be much else." 
 
 " St-st-stick it and crib, Dano ! " exhorted Eiffel, 
 as he neatly picked off a rat with his small automatic 
 pistol, a weapon with which he had a wizard-like pro- 
 ficiency. Unfortunately, it had been Jimmie's legiti- 
 mate turn to shoot with the rifle and even as he drew 
 a careful bead, and began to press the trigger, there 
 was a sharp crack by his side and his quarry rolled 
 over dead into the stream. 
 
 A terrible uproar immediately arose upon the 
 bridge.
 
 62 THE SQUADROON 
 
 "As this looks much like murder, I think we'll 
 establish an alibi ! " drawled the Skipper. 
 
 We proceeded to establish same. We walked 
 through the gathering dusk, along narrow country 
 lanes, to the mess of another Squadron, where we 
 accepted the liquid hospitality that was warmly pressed 
 upon us, and exchanged rumours of the coming move. 
 All were agreed that it was another gap scheme ; and 
 all took a gloomy view of the situation. We had been 
 on so many gap schemes and none had ever come off. 
 We didn't believe one ever would come off. But we 
 did believe that, sooner or later, we should be caught 
 by the enemy's guns on the cavalry track and annihi- 
 lated without having fired a single shot. 
 
 Declining a hearty invitation to stop to dinner, we 
 started out homewards. 
 
 " Those lads do themselves pretty well," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " Oh yes," said the Skipper. " They believe, like 
 most people out here, in making the best of a life that's 
 liable to be short. After all, eating and drinking are 
 two of the biggest things in life, that is if you let them 
 grow on you and don't have other strong interests. 
 So eat, drink and be merry while you may, is the 
 motto — and a motto with many points about it too." 
 
 " Yes, I know that's the general idea out here," I 
 answered, " and that's why I was so surprised to find 
 that we live so simply and cheaply in our mess." 
 
 "You noticed that?" said the Skipper, rather 
 pleased. 
 
 "Yes, of course I did," I replied. "I often 
 wondered why." 
 
 " Well," said the Skipper, " you remember what I 
 told you about no one being allowed to pay anything
 
 RUMOURS 68 
 
 towards their horse's feeds in these days of temporary 
 and democratic officers ? Well, it's exactly the same 
 about their own food. If we drank a lot of whisky, 
 liqueurs, and expensive wines, and ate all sorts of 
 expensive delicacies, these fellows couldn't pay their 
 moss bills. It wouldn't be their fault and, at the same 
 time, it would be a ridiculous situation if, during the 
 war, temporary officers who never wished to join the 
 Army at all — except to do their bit for their country — 
 couldn't afford to live in their Regiments. Take two 
 of our youngsters. Both are married. Both are 
 without a penny of private means. Both were 
 promoted for good service in the ranks ; both expressly 
 applied for infantry commissions ; and both, because 
 of their experience in the cavalry ranks, were posted 
 to Cavalry. It would be hard on them now if they 
 found more than the whole of their pay absorbed in 
 their mess bills, wouldn't it ? " 
 I agreed that it would. 
 
 " Of course," he continued, " some Regiments 
 deliberately use this means to get rid of temporary 
 officers. We got young Jenkins that way. He went 
 to the Pink Dragoons. He was a bit sketchy about his 
 ' h's ' and his manners generally, so they crowded him 
 out. Then he came up to us and turned out as good 
 a Troop Leader and as cheery and loyal a boy as ever 
 you could wish to find. He was killed at Arras, poor 
 lad. Luckily our Colonel is a thorough sahib and 
 won't have any snobbish rot of that kind with us. In 
 fact, I sometimes think he rather favours the tem- 
 porary officers in the way of decorations." 
 
 " But to return to messing," I said, " don't you 
 find the richer fellows want to live on a more lavish 
 scale ? "
 
 64 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " Oh no. Rich living is all a matter of habit. 
 When we're near a big town they can go off and make 
 beds of their gollies to their heart's content if they 
 want to ; but, as a matter of fact, they don't much — 
 an occasional blind, of course, usually when we first 
 arrive in the vicinity of the said big town ; and then 
 I notice they hardly ever go near it again. Simple 
 living is a habit too, you see, and we have the simple 
 living habit. No one was more fond of their food than 
 I was, till I got smashed up— and now I don't in the 
 least miss the things I can't eat any more — except 
 chocolates, of course. After all, though old Purple 
 does keep the messing down to five francs a day, he 
 does us jolly well on it, in a simple sort of way, and 
 although we only have whisky and port on special 
 occasions, there's always lots of French beer and cheap 
 French wines — things," continued the Skipper with a 
 smile, " that don't tempt to any great excess. I'm 
 sure," he went on, " it adds a lot to the happiness 
 and efficiency of some of our lads not to be worried 
 about big mess bills and money matters generally." 
 
 We now drew near home. As we approached the 
 mess confused sounds of shouting and scuffling, 
 sounds so loud and violent that they almost drowned 
 the insistent notes of the gramophone, emanated from 
 the dining-room. 
 
 " Sounds as though they're still scragging old 
 Eiffel for poaching that rat ! " I said. 
 
 " Sounds like it," said the Skipper. " Let's join 
 in!" 
 
 We entered. A seething mass of humanity rocked 
 and heaved in a far corner of the room. Every chair 
 in the vicinity was upset and the mess table was in 
 imminent danger of following suit; but Tubs, not
 
 RUMOURS 65 
 
 Eiffel, waa the storm centre of the maelstrom. In 
 spite of his valiant resistance and his well-directed 
 blows of fist and foot, which laid some of his assailants 
 temporarily writhing on the floor, he was at last over- 
 powered. His head was pulled guillotine-wise over the 
 back of a chair and the distinct roll of flesh between 
 his hair and collar was vigorously scrubbed with a 
 brush. 
 
 " Come on, Padre," they shouted, "lend a hand! 
 We're hardening his neck ! " 
 
 It was thought in the Squadroon that Tubs was a 
 shade too sensitive, that he worried over trifles and took 
 things unnecessarily to heart. So in times of slack- 
 ness we often applied ourselves, entirely for his own 
 good, to this process of hardening his neck. 
 
 On the other hand, it was thought in the Squadroon 
 that Purple's neck erred a trifle on the side of hardness. 
 Consequently a converse process of softening his neck 
 with margarine was sometimes attempted; but never 
 with any great success. 
 
 When the good work had been well and thoroughly 
 carried out and the room, restored to some semblance 
 of order, Purple called the Skipper's attention to a 
 pile of papers on the table. 
 
 " That little lot's arrived while vou were awav ! " 
 
 The Skipper glanced rapidly at each paper, 
 handing most of them on to Purple with a chuckle 
 of relief and the remark " Q Branch ! " Presently he 
 paused and read one slowly and carefully through. 
 
 "Hullo, chaps ! " he said. We were all "chaps" 
 since a book had been seen in the mess called 
 " Soldier Chaps." " This morning at dawn the British 
 Army broke through the enemy's front between Auxi 
 and St. Pol ! " 
 
 P
 
 66 THE SQUADROON 
 
 "Funny," said Jimmie thoughtfully. M I was in 
 St. Poll to-day and I never noticed it there ! " 
 
 " Ha, ha, funny ass ! " shouted the others, and a 
 spirited interchange of personal remarks raged for 
 some moments, in which Jimmie more than held his 
 own. 
 
 "Go on, Skipper," said Dane, when comparative 
 quiet reigned again. " Is it the scheme for to-morrow's 
 Regimental Staff Ride ? " 
 
 "It is, no less," said the Skipper. "After a 
 certain amount of chat about Berlin, Paris, and 
 London, it boils down to our rendezvousing with field- 
 glass— field-glasses, mark you, not empty cases! — at 
 Regimental Headquarters at 9.30 and doing an 
 Advanced Guard on a two- Troop front in pursuit of 
 a beaten enemy towards Flers and consolidating on 
 the last bound. Here's a copy of the general and 
 special ideas for each of you. Who's got a map? 
 Let's decide what Napoleon would have did under the 
 circs." 
 
 They got out their maps and soon all were engaged 
 in working out the proposition. Argument and 
 discussion were loud and long continued, till after 
 about an hour the mess had divided broadly and 
 about equally into two schools of thought. In each 
 school there were differences of opinion about minor 
 details, such as the direction and the action of certain 
 patrols, but on the main principles there was perfect 
 accord. But the two great schools differed irreconcil- 
 ably on an important point of the bounds. All through 
 dinner the question was debated with ever-growing 
 force and liveliness. Eiffel had received by that day's 
 mail a paternal gift of two bottles of the choicest 
 whisky, which mellow spirit stimulated our tactical
 
 RUMOURS 07 
 
 imagination and increased miraculously our powers of 
 eloquence. 
 
 After the meal, when all were holding forth 
 together and none listening, the Skipper and I pulled 
 up our chairs to the fire and lit our pipes. I found 
 myself quite looking forward to the morrow, to seeing 
 the scheme actually carried out on the ground, and 
 to hearing the official verdict of the correct solution. 
 
 "Wonderful how chatty a little drop of booze 
 makes us all ! " said the Skipper, as the voices at the 
 table rose louder and louder. 
 
 During the war I had lived in many messes and 
 in most of them there had been a rigid rule of etiquette 
 that no military shop should be talked at meals. 
 Seeing that the Skipper felt chatty himself, I now 
 laughingly reminded him of this rule and remarked, 
 by way of drawing him out, that it did not seem to 
 hold good in his mess. 
 
 "Yes," he said, " that was a pre-war rule. If you 
 talked shop or mentioned a lady's name in mess, you 
 were fined a glass of port all round. The latter, of course, 
 was an excellent rule. Some ass might easily start 
 off making the most unflattering remarks about some 
 woman in the garrison, while all the time the fellow 
 sitting next to him might be madly in love with her. 
 But I always did think the talking shop rule damn 
 silly— especially out here. For, after all, the war is the 
 one great vital thing. If you're going laboriously to 
 pose as taking no interest in it, and if you refuse to 
 talk about your job in it except on parade, well, it's 
 going to make life out here utterly boresome. Besides, 
 their own job is the only thing these young savages 
 really do know something about and can talk about. 
 Personally, I encourage them to talk shop at all times.
 
 68 THE SQUADROON 
 
 Schemes and manoeuvres can be extraordinarily good 
 if you take them as a game. And that's what we do. 
 We always work out these schemes among ourselves 
 beforehand and have small bets with each other on 
 what the official solution will be. It makes the whole 
 show awfully interesting." 
 
 He puffed thoughtfully at his pipe for a few 
 moments and then went on again. 
 
 "It's wonderful how much these boys know, 
 compared to what we used to know at their age. 
 Leading a Troop is the hardest job in the Army. 
 You've got to read your map, grasp the lie of the 
 country, foresee every eventuality, and think coolly at 
 fifteen miles an hour. And, to do that, you've got to 
 be a perfect horseman on a perfectly trained horse. 
 The reason of fellows failing as Troop Leaders in the 
 field is very often because they are bad riders on 
 untrained horses, or because they've spoiled their 
 chargers racing them." 
 
 " But how is it they know more than you fellows 
 did when you were their age ? " I inquired. " I thought 
 you had a very thorough and much longer grounding 
 at Sandhurst in those days ? " 
 
 " So we did. But there we gaily handled Divisions 
 and Army Corps— on paper, of course — which was 
 excellent for enlarging the horizon ; but when we joined 
 our Regiments and had to tell off points and patrols 
 and things, we hadn't the foggiest idea how to do it. 
 No, it's the Divisional Schools out here that have 
 taught all these yougsters so much and taught them all 
 to work on the same lines. A boy goes off there and 
 finds himself in a mess with ten or a dozen other cheery 
 lads from other Regiments in the Division. That 
 makes for an interchange of ideas and opens up his
 
 RUMOURS 89 
 
 mind no end to start with. All the morning they go 
 
 out, mounted, on some scheme. Sometimes they're 
 
 patrol leaders, sometimes troop leaders, sometimes 
 
 squadron leaders. As each situation occurs, each 
 
 lad has to give his solution of it verbally, and to repeat 
 
 exactly the orders he would give. Nothing vague 
 
 allowed like, ' Oh, I'd send a couple of men around 
 
 that side of the village and another couple around the 
 
 other side, and I'd shove along and meet them a 
 
 quarter of a mile more or less be3 r ond it.' ' Here are 
 
 your two men,' says the Instructor, pointing to two 
 
 other officers of the class. ' Now give them their actual 
 
 orders word for word, short, clear, and definite — then 
 
 ask them if they understand exactly what they've got 
 
 to do.' They gallop hell's bells from one situation to 
 
 another, to get into the habit of thinking while moving 
 
 fast, they cover an immense amount of ground, and they 
 
 come home to lunch as hungry as hawks. They have 
 
 the afternoons to themselves, which they usually spend 
 
 arguing the point or doing a bit of quiet poaching. After 
 
 tea they have a lecture, and after the lecture the 
 
 Instructor runs through the following day's scheme 
 
 with them for twenty minutes or half an hour. That's 
 
 all. Worknot overdone, practically no writing and run 
 
 on the lines of an interesting joy ride. Old man as I 
 
 am, I think my month there was one of the cheeriest 
 
 and most instructive I've ever had. I was positively 
 
 amazed to find out my own ignorance of the most 
 
 elementary things ; and I met all sorts of right fellows 
 
 there I'd never seen before. No one who isn't an utter 
 
 rotter could help learning a lot there and, as I said 
 
 before, the great thing is that we all learnt to work on 
 
 the same lines. Yes," he proceeded reflectively, " that 
 
 ' no talking shop ' and rot of that kind is as dead aa
 
 70 THE SQUADROON 
 
 mutton. This old war has changed everything, even 
 knocked the bottom out of many of the old cast-iron 
 military traditions. There's going to be a hard time 
 ahead for the old lot, who'll fight tooth and nail to 
 get things back on the old footing. But they'll be 
 swept away by the great new forces of knowledge, 
 brought about by the whole nation having been 
 in arms. The only dignified procedure is to recog- 
 nize these changes and meet them half-way. Give 
 graciously before being made to give — otherwise the 
 deluge ! " 
 
 Two bottles of whisky among ten is not a very large 
 amount. Inspiration flagged, the divine fires of elo- 
 quence began to flicker out. One by one the great 
 tacticians left the table and joined the circle around 
 the fire. Only Dane and Tubs kept their seats and 
 maintained the argument. Dane had, with great fore- 
 sight and adroitness, secured our only teetotaller's share 
 of the dishlishious whisky, as well as his own, and when 
 thus primed he became a veritable demagogue. He 
 thumped the table with his fist, he poured out floods 
 of destructive criticism, verging almost on invective, 
 and he expressed his scorn of those who did not agree 
 with his views in the plainest terms. Whenever he 
 showed any signs of flagging, Tubs spurred him on to 
 further efforts by some provocative question, ingenu- 
 ously worded and spoken in tones of innocent and 
 child-like inquiry. 
 
 While at the height of one of his flights of declama- 
 tion, to which no one except Tubs was listening, a 
 diversion occurred. Frank entered the room. Frank 
 was our cycle orderly. He was very fair, strong featured, 
 fresh faced, aggressively neat and very young. His 
 demeanour was exceedingly sedate and prim, and his
 
 RUMOURS 71 
 
 sjjeech was filled with very long words. Before joining 
 up he had been in the Admiralty. Whether he was 
 First Sea Lord or Second Landlord we didn't rightly 
 know. Indeed we were inclined to think his actual 
 office had been something more junior, something 
 even quite obscure ; but we knew that, whatever his 
 nominal position, he was the unseen power behind the 
 throne. War had found our Navy mobilized and on 
 the seas, and we of the Squadroon were certain that 
 that great master-stroke of strategy was the work of 
 Frank and of Frank alone. Under no circumstances 
 did he ever show any emotion. He was indifferent 
 alike to heat and cold, to pain and pleasure, to danger 
 and to safety. He was deeply sensible of the gravity 
 of life, he never smiled, and he hated the war ; but his 
 manifold duties he carried out with the minutest 
 exactitude, and all those perplexing little problems 
 with which the life of a cycle orderly is so plentifully 
 beset he easily and airily solved as though with the 
 supreme wisdom of a superior intelligence. The 
 Skipper declared that he never dreamed of taking an 
 important step without first consulting Frank ; and it 
 was believed that, on one critical occasion in open war- 
 fare, when he had arrived with orders at about 4 a.m. 
 and it had been impossible to wake the Skipper, who 
 was slightly gassed and utterly exhausted, Frank him- 
 self had made out the dispositions for the successful 
 battle of the morrow. 
 
 Once an attempt had been made to promote him, 
 but this movement he had very respectfully and very 
 sternly suppressed in the embryo. 
 
 He now handed the Skipper a message form. 
 
 "From the Adjutant, sir." 
 
 The Skipper read it through.
 
 72 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " Thank you, Benson," he said. " Would you ask 
 the Sergeant-Major to come here?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir." And Frank walked sedately out 
 of the room. 
 
 Every one looked anxious and expectant. 
 
 " Saddle out and turn up," said the Skipper. 
 
 " What ! to-night ? " came a chorus of misery and 
 indignation. 
 
 The Skipper enjoyed the general consternation for 
 a few moments before answering. 
 
 " No, nine o'clock to-morrow." 
 
 " That's worse ! " said Dane. 
 
 " C'est la guerre," said Bill. 
 
 A grievous lamentation now broke out, directed 
 especially against the Staff. "Why couldn't they 
 have let us know before ? All the men are down to 
 it now. Can't get anything done to-night, and there 
 won't be time to-morrow. Oh, we're a rag-time 
 Army ! " 
 
 " Oh yes, there'll be lots of time to-morrow to do 
 everything," said the Skipper. " Fact is we've been 
 sitting on our hunkers thousands of miles back behind 
 the line for so long that you've all become a lot of 
 pot-bellied conscientious objectors." 
 
 "But we must have our moan, Skipper," said 
 Tubs. 
 
 The Skipper laughed. 
 
 " Well, you've had it now. Listen, here's the 
 book of the words. ' The Regiment will move to the 
 vicinity of St. Pol to-morrow, via Villiers Blanc and 
 Bonneux, distance 16 miles. Head of the column will 
 pass Ferm du Bois at 9.30 a.m. Order of march — 
 Regimental Headquarters, B, D and C Squadrons. 
 Here," turning to Purple, " is a special message for
 
 RUMOURS 7:J 
 
 you, dearie ! ' Billoting parties will meet the Second- 
 in-Command at Regimental Headquarters at 7.30 a.m. ' ' ' 
 Grunt of disgust from Purple. " ' Each Squadron will 
 leave behind a cleariug-up party and an officer to 
 settle claims in its respective area.' Well, that's 
 that. Now wo know how we're fixed. Brekker at 
 seven. That'll givo our servants time to get our kits 
 packed and loaded on the waggon — and leave time to 
 get the mess things packed — as well as giving us 
 a chance of kissing Purple good morning before he 
 starts." 
 
 Tubs, on account of his good French and his 
 insinuating manner with the natives, was detailed to 
 remain behind and parley with M. le Maire over the 
 claims. I noticed he did not seem pleased or flattered. 
 In fact every one was glum and peevish. Corkran, 
 paragon of mess waiters, cleared the table with patient 
 suffering written largely on his brow and with an air 
 more of sorrow than of anger. 
 
 " It's always like this when we've been a long time 
 in the same billets," said the Skipper. " The first 
 march is the very devil. If you don't watch it they 
 leave their ammunition and every damn thing behind. 
 But after a day or two the change is wonderful. 
 You'll see for yourself." 
 
 There was a discreet knock, and William Henry 
 entered. A chair was placed for him and he accepted 
 a glass of wine. His expression plainly denoted that 
 he was consciously and bravely making the best of 
 what he considered a very bad job. Without actually 
 putting it into words, he conveyed the impression 
 that he, too, felt this sudden move was an unpardon- 
 able affront and that, though it was not his place to 
 say so, he was far from satisfied with our Army system.
 
 74 THE SQUADROON 
 
 Also, he was not very fond of vin rouge, but he did 
 like whisky, and he saw the two bottles standing 
 hopelessly empty on the table. He sighed bravely. 
 
 "Well, Sergeant-Major," said the Skipper, "I 
 suppose we shall have to dump the band instruments 
 and all that canteen and recreation room furniture 
 you took so much trouble in fixing up ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid so, sir, and every time we dump the 
 instruments half of them get smashed. But it can't 
 be helped, sir. I think I may be able to sell the 
 tables and forms to the civvies at a decent price." 
 
 They settled eventually what was to be taken and 
 what left behind, and the Skipper gave his orders for 
 the march. 
 
 " Ferm du Bois — not more than ten minutes from 
 here. I think perhaps, though, we'd better leave half 
 an hour and parade at nine to-morrow, what? " 
 
 William Henry smiled. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I think it would be as well to leave 
 plenty of time to-morrow." 
 
 " Right-ho ! Squadron parade nine o'clock. What's 
 the order of Troops ? " 
 
 " Second Troop's turn to lead, sir ; then it would 
 be easiest for the others to follow in the order that 
 their billets are nearest to the rendezvous, that is, 
 4th, 1st 3rd " 
 
 "All right. Squadron parade on the road just 
 beyond 2nd Troop billet. Tell off the clearing-up 
 party." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I've done that. Sergeant Middleton in 
 charge. He's got a map and can read it — he won't 
 be wandering around the country for the next week 
 trying to find us again ! " 
 
 There was a general smile at this allusion to the
 
 RUMOURS 75 
 
 misfortunes of another Sergeant who, some months 
 before, had been left behind in charge of the clearing- 
 up party and who, owing to the British pronunciation 
 of a French name, involuntarily did the grand tour 
 of northern France before we saw him again. 
 
 " Mr. Lucas is detailing the billeting party him- 
 self. That's all then, I think, Sergeant-Major ? " 
 
 " That's all, sir." 
 
 " Right-ho. Good night, Sergeant-Major." 
 
 "Good night, Sergeant-Major," echoed all the 
 mess. 
 
 "William Henry, saluting with intense smartness 
 and a lingering Guards-like tremor of the hand, bade 
 us good night and departed. 
 
 We continued to sit around the fire discussing the 
 situation for half an hour or so. 
 
 "I hope it won't be another Arras," said Bill. 
 " That was a proper twister, that was." 
 
 All agreed and fell into melancholy reminiscence. 
 Eiffel was a man of strange and unusual gifts. 
 Taking advantage of the momentary silence he now 
 exercised that one in which he was most uncannily 
 perfect. From his chair on the outer edge of the 
 circle, away in the shadows, he rendered the flight, 
 descent and bursting of a crump. The imitation was 
 so sudden and so startlingly realistic, that many of us 
 ducked hastily. When we had recovered our nerve, 
 Eiffel, for the second time that evening, hardly escaped 
 with his life. 
 
 " How often have I told you," said the Skipper, 
 sternly addressing the mangled remains, " that no 
 gentleman ever makes noises like that among other 
 gentlemen ? " 
 
 " S-s-s-sorry, Skipper," said the bedraggled but
 
 76 THE SQUADROON 
 
 impenitent Eiffel, crooning softly to himself at the 
 success of his performance. 
 
 But, in spite of occasional references to previous 
 gaps and this foretaste of a barrage, I noticed that 
 they were chiefly preoccupied with a sense of grievance 
 at having to leave their comfortable billets, on which 
 they had expended so much pains. The prospect of 
 what the next few days might bring forth had as yet 
 only a very dim and distant place in their minds. 
 
 I walked thoughtfully to my room that night 
 through the little sleeping country village. Up above 
 the stars shone serenely out between an archipelago 
 of fleecy clouds. No faint booming disturbed the 
 stillness, no flickerings, as of summer lightning, 
 played over the distant sky. All was the essence of 
 peace. For a time I lay awake in my comfortable 
 bed. In two, three, or four days where should I be ? 
 What would be my setting ? What awful things would 
 I have seen ? What ghastly thing might I myself 
 be ? A cold shiver ran down my spine. For some 
 miserable moments I was the prey of abject fear, 
 shaken by a nameless dread of the unknown. Then 
 the fit passed and there came another thrill, a very 
 faint thrill of excitement — the glamour and fascination 
 of the great adventure. 
 
 

 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 DAY MARCHING 
 
 THE following morning I awoke at a most 
 immoral hour. My waking thoughts were 
 filled with a vague sense of something big 
 about to happen, with the consciousness 
 that something was troubling my mind, something 
 exciting and not altogether pleasant. But, of what 
 that something was, no recollection seemed to come. 
 Sounds of unusual movement and of heavy breathing 
 pervaded all the room. I half opened my eyes and 
 saw, by the faint light of a single candle, that old 
 Grampus was busily packing my valise. Then I 
 remembered. We were moving ; a gap ; battle- 
 fighting ; brekker at seven ! 
 
 Now nothing is so unpleasant as leaving things to 
 the last moment, and then being feverishly rushed 
 and hustled. On the other hand, nothing is so 
 pleasant as turning over again and dozing for a few 
 minutes or an hour after being called on a dark and 
 chilly morning. Most of life's misery lies in the 
 eternal conflict between these two powerful motives. 
 Knowing well from long experience that he who turns 
 over, or stops to think about it, is lost, I leaped 
 straightway from the warm and downy comfort of my 
 bed, dressed with as much speed as my numbiug
 
 78 THE SQUADROON 
 
 fingers would allow, and walked briskly over to the 
 mess. That weakness of the night before had quite 
 passed from me. I felt now only pleasant anticipa- 
 tions of much movement, new experiences and stirring 
 scenes ; pleasant anticipations of a long and enter- 
 taining picnic in delightful company, and, above all, 
 the pride that I myself, in the hour of trial — still 
 mercifully distant — would be one of the chosen 
 champions of St. George and Merrie England. 
 
 The Skipper, Bill and I arrived simultaneously at 
 the mess. Dane, always the earliest riser, was already 
 there, smoking his second pre-breakfast pipe — the 
 first was invariably smoked in bed. He was in 
 excellent spirits. 
 
 " It's a glorious life, a soldier of the King ! " he 
 exclaimed, beaming largely, and for a moment there 
 was a danger that he might have broken into song. 
 Strong as we always were, even under the inhuman 
 circumstance of a breakfast by lamplight, there were 
 limits even to the fortitude of the Squadroon. The 
 danger was quickly foreseen, vigorous action was 
 instantly taken, and the horrible menace never 
 materialized. But the escape had been narrow. 
 
 The clock in the tower of the little church across the 
 road chimed out the hour of six. The pious peasantry 
 of Picardy had resisted with calm and quiet obstinacy 
 this sacrilegious innovation of daylight saving and of 
 summer time. Le Bon Dieu, who made the great big 
 yellow sun, surely knew His own business better than 
 those thieving rascals of the Government ; and who 
 were they to go against the laws of Nature and of 
 God ? Mais non, mais non ! 
 
 Seven o'clock : the table was invitingly laid, but 
 no savoury dishes began to appear from the kitchen,
 
 DAY MARCHING 70 
 
 We sat down hopefully. One by one the others 
 came in and passed the morning salutation, " B'jour, 
 m'sieus ! " the last syllable uttered high and staccato, 
 and pronounced " tsup " in imitation of the accents 
 of Picardy. Purple arrived, redly blue about the gills, 
 and much pressed for time, as he had only twenty 
 minutes before starting. He was very hungry; he 
 always was very hungry, and he sat down and weaved 
 horribly. Dane lifted up his voice and shouted 
 " Corkran ! " in stentorian tones ; but there was no 
 response. Corkran, paragon of mess waiters, had 
 one failing. He was a truly great man, he had the 
 profile of a Roman patrician, he had a mind of great 
 refinement, he spoke in tho soft persuasive accents 
 of a diplomat, he was the finest all-round athlete in 
 the Regiment, he spoke English-French with copious 
 fluency, he was a highly-finished squire of dames, but 
 he had one failing, one grave failing. He could not, 
 or he would not, get up early in the morning. In the 
 field it was different ; there he never failed ; but in 
 billets, I write it with pain, he did not rise to these 
 inauspicious occasions. . 
 
 " Try Brown," some one suggested. 
 
 Brown was our mess cook. Again Dane lifted up 
 his voice and bellowed mightily; again with no 
 response. 
 
 The Skipper jerked his head towards Purple. 
 
 11 I'm afraid we shall have to ask him, Dano ? " 
 he said gravely. 
 
 " I'm afraid so," replied Dane. 
 
 "Eh, Bill?" 
 
 " Ay, there's nothing else for it." 
 
 " Oh, help ! " groaned Jimmie, edging his chair 
 away from Purple.
 
 80 THE SQUADROON 
 
 The Skipper smote Purple on the back. 
 
 " Go on, you great brazen-throated brute," he said, 
 and quickly put his fingers in his ears. The rest of 
 us quickly followed suit, or else gripped on to the 
 table with both hands. Without any preliminary 
 indrawing of the breath, without any apparent effort, 
 Purple emitted a terrific roar of leonine intensity and 
 penetration. 
 
 "BROW-N-N-N!" 
 
 From the wood on the distant hillside a dense 
 flock of rooks rose up and flighted swiftly southwards. 
 An ominous tremor ran through the heavy chandelier 
 over our heads. A small china vase fell off the 
 mantelpiece and crashed tinkling into pieces on the 
 floor. The door flung open, and Brown, wild-eyed 
 and dishevelled, rushed in in his shirt-sleeves. 
 
 " You called, sir ? " 
 
 " Breakfast ! " snapped Purple. 
 
 " Coming up, sir." 
 
 A moment later Frank appeared, spic span and 
 sedate, bearing steaming plates which exhaled the 
 most appetizing odours. It was not in Frank's pro- 
 vince to wait at mess, and there was that in the 
 added primness of his face which showed plainly that 
 he knew full well that he was saving an awkward 
 situation. But if any shadowy feeling of joy ever 
 touched that adamantine heart, if any faint emotion 
 of satisfaction ever ruffled the stern composure of his 
 mind, it was on occasions such as this, when he rose 
 conspicuously superior to human vanity and to human 
 weakness. 
 
 " What a delicious smell of barkoon," said the 
 Skipper, sniffing appreciatively. " Er — Benson ! ' ! 
 
 " No, Skipper, no, you don't," said Bane.
 
 DAY MARCHING 81 
 
 " Be strong, Skipper ! " exhorted the others in 
 chorus. 
 
 " Benson, one lightly boiled egg for the Captain," 
 said Purple conclusively. 
 
 " Very good, sir." 
 
 The Skipper did not look altogether grateful at 
 being thus saved from himself. 
 
 " Never mind," he said, "we'll soon be out of the 
 reach of diet, and then I'll have a perfect orgy of 
 bully and biscuit. I love bully and biscuit— that is 
 for a day or two, of course, till my mouth begins to 
 bleed and my teeth to splinter off." 
 
 Breakfast was soon over. Cork ran appeared, 
 looking slightly sheepish, and the least thing dissi- 
 pated, and began to pack the mess basket and the 
 food pack. Various articles, such as books, tins of 
 tobacco, boxes of cigarettes, torches, spare maps, 
 which ought to have been packed in our own kits, 
 were discovered lying about odd corners of the mess. 
 With exclamations of annoyance and apology their 
 owners pressed them upon Corkran, who, in some 
 miraculous manner, managed to make room for them 
 all, as well as for its legitimate contents, in the mess 
 basket. 
 
 Grumbling horridly at the Christmas-tree effect, 
 the warriors now girded their armour on — haversack, 
 revolver, ammunition pouch, wire cutters, glasses, map 
 case, all uncomfortable, nobbly things, topped by the 
 crowning misery of a tin hat and a strangling 
 gaspirator. 
 
 Soon the Skipper and I alone sat smoking before 
 the fire in the mess, which, denuded of all our familiar 
 goods and chattels, seemed strangely inhospitable and 
 almost even hostile. " I suffered you civilly while I 
 
 G
 
 
 82 THE SQUADROON 
 
 had to," it seemed to say," but now that you are going 
 I will not try to pretend that I am not heartily glad." 
 With a rumbling sound the waggon drew up in front 
 of the door. Glad of an excuse to leave the mess we 
 went out to watch the kits being loaded on to it. It 
 was drawn by a perfect team of four dark-brown, 
 glossy horses, which were the pride of the Squadroon 
 and the darlings of the driver's heart. All the steel- 
 work of the harness shone like burnished silver, and 
 the rich dark leather glowed with the polish of a 
 mirror. It is a notable fact in France that the 
 equipment of transport is usually kept in a highly 
 satisfactory state of cleanliness. It would be pleasant 
 to believe that the reason of this cleanliness sprang 
 from the Englishman's proper pride in his turn-out 
 and himself. Perhaps in part it does; but there is 
 another reason too. No one really likes running into 
 great danger, and those who can, with a clear con- 
 science, avoid it, generally prefer to do so. A second- 
 line transport driver never approaches danger. When 
 his unit draws near the battle zone, the transport is 
 parked in some place far away behind, out of the sound 
 of guns and the reach of shells. If, therefore, the 
 driver be a man who loves his life and loves his wife 
 and loves his lager beer, the worst punishment that 
 can befall him is dismission from his waggon and return 
 to duty. So it follows, not metaphorically, but in 
 grim and sober earnest, that he waters and feeds, 
 polishes and burnishes, as though his life depended 
 upon it. 
 
 Perched up on the driver's seat was Gertrude 
 Bloggs, the Squadroon dog, a shaggy-haired, nonde- 
 script little person, with a coat of silvery grey. She 
 now surveyed with wondrous pride the latest of her
 
 DAY MARCHING 83 
 
 many proofs of the Entente, a nourishing mouth-old 
 family of pekineese, lurchers and mastiffs that clustered 
 thickly around her. Our belongings were quickly 
 hoisted on board, and the waggon moved off to its 
 appointed rendezvous. 
 
 It was now nine o'clock. 
 
 " I'd better give 'em another five minutes," said the 
 Skipper, " sure to be some untoward incidents this 
 morning. Let's say good-bye to the old trout in here." 
 
 In the best French that we could command, we 
 bade our adieux to our hostess of the mess. She gave 
 us a cold, limp hand to shake, and in accents just as 
 cold and spiritless, she mechanically wished us luck 
 and a safe return. A cold shiver ran down my back 
 as I wondered how often before she had spoken those 
 same toneless, unfelt words to men who had been going 
 up to death and mutilation, and how little she would 
 have cared, did she ever know. After all, why should 
 she care? All human love is very narrow, very 
 shallow, very selfish. And what were we to her, but a 
 lot of rough and noisy young foreigners, who often 
 kept her awake until all hours of the night with our 
 everlasting din and racket ? " Au 'voir, Madame, au 
 'voir, and a thousand thanks for all your kind- 
 
 ness." 
 
 " Now then, to 'orse, to 'orse ! " said the Skipper, 
 " our quads will be waiting at the head of the Squad - 
 
 roon." 
 
 We walked to the rendezvous. The Squadroon was 
 formed up in line on the right-hand side of the road, 
 with the horses' heads facing inwards. As we 
 approached, Eiffel, on whom had fallen the mantle of 
 the absent Purple, called the parade to attention, and, 
 followed by William Henry, came forward a few steps
 
 84 THE SQUADEOON 
 
 to meet us, saluted and reported the numbers present. 
 Beginning thus at the rear, the Skipper, rapidly look- 
 ing around each horse and man, worked his way up to 
 the head of the Squadroon. He looked only to see 
 that the saddlery was properly fitted, and that each 
 man had taken his rifle out of the bucket : for spit and 
 polish he cared very little indeed. But not so William 
 Henry. Himself scintillating with dazzling lustre, 
 stiff with snowiest pipe- clay, he shot keen, fierce 
 glances of his eagle eye over the saddle and bridle, 
 belt and spur. And as we progressed up the line his 
 brows lowered, and his glances grew darker and more 
 fierce. Even to my untutored eye it was evident that 
 the turn-out was not quite all that it might have been ; 
 and I knew that the Skipper would be very respect- 
 fully, very firmly, and very severely spoken to on the 
 subject by William Henry. i 
 
 Arthur Jenner, who had risen from M.G.G.S. to 
 First Army Commander, vice Tubs left behind to settle 
 claims, wore the stern, set expression of a man who 
 had just come through a searching ordeal ; but all his 
 Troop was present and correct. Jimmie, whose keen, 
 eager little face was also set in stern hard lines from 
 recent tribulation, was still two men short. Dane's 
 army was all present, but he himself was strangely 
 hoarse, almost inaudible, and the pallor of his counte- 
 nance told plainer than any words what pains he had 
 had to bear. 
 
 Just before the inspection was finished, Jimmie's 
 two men arrived with a great clatter, at full gallop, 
 whereupon shouts of execration arose from all in 
 authority. A moment latter anoth er clatter proclaimed 
 the advent of Corkran and Brown, the former leading 
 a white pony on which was that most precious of
 
 DAY MARCHING 85 
 
 burdens, the officers' food pack. The Skipper blew 
 his whistle and made the signal to mount. " Get 
 mounted, get mounted ! " was passed all the way down 
 the line. The proper word, of course, was " mount," 
 but the soldier, who is not always economical of words, 
 invariably prefers to put himself to the trouble of 
 uttering those three syllables rather than the one. 
 
 " Half Sections right, walk march ! March at 
 ease ! " And the Squadroon started off at a dignified 
 pace up the hill, towards the Ferme du Bois. A few 
 children and one or two of the younger women, coiffed 
 with a taste and neatness which, in that class, is 
 uniquely French, stood at their doorways waving fare- 
 well to those cavaliers who had been their especial 
 friends. But the village in general made no demon- 
 stration of sorrow at our departure. 
 
 Eiffel, in virtue of his office as Second-in- 
 Command, rode behind, shepherding the rear— an 
 unenviable position, not only because of the frequent 
 necessity of stopping to assist and exhort such as fell 
 out by the wayside, but also because of the continual 
 checking and concertina-ing which inevitably occurs 
 in the rear of the shortest mounted column. The 
 Skipper, Dane, and I rode along together, followed by 
 William Henry and the Trumpeter, followed by the 
 head of the Second Army. 
 
 Although his voice had given out, Dane's temper 
 was still at fever heat. We gathered from his hoarse 
 whisper that it had been a work of supreme difficulty 
 to get the Second Army on to parade at the proper 
 hour. 
 
 11 1 don't know what the blinky blink they think 
 they teach 'em at the Reserve Regiment," said he, 
 «' but that draft that came up last week can't blinking
 
 86 THE SQUADROON 
 
 well pack their saddles, or even saddle up their 
 horses. A more blinky useless lot of blink blinks I've 
 never seen in all my blinking life ! " 
 
 "We're dealing with men, Dano, not supermen. 
 You teach 'em their job, and they'll be all right," said 
 the Skipper. Then he turned to me. " If I were to 
 take any one of these useless blink blinks from Dano 
 for another Troop, or for the echelon or anything, 
 he'd raise a howl like a mother bereft of her only 
 cheeild — isn't that so, Dano?" 
 
 Dane's answer was inaudible. 
 
 After about ten minutes at the walk, rounding a 
 bend of the road, we came upon the tail of " D " 
 Squadron, halted and dismounted. Owing to another 
 bend a few yards further on, we could only see about 
 one Troop of what was now a column of considerable 
 length. We, too, halted, turned half-sections left, 
 dismounted, and looked around our horses, each 
 Army Commander coming up to report the correct- 
 ness or otherwise of his command, after having himself 
 received the reports of his Section Leaders. 
 
 It wanted only a few minutes to nine-thirty. The 
 Regimental Sergeant-Major, in military circles a very 
 great personage indeed, came trotting up. He was 
 not as other " Regimentals " are : he had not the 
 roaring, slightly husky voice, or the harshly despotic 
 manner. His face was gentle, and except in battle — 
 where he was bloody-minded beyond all description — 
 his disposition was singularly mild. He saluted the 
 Skipper with a pleasant smile. 
 
 " Are you all up, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, all up, Mr. Master man." 
 
 And he trotted away again, around the bend and 
 out of sight. A few minutes later we heard the order 

 
 DAY MARCHING 87 
 
 coming down the column, "Get mounted ! " and again 
 we started off, this time as a complete Regiment. 
 
 Presently we came out of our winding country 
 lane on to one of the endlessly straight poplar-lined 
 roads of Picardy. We now took up the distances 
 between units as laid down in standing orders, that is 
 to say, two hundred yards between each Squadron and 
 twenty-five between each Troop. The country in 
 those parts is a continuous succession of parallel 
 ridges, divided by steep, broad valleys in between ; 
 and consequently our march was much in the nature 
 of a switchback, down one ridge, across the valley, 
 up the next, down again, and so on, and so on. As 
 we crested one ridge we could see, each at thuir 
 ordered distances, the other two Squadrons on the 
 slopes and in the valley below, and the blue and 
 primrose pennon of R.H.Q. bravely fluttering on the 
 top of the next ridge, nearly three-quarters of a mile 
 ahead. The length of space taken up on the road by 
 a single Regiment, when thus seen with our own eyes, 
 gave us a vivid idea of the length and unwieldiness of 
 a whole Division, or even of a Brigade, when, as 
 sometimes happened, all its units had to move by the 
 same road. 
 
 As we rode along, a continual stream of men 
 belonging to R.H.Q. and the two Squadrons in front, 
 trotted or galloped past us in the frantic endeavour to 
 catch up their own particular units. This sad spectacle 
 greatly pleased both the Skipper and Dane. The drill 
 books attempt to encourage a spirit of friendly rivalry 
 between all junior commanders ; but in these two this 
 spirit had run somewhat to excess. Neither could bear 
 to think that any other Squadron, or any other Troop, 
 ever did anything better than his own. Both were 
 

 
 88 THE SQUADROON 
 
 still smarting, in their different ways, under the 
 humiliation of the morning's dirty and dilatory 
 turn-out; and now the open shame of the other 
 Squadrons came as soothing balm to their wounded 
 feelings. 
 
 " Keep to yer right ! Keep to yer right ! " Four 
 galloping men and a pack pony cannoned off a lorry 
 into our leading Section ; then, followed by a torrent 
 of abuse, hurried on after the Squadron ahead. 
 
 " Anyway we were all at the rendezvous up to 
 time," said the Skipper, gazing after the belated 
 soldiery with ill-concealed satisfaction. 
 
 " That Squadron always were a blinking awful 
 rabble," replied Dane with great gusto, his ill-humour 
 rapidly evaporating. 
 
 Presently, far away and faint, from the head of 
 the Regiment, came the sound of a trumpet-call. It 
 was repeated by each Squadron in turn, and the 
 column began to trot. Now the first trot in any 
 march is a sorry period of dissolution. It finds out 
 all the weak spots. The trot never forgives. And 
 this was the first trot in the first march for many 
 months. Soon the roadside was littered with a 
 melancholy and blasphemous crowd, dealing with 
 saddles that had turned, packs that had fallen off, 
 blankets that had slipped, puttees that had come 
 undone, shoes that had been cast, straps that had 
 broken; in short, with all the innumerable ills and 
 misfortunes that can possibly befall the horse, his 
 harness and his rider. 
 
 " Looks like a blinking battlefield ! " remarked 
 Dane. 
 
 It was a tactless question, I know, but curiosity 
 is my besetting sin, and I could not help asking it.
 
 DAY MARCHING 89 
 
 "Does this — or — this sort of thins happen in all 
 Regiments ? " 
 
 ** Good Lord, yes, of course it does," said the 
 Skipper shortly. " Wait till we're rear Regiment 
 of the Brigade, and you'll see for yourself." 
 
 " I suppose they're not falling out of our Squadron 
 anything like as much ? " 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve 
 for ! I'd like to think they weren't, but I'm afraid if 
 we ask Eiffel he'll have a shocking tale of woe to tell 
 us. There's always bound to be a certain amount of 
 it, you know — horsos that blow themselves out when 
 they're being girthed up, perished leather, and so on." 
 
 After a few minutes the trumpets again sounded, 
 the disastrous trot came to an end, and we halted, 
 dismounted, and licked our sores. 
 
 The joints in our armour having now been merci- 
 lessly exposed, they were rapidly repaired, and the 
 march was resumed without further misadventure. 
 After some miles we halted again upon the crest of a 
 high ridge, which commanded an extensive view of 
 all the country around about. On our left, upon 
 three converging roads, which conjoined with ours 
 about half a mile ahead, we saw three other mounted 
 columns, moving at the walk. On our right, on a 
 similarly converging road, we saw a fourth and shorter 
 column. These were the other two Regiments, the 
 Battery and the Machine Gun Squadron of our Brigade. 
 Apparently we had halted to allow them to precede us 
 on our road, and it seemed as though our halt would 
 be of by no means short duration. 
 
 Nothing is more wearisome and more annoying 
 than unnecessary checks and long loiteriugs on the
 
 
 90 THE SQUADROON 
 
 march. At home when things go wrong we abuse the 
 Government. The Government does not answer us 
 back ; we have the wordy warfare all our own way, 
 and our minds are most wonderfully eased. Similarly 
 in France, when things go wrong, we relieve our over- 
 charged feelings by abusing the Staff. And this was 
 clearly a favourable opportunity for that popular form 
 of recreation. 
 
 '* At it again ! " growled Dane, " the good old game 
 of divisional criss-cross ! We never do a march in this 
 blinking Division without every Brigade crossing the 
 others at least twice, and every Regiment crossing 
 every other Regiment in the Brigade at least four 
 times. Good old Staff! They go in their cars, and 
 they say, ' Blink you, we're all right ! ' and they don't 
 give a damn if we spend the whole blinking day on 
 the roadside — and then they come and nag us because 
 our horses are thin! They ought to find out who's 
 responsible for this shemozzle and blinking well shoot 
 the blinker as an example to the others." 
 
 The Skipper had been looking at the converging 
 columns through his glasses. 
 
 " Yes, they're mostly a lazy, rotten, useless lot of 
 blighters, but I don't think it's the Staff this time," 
 he said reluctantly. " Those cross-roads on there are 
 obviously the Brigade rendezvous. We're probably a 
 few minutes before our time." 
 
 This was indeed the case. Presently two of the 
 other columns began to trot; then we mounted and 
 followed, while the remaining two columns waited to 
 follow on behind us. 
 
 So small a formation as the Squadroon did not as 
 a rule receive detailed orders of anything higher than 
 the Regiment. Many movements that we had to
 
 DAY MARCHING 01 
 
 make, many movements that we saw others making, 
 seemed to us, therefore, strangely unsound ami un- 
 reasonable, simply because we were quite in the dark 
 as to their cause or purpose. And on such occasions 
 our great solace was this severe censure of the Staff. 
 
 That little incident of the Brigade rendezvous, 
 however, taught me a lesson in the folly of hasty 
 judgment, which I have not yet forgotten ; and it also 
 opened up for me a new and very wide field of interest 
 in all our subsequent marches and movements. In our 
 orders we were given only our Regimental rendezvous. 
 Henceforward it amused me to work out on the map 
 with the Skipper the various routes of other Regiments, 
 the various rendezvous, watering places, the locations 
 of the different H.Q. at our destination, and, in short, 
 by putting ourselves in the Divisional Commander's 
 place, to piece together those orders of higher forma- 
 tions which we had not had the privilege of seeing. 
 We were usually wrong in most respects, because all 
 movements are governed by certain factors such as 
 supplies, other traffic on the road, intent to mislead 
 the enemy's air scouts, and other innumerable factors 
 of which we naturally had no knowledge whatever. But 
 the speculation amused us and helped greatly to enliven 
 the monotony of a march, and to shorten the length 
 of the road. 
 
 As we in turn approached the cross-roads, we 
 perceived a solitary figure, mounted upon a white 
 pony, watching the column go by. 
 
 " Hullo," said the Skipper, " there's the Old Man ! " 
 and he called the Squadroon to attention. 
 The Brigadier saluted. 
 
 " March at ease, please ! " he said, and made some 
 genial remark to each officer as he passed.
 
 92 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " The Old Man's in great heart this morning," 
 said the Skipper, "he's apt to be a bit nappy 
 sometimes of a cold and frosty morning." 
 
 I wonder if he knew that he was called the " Old 
 Man," and how he would like it if he did know ; for 
 in spite of his seniority there was not a boy in his 
 Brigade more athletic than himself, nor any with a 
 younger and more human heart. We didn't really 
 know much about generals, but we felt that our Old 
 Man was different from other generals. When he had 
 to give a decision, there was no beating about the 
 bush, no havering : it was definite and final ; and we 
 knew exactly where we were. He liked, too, to see for 
 himself how things stood, even though this curiosity 
 entailed visiting unpleasant and unhealthy places. 
 The white pony with its short, thick-set rider in the 
 khaki-covered helmet, was seen calmly walking down 
 the line in Bourlon Wood, and, in later days, galloping 
 with the leading Troop of the advanced Squadron 
 from Warvilliers to Ruvroy. These perhaps are small 
 things, but they make a deep impression on the fight- 
 ing animal ; and whenever we met the Old Man, 
 there was that " something more " in our salute that 
 can never be taught upon the barrack square. 
 
 The Old Man stood at the cross-roads and watched 
 the column pass. This morning he was infectiously 
 bright and cheerful. In course of time I learned that 
 senior officers always did appear cheerful as we drew 
 nearer to the battle. It was part of the system of 
 moral ; one of the heavy burdens of rank. For although 
 the face be all smiles, and the voice full of laughter, 
 no one can see his own, his very own, command pass 
 before him on the eve of battle without a great sadness 
 and a great pity in his heart.
 
 DAY MARCHING 03 
 
 Presently we turned into the great high road that 
 runs through St. Pol to the This, too, was 
 
 straight, interminably straight, lined with the 
 inevitahle poplars, and treated in the middle with 
 composition. It was what is technically known, I 
 believe, as a "first-class road": that is to say that 
 three separate lines of both-ways traffic moved upon it 
 If, on such a road, a block does occur, either through 
 accident or through " double-banking," it can well be 
 imagined, with such volume of traffic, how rapidly the 
 congestion piles up for miles on either side of the 
 obstruction, until it becomes as solid and immovable 
 as the dam of Assouan. As these blocks cause confusion 
 and delay, sometimes of many hours, sometimes even 
 of days, the traffic control is vigilant and severe. The 
 necessity of what is sometimes a seeming tyranny is 
 so well understood by all that instant obedience is 
 accorded to the uplifted hand of the red-capped sentry 
 — obedience as instant and implicit as to the uplifted 
 hand of the London policeman ; which indeed, disguised 
 for the nonce in khaki, these red-caps often are. 
 
 Marching along a first-class road is not altogether 
 an unmixed joy. The horseman is incessantly jostled 
 and buffeted off the edge of the road into the trees 
 and ditches by great, bullying lorries, or supercilious, 
 self-important cars, or, worse still, by the puffing, 
 snorting, hooting motor-cycles. As regards the lorry 
 and the car, there is no question : they carry the 
 heavier metal, and the horseman who values his life 
 must give way at once with the best grace he can. 
 But with that lesser fry, that mosquito craft, the motor- 
 cycle, we might try conclusions. We might try to 
 ignore its presence, to proceed straight ahead with 
 contemptuous dignity and leave it to get out of our
 
 94 THE SQUADROON 
 
 way. But then we are reckoning without that noble 
 animal the horse. The motor-cycle may be of lighter 
 metal, but it has at its disposal an orchestra of noises 
 so varied and so terrible as to shatter even the 
 strongest of equine nerves. We hear behind us the 
 infernal hooting and tooting, the puffing and chuffing, 
 the penetrating blast of the klaxon. We hear a great 
 and ever-approaching commotion, and much blasphemy 
 in the ranks. The cry comes up the column, " Keep 
 t'yer right, keep t'yer right ! " But there is room on 
 our left for the indecency to pass between us and the 
 line of lorries. We ride straight on, back slightly 
 stiffened, head slightly raised, showing a hauteur 
 suitable to the occasion, and heeding neither the 
 hoots nor the toots, nor the repeated injunction to 
 keep to our right. The loud-voiced beast is almost 
 upon us. We smell his foetid breath; and still our 
 gallant charger calmly and disdainfully holds his even 
 course. But the enemy is not at the end of his 
 resources. Nothing but the whole road will content 
 him ; he comes alongside ; he swings in his tail ; he 
 fires a succession of reports, like a machine-gun, only 
 far louder and more terrible. Tongues of fire near 
 our flanks, clouds of evil-smelling smoke compass us 
 about. The horse is a noble animal ; he is the friend 
 of man. But there are limits even to his nobility and 
 friendship. Our frenzied steed plunges wildly into 
 the blue— and we are lucky if we maintain our seat, 
 and further, if we can get him to walk quietly again 
 during the remainder of that march. 
 
 Although marching on a first-class road is not 
 without drawbacks, it has compensations too. One 
 anxious, watchful eye we have to keep, so to speak, 
 on our own unworthy skins, but the other is hugely 

 
 DAY MARCHING 95 
 
 entertained by the passing pageantry of modern war. 
 This great road is one of the main arteries of Britain's 
 blood and iron. Very little blood do we see upon it, 
 but vast quantities of every form of iron. We forget 
 the vexations of the morning, we forget even that we 
 are started on a gap scheme as we watch the ceaseless 
 streams of traffic flowing by. Great lorries thunder 
 along, bearing the well-known signs of famous 
 divisions, and loaded with every imaginable kind of 
 material, from foot soldiers to wooden crosses, from 
 building material to heavy shells, from W.A.A.C.'s 
 caps to Australian ground sheets, from man's food to 
 rats' poison. A pontoon train of life-sized barges on 
 wheels lumbers up the middle of the road with an 
 elephantine solemnity that is slightly ludicrous. 
 Every sort, size and condition of car we see, too, 
 occupied by all grades of humanity, from the cele- 
 brated general, the notorious politician joy- riding in 
 France, the distinguished journalist, the official photo- 
 grapher, the lesser brass hat, the Y.M.C.A. padre on 
 the spree, down to the humble and lucky car jumper. 
 Tanks nose their way along, blind and snuffling, like 
 pre-cosmic beasts in the chaotic slime. Busy, puffing 
 caterpillars tug along squat, ugly, wide-mouthed 
 howitzers or slender, graceful guns of great length 
 and range. We look on in silence, for the noise is so 
 loud, and the difficulty of avoiding traffic so great as 
 to make conversation almost impossible. The number 
 of steam waggons, half railway engine, half lorry, 
 remind us of the growing shortage of petrol. A 
 curious wooden structure on four wheels drawn by 
 horses and in appearance something between a Spanish 
 galleon and a gipsy caravan, puzzles us, till we come 
 abreast, and then we see it is a travelling pigeon loft.
 
 96 THE SQUADROON 
 
 That fleet homing bird has become one of the most 
 important and one of the swiftest means of communi- 
 cation in action. Times without number it has saved 
 a desperate situation when all other means and all 
 other rations have failed. 
 
 Presently we were able to turn off on to a narrow 
 strip of grass which ran for some miles alongside the 
 road. This was an immense relief to us after the 
 crushing and the jostling of the traffic, and an im- 
 mense relief also to the horses' feet after th6 ringing 
 hardness of the road. 
 
 Dane's ill-humour had now quite evaporated. He 
 was riding his mare, Amy, whom he loved with a love 
 passing the love of women. He patted her, pulled 
 her ears, teased her, and talked to her endearingly as 
 we trotted along the green and springy turf. The 
 Skipper, still watching the road, remarked at last : 
 " Only a change in methods ! " 
 " What change ? What methods ? " I asked. 
 For a moment he looked at me dreamily, and then 
 laughed. " Why, from the old French wars, you 
 know, which were always so much the fashion with 
 the gilded youth of England. For the last eight 
 hundred years England has fought on these selfsame 
 fields, has ridden along these selfsame roads. English 
 bones lie buried in every foot of this ground. Nothing 
 we do is new ; only the engines and the materials 
 change. The spirit never changes. Last year the 
 Black Prince rode with us over the field of Crecy. 
 This year we bivouacked at Agincourt, and in the 
 morning mists Harry of England arrayed again his 
 chivalry with waving plumes and champing bits and 
 clashing harness. Only the externals change ! " 
 He relapsed into silence.
 
 DAY MARCHING 07 
 
 I knew that to him the steel-capped, khaki, over- 
 laden horseman on the petrol-reeking road was still 
 the glittering blue and golden Light Dragoon of 
 Fuentos d'Onoro and Balaclava. The muddy trooper 
 of to-day still held for him the essence of that glamour 
 and romance, which, since Assyrian Sarchedon, in the 
 mists of antiquity, first taught his knightly exercises, 
 has been the horseman's heritage through all the 
 ages. To me, however, in spite of their unpuritanical 
 language, our Cavalry suggested more the Ironsides 
 of Cromwell. 
 
 A detachment of a Labour Battalion, theoretically 
 working on the road, leant on their spades and 
 watched our column go by. It was a long column, 
 and would keep them thus congenially occupied for 
 several hours. They were untidy, part-worn old 
 creatures, some with spectacles, all with wrinkled 
 care-worn faces and expressions totally devoid of 
 happiness. Yet their lot was safe and easy. Yv T hen- 
 ever anything the least bit out of the ordinary 
 appeared, they leaned thus on their spades to watch 
 it out of sight ; whenever an aeroplane sailed over- 
 head, they gazed upwards till it had faded from the 
 sky — and after. 
 
 " That's my job in the next war ! " said Dane. 
 
 We hastened to assure him it was just about his 
 mark ; and then fell to discussing our ideal of jobs for 
 the next war, a very frequent topic of conversation in 
 France. 
 
 " Talking of jobs, if you had a wish, what would 
 you like to be doing now ? " I asked. 
 
 "What, this minute as ever is?" asked the 
 Skipper. 
 
 "Yes." 
 

 
 98 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " It's Sunday, isu't it ? " he asked. 
 
 I replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " Thought so — it's our unlucky day, We always 
 start off on these stunts on a Sundav. Well, if I had 
 my choice, I'd like to be on church parade at home, 
 walking up the aisle in blue and gold with sword 
 clattering and spurs jingling on the flags — just for old 
 times' sake. I still love uniforms and swords and 
 pistols and things, you know. If I'd been married I 
 should always have been playing with my unfortunate 
 children's toys." 
 
 u Is that your dearest wish too, Dano, to be on 
 church parade?" I asked. 
 
 " No," he replied emphatically. 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 " I decline to make a statement," he said, a 
 favourite expression of his. " I decline to make a 
 statement." 
 
 " Bad as that ? " asked the Skipper. 
 
 Dane then made his statement; but, as this is 
 intended to be a book which the young may read, I am 
 unable to set down here what he would most have 
 wished to be doing. 
 
 " Hullo ! " said Dane, " here comes old Dunn ! " 
 
 "What!" said the Skipper, "our own great, red, 
 doughty, indomitable Dunn ? So it is." 
 
 A largely built officer of a rugged, irregular- 
 featured face, crowned by a mass of fiery hair, rode up 
 to us, looking somewhat top-heavy on a small cream- 
 coloured pony. This was our Adjutant. He was in 
 every way the perfect type of Adjutant, unfailingly 
 reliable in routine, a stern disciplinarian, a just man, 
 of imperturbable composure, and watchfully jealous of 
 the good name of the Regiment. Behind this military
 
 DAY MARCHING 
 
 exterior he carried prinei] ubitions and powi rs of 
 
 mind that will one day raise him to a high place in 
 the councils of the State. But meanwhile, with the 
 patience of the strong, he occupied himself in the 
 faithful and exact discharge of duties which he heartily 
 disliked. He saluted the Skipper with punctilious 
 precision. 
 
 " I say, the Colonel wants you to be very particular 
 about march dicipline. Bob is going to be at Villiers 
 Blanc to see us marching past." 
 
 The individual thus irreverently alluded to as 
 Bob, was no less a person than our Divisional Com- 
 mander. 
 
 " Right-ho ! " said the Skipper. " You don't happen 
 to know which side of the road he'll be on ? " 
 
 " No; but I'll tip you the wink as soon as we see 
 him." 
 
 " Right ; and I'll shove all the thinnest horses over 
 on to the other side." 
 
 Dunn then told us all the latest rumours from 
 above about the coming gap. The consensus of 
 opinion was that our offensive would be launched in 
 Flanders, but as yet no definite information had 
 filtered down as far as Regiments. Then, after 
 retailing all the latest military gossip, and the inner 
 history of the last ungumming — for soldiers are worse 
 gossips than women — he threw another mighty salute 
 and cantered away whence he had come. 
 
 For some time clouds of lead and gloom had been 
 gathering in the sky. Now a drizzling rain began to 
 fall. 
 
 " We've never done a march yet without it blinking 
 well pouring," grumbled Dane. 
 
 And this sentiment was echoed all along the ranks
 
 100 THE SQUADROON 
 
 with variations and embellishments as we halted to 
 put on our mackintoshes. 
 
 Just outside St. Pol there was a long, damp, and 
 dreary wait. "We learned that there had been some 
 hitch in the billeting, that the areas had not yet been 
 distributed, and that the billeting parties were still in 
 St. Pol. 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like to push along and see old 
 Purple grimly billeting, and incidentally get out of the 
 wet ? " said the Skipper. 
 
 " Rather ! " I replied, always glad of a chance of 
 seeing something new. 
 
 So I rode on, over the railway crossing, and into 
 the insignificant little town, which, in mediaeval days, 
 had had such a wide renown, and so much political 
 importance. I caught up a cold, wet, depressed and 
 sullen little party just as Regiments had at last 
 received their areas from the harassed Staff Captain — 
 whom three thousand shivering soldiery were bitterly 
 cursing from the bottom of their hearts, though he 
 had been in no way whatever to blame for the delay. 
 
 There was no time to inspect the area. Eddie, the 
 Regimental Second-in-Command, divided it off into 
 four different sections, as fairly as might be from the 
 map. He himself chose the area for R.H.Q. ; then 
 the representatives of each Squadron drew lots for 
 choice of the remaining three. To our lot fell a single, 
 huge farmhouse. As there were no other houses at all 
 in our area, it looked as if our billeting was going to 
 be easy and rapid. But on occasions like this, Purple 
 was a strong silent man, not giving to vain conjecture, 
 or to any expressions of emotion. He made no com- 
 ment. We started off at a brisk trot, through deep 
 dense woods, along a gradually ascending path : but,
 
 DAY MARCHING 101 
 
 on account of the mud and the pine needles under- 
 foot, the ground was so slippery that we had very soon 
 to pull up to a walk. 
 
 Contented and easeful silence is said to 1)6 the 
 highest proof of friendship. But it is my misfortune 
 that I cannot fool at ease in silence for any length of 
 time, and every now and then I hazarded some remark 
 to Purple ; but he either grunted or gave no sign of 
 having heard whatever. So after a while this one- 
 sided conversation came to an end. 
 
 Presently we came out of the woods, rode about 
 half a mile up a country road, and arrived at our farm. 
 It was large, prosperous, and typical of such French 
 farms. Four wings enclosed a great square farmyard, 
 which was filled with refuse, manure, and a green and 
 evil-smelling pond. One wing, that on our left as we 
 entered the gate, consisted entirely of the dwelling- 
 house itself. The other three consisted of barns, 
 granaries, pigsties, rabbit- pens, stables and cattle- 
 sheds. To the wall opposite the entrance were affixed 
 numbers of metal plates, each inscribed with somo 
 writing which we could not read from the ground, and 
 which at once excited my curiosity. I learned later 
 that these represented prizes won by cattle of the 
 farm. 
 
 We dismounted, passed through the main entrance, 
 knocked at the door of the house, and asked to see the 
 owner of the farm. A tall, buxom, commanding lady 
 of high colour and distinguished presence, who, with 
 arms bared, was busied about the household washing, 
 came forward to receive us. Assuming the conven- 
 tional billeting smile — though in his case it wa3 more 
 like a snarl — Purple asked Madame if she could have 
 the goodness to accommodate nine officers, a hundred
 
 
 102 THE SQUADROON 
 
 men, and a hundred and twenty horses. Madame 
 threw up her hands in horror. She had had cavalry 
 before ; she did not want them again. The officers 
 and the soldiers yes, but the horses, " pas possible, 
 pas moyen ! " 
 
 To my surprise Purple now showed himself a 
 master of diplomacy and pathos. 
 
 " It didn't really matter," he said, " we were just 
 going to battle; we could picket our horses on the 
 roadside, and sleep alongside them. We didn't mind 
 the rain and mud and cold — we were used to it. 
 Nothing mattered as long as we could help to liberate 
 la belle France, and end the so terrible war. Forgive 
 us for having deranged you. Adieu, Madame, and 
 thanks much." 
 
 Now Madame did not want horses on her farm ; 
 but she did want the billeting money for nine officers, 
 an officer's mess, and a hundred other ranks. More- 
 over she was a good and kind-hearted woman. Still 
 volubly protesting, she called her factor and bade him 
 show us around. This weather-beaten, elderly man 
 was by no means amiable or helpful. In spite, how- 
 ever, of his continual undertone of objection, Purple 
 examined every nook and cranny of the farm, every 
 building that had a roof over it, every wall that had a 
 door through it. As we. climbed each loft of the barns, 
 as we opened each gate of the sheds, the factor 
 repeated his expostulations. 
 
 " The corn, m'sieu, the corn ! " and again, " Les 
 vaches les vaches — ah oui, c'est bon pour vous mais 
 les vaches, les vaches ! Pas moyen, pas moyen ! 
 We have come from having had horses here before, 
 and look ! Tout a fait abime — abime ! " 
 
 It was evident that the fruits of the harvest, the 

 
 DAY MARCHING 108 
 
 live stock, and the farm implements had been care- 
 fully disposed over all the available space with the 
 deliberate intention of denying the shelter of every 
 roof to British horsos. With great difficulty we pre- 
 vailed upon our unwilling guide to make room in the 
 spacious stables for certain favoured horses of the 
 greater personages of the Squadroon. For the re- 
 mainder Purple selected standings in the open, 
 sheltered as far as possible by walls and outhouses 
 from the wind and rain. Here again, in every 
 instance, 'rose the everlasting protest and lamenta- 
 tion. Although we chose a strip of hard gravel soil, 
 on which no blade of grass could ever hope to grow, 
 the old man wailed hia dismal refrain, " La pature, 
 pature ! pour les vaches, les vaches ! " 
 
 We entirely understood his difficulties, his point 
 of view; and we entirely understood, too, that an old, 
 illiterate peasant could not be expected to understand 
 our difficulties and our point of view, or to meet us in 
 a spirit of statesmanlike compromise. But the time 
 had now come for firmness. We had seen the entire 
 resources of the establishment. We should do no 
 damage to the farm or to its produce, but what we 
 required, which we could take without injury to the 
 owners, we now proceeded to take. Purple curtly 
 dismissed the factor. His face was richly blue from 
 rain and cold, his jaws snapped together like a steel 
 trap, his lips set in a hard thin line. The factor 
 looked at him, stopped short in the beginning of a 
 new lamentation and went. 
 
 " I hate these French worse than the Boche," said 
 Purple. 
 
 He then divided the available accommodation into 
 four troop areas. Lots were again drawn, and the
 
 104 THE SQUADROON 
 
 representative of each troop chose his area in the 
 order of his drawing and forthwith set about arrang- 
 ing all the details of domestic economy as in permanent 
 billets, while I looked on marvelling at this thorough- 
 ness with which all preparations were made for the 
 halt of a single night. 
 
 Presently Purple turned to me. 
 
 " Padre, you might ride down to the cross-roads 
 by the wood and show the Squadroon the way up, 
 would you ? " 
 
 The rain was falling in torrents when I met a very 
 bedraggled and dejected soldiery. 
 
 " Hullo, 'ullo, 'ullo ! " said the Skipper, as I arrived, 
 "how are we fixed? " 
 
 Above all things I dislike being the bearer of bad 
 news. Possibly a remote ancestor perished for that 
 involuntary crime at the hands of some forgotten 
 Cyrus. 
 
 "Well, I don't think it's up to much. The men 
 aren't too bad." 
 
 " Horses under cover ? " 
 
 " Er— no — not exactly." 
 
 " In the open ? " 
 
 " Y-yes." 
 
 " Oh, God ! " 
 
 And he spoke no more till we were nearing the 
 entrance of the farm. Then he said with a chuckle : 
 
 "Watch old Purple! I always ask him as a 
 matter of course how we're fixed, and it doesn't matter 
 whether we're in palaces or pigsties, he always answers 
 ' Blinky ! ' He does so on principle — not to raise false 
 hopes and subsequent disappointment. Sound, you 
 know, essentially sound, backbone of England ! " 
 
 Even so it befell. Purple came out to meet us, 

 
 DAY MARCHING 105 
 
 grimly saluted, and replied in the one pithy epithet 
 to tho invariable question gravely asked him by the 
 Skipper. 
 
 The troop representatives each led away his 
 dripping Army. Eiffel went off to see about tho 
 mess and the officers' beds, and the Skipper, with the 
 rain streaming off his tin hat, wearily dragged his 
 long legs around each billet and horse standing. Bill, 
 who was a man of steady and even temper, given 
 neither to optimism nor to cribbing, a man who 
 always did his best under all circumstances without 
 argument or question, though sometimes rather sadly, 
 now made only one remark : " It's a lucky man that 
 was killed at Mons," he said, and straightway set 
 about putting down his line. Jimmie said nothing at 
 all. Afterwards, in the mess, he would have some- 
 thing, ia great deal perhaps, to say in direct and 
 forceful language about the weather, and men, and 
 horses, and guns, and Huns, and wars, and rumours 
 of wars; but now he just "got on with it" without 
 wasting time and breath on useless words. Coming 
 around a corner into the domain of the Second Army, 
 I heard the Skipper saying, " Men, Dano, not super- 
 men.'' So I thought it advisable to postpone the 
 visit and to go and see how old Eiffel was getting on 
 in the mess. On the way I ran into Eddie, the 
 Regimental Second-in-Command. He had allotted 
 the areas to the Squadrons ; it had been impossible 
 for him to see them himself beforehand, and now, 
 whether they were good or bad, he could not alter 
 them. But it was his duty to come around and ask 
 how we were fixed, so he had come. He rode up 
 through the splashing mud, a slender, handsome 
 figure on a great bay horse and, although he could
 
 106 THE SQUADROON 
 
 not improve our material condition, he never failed to 
 leave us more cheerful than he had found us. He 
 was, perhaps, the most universally liked officer in the 
 Regiment ; and also, perhaps, the least understood. 
 He had a singularly sweet disposition, a surpassing 
 charm of manner, very exceptional intelligence, and a 
 coolness and soundness in action which at once won 
 the confidence of all who served under him. He 
 dearly loved leisure and luxury, the sports of the 
 country, the pleasures of great cities ; but since he 
 had landed with the original B.E.F., he had only been 
 absent from his Regiment on the ordinary periods of 
 leave ; and when in the extremes of hardship and 
 discomfort, which he most thoroughly detested, he 
 had never been known to utter any word of complaint, 
 or to be anything but gay and charming. A gentle 
 modesty and shy reserve veiled deep clear places in 
 his soul — into which it is not my business to pry. He 
 smiled at me now. 
 
 " Well ? " he asked. 
 
 " Horses all in the open," I answered. 
 
 " How perfectly rotten ! I suppose every one's 
 grousing like hell ? " 
 
 " They are moaning a bit," I admitted. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it usually rains at the end of a 
 march, and, no matter how good the billets are, every 
 one is in the depths of despair when we first arrive 
 and say they're the worst they've ever had, until they 
 get settled in a bit. But this really does look bad : 
 however, God will provide ! " 
 
 And with a farewell smile and a wave of his hand, 
 he rode on. 
 
 Madame was still slightly resentful at the intrusion 
 of our horses. But she had given us a large comfortable
 
 DAY MARCHING 107 
 
 room for a mess, a room which had often been used 
 for that purpose before, as a large notice hung on 
 the wall reminding M. les Officiers that, in the absence 
 of her husband and sons at the war, Madame alone 
 was burdened with the sole charge of the farm, and 
 requesting them to retire not later than 9.30 p.m. 
 
 The Skipper was accommodated with a small and 
 comfortable bedroom leading out of the mess, and the 
 rest of us were provided for in a wonderful dormitory 
 upstairs. A part of the loft, filled with grain and roots, 
 had been partitioned off with a curtain. In this space 
 one dressing-table, two real beds, and ten beds impro- 
 vised of beams and boxes, had been established ; all for 
 the convenience of British officers. Than this billet- 
 money-making contrivance I have never seen any 
 greater proof of the thrift and foresight of the rural 
 French. 
 
 Having divested myself of my sodden kit, and 
 staked out my claim, as it were, by putting the driest 
 articles of it on one of the two real beds, I went down 
 again to the mess, where Corkran, paragon of waiters, 
 had already spread a tempting repast of cold meats 
 and canned fruits, miraculously produced by him from 
 the inexhaustible cornucopia of our one small food 
 pack.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE GAP 
 
 ONE by one our great Leaders dropped into 
 the mess, and one by one their spirits 
 visibly revived as their hungry eyes fell 
 upon the good things already set out upon 
 the table. The young human animal differs not at all 
 from the other animals in that his food, especially in 
 times of war, is one of the predominating factors of 
 his existence. That spirit of adventure too, which 
 beats so strongly in our island blood, which sent our 
 Drakes roving the unknown seas an d our Livingstones 
 into the uttermost jungles of the earth, now stirred in 
 us, who soon might make a greater journey still, with 
 a new and exhilarating force. We had, in fact, reached 
 that definite stage in warlike operations when all 
 grumbling among officers ceases as a matter of course, 
 and when, come what may, we never forget that we 
 are the leaders, by whom a high example must be set. 
 But with us these seemed subconscious motives. 
 
 Drenched to the bone though we were, that little 
 luncheon of the simplest food and wine was as full of 
 spontaneous merriment as any I have ever attended in 
 private house or restaurant. Afterwards, however, 
 while we gathered around the fire to dry ourselves, an 

 
 THE GAP 109 
 
 untoward incident occurred, which almost resulted in 
 the whole Squadroon being ejected from its hard-won 
 resting-place. In the wing opposite to our window was 
 a pigeon-loft, around which a number of birds were 
 wheeling and turning in a manner most tempting to 
 boy, the slayer. Jimmie had been watching them for 
 some time, as a terrier watches a rat-hole. 
 
 " What do you bet," he asked at last, " that I don't 
 down a pigeon, flying, first shot with the rifle ? " 
 
 Eiffel, away as usual in the shadows, stopped 
 crooning over his game of patience, and peered up 
 through his pince-nez. He could never resist a bet. 
 He habitually betted on the most unusual subjects, 
 whether, for instance, a mouldered corpse in no man's 
 land was ours or theirs — and would then crawl out at 
 the risk of his life to decide the question. 
 
 " I'll g-g-g-give you a hundred f-f-francs to f-f-for, 
 to f-f-for, to f-f-f-, a hundredtoforty," he offered. 
 
 " You blinking old Jew ! " cried Jimmie, " I said 
 flying ! Make it a hundred to one ? " 
 
 After a good deal of wrangling the bet was finally 
 laid at a hundred to two. 
 
 Jimmie went to the window and fired at a hovering 
 pigeon. Once in a century, I suppose, such flukes do 
 occur. The pigeon dropped stone dead. There was 
 a moment of awe-struck silence and then shouts of 
 delight went up from the whole mess — except Eiffel, 
 A moment later Madame burst in upon us like a 
 tornado. She spoke so much and so fast that we 
 could not understand her words, but we were in no 
 doubt about her meaning. Handicapped by the 
 absence of Tub's fluent French and ingratiating 
 manner with the natives, we were unable to explain 
 that we never had any intention of shooting her
 
 110 THE SQUADROON 
 
 pigeons ; that this flying shot had only been a joke ; 
 and that Madame ought to be hugely pleased at 
 having witnessed a feat of marksmanship which she 
 could never again hope to see in the course of a life- 
 time. As it was, not being able to say any of these 
 things, we bowed our heads in silence to the storm, 
 feeling extremely foolish and uncomfortable. 
 
 " Jimmie ! " whispered the Skipper at last, " you've 
 made a hundred francs, buy the blasted bird for 
 twenty-five, or we'll all be walking the streets 
 to-night ! " 
 
 And in this way we purchased our salvation. 
 
 In the midst of the commotion Frank had come 
 into the room. He stood stiffly to attention with a 
 face of stone, while the tempest raged around him. 
 When the indemnity had been paid and Madame had 
 departed, he handed the Skipper a note. 
 
 " Oho ! " said the latter. " Now we shall hear 
 something. The CO. will see Squadron Leaders at 
 RH.Q. at 16 hours to-day. Dammit, I've left my log 
 tables behind — that's four, isn't it? Never could do 
 maths. Half three now, and it's a good two miles. 
 I'll have to push off toot sweet. Good-bye-ee, chaps ! " 
 And he strode out of the room putting on his dripping 
 mackintosh as he went. 
 
 " Half a mo ! " I shouted, " I'm coming too. I've 
 never seen St. Pol, and I particularly want to have a 
 look at that quaint old church we passed to-day." 
 
 The heavy downpour had ceased ; but a soft light 
 rain was still falling as we entered the outskirts of 
 the town. The Skipper took off his mackintosh and 
 carried it over his arm. Although puzzled for a 
 moment, I quickly discerned the object of this action. 
 A further addition had recently been made to his
 
 THE GAP 111 
 
 already long row of ribbons, and he wanted to display 
 his blazonry before the eyes of the totally indifferent 
 inhabitants of St. Pol. It is, indeed, a curious conceit 
 that makes us wish thus to show off the small and 
 misleading emblems of our prowess to the most com- 
 plete strangers who care not one jot who we are or 
 what we have done. We fondly imagine, I suppose, 
 that they will be filled with admiration and with envy. 
 I myself, when I received a small decoration, as a 
 compliment rather to my cloth than as a reward for 
 work well done, often felt a strong desire to place 
 myself in positions from which the ribbon could most 
 easily be seen. That, perhaps, was how I now read 
 so easily the Skipper's mind. There are few men 
 who have not some secret ! petty vanities, jealously 
 locked up in the very bottom of their hearts. And 
 there are few men who would not rather be charged 
 with dark and shameful crimes than have these same 
 vanities exposed to the public gaze and ridicule. It 
 was characteristic of the Skipper that, although he 
 had such vanities in a marked degree, he was entirely 
 above any attempt at concealing them. He caught 
 my eye and smiled. 
 
 "Why shouldn't I give the girls of St. Pol a 
 treat ? " he said. " If I didn't show 'em this little lot 
 they might never guess what a hell of a lad I am ! 
 Besides," he added, " I thoroughly deserve them all. 
 I am positively the bravest of the brave. Since I was 
 smashed up I've completely lost my nerve, and if 
 most fellows felt like I do in action I'm sure they'd 
 leg it. Perhaps I should too if I dared." 
 
 "But when people see all your ribbons, they'll 
 only think you've been on the Staff!" I answered, 
 laughing.
 
 112 THE SQUADBOOH 
 
 "Good Lord!" be exclaimed, and put on his 
 mackintosh again. 
 
 We parted at R.H.Q.. arranging to meet again 
 .. Le : the Officers' Club. 
 d our homeward way the Skipper bought large 
 - of chocolate and a colossal box of French 
 nougat " lor the ohfldi said ; and also a large 
 
 and highly artistic ^x of chocolates with which to 
 placate Madame, of whom he stood in considerable 
 awe. He was : communicative about the Con- 
 ference at E.H.' 
 
 " The whole show seems to be hanging tire on 
 
 account of the rain." he said, u and the infm. was 
 
 v. But well all go through it together 
 
 dinner. Sampi n of the Corps Staff has 
 
 gone up to see whether the country is still fit for 
 
 As we toiled up the hill the Skipper suddenly 
 
 ped and exclaimed with mock solemn:. 
 
 •• 'Ark ! Tae mullen sutter of the guns ! * 
 
 Low and terrible it came, that sullen roll of distant 
 drum-fire. No oth ud I know ever fills me with 
 
 such an awful excitement. We peered through the 
 misty rain and gloom into the direction of Lens. E 
 fain: ie to be almost imperceptible, we saw now and 
 then the h stfy and the pale tracks of the 
 
 - ; : aring lights. 
 
 u A raid ? " I suggested. 
 
 "It could be,"' he . "or perhaps just an 
 
 evening hate." 
 
 We walked on in thoughtful silence to the farm. 
 From the men's I Qlete feeble shafts of light struggled 
 
 b the darkness, and a sound of singing came 
 forth — a melancholy long-drawn-out moaning sound :
 
 
 - - _ - 
 
 " There s a loot, long toil 
 
 Is i ow strong a srimnlns musk has 
 
 upon the memo: . -rtain airs are for ever associated 
 
 an urchin whistles ihern in the street, or a barrel- 
 
 ._•-,.. .-.-in '-■ :..._ : _: ;„ '.-.: _;■• -.l::~. v..; -_.-.:_--- 
 of old comrades and old scenes in madman's-land rise 
 _.. -:;„ =:i::_r.:- .^■i:it-i '--:' - _- . 
 tone is the *' Long, long trail " I see the 
 that old I - eneh farm in the tiack nighi 
 
 _ . . • -. . - 
 
 those voices singing, and the sinister thi 
 are — the near future all unknown. 
 
 ndid : " said the Skipper, as u 
 to our 
 L 
 larlj happy." I remark- L 
 
 :i ?:i: ; .i: :~~z.:~ iiii :-. ._.--^:.;_ 
 
 
 : ~~~., 
 
 - z : 
 
 :.--. ti:
 
 114 THE SQUADROON 
 
 passe " — at that time a very popular piece in France. 
 Henceforward she was our very good and kind friend. 
 She was passionately fond of music, and produced 
 many old scores dating from her own school-days, 
 which Tubs or Tiny — one of our supernumerary 
 officers — would play to her in their spare time, and to 
 which she sometimes sang in a low and rather passe 
 voice. 
 
 Before dinner the Skipper unfolded to us the 
 broad outlines of the coming break-through. As yet 
 no details had been divulged beyond the position of 
 assembly and the divisional objectives. As yet we had 
 only the one map. Nevertheless, it was strangely 
 thrilling to look at those places, now far behind the 
 German lines, which we hoped would be so soon our 
 own ; to picture from the map the exact shape and 
 aspect of the country over which we should soon be 
 riding ; and to feel that we ourselves were in a mighty 
 secret quite unknown to such great persons as the 
 Kaiser and Hindenburg himself. 
 
 Needless to say the scheme was copiously discussed 
 by us all, and unsparingly criticized, especially by our 
 younger members. It was thought by most of us that 
 the scheme was too ambitious ; that the distance to be 
 covered on Zero day between the position of asembly 
 and the final objective was bej^ond the powers of a 
 laden troop horse within one winter's day. I wondered 
 if Haig, the sound and silent, in his distant sanctuary, 
 ever supposed that small urchins of nineteen dealt 
 hardly with his considered plans of operation ! 
 
 One, two, four days passed ; the rain continued 
 falling and we moved not. Many rumours and a few 
 orders came through to us. Purple, to his exceeding 
 annoyance, was appointed liaison officer between our
 
 THE GAP 115 
 
 Brigade and the Division. Eiffel was nominated to 
 the " pool." A certain number of officers from each 
 Regiment were collected and kept behind in some 
 place of safety, in order to replace the casualties of the 
 battle ; and this reserve of cannon fodder was called 
 the " pool." Later on others would be taken aa 
 divisional, brigade, and regimental gallopers, until, as 
 the Skipper complained, he would be left without any 
 Troop Leaders at all. 
 
 Late in the evening of the fourth day a note arrived 
 from the Adjutant, announcing the expert's report on 
 the scene of our projected operations. It was laconic 
 and final : 
 
 "The Cavalry cannot function unless they are 
 mounted on ducks." 
 The "gap" was off. 
 
 " It never did seem like the business," said Purple. 
 I myself heard the news with mixed feelings. We 
 were all young, and all abundantly gifted with the joy 
 of life. We had all been in great battles before, we 
 had no illusions as to what they were, and we felt 
 thankful at being delivered out of the perils and hard- 
 ships of another great battle. But our party was 
 strangely dull and silent at dinner that night. To- 
 morrow we should meet Infantry and Tanks and other 
 honest men on the road ; and we should be going the 
 other wav. This movement of " files about " at the 
 eleventh hour was becoming, through no fault of our 
 own, a matter of regular routine. It was good to be 
 sure of living on a little longer ; life is very sweet, and 
 we were gratiful for the respite — and yet, somehow, 
 and yet ? 
 

 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CAMBRAI 
 
 FEW weeks later we started again on a 
 gap. The whole atmosphere and move- 
 ment of this gap was very different from 
 the last. This time there was no long pre- 
 fatory period of rumours, no postponed marches, no 
 uncertainty about our aim. The secret of an enter- 
 prise so gigantic had been kept with a closeness that 
 was nothing short of miraculous. Late in the evening 
 of November 14th we received orders that the Brigade 
 would march the following night to Bray-sur-Somme. 
 Until that moment no gentlest whisper of coming 
 mighty events had anywhere been heard. And, 
 when the orders did come, we knew with a sure 
 instinct that this time it was in the very sooth the 
 " business." 
 
 The night was dark and still. At a slow walk we 
 marched steadily along the road through Villers- 
 Bretonneux, thrilling to an excitement which we had 
 never felt during any period of the last abortive enter- 
 prise. For more than two years the routine of trench 
 warfare had repeated itself with unvarying monotony. 
 Now a change had come. As a hunter tracks his game, 
 we were stealthily stalking through the darkness. 
 On our road, and on a hundred other roads, columns
 
 CAMBRAI 117 
 
 of every kind, and terrible engines of death, stole 
 forward upon our unsuspecting prey. When we 
 were halted, if we thought to listen hard, we could 
 hear and feel that all the immense void of night was 
 alive with this stealthy monster moment. 
 
 I listened for a while to the creeping darkness, 
 and then, with a little shudder, turned and joined a 
 cheerful group which stood talking at the head of the 
 Squadroon. All were in the highest spirits, laughing 
 and jesting with an extravagance which was not quite 
 natural ; which, in fact, sounded as though we were 
 all slightly intoxicated with the excitement and 
 suspense of our momentous undertaking. Many 
 times since I have noticed that, when on the thres- 
 hold of a great danger, we often displayed this some- 
 what feverish gaiety, lest, perhaps, other and darker 
 thoughts should enter our minds, or lest we should 
 betray to our companions the cold qualms by which 
 we were every now and then shaken. 
 
 Day was at hand when we reached the battered 
 village of Bray. It had been cruelly pounded during 
 the battles of the Somme. Many of its houses lay 
 flat in utter ruin ; all had been more or less destroyed, 
 and a few, a very few only, were still fit for human 
 habitation. 
 
 In the little broken cottage which we made our 
 mess, an old, bent couple were still living. Love of 
 home and greed of gain had tempted them to brave the 
 terrors and the horrors of intense bombardments ; 
 and the proverbial good fortune which favours the 
 brave had brought them through years of constant 
 peril all unscathed. 
 
 Tired out though we were with the length and 
 slowness of the march, we despatched a simple meal
 
 118 THE SQUADROON 
 
 of bully beef and cider with the appetite and merri- 
 ment of a point-to-point luncheon. Afterwards the 
 great Leaders laid them down to sleep on the cold, 
 brick floor, fully dressed and wrapt only in their 
 martial cloaks and one blanket apiece ; while the 
 Skipper and I betook ourselves to the tiny bedroom 
 which had been found for us in the other end of the 
 village. A piteous, plaintive old lady was our hostess. 
 Unlike the old people of the mess she had not 
 braved out the battles and bombardments, but had 
 returned to what was left of her home after the 
 enemy's withdrawal to the Hindenberg Line. Our 
 room was small and squalid in the extreme. Two 
 wrecks of iron bedsteads filled almost the whole space. 
 The beds were piled high with a mass of filthy, parti- 
 coloured rags. Their appearance was unpleasant, 
 their smell was worse. 
 
 " Makes you scratch, just to look at 'em ! What 
 about it ? " said the Skipper. 
 
 We discussed the indelicate question in doubt and 
 sorrow for some time. I was in favour of returning 
 to the mess and sleeping on the floor with the others, 
 rolled up in our coats and blankets, but the Skipper 
 finally decided to stay. 
 
 11 In any case," he said, referring to the hereditary 
 enemy of man, " we're bound to get 'em in a day or 
 two — and this is probably our last chance of a warm 
 sleep till God knows when. And anyway, ' How can 
 man die better than facing fearful odds ? ' " 
 
 That same evening, when darkness was falling, 
 we set out again upon the road. Now, like Satan's 
 outcast legions in the chaos, we took our way through 
 a weird and eerie wilderness of madman's land. A 
 year ago withering blasts of . fire and steel had swept
 
 CAMBRAI 119 
 
 all that air, and where tall poplars had once lined the 
 road in regular order was now only here and there a 
 riven, ragged stump. Occasional flashes of a torch 
 to left or right showed us always, in its ghostly beam, 
 old trench and rusty wire, endless tangled wire, with 
 here and there a rough, wooden cross or battered 
 helmet on a stake, to mark some unknown soldier's 
 grave ; and not seldom showed us, too, the skeleton 
 or the dust and ashes of some once smiling town. 
 Stretching far away to east and west an endless 
 line of pale stars soared and floated in the firma- 
 ment, and then fell flickering despairfully into 
 chaos again. From the distance, and growing 
 louder as we progressed, came intermittently, dull 
 boomings and the flat re-echoing crash of bursting 
 crumps ; and high in the heavens overhead great 
 shells sighed dreamily as they sped upon their errands 
 of destruction. From time to time a lurid flash on 
 the horizon lit up for a moment with dim and ghastly 
 radiance the infinite expanse of formless, awful waste 
 around us. And again all the night was full of 
 stealthy movement and the whisperings of the dead. 
 
 Hour after hour, mile upon mile we toiled along 
 through this unearthly semblance of the infernal 
 regions. Short broken snatches of sleep only during 
 the previous day, and the long, slow marching, always 
 at the walk, had taken the edge off that high spirit 
 with which we had started out upon this adventure on 
 the night before. We seemed to have been marching 
 all our lives through a nightmare land of eternal 
 night. Men nodded in their saddles ; horses blundered 
 and stumbled, and sometimes came down with a 
 clatter on the road. All were too sleepy for conversa- 
 tion. Then at last there came a halt. Torches flashed
 
 120 THE SQUADROON 
 
 in the distance, orders were passed down the line, the 
 voices of Purple and his billeting party were heard ; 
 Squadrons, moving at a snail's pace, filed off the road ; 
 we ploshed through much mud and finally, at a row 
 of troughs, the tedious and difficult operation of 
 watering in the dark was carried out. 
 
 We learned that we were in the village of Trefcon. 
 There were here already permanent horse lines, 
 Adrian huts for the men and a Nissen hut for the 
 officers of each Squadron, so that billeting was a very 
 simple affair. 
 
 With the exception of a rough table and one 
 broken bed frame, our hut was bare ; or more than 
 bare, since, most of the floor boards and panels 
 having been used by our predecessors for firewood, 
 the wind whistled dolefully through the joints in the 
 sheet iron and up through the gaps in the floor. 
 
 As usual on such occasions, directly we get in 
 from lodging our men and horses, we set about a 
 meal. Tinned salmon, canned apricots, a bottle of 
 whisky, and a jug of steaming " coffee to the milk " 
 soon made their appearance. It was on the whole 
 a silent meal, distinguished rather by the capacity 
 and prowess of the performers than by raillery and 
 chatter. 
 
 As no definite news had yet reached us regarding 
 the day of battle, and as, for all we knew, it might 
 be that very morning, we lost no time in " getting 
 down to it" on the damp, muddy floor, where, in 
 spite of some hardness and the chilly draughts, we 
 were soon sunk deep in slumber. 
 
 The morning was well advanced by the time that 
 Frank aroused us with the welcome tidings that we 
 would not be marching that night. The day, however,
 
 CAMBRAI 121 
 
 was full of occupation and excitement. The plan of 
 battle in its minutest details, was communicated down 
 to all ranks ; and the Squadroon had been allotted a 
 thrilling role. The small frontage for which it was 
 to be responsible covered a lot of names that are now 
 famous in military history, and its final objective was 
 the capture of a suburb of Cambrai wherein a German 
 Corps commander was said to have his headquarters. 
 As the Skipper went through the plan, telling off the 
 advanced Troops, the Troop sectors, special patrols, 
 and all the innumerable other details, I had a strange 
 feeling of unreality ; it all seemed so like an ordinary 
 training scheme ; and Jimmie rubbed his eyes to 
 make sure that he was not back at the Divisional 
 School. One particular role at the School, that of 
 an independent mission, had always appealed most 
 strongly to the imagination of the adventurous, and 
 now in the operation orders we read that a certain 
 Regiment was to detail a Squadron to make its way 
 right through the broken and confused enemy, and 
 to blow up an important railway bridge far away 
 behind his lines. We all wondered who had been 
 selected for this hazardous enterprise ; whether he 
 was any one we knew ; what he and his Squadron 
 were thinking and saying about it at that moment ; 
 and what luck they would have on the day. 
 
 As for our own role, we did not think that we 
 could get through the cavalry track and so far on in 
 one day ; but the near prospect of open warfare, in 
 which we were all highly trained and fully confident 
 in ourselves, filled us with renewed excitement. Our 
 scheme was precisely the same as hundreds of other 
 schemes which we had practised behind the lines 
 during the last two years, and every one felt sure
 
 122 THE SQUADROON 
 
 that he would know exactly how to deal with every 
 situation which could possibly arise. And although 
 this is a thing of which no one speaks, even to his 
 nearest friend, there were doubtless thoughts in many 
 of our minds that here would be a chance of displaying 
 great qualities, qualities hitherto totally unsuspected 
 by our superiors and known only to ourselves ! — a 
 great chance of winning D.S.O.'s and M.C.'s. The 
 very familiarity of the scheme seemed somehow to 
 preclude all thoughts of danger and of death. All 
 day we spent in discussing our role, colouring in the 
 contours on our newly issued maps, and testing 
 Hotchkiss Guns. By nightfall no further orders had 
 arrived. To the detriment of our hut and the British 
 tax-payer, but to our own great advantage, we had 
 managed to " scrounge " a stove, and we early lay 
 down around a blazing fire, for we were all old soldiers 
 enough to lose no opportunity of sleeping when out 
 on the war-path. 
 
 The next day passed in the same way. No orders 
 came ; we did not move, our confidence and interest 
 in no way abated. Then another day and another 
 passed, and still no move. This strain of waiting 
 gradually began to make itself seen in our behaviour. 
 The steeplechase rider waiting for the flag to fall, 
 the high diver looking down at the sea, feel, in the 
 anticipation, tremors far more acute than in the 
 performance. I noticed that there was an unusual 
 demand for whisky, that there were outbursts of 
 wild, unnatural merriment, punctuated by periods 
 of brooding silence, that we laughed immoderately at 
 things which were not in the least amusing ; some- 
 times at things which were even horrible. As for 
 myself, I was every now and then seized with a
 
 CAMBRAI 123 
 
 terrible sinking at the heart, an agony of apprehen- 
 sion, an utter cowardice, of which I was bitterly 
 ashamed, but which I found it very difficult to 
 overcome. 
 
 On the afternoon of the fourth day, when nerves 
 were wearing thin, the final orders came. We were 
 to march at three o'clock in the morning ; conse- 
 quently, as saddles had to be packed overnight, we 
 were without blankets or any kind of comfort for what 
 there remained to us of the night. The air was cold, 
 the stove became possessed of a devil, throwing out 
 volumes of suffocating smoke but no heat, and one by 
 one we got up from the floor and passed the hours 
 before " turn out " in walking up and down the hut 
 in a vain attempt to keep warm. 
 
 At last, with a feeling of relief at being on the 
 move again, and too cold to wonder much about 
 where we should spend the following night, we started 
 out for the position of assembly. At 6 a.m. we 
 reached a place where a " hot meal " of cold and 
 greasy pea-soup had been prepared for us. Zero hour, 
 we knew, was 6.20. While the men, still holding 
 their reins, lay down and slept beside their horses, 
 the officers of the Squadroon stood on a little ridge 
 looking eagerly at their watches and out over the 
 German lines. As the minute-hand crept on to 
 within a few seconds of the fateful hour I thrilled 
 through and through with strange emotions. I 
 pictured the German lines, the daily routine in pro- 
 gress, the tired men in grey preparing for a little rest 
 after the anxieties of another night now safely passed. 
 I pictured our Infantiy, tense and crouching, our 
 great fleet of Tanks, blind and beastly, snuffling after 
 blood.
 
 124 THE SQUADROON 
 
 The minute-hand crept on ; only a few seconds to 
 go. We stood very silent now. 6.20 ! 
 
 Not the voice of one great signal gun, but with a 
 blinding flash of flame and one great crashing roar 
 all the myriad guns belched and bellowed on the 
 instant. The earth trembled under our feet, the 
 noise was deafening. Soon from all along the German 
 line, signals of distress soared up into the sky, till the 
 pale dawn was all lit up with many coloured stars, 
 red and white and green and golden rain, piteously 
 calling for help from batteries that had already ceased 
 to be, overwhelmed by the sudden deluge. 
 
 The roaring thunder of our guns seemed to increase 
 in violence and intensity. I pictured now the tortured 
 earth, the cowering Huns ; our Infantry following 
 close behind the moving wall of flame and shard ; the 
 Tanks waddling horribly, breathing fire and smeared 
 with blood. And I hoped and prayed with passionate 
 fervour that all was going well. So awful were the 
 prospect and the sounds of this great wrath that I was 
 almost overcome. My knees knocked together and I 
 began to tremble all over my body until I had to leave 
 our little group and sit down on the bank, pretending 
 to watch the bombardment through my glasses in 
 order to conceal this most unmanly weakness. 
 
 One hour, two hours went by. As yet no news 
 came in. We were all very silent, some of us showing 
 in a marked degree that sharpness of temper which 
 often precedes the near entry into battle. The ramp- 
 ing party of selected officers and men from the Indian 
 Division/armed with picks and shovels, were following, 
 we knew, close behind our Infantry, making with cool 
 swift hands the cavalry track. We pictured the dark 
 bearded faces with their glistening eyes, the lithe 

 
 CAMBRAI 125 
 
 bodies bending to their task, dragging aside the tangled 
 wire, filling in the shell-holes, planking bog and 
 swamp, bridging the torn and gaping trenches, moving 
 to one side the dying and the dead, labouring at the 
 quick narrow road along which twenty thousand horse 
 must soon be pouring, over the chaos, and out on to 
 the open, promised land beyond. 
 
 Another hour, another two hours went by. 
 Rumours, fragments of news, came in. All was going 
 well, they said, better even than could have been 
 expected. But still we did not move. Yet another 
 two hours dragged on before the order came to mount. 
 It was then past midday, and evident to the youngest 
 of us that, as far as the Cavalry were concerned, the 
 plan had failed. In another four hours it would be 
 dark. We knew from previous experience how slow 
 and painful is the passage of a cavalry track. Wo 
 knew that the scheme which we had so carefully 
 rehearsed, the brilliant feats of derring-do of which 
 we had so often dreamed, were now not to be. We 
 knew that it was too late. 
 
 With darkness a drenching rain began to fall. 
 That night and the next day we spent in a shell-hole, 
 about half-way down the cavalry track, listening to a 
 furious battle just ahead ; and the following night, 
 without having fired a shot or swung a sword, we went 
 back in mud and darkness and in shame to the place 
 where we had started from. 
 
 A few days later the tide of battle turned. What 
 had been the most swift and brilliant British victory 
 in the war, was near to becoming the most crushing 
 disaster. In those critical days the Squadroon played 
 its part at Bourlon Wood ; but its part was that of 
 unskilled and stubborn infantry.
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ARMEENS 
 
 FTER the battlos of Cambrai the Cavalry 
 went into winter quarters around about the 
 populous and flourishing city of Amiens- 
 pronounced, in the vulgar language of the 
 camp, Armeens. 
 
 The Squadroon found itself in a dilapidated little 
 village, already filled to overflowing with swarms of 
 those most pitiable of people, refugees from the devas- 
 tated areas. Our mess was in an old-fashioned, 
 rambling farmhouse, cold and uncomfortable beyond 
 any words, but one to which we shall always look 
 back with tenderness, for Madame's sister-in-law, 
 Marie, was a lady so pretty, so witty and so charming, 
 that very soon we were all fathoms deep in love. 
 
 We passed some happy weeks in the full enjoyment 
 of peace and plenty, and in all the delights which that 
 country so bountifully afforded. Pheasants abounded 
 in the many woods ; the endless rolling fields of stubble 
 covered quantities of game. We bought a couple of 
 serviceable guns in Amiens, we assiduously cultivated 
 the owners of the land, and we joyfully accepted their 
 kind and frequent invitations to " le sport " — knowing 
 nevertheless that we did so, so to speak, with our 
 commissions in our hands, for shooting, other than the
 
 ARMEENS 127 
 
 Hun, was strictly forbidden in the British Army. On 
 these shoots we learned, among other things and to our 
 great surprise, that the " Frog " is a real good sports- 
 man and a remarkably fine shot. Hare hunting was 
 another popular form of amusement. The hare 
 always runs in a circle, and by skilfully disposing 
 ourselves over a wide area, one taking up the chase 
 as soon as the other's horse was blown, we used to 
 ride them down in a quarter of an hour or twenty 
 minutes. Then came a heavy and lasting fall of snow. 
 The Frenchman, who we somehow imagined only 
 shot birds sitting, until we saw him wiping our eye 
 again and again, does not shoot at all when game is 
 weak and numbed with frost. So for a time our sport 
 came to an end. 
 
 Then orders came through for a trench party. 
 This meant that each Regiment involved would send 
 up a formation of about two hundred and forty strong 
 — neither a regiment nor a company ; and that each 
 Brigade would send up three such formations, to take 
 the place of a battalion in the line ; and some con- 
 fusion would arise from its having to relieve four 
 small companies with these three larger formations. 
 
 It was a matter of custom in the Squadroon that 
 when any battle party was called for, every officer 
 formed up and volunteered to go. A certain number 
 had always to stay behind with the horses, and the 
 Skipper's system was to take those for the line as far 
 as possible by turn, and, when there was a doubt 
 between the turn of any two, to settle the question by 
 three cold hands of poker. Had it not been for the 
 sweet sorrow of leaving fair Marie, all would have 
 preferred to go up with the party ; not because they 
 enjoyed a tour of winter trenches, but because they
 
 128 THE SQUADROON 
 
 detested being left behind with one man only to look 
 after every six horses. 
 
 What, for simplicity's sake, I shall call the Brigade- 
 battalion, was commanded in turn by the three 
 Regimental Commanders ; and the Regimental- 
 company was likewise commanded in turn by the 
 three squadron leaders. This time it was the Skipper's 
 turn to command, and consequently the Squadroon'a 
 turn to furnish a headquarter staff for the Regimental- 
 company. Since Bourlon Wood there had been some 
 changes in our ranks. Tubs had left us for the 
 Olympian heights of R.H.Q. in replacement of the 
 Adjutant, who had been wounded. Old Bill was back 
 in Blighty with a "cushy one" through the fleshy 
 part of his thigh. The leadership of the First Army 
 was now in the hands of Hector, a blue-eyed giant in 
 stature, a giant in athletic renown, who had lately 
 returned to the fold after being long laid low of a 
 nasty wound at Arras. Tiny, in all the pride of his 
 four foot ten inches, rode at the head of the Fourth 
 Army. And Sam'l the Silent had joined the General 
 Staff of the Third Army. 
 
 From the Squadroon then, Purple went as Second- 
 in-Command of the party, Hector as Master-Bomb- 
 ber, Eiffel and Jimmie as Platoon Leaders, Tiny as 
 Gas Officer attached to H.Q., Micky O'Grady as 
 Sergeant-Major, and Jerry as S.Q.M.S. William Henry 
 was left behind with a plurality of offices upon his 
 capable shoulders. Two officers from each of the 
 other squadrons and myself made up the numbers of 
 our mess to ten. 
 
 The Skipper was in great heart at the prospect. 
 
 " I don't know what it is," he said. " but there's a 
 tremendous fascination about the trenches. You sit
 
 ABMEENS 129 
 
 in your dug-out — a pretty deep one, I hope — and you 
 pore over your maps and aeroplane photos, and pit 
 your wits against the Boche doing the same thing 
 over the way, We always go all out to catch a few 
 prisoners night-patrolling ; it bucks fellows up no end 
 if you do. And besides, as regards myself, I'm sick of 
 living on sharks and hens. You can't diet in the 
 trenches, and there I scoff meats and puddings and 
 carrots and potatoes, and all such rare forbidden 
 fruits. Usually have to go to bed for a week when we 
 get back, but it's worth it." 
 
 " Yes, I quite understand the call of your carnal 
 appetites," I answered, "but I don't understand, 
 though, why the men are so keen to go up. The 
 line in winter can't be much of a picnic for them ? " 
 
 " No— that is so. You see, the Cavalry, not being 
 equipped for war, are always either very comfortable 
 or very uncomfortable. We have our echelon with us 
 up to the last possible moment, what time we are very 
 comfortable. But once we leave it, having no packs, 
 cookers, gun-carriers and other feet conveniences, we 
 go through toils and tribulations quite undreamed of 
 by the Infantry. But, back here in comfort, the men 
 get bored stiff with the monotonous routine, and the 
 everlasting cleaning of saddlery and grooming of even 
 two horses. It's the craving for change and the 
 prospect of being left with six horses that makes 'em 
 all so keen to go up." 
 
 The Skipper went up a day ahead of the party, to 
 reconnoitre the line and to get in touch with local 
 conditions. I also seized the opportunity of going 
 with him. 
 
 Before going into the line in winter the wise man 
 always, if possible, does some shopping. Woolly
 
 180 THE SQUADROON 
 
 vests, woolly pants, woolly gloves, woolly scarf, stout 
 boots large enough to take two or even three pairs of 
 woolly socks, woolly cap, refills for torches, reserves of 
 tobacco, large quantities of cigarettes and chocolate, 
 boxes of matches by the gross, are all essential to 
 comfort and efficiency. 
 
 So, in order to make good any deficienices or to 
 replace such of these articles in our kit as had fallen 
 on evil days and were unlikely to do credit to 
 themselves and to us in the battle and the breeze, 
 we allowed ourselves a day in Armeens en route. 
 Having cut ourselves a stout trench stick apiece from 
 the neighbouring thicket, against rats, duck-boards 
 and such man-killing carnivora, we left Dano — railing 
 on Lady Fortune in good set terms at being left 
 behind in charge of details — with our farewell blessing, 
 and, early in the morning, fared us forth upon our 
 way to Amiens. 
 
 When our shopping was done there arose the nice 
 point of where to lunch. A nice point, I say advisedly, 
 because opinion differed variously on this delicate 
 question. Some there were who swore by all their 
 gods and the Godbert. Others held that prettier 
 eating was to be had at Les Huitres. Others again, 
 the aesthetically minded, maintained that the charms 
 of dainty Marguerite outweighed any slight culinary 
 inferiorities, and raised La Cathedrale indisputably to 
 the first place. As I cared not a jot what I ate, as 
 long as there was lots of it, and as the Skipper could 
 only eat sharks and hens, and as we both had an eye 
 for the beautiful, we decided without hesitation on 
 La Cathedrale. 
 
 The proprietress, a stout elderly lady, richly ap- 
 parelled in sober silks, greeted us warmly as old and
 
 ABMBENS 131 
 
 honoured friends, although until that moment I had 
 never set eyes upon her face. The day being Sunday, 
 sho said, all her rooms were very full, but .she would 
 assuredly find a little corner for us. "When we had 
 taken our seats at a small table for two, and I had 
 glanced around the crowded room, I had the strange 
 feeling of having seen all those same faces before, at 
 the Shelbourne in Dublin, at the Savoy in London 
 and at the Ritz in Paris. The Cavalry were strongly 
 represented, splendid in their beautiful waists, their 
 shiny buttons and gleaming spurs, their brown 
 breeches and their highly polished boots. "We, in 
 our oldest " battle clothes," must have made a v< 
 shabby contrast with all this bravery ; the more .so as 
 the Skipper, partly from preference, but chiefly to 
 save his servant trouble, always wore puttees, bronze 
 badges and leather buttons. 
 
 Presently, after a lougish wait, the celebrated 
 Marguerite herself came up, shook hands with the 
 Skipper, chatted for a few moments, and then asked 
 us what we would order. I looked with much interest 
 at this little waitress whose beauty was praised from 
 one end to the other of the British Army. Un- 
 deniably she was dainty, fresh and piquante. Un- 
 deniably she was not without looks and was dressed 
 with quiet taste and elegance. But anybody, seeing 
 her in a crowd of English girls and not knowing of 
 her fame, would not have turned to look again. The 
 timid minds of men follow fashion with more certainty 
 than they follow their own tastes. Somehow it had 
 become the fashion to admire Marguerite, and there- 
 fore all the Army blindly admired her without further 
 question. Very senior officers leered and ogled in a 
 manner that was highly ludicrous and somewhat
 
 
 132 THE SQUADROON 
 
 disgusting, while subalterns gazed at her with open, 
 honest, hearty lust. But Marguerite was a wise and 
 discreet little lady who contented herself with her 
 own fair freshness and an average taking in tips of 
 over two hundred francs a day. 
 
 Warmed by a bottle of excellent wine we hurried 
 away from lunch to the Opera. On the way we 
 witnessed an imposing spectacle, a formal and cere- 
 monious march of the Iron Corps through Amiens. 
 Little did we think then, as we watched those tough, 
 ruddy, weather-beaten poilus swinging by, that within 
 a few months, and within a few miles of this same 
 gay city, we were going to be so fatefully associated 
 with that famous Corps. There was much about these 
 French that, on the surface, appeared passing shoddy. 
 Their tin hats did not look as if they would stop a 
 pea, their guns looked like children's toys, they 
 marched with conspicuous negligence, and they 
 seemed to have no officers at all. We have, I am 
 told, more officers than men ; but the French are a 
 nation of born soldiers. Everything about them, 
 though it may look shoddy, is eminently sound. 
 Those ramshackle guns, the famous *75's, are the 
 finest and fastest shooters in the world ; those tin 
 hats are the lightest and the strongest ; their system 
 of rations is unrivalled ; and when a company relieves 
 in the line, their Captain says, " My children, you will 
 be in such and such a trench at such and such an 
 hour." And each man finds his way there on his 
 own without fail or falter. 
 
 We noticed, too, that almost every man wore the 
 Croix de Guerre. With us a soldier may serve well, 
 and more than well, for years, in and out of the line, 
 but, if he has not had the luck to do some showy 

 
 ARMEENS 133 
 
 deed of gallantry, he goes home on his rare periods 
 of leave still undecorated. Not so the sound and 
 human French. When a battalion commander is 
 satisfied that one of his poilus has, for any length of 
 time, done his common duty well, the man's name is 
 cited in battalion orders, and that poilu becomes forth- 
 with a proud wearer of the war cross. 
 
 The opera was " Faust," indifferently well per- 
 formed. On our arrival we found Tubs and Purple 
 already there. Both were ardent lovers of music. 
 Purple, in his softer moments, sometimes made his- 
 sing noises on a flute ; and Tubs, in his Oxford days, 
 had, it was feared, composed a valse. 
 
 In spite, however, of the mediocrity of the voices 
 and of the acting, the house was closely packed with a 
 mixed and generous audience, in which khaki some- 
 what preponderated. 
 
 When we left the theatre it was already dark. 
 
 " Now that there are none of the children about to 
 be led astray by our example, let's go and have a 
 cocktail or two in Charlie's bar ! " said the Skipper. 
 
 " I think I've had enough alcohol for one day," I 
 replied. 
 
 " You needn't worry about alcohol ; Charlie doesn't 
 put any in his cocktails — it's much too expensive 
 these days. The secret of his greatness is that he 
 hypnotizes fellows by the seductive way he shakes 
 the mixer into believing that the coloured concoc- 
 tions, which they swallow at such enormous prices, 
 are the genuine article. Possibly there may be the 
 slightest soupcon of methylated spirits in them, just 
 to confirm the illusion, but that's all. Come along." 
 
 Charlie, who to our certain knowledge had been 
 shot at least three times as a spy, stood smilingly
 
 134 THE SQUADROON 
 
 behind his bar, apparently none the worse for these 
 painful experiences. The crowd of hypnotized young 
 officers was so dense that we saw not the faintest 
 chance of being served in under half an hour. More- 
 over, the atmosphere was foul with hot air and smoke 
 and all unwholesomeness. 
 
 " Let's push off before we're gassed," I insisted. 
 
 We walked down to " Piccadilly Circus," and then 
 up again, towards the station, along the fashionable 
 and animated street of " Les Trois Cailloux." 
 
 Every now and then a little hand was laid lightly 
 on our arm and the word " Capitaine " was breathed, 
 soft and inviting as a caress, into our ear. 
 
 The Skipper hated to hurt anyone's feelings. 
 Although he could on occasions be very stern and 
 hard with men, he was invariably gentle and courteous 
 to women, whatever their class, colour or condition ; 
 and he now stopped each time to acknowledge these 
 salutations. When I expostulated with him on the 
 ground that he was putting me in a very embarrass- 
 ing position, he only laughed and said : 
 
 "Well, Padre, why shouldn't I talk to them? 
 There are, according to their own lights, some of the 
 most honourable women in the world among that 
 class. If I'd been born a girl, and hopelessly poor, 
 I'd have taken that line myself ! " 
 
 Perhaps, with the Englishman's horror of senti- 
 ment, he spoke like this as a sort of apology for the 
 gentle courtesy with which he treated these women — 
 a courtesy which raised them for a fleeting moment 
 on to that pedestal which might have been their own. 
 But again he probably said it to pull my leg, to draw 
 me. Anyhow, I did not rise to the obvious bait. I 
 took him firmly by the arm.
 
 ARMEENS 135 
 
 " You silly old ass, with that face of yours you'd 
 have had a mighty poor clientele ! Come along or 
 we'll miss the train." 
 
 The station was full of life and bustle. Along- 
 side one platform stood the Boulogne-Paris express 
 with its variegated throng of civil and military pas- 
 sengers. Alongside the next platform was our train, 
 likewise crowded with all sorts and conditions of 
 humanity. Harold, the Skipper's servant, stood at 
 the door of a first-class carriage, which was already 
 half-filled with French civilians, and in which he had 
 marked down for us two corner seats with a tin hat 
 and a revolver. He had the Tatler and the evening 
 papers in his hand. He touched his hat as we 
 arrived. 
 
 " Your valises are in the van, sir." 
 
 And so, in the manner of a week-end to Brighton, 
 we started off for the trenches.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE TEENCH PARTY 
 
 "\ "\ T^^ deep sighs of regret we climbed down 
 \ /% / out of our comfortable carriage at the 
 V V shattered station of Peronne, whence, 
 with the aid of our servants and with 
 much slipping and slithering, we humped our valises 
 over about a mile of ice-bound street to the officers' 
 club. The club, as ever, was crowded. Any fellows 
 whom we knew, and who had the unmistakable air 
 of "coming out" — conspicuously light and jaunty in 
 contrast to the meditative air of those " going in " — 
 we plied with questions about our part of the line. 
 Was it pretty quiet? What sort of Boche was up 
 against it ? Any talk of raids ? Were the dug-outs 
 comfy and — er — deep? And of course we got all 
 sorts of contradictory answers to these questions. 
 People's idea of a quiet bit of line varied widely. 
 Also one man, of a coarse nature, would delight in 
 "putting the wind up" his successors with fantastic 
 stories of the " liveliness," while another, of finer fibre, 
 would, out of the kindness of his heart and an under- 
 standing sympathy, give us a more reassuring account. 
 Others again, especially the very young, would, out 
 of mere childish vanity, exaggerate in the wildest 
 manner the dangers they had passed.
 
 THE TRENCH TARTY 137 
 
 " Taking into consideration the fact that all men 
 are liars, and particularly so in the matter of their 
 own battle experiences, I think we may say that our 
 bit of the line sounds fairly peaceful, what?" I re- 
 marked. 
 
 " I don't like it," answered the Skipper. " I know 
 these heavenly peaceful bits of line. In a few days 
 they become hell. But it doesn't much matter one 
 way or the other, for wherever the Cavalry go in they 
 stir things up at once. It's our bloody-minded, bull- 
 necked generials — ' breathing the offensive,' initiative, 
 moral superiority, and all that sort of thing." 
 
 " But surely it's sound to get the upper hand ? " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it is. You see, there're three 
 ways of life in the trenches. One is the live and let 
 live principle— the ideal one from the soldier's point 
 of view. The second is to take the upper hand, and 
 keep the Boche jumping— warm, but dignified. And 
 the third is to let him get the upper hand- and keep 
 you jumping— a wretched, contemptible and dangerous 
 state of affairs. In this last state you can't put your 
 head over the parapet without getting a bullet through 
 it. There's only one thing against the second, the 
 vigorous offensive business, and that is that he always 
 has heavier and more accurate trench mortars than 
 we, and, whereas we pack our front line, he only has 
 two men and a boy in his, so the probability is that, 
 although we do get the upper hand, he gets the bigger 
 bag. Well, we've got to get up at sparrow crack — 
 train goes at half -five, so I'm for beddy byes. Bong 
 soir." 
 
 There was 'nothing of a week-end flavour about 
 our journey the next morning. The day had not 
 dawned, the frost was bitter, the train consisted only
 
 138 THE SQUADROON 
 
 of cattle trucks — the kind that are marked, " horses 
 10, men 40," which we had all seen on every line 
 before the war, and wondered what on earth was the 
 use of labelling them with the number of men that 
 they could carry, since obviously they could never be 
 used for such a purpose. As we stamped about the 
 floor, blew into our gloves and swung our arms to 
 try and prevent getting frost-bitten, I could not help 
 smiling at an old memory. Once a furiously indig- 
 nant parent had told me that his son, when taken 
 prisoner, had been sent back in a cattle truck— a 
 cattle truck, sir ! It had probably never occurred to 
 the good old man, and to the large class of which he 
 was a type, that trains de luxe with Pulman cars and 
 wagon-lits are not run right up to the front-lin6 
 systems, or that when our own men go up they travel 
 as a rule on their flat feet, and only when they are 
 very lucky indeed in cattle trucks like these. 
 
 After some hours of Arctic misery we descended 
 from our state coach at the ruins that had once been 
 Roisel. Here we were lucky enough to jump a lorry 
 bound for the small village of Vendelles, in which was 
 situated the unit that we were going to relieve. Our 
 drive lay over a sweep of about eight miles of rolling 
 downs. All this was part of the country from which 
 the enemy had voluntarily withdrawn in the spring 
 of 1917, and consequently his own front line had been 
 chosen and prepared, not fortuitously, according to 
 the fortunes of battle, but with the utmost care and 
 deliberation. We could see it, some miles away to 
 our left, running along the line of a high and gradu- 
 ally ascending ridge which bounded the horizon and 
 dominated all our country-side. The whole scene 
 was typical of a forward area. Every ridge was
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 130 
 
 gashed along and across with white, irregular lines of 
 trench. The open spaces in front were sown with 
 fields of rusted wire. Under every bank, in every 
 sunken lane, were the kraals of dug-outs, sandbagged 
 shelters and wooden shanties. Among the ruins of 
 every village cowered "baby elephants" and corrugated 
 iron huts. Sinister, deep-voiced guns lurked beneath 
 the shadows of every fold. A thick network of light 
 rails and a finer web of many coloured telephone wires 
 spread out over all the landscape. The jungle grass 
 grew wild and rank. Everywhere rotting sandbags 
 and rusty iron. The sights, the smells, the sounds — 
 the whole aspect, was unspeakably evil and unclean ; 
 and it suggested always to me a maniac's unshaven 
 face with livid scars across the cheek. 
 
 At the one small cottage of Vendelles that remained 
 standing, we reported to Headquarters. The com- 
 mander of our Brigade-battalion was a very young 
 and capable Colonel, who was assisted by a Second- 
 in-Command and an Adjutant from his own Regiment, 
 also very young, very capable and very bonhomous 
 officers. The Colonel gave us, off the map, our 
 divisional, brigade, and regimental sectors ; told us all 
 the latest intelligence about the Boche; propounded 
 in the minutest detail our somewhat complicated 
 scheme of defence; added that things seemed extra- 
 ordinarily quiet, but that he feared we were soon to 
 make a noisy raid ; insisted, after this bad news, on 
 us having another glass of port, and cordially invited 
 us to stay on to luncheon. Then the Secoud-in-Com- 
 mand, whose chief function it was to cater for the 
 comforts of the inner man, drew us into intimate 
 confidences about our tastes in meat and drink and 
 our general ideas about the provisioning of a canteen.
 
 110 THE SQUADROON 
 
 He ended by extorting from us every farthing that 
 we had about us, as part payment in anticipation. 
 He usually reckoned, he said, to lose about four 
 hundred francs during a tour in the trenches ; but 
 this time he was to lose more than five times that 
 amount, for, while we were in the support line, a 
 " 5'9" visited his canteen just after the arrival of the 
 latest lorry's load of goods. 
 
 Our Regimental -company was to remain for four 
 days at Vendelles — about three miles behind the front 
 line — in reserve. We were lodged, the officers in one 
 Nissen hut, the sergeants in another, and the men in 
 two huge Adrian huts. Our hut had, of course, 
 several panel boards missing, thereby admitting an 
 eager and a nipping air, as well as vast quantities 
 of snow ; but it had a fairly willing stove and was 
 fitted with a long table, two benches and a double tier 
 of sleeping bunks, so on the whole we were well satis- 
 fied with our accommodation. 
 
 Heavy driving snow was falling when, on the 
 following afternoon, a string of lorries deposited Purple 
 and his frozen legions at our doorstep. 
 
 " Do they throw things at us here ? " asked 
 Jimmie. 
 
 All listened anxiously for the answer. The de- 
 sirability of a bijou residence in France depends more 
 than anything else on the amount that it is shelled. 
 
 " No," answered the Skipper, " they wump Fer- 
 vacque Farm pretty reg'lar ; and they put a good deal 
 of big stuff into Le Verguier and Jeancourt, but so far, 
 touch wood, there's been nothing within a couple of 
 miles of us." 
 
 Those four days in reserve passed quietly and 
 quickly by. The inevitable and inexorable Sappers,
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 1-11 
 
 of course, scenting new blood from afar, soon swooped 
 down upon us, with the result that most of us spent 
 most of the hours of most of our nights out on work- 
 ing parties. As, however, we went on the unique 
 principle of trying to carry out well and fully all that 
 was asked of us by the Sappers, we always got on 
 excellently well with those proverbially hard task- 
 masters. Our rule was that, for example's sake, one 
 officer to every twenty men should go ; if the party 
 exceeded eighty, the Skipper went with it ; if less 
 than eighty and more than forty, Purple went with 
 it. The law that I made unto myself was that I went 
 on alternate nights. 
 
 There is no concealing the fact that the men 
 loathed working parties. It is a cruel ordinance of 
 nature that almost all essential things are dull and 
 wearisome, if not actually hateful. The same man 
 who would spend a happy day in making an orna- 
 mental border around his billet, or in marking out 
 the regimental crest with small white stones on a mud 
 wall, thought himself the most aggrieved of mortals 
 when required to spend two hours in digging a trench, 
 of which the sole purpose was to save his life. 
 
 At this time, too, there was a great difficulty in 
 getting boots. Many men plodded painfully through 
 the mud and snow with practically only socks upon 
 their feet. And the feet of many men became so 
 swollen with frostbite that when once they had taken 
 their boots off they could not get them on again. 
 Nevertheless, owing, I think, in great measure to the 
 example of their officers, the men carried through 
 these working parties with an excellent spirit. They 
 marched away in the darkness and whirling snow, 
 with the Squadroon band of mouth organs and tin
 
 142 THE SQUADKOON 
 
 whistles playing lively airs at their head ; they knew 
 that they had a big reputation to maintain in the 
 matter of tasks well and quickly done, and growlingly 
 they would maintain it. The leaders of twenty made 
 small bets among themselves as to who should finish 
 first, and themselves worked as heartily with pick and 
 shovel as any private soldier ; as, too, did Purple, or 
 the Skipper, whichever happened to be out; and so 
 the time sped swiftly by till the Sapper dismissed us 
 with his blessing, and we turned homewards again 
 to the boiling dixies of soup which we knew were 
 awaiting us. 
 
 As nearly all the men were out nearly every night, 
 we started our day at a comparatively late hour. By 
 eleven o'clock huts, rifles, gaspirators and feet had to 
 be ready for inspection, and every man had to be 
 shaved. This insistence on shaving, even in the front 
 line, amounted to almost an obsession with the 
 Skipper. " From the day that a man doesn't shave, 
 his moral is gone," he used to say. 
 
 After the inspections were over we all turned out 
 for games. The snow lay too deep for football, so we 
 played instead " O'Grady says," " Slap-neck," " Follow - 
 my-Leader," and anything else we could think of. 
 Every now and then an unfortunate man, to the huge 
 amusement of the rest and his own great dis- 
 comfiture, would disappear over his head in snow into 
 a shell-hole — for shell-holes and craters were of course 
 invisible under the thick carpet of snow — and some- 
 times it was only with considerable difficulty that we 
 were able to pull him out again. 
 
 After dinner the men were encouraged to lay up 
 a reserve of sleep against the rigours of the coming 
 night.
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 1 13 
 
 One evening we all went over to the performance 
 of an infantry divisional concert party at a little place 
 called Montigny Farm, a few miles away. We had to 
 walk there through the bitterest of blizzards ; but our 
 pains were well repaid. The show was excellent, even 
 to the golden-haired and beautiful leading " lady " 
 who sang touching little love songs in an almost 
 feminine voice, and later took the part of a bewitching 
 barmaid in their somewhat fantastic play. The 
 burden of another song, sung by a dwarfish comedian, 
 I well remember, because of the pathos of his fate : 
 
 " We may all bo dead to-morrow, 
 But to-night we'll do the duck-board glide." 
 
 Poor little creature, he never expected to do the duck- 
 board glide, nor to be dead to-morrow ; but a few 
 nights later, fortunately just after the performance 
 was over, and all the audience had left, a heavy shell 
 fell into the theatre and killed almost the entire 
 concert party. 
 
 That night at the theatre, however, was for us a 
 night of nights. Our usual evening entertainment 
 consisted in sitting as close as possible to the stove, 
 and, amid a shower of coarse jests, rubbing whale oil 
 into our feet. 
 
 The Support Line 
 
 Owing to the wide view which the enemy had over 
 all our country from the commanding position of his 
 own front line, it was necessary for us to relieve in 
 the dark. Purple and Jimmie had gone on ahead 
 early in the afternoon, Purple to take over trench 
 stores and ammunition, Jimmie to reconnoitre the 
 route, so that he would be able in the dark to guide
 
 Ill THE SQUADROON 
 
 us onward from the place where we should have to 
 leave the road. At six o'clock on the evening of the 
 fifth day we set out from the peaceful seclusion of our 
 old tin hut at that funereal relief pace which every 
 young man — who was a man — in Europe knows so 
 well. The support trench, for which we were bound, 
 was about two miles from Vendelles, and ran through 
 the ruined village of Hargicourt, roughly parallel to 
 our own front line and about half a mile in rear of it. 
 We marched with a distance of about fifty yards 
 between platoons, so that no one shell could knock 
 out more than one platoon. Because the feet of most 
 of us were sore and because we were heavy laden, 
 each one carrying on his person his roll of bedding 
 and all the articles of toilet, comfort, and luxury 
 which would have to serve him for the next ten days, 
 we moved exceeding slowly and with many halts. 
 The Skipper, who had got " trench feet " at Cambrai, 
 hobbled painfully but cheerfully along at the head 
 of the column with Hector and me on either side 
 of him. 
 
 " This is one of the many times," he said, " when 
 I feel like going down on my knees and thanking 
 Heaven I'm not a Hotchkiss Gunner! Poor devils, 
 they do get a bending, carrying that blasted gun and 
 all the ammunition boxes as well as their own kits 
 and — mind the 'ole ! " And he almost came a cropper 
 into a shell-hole, on the roadside. 
 
 " Mind the 'ole ! Mind the 'ole ! " was passed 
 right away back along the column. 
 
 Presently, leaving the ruins of Jeancourt behind 
 us, we entered the cavernous mouth of a gloomy 
 valley. As we advanced, the valley became deeper 
 and deeper; the shade of the steep banks on both
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 145 
 
 sides fell blacker and blacker, until the darkness 
 became so monstrous that we could not only no 
 longer see the white road on which we trod, but not 
 even our own hands in front of us. That valley, it 
 seemed to me, was the fitting portals of madman's 
 land ; of the wild region where all that is noblest and 
 all that is most vile in man go with each other side 
 by side ; of that weird world, that young man's world, 
 where loves gone wrong, man's ingratitude, debit 
 balances at the bank, the importunities of tradesmen, 
 all life's great little worries, have no place and lly 
 forgotten as a dream. 
 
 In the depths of this sombre valley we halted for 
 a few moments to ease our aching shoulders of their 
 burdens and to rest our weary feet. Suddenly, quite 
 close to us, there was a blinding flash and an ear- 
 splitting roar. We all ducked so violently that many 
 tin hats fell clattering on to the road, and I myself 
 was so shaken by the unexpectedness and concussion 
 of the explosion that it was some seconds before I 
 realized it was only one of our own heavy guns that 
 had just fired a few yards away from us. 
 
 After this our way began steeply to ascend, the 
 darkness lifted little by little, and soon we could 
 dimly make out objects alongside the road. Before 
 we topped the crest of the rise, which we knew was 
 under the enemy's direct observation, the order " no 
 more smoking, put out your cigarettes ! " was quickly 
 passed down the line, and instantly complied with, 
 although not without an oath here and there, as some 
 lad threw away his precious freshly-lighted fag. 
 
 Now our road sloped slowly downward again. A 
 mile in front, we saw the everlasting line of lights 
 and the running shadows as they rose and fell. Now 
 
 L
 
 146 THE SQUADROON 
 
 and then the crack of a rifle rang out crisp and clear. 
 Now and then we heard the rapid chatter of our own 
 automatic guns, or the more deliberate tap-tapping 
 of the German weapon. Now and then a great shell 
 bellowed somewhere in the distance. But on the 
 whole all seemed very quiet. We plodded slowly and 
 steadily along until a shadowy figure rose up from the 
 side of the road. 
 
 " Hullo, is that the Twelfth Hussars ? " asked the 
 voice of Jimmie. 
 
 "We cut across here," he told us, after greetings, 
 " along the edge of Cote Copse, and then down into 
 Cote Trench, our trench. It's only about half a mile. 
 No, there's no communicating trench, we go across 
 the open." 
 
 We sighed with relief. Nothing is so wearisome 
 as marching any distance along a narrow muddy 
 trench. When we had covered about half of this 
 distance across the open, we scrambled up a steep 
 bank and proceeded along a little deep-worn track 
 which, Jimmie told us, bordered the edge of Cote 
 Copse, though in the dark we could not see the few 
 stumps that only now remained of the copse. We 
 had gone a little way down this track when we heard 
 an ominous sound— the crescendo whistle of a falling 
 crump. The whistle shrieked into a rushing roar. 
 No one needed telling that it was agoing to I land 
 very near to us. We crouched as flat as we could. 
 When one has not been under fire for some time the 
 first few shells again are very alarming, though after 
 some minutes of a brisk " hate " it is astonishing how 
 little one mmds them. Had this not been our first 
 shelling for over a month, we should probably not 
 have crouched down at all, and some of us would
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 117 
 
 certainly have been hit. I have often been very 
 frightened, but never, I think, more terrified than 
 daring those few seconds. They seemed an eternity. 
 I had a ridiculous idea that the shell was going to 
 land on the back of my neck; and the words of a 
 musical comedy song flitted through my mind : 
 
 " Out of aU this great big world it'3 cho-sen me I " 
 
 With a sullen roar and a red glare that momen- 
 tarily showed up all the stumps of the wood as 
 though against a crimson sunset, it burst about 
 twenty yards away. No one was hit. We straightened 
 out and started to move on when another came, nearer 
 this time, and then another and another. 
 
 " Files about ! " The Skipper passed down. 
 " Get your platoons down close under that bank." 
 
 Only a platoon and a half had so far got up over 
 the bank, and these having quickly retraced their 
 steps, the whole Company, with platoons at their 
 proper intervals, hugged the steep hospitable slope 
 while shells fell thick and fast all around the little 
 track up above on which we might now have been, 
 and all the air hummed and whined with the flying 
 fragments. 
 
 "It's a proper relief strafe," said Hector. " They 
 must have spotted the track from air photos." 
 
 "If it had started five minutes later when we'd 
 all have been strung out on the track, it'd have made 
 a pretty mess of us," commented Jimmie. 
 
 After about ten minutes the shelling stopped. 
 We waited another five and then started off afresh; 
 but no sooner had the leading platoon climbed 
 up the bank and got on to the track, than the strafe 
 began again. Again we hurriedly got down under the
 
 148 THE SQUADROON 
 
 bank. The Skipper used the strongest of strong 
 
 language. 
 
 "We'd better push on and chance it," said 
 
 Jimmie, " they've lifted a bit on to the middle of the 
 
 Copse now, and they may be searching around about 
 
 for hours." 
 
 " Is there any other way in ? " 
 
 " Yes, if we follow along under this bank for a bit 
 
 there's another track — but it's a bit longer, and they 
 
 might just as well switch off and give that track a 
 
 doing too." 
 
 " They might," agreed the Skipper, " and they 
 
 might not. Anyhow, if we go this way now we're 
 
 bound to have a lot of men knocked out, so we'll try 
 
 the other. Come on, walk march ! " 
 
 We reached Cote Trench without further mishap. 
 
 With what we could see, while relieving, of our future 
 home of the next five days, we were by no means 
 favourably impressed. After a long, hard frost, a rapid 
 thaw had set in. The snow had all become slush, the 
 sides of the trench kept falling in in great flakes, as 
 they always do during a thaw, the bottom was knee- 
 deep in clinging mud. There was only one real 
 dug-out of the tunnelled kind, and that was so full of 
 water as to be uninhabitable. Company Headquarters 
 was established in an " inserted baby elephant " ; that 
 is to say in a miniature bow hut which had been let 
 into the side of the trench and which was weather but 
 not shell proof. The men were accommodated in little 
 flimsy shelters, cut into the rear slope of the trench 
 by their predecessors, so flimsy that they were no 
 protection even against shrapnel. There had been 
 another " baby elephant " a few yards further up the 
 trench from ours. An officer of another Regiment,
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 149 
 
 who was tbon in the front line, had left in it his valise 
 and a case of port, which by some mysterious means 
 he had managed to get up so far. On the afternoon 
 of our arrival a shell had landed right into it, with fche 
 result that neither the " baby elephant " nor the kit 
 nor the so precious wine were ever seen again. In 
 this manner Providence delivered us out of the hands 
 of an almost irresistible temptation. The face of that 
 officer when he returned to retrieve his belongings 
 some days later was a sight for sore eyes. 
 
 Our period in the support line was full of activity. 
 At night we went out, though less often than when 
 in reserve, on working parties. By day we carried out 
 all the usual inspections, we stood to alarm posts once 
 during the hours of daylight, we rolled up our sleeves 
 and sweated with pick and shovel at trench improve- 
 ments, although it was more than we could do to clear 
 out the trench as fast as it kept falling in ; we took up 
 our Tiatoon Sergeants to reconnoitre the positions that 
 we should take over in the front line, we made rifle 
 racks and recessess for ammunition, we marched 
 fatigue parties to the R.E. dump to draw gum boots 
 and duck-boards, and we took our turn in conducting 
 the sad little burial parties, with the bodies sewn up 
 in sandbags, to Hargicourt cemetery. 
 
 All day the Skipper and Purple sat in the " baby 
 elephant " up to their necks in correspondence, vainly 
 trying to cope with the oceans of paper that flowed in 
 upon us. There were interminable trench standing 
 orders of all kinds from those of the Army downwards 
 that had to be grasped and put into practice ; there 
 were defence schemes from the platoon upward that 
 had to be written out by all of us, to make sure that 
 we knew them, and forwarded in triplicate ; there
 
 150 THE SQUADROON 
 
 were maps that had to be drawn showing the positions 
 of our gas post and of every sentry, with the orders of 
 each in duplicate ; there were situation reports, wind 
 reports, intelligence reports that had to be submitted at 
 short intervals. There were, too, endless lists of trench 
 stores, lists of RE. requirements, lists of proposed 
 improvements, lists of improvements already carried 
 out, indents innumerable, and, in fine, so much clerical 
 work that Purple, the Skipper and Micky O'Grady were 
 kept writing the whole day and much of the night. 
 
 " It gets worse every time we come up ! " they 
 complained bitterly. 
 
 With the exception of a few " woolly bears " high 
 overhead, and a little harmless shrapnel, the first 
 day passed quietly enough with us. But there was a 
 good deal of heavy crumping around about. 
 
 Brigade-battalion H.Q. were particularly unfor- 
 tunate. They were situated in some spacious huts 
 under the lee of a steep bank about two hundred yards 
 in rear of our trench, where they received so much 
 attention throughout the whole day from 4 , 2's and 
 5"9's that they had to abandon their comfortable 
 dwellings and take to the welcome shelter of a forty- 
 foot dug-out, with which, happily, the bank was 
 provided. We listened to the shells coming over, we 
 watched the great black fountains of earth and smoke 
 spurting upwards, and we laughed. War has changed 
 all values, especially the values of humour. We 
 laughed to see our friends being shelled. I have seen 
 men rock with laughter when a shell has pitched in 
 among the enemy and arms and legs and gruesome 
 bits of flesh have hurtled through the aii\ I have 
 seen men rock with laughter at that most horrible 
 sight of all, when an aeroplane has been hit, when it
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 151 
 
 dives desperately for land with a plume of thick black 
 smoke streaming out behind, when it bursts suddenly 
 into flame and flies to pieces, when the little black 
 object drops out, and, turning over and over and over, 
 falls faster and faster and faster. Ugh ! I sometimes 
 dream of that still. Will the novels, the dramas, the 
 films of the future have to be seasoned, I wonder, to 
 suit this new strong taste ? 
 
 : ' Thank the Lord we haven't our own horse guns 
 up with us this time to draw fire," remarked Hector 
 as we watched H.Q. being crumped. " Noisy, yapping 
 little things, they think they're 9'2's and never keep 
 quiet for an instant." 
 
 " If we can only keep our blinking idiots in the 
 trench we ought to get off pretty light. I don't think 
 they've spotted we're here yet," said the Skipper. 
 
 But nothing is harder than to keep men in a trench 
 half-filled with slime. We had not been shelled, we 
 were three-quarters of a mile behind the front line, and 
 when not under the eye of an officer or N.C.O. men of 
 course, as they always will, walked about on top. 
 
 That evening the ten of us lay down to sleep on the 
 muddy floor of our " baby elephant." So small was 
 the space that, once we had fitted ourselves in like a 
 jig-saw puzzle, it was impossible for anyone to move 
 again till we all got up. Presently we awoke with an 
 uneasy feeling. Yes, there was no doubt about it, a 
 u rubber-heels " was having at us ! 
 
 " Rubber-heels " is any high-velocity gun, so called 
 because the report, the scream of the shell and its 
 explosion, follow on each other so rapidly 'as to be 
 almost simultaneous. The howitzer is, in his way, a 
 gentleman ; he knocks and coughs before he enters a 
 private room. But " rubber-heels " is devoid of all
 
 152 THE SQUADROON 
 
 delicacy. He hits you before you are ready. We 
 surmised that this was a field gun, run close up on a 
 light railway. For about twenty minutes he let us 
 have it as hard and fast as he could lay in. He 
 carried away our chimney and lifted several sandbags 
 off our roof, and he played havoc with a section of 
 our trench. The officers went out to see how their 
 platoons were faring. When they had returned and 
 we had all settled down to try and sleep again, we 
 were badly shaken by Eiffel. His vivid art of imi- 
 tating shells had become, since he had been gassed at 
 Bourlon, an involuntary habit in his sleep. It "came 
 to this, that if he slept no one else could, so, as we 
 were nine to one, we took it in turns for one of us to 
 keep awake and keep him awake — a duty of some 
 danger. Next we were started out of our sleep by a 
 sound as of sawing wood, and a yell from Purple ; and 
 we discovered by the light of a torch that a man-eating 
 rat had gnawed away half his hair. This was a pity, 
 as he had so little to start with. Then, after two 
 hours, " rubber- heels " began again, hitting the trench 
 and all around our hut. 
 
 " This hut's a hell of a big mark, and a direct hit 
 on it would do us all in — concussion ! " remarked some 
 optimist. 
 
 " I know," said the Skipper, " and then who'd be 
 left to win the war? I and three other heroes will 
 continue to rough it in here. Purple, Eiffel, and four 
 others will take up their beds and walk elsewhere. 
 Decide among yourselves who goes and who stays." 
 
 Now there are few subalterns who do not prefer 
 some comfort and much danger to less danger and no 
 comfort. With one accord they lifted up their voices 
 and protested.
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 153 
 
 " Oh, damn it all, not to-night, Skipper ! " 
 
 " Yes, this very mominck." 
 
 " But the men have got all the shelters ! Where 
 can we go ? " 
 
 The Skipper showed a callous indifference. 
 
 " Are there no picks ? Are there no shovels ? " he 
 asked, and forthwith seemed to take no further interest 
 in the subject. 
 
 As they crawled miserably out into the knee-deep 
 slush, one of them was heard to remark : 
 
 " Pity the old Skipper's so windy." 
 
 " Tisn't that," said another, " he wants more 
 room ! " 
 
 It is ever thus that a man is rewarded when, with 
 much pain, he hardens his heart to do what seemeth 
 to him right. 
 
 All through the nights at irregular intervals, which 
 was most unhunly of him, " rubber-heels " saluted us 
 with these short, sharp and bloody periods of attention. 
 During these spells of hate, when the telephone wires 
 were cut and we were obviously in trouble, Templeton, 
 the Brigade-battalion Second-in-Command, deemed it 
 his duty, accompanied by the Doctor, to walk across 
 the open to our trench and see how we were getting 
 on. On the second of these journeys the Doctor was 
 knocked out, but Templeton, whose arm was already 
 covered with wound stripes, seemed to bear a charmed 
 life. In all the eventful months that followed, during 
 the black days of March and April, during the thrills 
 and glories of our great advance, it chanced that his 
 Squadron lay nearly always next to ours, and when at 
 last, with the end almost in sight, this very gallant 
 and charming officer was killed, the Squadroon grieved 
 over his loss almost as much as did his own Regiment.
 
 154 THE SQUADROON 
 
 Perhaps during these days Frank was the busiest 
 man of us all, carrying the endless volumes of corre- 
 spondence to and fro between us and II.Q. He, too, 
 always seemed to choose the times when we were 
 being " rubber-heeled," or they were being crumped, 
 to make his journeys across those two hundred yards 
 of open ground. Slowly, sedately, disdainfully up- 
 right he walked, with the shells bursting all around 
 him. But we were not anxious, for we knew that no 
 shell made of mortal man could ever harm our Frank. 
 
 Pathos and humour are inseparately blended. One 
 morning when we were packing up to send home the 
 small possessions of the men who had been killed 
 during the night before, we looked in one poor lad's 
 blood-stained pay-book for his next-of-kin's address, 
 and we found that he had written in the space 
 provided for his will, " eny won wot finds ennithink 
 on me e can ave it." 
 
 All the locality had soon become unpleasantly 
 lively. Each day was ushered in by the angry bark- 
 ing of " Archies " and the vicious whine of their 
 soaring missiles, as they filled the dim dawn with 
 fleecy puffs of white and black; for that early hour 
 was the favourite time of aerial scouting. When a 
 plane ventured down too low, a furious babel of 
 protest broke out from a myriad automatic guns. 
 Continual area shelling went on throughout the day. 
 Everywhere was raucous noise. 
 
 " Isn't it too ludicrously mad ! " said the Skipper, 
 as we watched an air fight overhead. " All the great 
 nations of the world living underground, sleeping in 
 their clothes, and playing like naughty children at 
 breaking each other's toys for over three years ! " 
 
 The great event of our day was the arrival of the
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 155 
 
 mail. I noticed that none of us wrote many letters 
 while in the line. We felt, I think, that it might be 
 unlucky to write too cheerfully when we never knew 
 what the next minute might bring forth, so for the 
 most part we just didn't write at all till we got back to 
 safety again. But, although we did not write our- 
 selves, we liked while in the line more than at any 
 other time to get letters and parcels; and, when on 
 two evenings running the ration limber with the 
 mail on it was blown to pieces by direct hits on the 
 way up, our fury knew no bounds. It was bad enough 
 losing our rations and our rum, but our letters and 
 parcels as well ! That was the limit. What the 
 blinking blink were our guns about, we wanted to 
 know ; that is if we had any ! which we began to 
 doubt, as we'd been strafed by the Hun for three days 
 solid, and never a gun of ours had fired ! We're a 
 rag-time army, we are ! And so on, and so on. 
 
 Indeed, the ration limbers had a perilous passage 
 every evening. Usually it is an understood thing 
 between gentlemen that ration strafes are not done. 
 But the Cavalry, having already been in the line 
 eight days, had no doubt made themselves so un- 
 pleasant in front that Fritz had forgotten his manners 
 and had retaliated with this dirty blow below the belt. 
 
 We used to hear the sound of innumerable wheels 
 in the darkness, as though of an endless column, 
 moving, stealthily, uneasily, as it were, at a walk. 
 Then we heard the arrival of the first few shells ; then 
 a clatter of galloping horses and a rattle of flying 
 wheels down the hard high road. 
 
 As long as I live the sound of wheeled traffic in the 
 evening will bring back to my mind the ration limbers 
 coming up behind the line ; and, when the sound is of
 
 156 THE SQUADROON 
 
 galloping vehicles, it will vividly recall those ration 
 strafes at Hargicourt. 
 
 Most of our so-called spare time was occupied in 
 trying to keep our trench from collapsing altogether 
 on top of us, so rapid was its dissolution caused by 
 the heavy thaw. Nevertheless, some of us found time 
 now and again for a little quiet sport. One evening 
 I was slowly making my way along to the " baby 
 elephant," dragging with great difficulty one boot 
 gum after the other up out of the gluey mud, when 
 a torch flashed in my face, there was a shout, 
 " L-1-l-look out ! " the flash of a pistol singed my 
 hair, followed by another shout, " G-g-got 'im ! " and 
 Eiffel triumphantly held up a monster rat with a 
 bullet through its brain. 
 
 On our fourth and last evening in the support 
 trench there came an answer to our indignant demand 
 for retaliation. The heavens behind us opened with 
 great lightnings and a loud, long, rolling peal of 
 thunder ; and for half an hour the avenging shells 
 rushed over our heads into Hunland. 
 
 " Stuff to give 'em ! " we chuckled in delight. 
 " That'll sweeten old rubber-heels ! " 
 
 But that night " rubber-heels " was more vicious 
 and persistent than ever before ; and we looked for- 
 ward to leaving Cote Trench on the morrow with no 
 regrets, for, although sleep there is scarcely any in 
 the front line, yet there are no working parties, a 
 man has a chance of hitting back, and life there is 
 full of strange and awful excitements. 
 
 The Front Line 
 
 On the evening of the fifth day we moved according 
 to plan into the front line. As each Platoon Leader
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 157 
 
 and each Hotchkiss Section Loader had reconnoitred 
 his prospective position therein during the days that 
 we were in support, our relief passed off like clock- 
 work. The trench was too narrow, as indeed most 
 trenches are, to allow of men in full equipment passing 
 each other without the greatest difficulty, so we 
 relieved on the plan that as soon as our men entered 
 by one communicating trench, our predecessors filed 
 out by the other. Just as the last Platoon began to 
 take over, the Hun, having no doubt suspected what 
 was going on, started a brisk little bombardment with 
 trench mortars ; but, happily, the deafening devas- 
 tating " rum jars " were badly aimed, and, passing 
 high over our heads, fell for the most part harmlessly 
 on to the waste space behind us. 
 
 The Skipper and Purple, accompanied by myself, 
 had gone up some hours before our soldiery, in order 
 to see again the positions by daylight, to take over 
 stores, to discuss the situation generally with the 
 outgoing commander and to go through with him the 
 defence schemes of that area. 
 
 We had plodded down our old habitation Cote 
 Trench as far as Hargicourt ; thence we turned right- 
 handed and walked in the open up the valley of 
 Villeret which, although under cover from the enemy's 
 view, was pitted so closely with shell-holes innumer- 
 able that they touched one another, till the wholo 
 of the ground resembled the surface of a golf ball. 
 In spite of the heavy burden of our kits we lost no 
 time loitering in that sinister valley of death. 
 
 Very fortunately for us, because of the depth and 
 glue-like nature of the mud in them, we were able to 
 get almost the whole way up to our Company Head- 
 quarters under cover without having to use the
 
 158 THE SQUADROON 
 
 communicating trenches; and finally, after walking 
 about fifty yards down Railway Support Trench, we 
 came to the little square hole of an entrance in the side 
 of the trench which led steeply down by a staircase 
 of slimy narrow steps to " Liberty Hall," our under- 
 ground dwelling-place, forty feet below. Near the 
 entrance were the wind indicator, the gas gong, and 
 the gas sentry. A gas-proof blanket was rolled up, 
 like the blinds of a window, over the entrance itself. 
 Down below were several compartments which sug- 
 gested, more than anything else, cabins in a ship. 
 One compartment, fitted with an upper and lower 
 sleeping bunk, a table, two forms, some bookshelves 
 and a stove, was used as our headquarter mess-room. 
 Another was occupied by the telephone and signallers. 
 Another by the H.Q. Staff and mess servants; and 
 the last and largest by as many as it would hold of 
 the two Platoons in local support. The whole excava- 
 tion was supported by numerous stout pillars of 
 timber, and, to prevent a gradual falling in of earth, 
 the walls and roofs of each compartment were lined 
 with a thick boarding of a finished workmanship. 
 Nevertheless, well fitted though they were, moisture 
 and earthy slime continually oozed and dripped 
 through the chinks between the boards. 
 
 And now at last the time has come when, breaking 
 the firm resolution with which I started this book, I 
 must attempt to draw a map. Here goes. I would 
 here state, however, that I myself am perfectly aware 
 that it is not a good map, having, for instance, no 
 scale, and no north point — minor details which I 
 deliberately ignore, as they tend to confuse the greater 
 issues, to curb the imagination, to betray the designer, 
 and, above all, as they have no bearing whatever on 
 

 
 H o n.1 a. ,x cL 
 
 To face page i^q
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 159 
 
 this portentous narrative. Perhaps then, in order to 
 forestall invidious criticism, I should be better advised 
 to call it a " field sketch." So let it be. 
 
 In this field sketch, then, it will be seen that our 
 front line, Railway Trench, was separated from the 
 German front line by about sixty yards of no man's 
 land ; that our H.Q. " Liberty Hall," situated in the 
 centre of Railway Support Trench, was separated 
 from our own front line by a space of about a hundred 
 and fifty yards of wired waste, which, in merry jest, 
 we called Hyde Park ; that Railway Support Trench 
 was connected with the front line by two communi- 
 cating trenches, called unimaginatively " Spade 
 Trench" and "Club Trench"; and that Scylla and 
 Charybdis, twin trench motors of which more anon, 
 lurked respectively at the Marble Arch and Hyde Park 
 Corner. 
 
 Now at this time Spade Trench and Club Trench 
 were so deep in mud as to be quite impassable. 
 Indeed, in our local defence scheme we had taken the 
 somewhat unorthodox line of leaving them open to 
 the enemy on the principle of fly-paper. When 
 Purple had been going around the positions previous 
 to our taking over, the officer who guided him had 
 protested that it was impossible to walk down Spade 
 Trench. Purple, however, feeling that he ought to 
 see for himself, had insisted on trying. After a few- 
 steps his guide had sunk up to the waist in clinging 
 mud from which the united efforts of Purple and 
 himself had been powerless to extricate him. Fortu- 
 nately, the unhappy officer was wearing boots gum 
 thigh, and, having undone the attachment to his 
 bracer buttons, he was eventually, after nearly an 
 hour's strenuous labour, pulled out of them by five
 
 160 THE SQUADROON 
 
 stalwart men, leaving the boots behind him still com- 
 pletely embedded in the mud — from which we were 
 never able to recover them. Purple was then con- 
 vinced, and we tried to use those two trenches no 
 more, but followed instead, when it was dark, the 
 tracks that ran alongside each of them. 
 
 Through the wire and under cover of some slopes 
 and a slight embankment in Hyde Park we made 
 another track, called Rotten Row, running from our 
 H.Q. through Hyde Park Corner to the extreme right 
 of our front line, along which, with some low stooping 
 here and there, we could get up to Railway Trench 
 totally unobserved, even in broad daylight. It was, 
 of course, soon marked down by the enemy's aircraft, 
 and frequently, at irregular intervals, it received 
 attention from many sorts of guns, from rifle grenades, 
 minenwerfer and low-flying aeroplanes, so that its 
 passage was always fraught with excitement and 
 anxiety. As, however, there were so many craters all 
 along and around it in which we could take instant 
 cover, our casualties on it, considering the persistence 
 with which it was bombarded, were extraordinarily 
 light. 
 
 Now a cavalry company consists of six platoons. 
 Our tour in the front line was to be of nearly six days. 
 It was therefore ordained that four platoons should 
 occupy Railway Trench, two platoons Railway Support 
 Trench, for two days at a time, so that in this way 
 each platoon would have, during the six, two days of 
 comparative repose in local support. The officers of 
 the two platoons in local support lived with H.Q. in 
 Liberty Hall. The officers of the platoons in the front 
 line each took turn and turn about with their platoon 
 sergeants of four hours on duty and four hours off
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 161 
 
 during the twenty-four; and came back to Liberty 
 Hall for their meals when off duty. Theoretically, 
 then, they had twelve out of the twenty-four hours to 
 eat and sleep. Actually, they got no sleep at all and 
 often bad to go without their meals, for in the front 
 line a thousand and one unexpected things can happen 
 every hour. Sudden orders to stand to, gas alarms, 
 raids, spells of hate, distinguished visitors, the noise of 
 gunfire and of bursting shells, making arrangements 
 to get away the wounded, the coldness of those winter 
 nights, the continual passing of persons along the 
 narrow trench and the never-ceasing work of keeping 
 the trench from falling in, made sleep on a narrow 
 firing step a thing of great difficulty, a thing possible 
 only to the utterly exhausted. 
 
 The Skipper was on duty from evening stand- to 
 till morning stand-down, that is to say from an hour 
 before sunset till full dawn ; and Purple was on duty 
 from dawn till sunset. Each during his tour of duty 
 twice visited the line and every sentry — a lengthy pro- 
 ceeding ; made up and despatched the reports that fell 
 due during his vigil, answered innumerable questions 
 in code over the telephone, and entertained and 
 supplied with all available information an endless 
 succession of visitors. These visitors and visits were 
 of all kinds, from the stupendously official to the purely 
 social. The Divisional General himself sometimes 
 dropped in, with a cheery word and a keen eye for any 
 neglect of standing orders. Gunners dropped in to 
 discuss the barrage lines and our latest bottle of port. 
 Sappers dropped in to tell us that our trench was in a 
 disgraceful condition and that wiring parties must 
 proceed to function forthwith in no man's land. The 
 Doctor dropped in to argue Sinn Fein and to express
 
 162 THE SQUADROON 
 
 his disgust at our sanitary arrangements. Every day 
 our own Brigade-battalion Colonel dropped in to see 
 how we were getting on, and to tell us the news. 
 Templeton also dropped in every day like a fairy god- 
 mother to find out our wants in the matter of food 
 and drink. Intelligence Officers galore dropped in, 
 seeking to suck our brains. Tiny, full of pride and 
 importance in his capacity of Brigade-battalion gas 
 officer, dropped in to prosecute us over our lack of 
 anti-gas arrangements Officers of the Regiment 
 which in due course would relieve us dropped in for 
 lunch and dinner and personally conducted tours 
 around our area. Friends, relations, those that were 
 an-hungered, people who had lost their way, refugees 
 w T hen a hate was going on up above, once Hector's 
 father — who was doing a political tour of the war 
 zone, and who, incidentally, complained indignantly 
 of the way we wasted bread — once, too, a Staff Officer, 
 and others, too varied and numerous to mention, all 
 dropped in to Liberty Hall. 
 
 All through the day there was a continual coming 
 and going up and down our steep narrow stairs, and 
 a continual crowd and chatter in our subterranean 
 cabin ; so it can well be imagined that, during the 
 hours of daylight, there was little peace or repose for 
 our headquarter staff. But at night it was different. 
 Then there were no visitors. Purple, wearied by the 
 labours of the day, slept soundly on the upper bunk. 
 One of the two subalterns in local support slept soundly 
 on the lower bunk, and the other slept equally soundly 
 on the floor. The Skipper sat at the table poring over 
 photos and trench maps or wrestling with correspond- 
 ence by the light of a candle, and I sat by the stove 
 reading the latest war novel, fearfully thrilled by its
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 163 
 
 descriptions of front-line fighting written by a woman 
 who had never left England. Hector, the Master 
 Bom-ber, was also O.C. Storm Troops. Before coming 
 up to the line he had selectod twenty stout men and 
 true, and had carefully trained them in all those arts 
 and wiles of night patrolling by which the unwary 
 Boche might be made a prisoner; and most of the 
 night they lay out in no man's land, stalking their 
 human prey. 
 
 At about eleven o'clock on our second night, the 
 Skipper looked up from his maps. 
 
 " I'm going around the line now, care to come 
 with me, Padre ? It'll save dragging one of the 
 runners around." 
 
 There was a standing order that no officer should 
 leave the trench without an armed escort. 
 
 "Right-ho!" I replied. 
 
 We slipped on our leather jerkins, our revolvers, 
 gaspirators and tin hats, then, grasping our stout 
 trench sticks, we bent double and climbed the forty 
 feet of those shaft-like stairs, tightly holding on with 
 one hand to the rope which, doing duty for bannisters, 
 kept us from slipping down off the steep and slimy 
 steps. Outside, the night was inky black. A gas 
 sentry stood at the entrance, close to where three 
 steps led up out of the trench on to Rotten Row. 
 
 " Be careful, sir ! " he warned us. " There's a lot 
 of bullets keeps whipping across." 
 
 Rotten Row was not more than a foot wide. On 
 both sides and all around was a maze of thorny wire. 
 Screw pickets and odd strands of wire, which tangled 
 our fett and tore our hands, often crossed the track 
 itself. And the darkness was so dense that we could 
 not see a foot in front of us. So, feeling our way yard
 
 164 THE SQUADROON 
 
 by yard, we progressed exceedingly slowly. I confess 
 that this black and lonely wilderness filled me with 
 many tremors. Every now and then an automatic 
 gun from the enemy's trench fired a quick burst, and 
 we bent low as the vicious bullets hissed over. The 
 double report of a rifle aimed towards you is particu- 
 larly brutal ; it cracks hard and sharp like a smack in 
 the face. I could not help thinking how little this 
 path was used at nights, and that, if we were wounded, 
 we might lie there writhing in agony and mud for 
 hours and hours. It was not impossible, too, that 
 Boche patrols, having detected Rotten Row from air 
 photos, could have slipped between the rifle posts in 
 our front line, could have cut and crawled a way 
 through the wire and could be laying up in wait for 
 passers-by. The thought sent shivers down my 
 already chilled spine. But we reached Hyde Park 
 Corner without mishap. Our eyes having now become 
 more accustomed to the gloom, we made out there the 
 Trench Mortar Officer on a visit to Charybdis. We 
 had early gained the ascendency over this dispenser of 
 unpopular thunders by a judicious mixture of hospi- 
 tality and firmness. The Skipper shook a playful 
 fist at him. 
 
 " Don't you dare shoot off those damn little pop- 
 guns in my area without orders from me ! " he said. 
 
 Our system, by agreement with our gunners, was 
 that if the Boche tried to strafe us we let him have it 
 back with every possible means at our disposal, bombs, 
 grenades, crumps, whizz-bangs and these trench 
 mortars, for about twice as long as he had strafed us. 
 But we sternly discouraged individual and promiscuous 
 efforts on the part of Scylla and Charybdis, as the 
 Boche then replied with trench mortars more than
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 165 
 
 twice as heavy, which played great havoc with our 
 trench and inflicted many casualties. The Trench 
 Mortar Officer laughingly assured us he would not 
 think of doing such a thing. But occasionally the 
 sergeants in charge of the mortars, from devilment or 
 ennui, fired a round or two on their own, with the 
 result that in a few minutes a vehement and bloody 
 hate of all weapons would be raging. 
 
 Some yards further down from Hyde Park Corner 
 we entered the extreme right of our sector of Railway 
 Trench. 
 
 " Halt ! who goes there ? " came a low-voiced 
 challenge through the gloom. 
 
 We gave the countersign and were permitted to 
 pass. By dint of unceasing labour this trench had 
 been kept in passing good condition. In places the 
 duck-boards floated on water that welled up faster 
 than it could be pumped out; in places there had 
 been recent slips of earth and sandbags, but on the 
 whole the bottom was sound and narrow, the firing 
 step firm and the sides adequately revetted. 
 
 Now trenches in France are not straight, but, 
 following the contours of the ground or the fluctua- 
 tions of a battle, zigzag about in the most irregular 
 manner, and they are manned, not along the whole 
 length — for that would require innumerable hosts — 
 but at intervals only, by numbers of rifle and 
 automatic gun posts, so placed that the cross-fire from 
 two or more posts covers all ground over which the 
 enemy could possibly advance. 
 
 At every post a sentry stood on guard, peering out 
 over the parapet into the shadows of no man's land, 
 while the remainder, who were not employed on 
 fatigue, patrol, wiring or listening post, tried to sleep
 
 166 THE SQUADROON 
 
 on the firing step. After giving the countersign at 
 each post the Skipper stepped up alongside its sentry 
 and chatted with him in low tones for a few moments. 
 I noticed particularly how few lights were being fired 
 up from the trench, which is generally a sign of steady 
 nerves, as is, conversely, a multitude of lights the sign 
 of " wind." The Cavalry had had comparatively few 
 casualties during the past two years. Our party 
 consisted mostly of men who were well used to war, 
 old regular soldiers and volunteers of the first hundred 
 thousand, all good men and true, confident in their 
 officers, confident in their sterling N.C.O.'s, fully 
 confident in themselves, so it was only natural that 
 they should be calm and steady. As we walked along the 
 trench from post to post I could feel this strong and 
 quiet confidence in the air, and the Boche could feel it 
 too, for he was becoming more and more nervous, 
 sending up a profusion of lights and continually open- 
 wild bursts of rapid fire. The bullets smacked into 
 the sandbags of our parapet or went hissing and 
 humming about -the wires of Hyde Park, while we, in 
 the deep security of our trench, chuckled at this vain 
 exhibition of fear and fury. 
 
 At one post we found all six men standing on the 
 firing step alongside the sentry, staring fixedly into 
 the darkness, which was grotesquely illuminated at 
 frequent intervals by the enemy's lights. Opposite to 
 this post was, we knew from air photos and from 
 cautious observation through telescope by clay, a 
 narrow gap in the enemy's wire with a distinct track 
 through it, which was clearly used as an exit by their 
 wiring parties and their night patrols. And now in a 
 wide half-circle around the exit, with blackened hands 
 and faces, patiently waiting for their prey, lay Hector
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 167 
 
 and his Storm Troops. The Boche, however, was 
 suspicious; he had heard movement, he had seen 
 sinister shadows ; he rained his lights lower and faster 
 and he swept all the ground around with traversing 
 fire. Then we heard the ringing burst of bombs, and, 
 knowing that no Boche would venture out that night, 
 we earnestly wished that the Storm Troops were all safe 
 back again. For half an hour or more we, too, stood 
 watching. I found myself wondering if Hector would 
 ever make another century at Lord's ; it seemed such 
 a very far cry from this diabolical man-hunting in 
 chaos to the fresh green turf of English June. Then 
 we continued on our round. Along towards the left 
 things were more quiet. We came upon Jimmie at 
 one of his posts with all hands except the sentry hard 
 at work repairing a traverse that had been blown in 
 during the evening by a minenwerfer bomb. Further 
 along still, on our extreme left, Eiffel, with all his 
 available men, was out in front, repairing the damage 
 done to his wire by that same evening's hate. In 
 front of this wiring party, again, lay a covering party, 
 whose duty it was to prevent the wirers being surprised 
 and rushed while unarmed and busied at their work. 
 We climbed out of the trench and through the first 
 belt of wire to see how they were getting on. This 
 was the first time I had ever been in no man's land, 
 and I felt something of a hero as I stood up and 
 looked across to where, a few yards away, I pictured 
 the Germans cowering in their trench. 
 
 At this moment a man who was softly tapping in 
 a picket made a bad shot in the dark and hit the 
 fingers of the man holding it for him. The injured 
 man let out a roar of pain and a volley of blasphemy 
 loud enough to awaken the dead. Instantly a machine-
 
 108 THE SQUADROON 
 
 gun opposite opened fire. I sprang into a large mine 
 crater a yard or two away. My right arm sunk up to the 
 shoulder and half my face in a soft woozy substance 
 like a souffle. Hastily drawing it out, I began to slide 
 down the side of the crater and clutched wildly in the 
 dark. My hand again slipped along some inches of 
 slime, and then, sinking through it, closed on something 
 hard and stick-like. Grasping this firmly I checked 
 my descent for a moment, then my support gave way, 
 and I rolled to the bottom of the crater with the lower 
 part of a human leg in my hand. The stench was 
 so horrible that I was violently sick. I have observed 
 before that war has played strange pranks with the 
 quality of humour. As we walked back along the 
 track that skirted Spade Trench the Skipper laughed 
 immoderately at my unhappy plight, and when we 
 got back to Liberty Hall he woke up Purple and 
 the other two that they might not miss the fun of 
 seeing me covered with this green and nauseating 
 slime that had once been the flesh and blood of a 
 living man. 
 
 Lunch was the time of our greatest relaxation and 
 sociability. We and the Boche lunched at much about 
 the same hour, and at that time the war was generally 
 at a standstill; at that time, the greatest number of 
 officers being off duty, we were at our brightest and 
 our best ; and at that time Liberty Hall was most 
 crowded with a medley of light-hearted visitors. The 
 walls of our dug-out were of course adorned with the 
 drawings of Kirchner and with other suggestive 
 types of feminine beauty extracted from recent 
 numbers of the Tatter and the Sketch, all of which 
 furnished plentiful matter for conversation and badin- 
 age. But our favourite theme, when not talking shop
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 169 
 
 or military gossip, was the meals we were going to 
 have when we got back to Armeens; the real long 
 steaming hot bath in which we were going to wallow 
 and soak and soak ; and above all the heavenly 
 prospect, after not having had our clothes off for 
 weeks, of sleeping again in pyjamas, between snowy 
 sheets in the deliciously soft and downy warmth of a 
 real bed. 
 
 As in back billets there was sometimes a certain 
 amount of rough horse-play, as, for instance, when 
 Hector wanted to wake anybody, he fired his revolver 
 into the ceiling. I myself spent a good deal of the 
 daytime in our observation post, watching the life 
 and movement behind the German lines. It was 
 strangely fascinating to watch those men whom we 
 were trying to kill, and who were trying to kill us, 
 going peaceably about their daily round in the same 
 way that we were going about ours. Between us and 
 them there was none of that vehemently bitter hatred 
 with which the people and the press at home were 
 overflowing. Indeed, by day, certain understood 
 courtesies existed between us. Owing to the state of 
 the communicating trenches their ration parties had 
 to move along the top for some distance, fully exposed 
 to our fire ; but we allowed them to go on their way 
 unmolested. Again, in full daylight, one of our 
 aeroplanes crashed on to the highest part of Hyde 
 Park, not more than a hundred and fifty yards 
 away from scores of their machine-guns ; and when 
 we went out with a stretcher to bring in the remains 
 of the poor boy who had been its pilot, although they 
 could have blotted us out in an instant, they fired 
 no shot. But at sunset such amenities ceased and, 
 throughout the hours of darkness, both sides bent all
 
 170 THE SQUADKOON 
 
 their energies to the grim business of outwitting and 
 killing each other. 
 
 One night Jimmie had a perilous adventure. 
 Certain sounds by night and certain observations 
 through his glasses by day had led him to suspect 
 that enemy's patrols came out through a gap opposite 
 to his sector. Accompanied by Corporal Gregson, by 
 his own first servant, Jackson, and one other man, he 
 crawled out through our wire and across the inter- 
 vening forty yards to investigate the matter at its 
 source. The night was exceptionally dark, and, 
 slightly losing their direction, they came unexpectedly 
 on to the enemy's wire, where their movements were 
 heard by a sentry. Rifles and automatic guns imme- 
 diately opened fire on them, and soon a bomb, bursting 
 right in their midst, shattered Jackson's thigh and 
 wounded Corporal Gregson in the arm. Crawling 
 prone, so as not to be seen by the light of the rockets 
 that were falling and flickering all around them, they 
 dragged Jackson into the nearest shell-hole. This 
 was full of icy slush, but they had to stay in it 
 several hours, because each time they tried to drag 
 along the suffering man, his groans were heard, and 
 the bombs and bullets again hailed thick and fast 
 around them. At last, fearing to be overtaken by 
 daylight, they resolved to risk it. They bound a 
 handkerchief over Jackson's mouth to muffle the 
 cries he could not repress, and very slowly and 
 cautiously dragged him back to our trench under a 
 continuous fire. The journey took over an hour, 
 during which time Gregson was again slightly 
 wounded and Jimmie had a small piece of flesh 
 chipped out of his shoulder. Having again very 
 naturally lost direction, for nothing is harder than
 
 THE TRENCH PARTY 171 
 
 to steer a straight course in no man's land, even 
 under the most favourable circumstances, thev missed 
 the gap in our wire and narrowly escaped being shot 
 by one of our own Hotchkiss Guns. 
 
 On our last night in the front line I again accom- 
 panied the Skipper on his round. I could not help 
 noticing that four sleepless days and nights of continual 
 strain had told their tale even on our hardened men. 
 They were less calm than at first ; more lights were 
 going up ; sentries saw things ; rifles and Hotchkiss 
 Guns were continually cracking. Indeed, I have 
 often wondered how a sentry of sensitive nerves and 
 lively imagination ever keeps his reason. I myself 
 could never bear to look over the parapet for any 
 length of time. The hiss of the fleeting bullets 
 upset me ; the weird running shadows cast by wire 
 pickets as the lights rose and fell assumed grotesque 
 and fearful shapes ; the corpses moved ; the darkness 
 became full of sinister sounds ; and soon it would 
 seem to me that all the chaos teemed with a myriad 
 unimaginable and fantastic terrors ; and I would 
 hastily and shudderingly step down off the firing step 
 again. 
 
 As we plodded through the mud between two 
 posts we heard a curious and familiar sound. Away 
 back behind, one of our " heavies " had the unpleasant 
 habit of firing short, and periodically the faulty shells 
 fell round about our line. Up in the air we now 
 heard the wobbling gobbling noise of one of these 
 miscarriages descending upon us. It pitched into 
 Hyde Park with a loud explosion, and the nearest 
 sentry exclaimed with bitter scorn : 
 
 " That shell was made by a blinking Duchess ! " 
 
 When we had gone the whole length of the trench
 
 172 THE SQUADBOON 
 
 we sat down for some time on the parados to rest, as 
 the Skipper was tired out. 
 
 " I wonder," he said, " how many of those rotting 
 corpses out there and all over France and Flanders 
 would be living men to-day if officers had always 
 known their job and taken the trouble to do it ? 
 Hundreds of thousands, I dare say. Isn't it insane," 
 he went on, " to think that this ditch we're in, this lair 
 of human beasts, is over four hundred miles long, and 
 that nearly two hundred of it is England ? " 
 
 " It's a good thing in one way," I answered, " for 
 now that all the young men of Europe have been 
 through it they'll take jolly good care there won't be 
 any more wars." 
 
 " I don't know," he answered reflectively. " These 
 lads in the front line who bear all the pain and see 
 all the horrors are mostly baby officers and working 
 men, men who have little or no stake and little or no 
 voice in the country they give so much to save — 
 little to look forward to when they go back to the 
 country they have saved, except to pay off the cost of 
 the war by the labour of their hands. To those 
 others, away back behind there, war is in most cases 
 a pleasant and profitable joy-ride. But these lads 
 here, who bear the heat and burden of the day — will 
 it be remembered afterwards what they have done ? 
 Will they demand a reckoning ? I should greatly like 
 to live it through, because after the war things will be 
 so intensely interesting. I often wonder if human 
 minds will be big enough to cope with all the gigantic 
 problems that must arise. I know I should be very 
 sorry to be a member of the Peace Ministry that will 
 have to deal with them ! " 
 
 When we got back to Liberty Hall, weary and
 
 THE TREN'CH PARTY 173 
 
 with nerves on edge, we found a pile of correspond- 
 ence on the table. Among this was a printed pamphlet, 
 to which was pinned a slip of paper from the Brigade- 
 battalion Adjutant inscribed with the inspiriting words, 
 " A little light literature to cheer you up, dearie." 
 The Skipper read it through without a word and 
 handed it to me. It emanated from a very High 
 Commander. Full of sounding sentences, and pitched 
 in a high key of patriotism, it told us that a mighty 
 German offensive was imminent ; that blood would 
 flow like water ; that, though we must die, England 
 would be saved and our widows would live to marry 
 again ; that of course the front line would go and the 
 second line would go, but what of it? And it con- 
 cluded with the assurance that this High Commander 
 felt fully confident that we should not fail him in our 
 hour of trial. I laid it down on the table again with 
 a trembling and clammy hand. The Skipper looked 
 me in the eye. 
 
 " The front line will go and the second line will 
 go, but what of it?" he quoted. "You notice, too, 
 that it has ' to be communicated to all ranks and the 
 attached certificate to that effect signed and returned 
 without delay ' ? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " the cove who wrote this 
 can't ever have spent one day, much less four nights, 
 in the front line, and he can't be expected to know. 
 You might just as well suddenly wake up a child in 
 the middle of a dark night, shout in his ear that 
 the Bogy Man is in the room and rush out again 
 slamming the door behind you — and then be surprised 
 when at the slightest sound he jumps out of bed and 
 runs downstairs to light and company. Let's see,
 
 174 THE SQUADROON 
 
 we've got one more day to do now, and then another 
 full tour of reserve, support and front line — thirteen 
 more days in all in the front system. And we're 
 dealing with men, not supermen. Not a word of this 
 to the children, Padre. Here goes for perjuring my 
 soul ! " He signed the certificate, and then, tearing 
 the pamphlet into tiny pieces, carefully put them in 
 the stove. 
 
 I lay down on the Skipper's bunk with an intense 
 longing to get away from the front line. All through 
 the remainder of the night I tossed feverishly about, 
 my sleep broken by terrible dreams of the mighty 
 offensive which might start that very dawn, dreams 
 of the sudden red deluge, of innumerable men in grey 
 rushing in upon us, of liquid fire and bombs being 
 thrown down into our dug-out, of the earth crashing 
 in and burying us alive ; and I longed for the daylight 
 as I have never longed before.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE DEVASTATED AEEA 
 
 IT befell, however, that we did not accomplish the 
 full number of those thirteen days, for after 
 two days only of our second tour in reserve 
 the whole of the Cavalry were withdrawn from 
 the line. Now whenever we had passed through any 
 period of tension and peril, and when we first found 
 ourselves back in safety, no matter how great our 
 weariness or how many and how dear the friends we 
 might have left behind us, we were always seized 
 with a strong feeling of exhilaration. The dark 
 cloud of the coming offensive now vanished like an 
 evil dream from our minds, and we turned our faces 
 again towards Armeens, where a night had to be 
 spent on the way back to our horses, in the very 
 highest of high spirits. 
 
 The joyous occasion was made all the more joyous 
 by a great and happy event. Jimmie had been 
 awarded the Military Cross : and this honour we 
 were going to celebrate to the utmost with all proper 
 form and ceremony by a carefully-thought-out dinner 
 at the Savoy. D.R.L.S. letters and telegrams sped 
 to the absent members of the Squadroon, summoning 
 them to the " conference." As those two most rapid 
 means of communication, the D.R.L.S. and the
 
 176 THE SQUADKOON 
 
 telegraph, might only be used for official work, and on 
 no account for private messages, quite an amazing 
 number of military " conferences " took place at 
 popular hotels and restaurants all over France. Tubs 
 was gathered in from R.H.Q. Tiny was retrieved 
 from the gasworks. Dano, Sam'l the Silent and the 
 others who had been left behind with the horses, rode 
 gaily in to Armeens to meet us at the festal board. 
 After a long, slow and bitterly cold journey from 
 Roisel, the Skipper and I put up at the Hotel de la 
 Concorde. The hotel was as usual very full, and we 
 shared a large double room and a bathroom. The 
 number, I remember it still, was 19 ; and I remember, 
 too, our joy, as we went in with the mud of nearly 
 three weeks on our clothes, at the sight of the snowy 
 beds, and at the music of the running water in the 
 bathroom. 
 
 " I wonder, if we live through the war, shall we 
 remember in the years to come that once an ordinary 
 bed and a bath were the greatest joys that life could 
 hold? " I remarked sententiously. 
 
 But the Skipper was not in the mood for higher 
 philosophy. He was in too great a hurry, for reasons 
 I need not mention, to get off his clothes. 
 
 " I mean to take strong action with this local 
 unrest ! " he said, as he disappeared into the bath- 
 room, armed with many kinds of disinfectant soap 
 and a revolver. "If they try to swim for the shore 
 I shall shoot 'em." 
 
 At length, cleanly clothed and refreshed beyond 
 all belief by our ablutions, we sauntered down the 
 gaily animated street of the " Three Pebbles," among 
 the bright lights and welcome sights and sounds of 
 civilization, to our glittering table at the Savoy.
 
 THE DEVASTATED AREA 177 
 
 Tubs, the artistic, had done the flowers; Hector had 
 ordered the wines, Eiffel the liqueurs; Purple had 
 selected the cigarettes, Dano the cigars; and we had 
 all taken a share in ordering the food, each one 
 insisting on those things which pleased his own 
 palate best. The dinner, therefore, replete with 
 innumerable courses, full of merriment and mild 
 riotousness, was a long-drawn-out affair, special per- 
 mission having been obtained from the A. P.M. to 
 prolong our sitting beyond the ordinary closing time 
 of half-past nine ; and the night was far spent when 
 I guided the Skipper's somewhat faltering footsteps 
 homeward to our hotel. 
 
 The following morning the Skipper announced his 
 intention of going to High Mass in the beautiful old 
 cathedral of Amiens. The cathedral was of course 
 Roman Catholic, but I accompanied him without 
 protest, because I knew that, although the most un- 
 musical of men, he greatly loved music, and I knew, 
 too, that he was a deeply religious man of the order 
 which believes that all roads that lead to God are 
 good. It was all one to him where he poured out his 
 whole soul in gratitude for the joys of this wonderful 
 life and for the strength which still enabled him to 
 endure. The Anglican minster, the Roman cathedral, 
 the Dissenters' chapel, the Muhammadan mosque, 
 the Hindu mandar, the Pagan pagoda, the rolling 
 ocean, the sweet woods of springtime, the dying 
 glory of the autumn, the jewelled wastes of winter 
 snow, the crumbling trench, the saddle of his gallop- 
 ing horse, were all to him the temple of an ever- 
 present and all-loving Divinity. And I, too, was 
 somewhat of this way of thinking. 
 
 We looked forward on getting back to our billets 
 
 N
 
 178 THE SQUADROON 
 
 to some more quiet sport in the form of rough shooting 
 and hare-hunting. But this was not to be, for within 
 a few days of our return we got our marching orders 
 for the "devastated area." After the amenities of 
 Armeens most of us were naturally not pleased at the 
 prospect, but we tried to console ourselves with the 
 two important facts that, as no "civvies" lived in 
 those parts, shooting was positively permitted by the 
 authorities, and that, as no " civvies " lived in those 
 parts, our lives would no longer be a burden to us by 
 the everlasting disputation over claims. 
 
 Our march was of two days only. On the night 
 of the first we halted at the quaint little village of 
 Harbonnieres, which, after many eventful and critical 
 months, we were to help in recapturing from the 
 Germans ; and the following day, crossing the Somme 
 at Brie, we followed its right bank for about a mile 
 till we reached our billets in all that remained of 
 St. Christ-en-Brios. 
 
 Our habitation and our manner of life here were 
 entirely different to any that we had ever known 
 before. The village had been situated on the brow 
 and slopes of a steep cliff which dominated the main 
 stream of the river and a wide expanse of reedy, 
 willow-studded fen. Corrugated iron sheds had 
 already been erected as stabling for the horses. Each 
 shed covered about fifty horses. The men lived in 
 a collection of irregular, untidy, squalid little shelters 
 which had been made by their predecessors and 
 which very strongly suggested an Indian bazaar. 
 The S quadroon were billeted in the battered remains 
 of a small house. In one tiny room, which barely 
 contained a wire frame bunk, and a ration box for 
 dressing-table, was lodged the Skipper. In another,
 
 THE DEVASTATED AREA 170 
 
 slightly larger, were lodged Purple and myself ; and 
 in the third and largest the remainder of our great 
 Leaders had their being. There were gaping holes 
 in the roof and walls, made of course by mice, which, 
 together with the window holes, were carefully 
 screened with sacking, so that no faintest gleam of 
 light could be seen by the hostile bombing squadrons 
 that came raiding down the river valley whenever the 
 nights were clear. 
 
 Our domestic arrangements, then, were primitively 
 simple ; our bed-clothes consisted of horse blankets and 
 our overcoats ; and we washed in canvas water-buckets. 
 For the first time, too, for many years, as the whole 
 Regiment was confined within so small a space, we 
 did not have separate squadron messes, but all the 
 officers of the Regiment lived in one regimental mess. 
 The building consisted of three large rooms for office, 
 lounge and card rooms, and one long bow hut for 
 dining-room. This arrangement, which was by no 
 means welcomed at first by the gregarious Squadroon, 
 had many advantages. Manners improved, messing 
 was cheaper, comforts were greater, and, best of all, 
 officers of different Squadrons but of the same Regi- 
 ment, who had hitherto been almost strangers, now 
 for the first time grow to know and appreciate one 
 another. 
 
 All that country formed part of the area from 
 which the Germans had voluntarily withdrawn in the 
 spring of 1917. The exposed parts of the village must 
 have suffered terrible bombardment, so much so that 
 we could only locate the site of its church by the map 
 and by a few fragments of sacred statuary among the 
 rubble and litter on the highest portion of the cliff. 
 A few houses in the more sheltered quarter, still
 
 180 THE SQUADROON 
 
 standing almost intact among the ruins, strongly 
 tempted the adventurous ; but these we were strictly 
 forbidden to enter, as they were believed to have been 
 cunningly mined by the departing Boche, and were 
 conspicuously labelled as such in large black letters on 
 a broad background of whitewash. A vast trench 
 system, which had probably been the German second 
 line while their first had faced the French at Verman- 
 dovilliers, ran almost through our billets. 
 
 I found it strangely fascinating to live in the same 
 houses in which a few months before our enemies had 
 lived, and to explore the dug-outs and to walk the 
 trenches in which a few months before they, too, had 
 walked and fought. On the first few evenings in our 
 new quarters Eddie, the Skipper, Jimmie and I went 
 on many of such interesting and instructive voyages 
 of discovery. By carefully studying the siting of their 
 abandoned gun-pits, machine-gun posts and support 
 trenches, we learned many lessons in the German 
 method of warfare which afterwards served us in 
 good stead. We were greatly struck, too, by the 
 immense number of dug-outs with which every sunken 
 lane, every trench and every copse was honeycombed, 
 as well as by the depth and thoroughness of their 
 construction. Armed with our electric torches, it 
 amused us much to explore these subterranean lairs, 
 in which we found all sorts of interesting souvenirs 
 and quantities of handsome furniture, stoves and other 
 things that were of great use to us in our desolate 
 habitation. 
 
 Jimmie especially delighted in these explorations. 
 With his eyes ablaze in his keen, eager little face, and 
 his whiskers all aquiver like a trench rat, he dived 
 down one deep dark hole after another in the hope of
 
 THE DEVASTATED AREA 181 
 
 adding to his celebrated collection of German bombs ; 
 which perilous penchant we vainly tried to discourage. 
 This, however, we did sternly insist on, that when 
 laden with his new-found trophies he should keep a 
 distance of at least fifty yards from us. Wherever a 
 tree stood out taller than its fellows, we knew that we 
 should find in it an observation post ; and when we 
 climbed the rope ladder or the steps nailed into the 
 trunk that led up to the airy eagle's nest aloft, we 
 thrilled with boyish feelings of adventure scarcely 
 felt since reading "The Swiss Family Robinson " in 
 the days of our earliest childhood. 
 
 Another pursuit, that sounds somewhat morbid, 
 
 we found full of interest. This was to examine the 
 
 scattered wooden crosses and the little field cemeteries 
 
 that were thickly dotted about the surrounding 
 
 country. Contrary to the general belief, the German 
 
 pays high respect to the bodies of the fallen. His 
 
 wooden crosses, though in my opinion not so dignified, 
 
 are larger far and more elaborately worked than are 
 
 ours. I especially never tired of reading on them the 
 
 little stories of the dead men down below, their 
 
 regiments, ranks, the date of their deaths ; and I 
 
 never tired of wondering what their lives had been, in 
 
 what actions they had fought, what they thought 
 
 about the war and how they had come to meet their 
 
 end. One grave, the grave of "tapferer Joharm 
 
 Kaltische," far away from any others, was under the 
 
 observation post in a towering tree, and we long 
 
 speculated whether the dead soldier had been shot 
 
 while on vigil up aloft, or whether he had not fallen 
 
 off the ladder on his way up or down. Although the 
 
 German language is hideous beyond all other human 
 
 Bounds, yet the wording on these crosses had often a
 
 182 THE SQUADROON 
 
 stately resonance ; and once we could not help being 
 touched when, in the midst of a wide solitude, we 
 came upon a handsome cross inscribed with the simple 
 words : 
 
 Hier ruht in Gott 
 Ein unbekannter Englischer Held, 
 
 which means : 
 
 Here rests in God 
 An unknown English hero. 
 
 Altogether we passed a happy month in the mad- 
 man's land of St. Christ-en-Brios. The mornings and 
 the afternoons were filled with strenuous training. 
 All had now been told a thousand times that the 
 great offensive would burst upon us as soon as the 
 winter broke ; but as is ever the way with impending 
 disaster, as indeed was the way with the war itself, the 
 more we were warned, the less impression it made 
 upon our minds and the more sceptical we became. 
 Our training schemes, to which these old battlefields 
 were eminently suited, were all on the one theme. 
 The enemy had broken through our front line; our 
 Cavalry hurried up to counter-attack and to stem his 
 advance till the arrival of Infantry in lorries. It is a 
 nice point for speculation whether, if in the begin- 
 ning of the offensive the Cavalry had been used in this 
 way, in which they had been so carefully trained, 
 instead of as infantry until partially destroyed, the 
 story of March might not have been painted in 
 different colours. These schemes, which in that 
 country tested to their utmost resources the capacity 
 and initiative of Troops Leaders, exercised also all 
 our wits in devising the most rapid and effective 
 expedients for ramping trenches and clearing a way
 
 THE DEVASTATED AREA 183 
 
 through the wire. In other days all our schemes had 
 been that our Infantry had made a gap in the enemy's 
 line, and that our Cavalry passed through this gap 
 and on into Hunland beyond. The sinister significance 
 of this change to the defensive was by no means lost 
 upon us, but, as is the way with young Britons while 
 the danger is still unseen, we attributed the implied 
 apprehension almost entirely to " wind." 
 
 A great deal of time, too, was spent in the un- 
 congenial task of digging bomb-proof traverses around 
 the stables and around every shelter. So far no 
 bomb had fallen in our billets. We prayed that ono 
 would, for than that there is no sharper incentive to 
 the wearsome work of self-protection. Another and 
 more congenial work went on apace. Both the 
 Skipper and William Henry had minds of extra- 
 ordinary creativeness. William Henry's conceptions, 
 vigorous and practical, though deeply tinctured with 
 eye-wash, were limited to the capacity of his own two 
 hands. The Skipper, who could put his own two 
 hands to no practical use, had an imagination that 
 hewed statues out of mountains. The soundly balanced 
 mind of Purple maintained an even temper between 
 the two. Scrounging parties went out in all direc- 
 tions ; the country was scoured ; old German dug- 
 outs, trenchments and hutments were ransacked ; 
 cellars and ruins were rifled ; day after day the 
 Squadroon waggon returned heavy laden with precious 
 material. Soon, on every foot of available space 
 within our dominion, there arose, not the brilliant 
 flag and flagstaff which William Henry had designed, 
 not the marble halls and fairy palaces of which the 
 Skipper had dreamed, but a collection of many kinds 
 of well-built sheds, which added immeasurably to the
 
 184 THE SQUADKOON 
 
 health and happiness of the men. The shelters were 
 enlarged and improved. Saddle rooms and armouries 
 were erected. A commodious bathing shed was accom- 
 plished. The construction of a great field oven and 
 a great field boiler increased the contentment of the 
 inner man. A huge ruined Adrian hut was trans- 
 formed into four stately chambers, to wit, a grand 
 dining-hall, a corporals' mess, a warm and comfort- 
 able library, and a well-stocked recreation room with 
 the canteen bar, made by the skilful hands of William 
 Henry himself, and ingeniously lighted by a patent of 
 our own, seductively established athwart its furtherest 
 corner. 
 
 As all these public works, in addition to the long 
 hours of training, kept the men fully employed, it 
 follows that they were very happy. But, in spite of 
 all these activities, we were not without lighter 
 recreation. While we were in these billets, the 
 Cavalry Corps football tournament began. It could 
 not have had a better place. Each Brigade was 
 contained within a very small area; Brigades were 
 close to each other ; excellent grounds existed in every 
 Brigade. Consequently, enormous crowds attended 
 every match and the excitement and enthusiasm were 
 tremendous. The Squadroon, having been defeated 
 in the finals of the previous year, was determined to 
 win it this year. Sam'l the Silent, swift, cool, 
 irresistible, led the team at centre forward. Corkran, 
 paragon of mess waiters, with a finical nimbleness of 
 foot that exasperated the foe and sometimes his own 
 side beyond endurance, played at right inside. Jim 
 Samson, the Skipper's groom and the idol of the 
 shouting populace, played a highly dramatic game on 
 the left wing. Corporal Gregson, now recovered from
 
 THE DEVASTATED AREA 185 
 
 his wounds, did strong unostentatious work at centre 
 half ; and Hector, making up in force and resolution 
 for anything that was wanting of speed to his gigantic 
 stature, proved himself a tower of strength at back. 
 It so happened that in the first round we met the 
 favourites, the victors of the year before. On three 
 separate occasions, after playing extra time, the match 
 was drawn. The excitement was intense. The sup- 
 porters of either side, numbering several hundreds, 
 shouted themselves hoarse, waved flags, beat tin cans, 
 exchanged poignant witticisms, screamed advice and 
 encouragement to the players, clamorously claimed 
 imaginary fouls, baited the referee and behaved 
 generally as football crowds do behave. At last, after 
 extra time again in the fourth game, after a long- 
 drawn-out and almost intolerable agony of suspense 
 to us of the Squadroon, our team shot the winning 
 goal. And at that stage the tournament came to a 
 sudden end ; for a greater game began. 
 
 Pleasurable also was the sport we had on the 
 marshes of the Somme and on the surrounding fens. 
 These teemed with duck and teal. We had made 
 friends with a detachment of Sappers in charge of tho 
 pontoon bridge, who often lent us a flat-bottomed boat 
 in which we stalked through the rushes, or rowed off 
 to the islands to lie in wait for flighting birds. But 
 although the game was so plentiful and we fired many 
 cartridges, our bags were small, for the birds were 
 very wild and wary. Nevertheless, these shooting 
 expeditions at sunset gave us much amusement. 
 
 During our sojourn in that devastated land we 
 had one strange adventure. Above thirty German 
 prisoners escaped from a cage some miles away, and 
 the Squadroon was sent to round them up. We were
 
 186 THE SQUADROON 
 
 told at the outset that, owing to the innumerable dug- 
 outs, the interminable length of trenches, and the 
 fact that we could move only on the roads, our task 
 was regarded as hopeless. Nevertheless, we set gaily 
 forth, determined to do our best. As inter-communica- 
 tion in that impassable country was so difficult, and 
 as the area to be searched was so large, we moved on 
 a carefully worked-out plan, a plan which it would be 
 tedious to set down here. I accompanied the Skipper 
 at the head of the support Troop. In one place, 
 with the Troop carefully concealed, we watched 
 through our glasses a small copse that had just been 
 searched by the Troop ahead. As soon as the last 
 horse of that Troop had disappeared, we saw a man 
 in German uniform come to the edge, and look around. 
 We formed line and galloped around the copse, 
 thrilling with excitement and delight at the prospect 
 of having so soon rounded up our quarry. The copse 
 was not more than fifty yards square. The man 
 vanished inside. For an hour we searched every inch 
 of it, the dug-outs with which it was honeycombed, 
 and all the open country around. But no sign of a 
 German did we see. 
 
 Greatly puzzled we rode away; aud then, when 
 out of sight, galloped back under cover of a sunken 
 lane to our first position, where we again watched 
 through our glasses. After a few minutes a man 
 came out of the copse, a man who must have been 
 hidden there all the time that we had been searching 
 it. Again we galloped across the intervening space, 
 and this time we caught him. But he was a French 
 civilian, the only civilian, in fact, from our village. 
 The first man had been a German, the second a 
 Frenchman, and, if both these had managed to lie
 
 THE DEVASTATED AREA 187 
 
 hidden during our search, it was possible, nay probable, 
 that all the escaped prisoners were hiding there too, in 
 some cleverly concealed dug-out. We could get no 
 information out of our captive. Again we searched 
 the copse, again with no result, and then, sending the 
 Frenchman back to billets under an escort, and leaving 
 a guard to watch the baffling copse, we went on our 
 way. As we advanced, the country became more and 
 more difficult; our progress became slower and 
 slower. Soon we got into the old front system of the 
 Somme, the wildest part of it that I had ever seen. 
 At one bound the war had rolled on from there to the 
 Hindenburg Line. The armies of France had swept 
 over it and on, leaving it behind them, and it was 
 still as they had left it. Here and there were hideously 
 disembowelled factories and machinery, all overgrown 
 with grass. Food, stores, ammunition and unburied 
 dead, still lay plentifully around. 
 
 At Fresnes^ on the borders of this horrid desolation, 
 we met a Salvage Company at work. They told us 
 that we were the first people they had seen since they 
 had been there, and they laughed at our mission. That 
 warren of trenches and dug-outs extended for untold 
 miles, and we might as well look for a needle in a 
 haystack. They warned us, if we insisted on going- 
 further in, not to let any men go singly, but only in 
 strong parties, as the Golgotha was peopled with wild 
 men, British, French, Australian, German deserters, 
 who lived there underground, like ghouls among the 
 mouldering dead, and who came out at nights to 
 plunder and to kill. In the night, an officer said, 
 mingled with the snarling of carrion dogs, they often 
 heard inhuman cries and rifle shots coming from that 
 awful wilderness, as though the bestial denizens were
 
 188 THE SQUADROON 
 
 fighting among themselves ; and none of the Salvage 
 Company ever ventured beyond the confines of their 
 camp after the sun had set. Once they had put out, 
 as a trap, a basket containing food, tobacco, and a 
 bottle of whisky. But the following morning they 
 found the bait untouched, and a note in the basket, 
 " Nothing doing ! " 
 
 We proceeded on our way much interested by this 
 queer story. The road got worse and worse, until, at 
 Vermandovilliers, it, the most indestructible of matter, 
 disappeared altogether in the chaos. While waiting 
 here for reports from left to right, we lit a small fire 
 to keep us warm. Shortly after, when night had 
 fallen, a bombing plane passed overhead, and seeing 
 the fire, small as it was, dropped a bomb which burst 
 with a mighty crash and reverberation some forty 
 yards away, but which happily did us no injury. 
 When reports had come from each Troop that 
 they reached their objectives, and had, alas ! failed 
 to find the prisoners, we rode dejectedly home. On 
 arrival we learned that sudden orders had come for an 
 early march on the morrow, so the mystery of the 
 copse was never solved.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MARCH 
 
 HAVING regretfully left behind the habitation 
 which our own labours had made so com- 
 fortable, we made a rapid march to a 
 position of readiness on the extreme right 
 of the British line, nearly opposite to St. Quentin and 
 a few miles away from Noyon. Our new resting- 
 place was a broad, shallow valley, rising on either 
 side and at the western end by tiers of terraces up to 
 dense woods of infinite extent. On these terraces, 
 along the fringes of the forest, so as to escape the 
 notice of hostile aircraft, our horses were picketed in 
 scattered troops, all out in the open air. Down the 
 centre of the valley ran a road leading into, at the 
 valley's mouth, the village of Grandru. 
 
 All this country, too, which had been in the 
 enemy's occupation since our original retreat from 
 Mons, had been abandoned by him on his retirement 
 to the Hindenberg Line. But it had been so far 
 behind the fighting front that, although inhabited 
 throughout by line of communication troops, it had 
 entirely escaped the ravages of war. All the male 
 population had indeed been deported, but beyond 
 that one great inconvenience, the villagers had been 
 suffered to go the even tenor of their way. The
 
 190 THE SQUADROON 
 
 houses were intact; the trees uncut, the cattle un- 
 requisitioned. Gardens flourished; poultry was 
 plentiful. The indelicate among us arrived, by an 
 elementary problem in mathematics and biology, at 
 the erroneous conclusion that all the multitude of 
 blue-eyed children of under three could not be wholly 
 French. 
 
 The village of Grandru itself was crowded with 
 innumerable headquarters and messes. To the Squad - 
 roon's lot fell one cottage of indescribable minuteness 
 and poverty, tenanted by an old lady of indescribable 
 hardness and rapacity. The Skipper had a box-like 
 bunk ; Purple, Hector and Tiny, when the table had 
 been cleared after dinner, laid them down to rest 
 on the floor ; and the remainder of us slept away up 
 by the horses in a tent. The men, likewise, lived in 
 tents alongside their horses, in ruddy brown tents, 
 believed to be invisible from up above, and further 
 camouflaged with fronds and foliage. Needless to 
 say, the proportion of tents to men was totally inade- 
 quate, so the men, as they always loved to do, made 
 for themselves, out of their ground sheets, blankets 
 and branches, little shelters and " bivvies " all along 
 the outskirts of the forest. The sergeants, under the 
 vigorous direction of William Henry, built a solid and 
 spacious mess-house into the perpendicular bank of a 
 terrace. Nature, who in perverseness could have 
 made this alfresco life so wretched, smiled on us in 
 a long succession of balmy blue and golden days. 
 
 Our role had now changed again. We were no 
 longer cavalry, we were no longer even mounted 
 infantry, we were infanty pure and simple ; simple, I 
 say advisedly, because we were neither trained nor 
 equipped for the part. The plan, as we understood it,
 
 MARCH 191 
 
 was roughly that we were the very last reserve ; that, 
 if the enemy broke badly through our line, we were 
 to be hurried up dismounted in lorries to counter- 
 attack him ; that, having counter-attacked him, we 
 were to hold him till more men could be combed out 
 of England, or till the French should come up and 
 save us. Englishmen were scarce in those days ; how 
 scarce, and how near England was to becoming less 
 than scarce, can never be believed by any who 
 did not live through the tragedy of the next few 
 weeks. 
 
 Every moment was now given up to hectic train- 
 ing of a new kind. We pored over an invaluable 
 little pamphlet called, I think, " The Platoon." We 
 organized regiments into companies, squadrons into 
 platoons, troops into sections ; and somehow they 
 never seemed to fit, and the organization was changed 
 again from day to day. All this training and all this 
 continual alteration of. plan was taken in huge good 
 part by all ranks. None of the younger ones believed 
 yet that the much-talked-of offensive would come off. 
 The Hun would be mad, they said, to waste his 
 strength on the West when he already had Russia at 
 his feet ; and meanwhile they regarded the " windi- 
 ness " 01 their seniors with good-humoured toleration. 
 Those days of the calm, then, in Grandru, were for us 
 full of argument and happiness. The woods, too, 
 abounded with wild boar, and night after night we 
 spent in the chase. We clipped with wire cutters a 
 large piece off the nose of our service bullets, as the 
 untreated bullet had little effect on that toughest of 
 all animals. Two such clips of soft-nosed bullets we 
 forgetfully left behind in our mess when the time 
 came to leave Grandru with more haste than dignitv, 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 192 THE SQUADROON 
 
 and no doubt they are now exposed in the Berlin War 
 Museum as an example of British barbarity. 
 
 In due course we were told definitely that the 
 offensive would break on March 21st. The dis- 
 mounted party had been told off and completed to the 
 last detail of ammunition and supplies ; but still most 
 of us were sceptical, or perhaps inclined to believe 
 that, if the offensive did take place, there was little 
 probability of us, the last reserve, playing any part in 
 it. And so on the eve of the fateful day we sat down 
 to dinner with our usual spirits and appetite, still 
 cheerfully contemptuous of the prevailing " wind," still 
 rather amused at the Skipper's unusual silence and 
 gravity. 
 
 " If our people know for certain that the offensive 
 starts to-morrow," we said, " our guns will swamp 
 the Huns with gas just before their zero hour, kill 
 thousands of them and botch up their whole show." 
 
 Shortly after four in the morning we were woken 
 up by the sounds of such a bombardment as speedily 
 dispelled from our minds any doubts we still might 
 have had about the coming offensive. The volume 
 and intensity of fire was greater than on the Somme. 
 Our village itself was not shelled, but long guns were 
 at work on all the principal bridges and cross-roads 
 around about. A few hours later orders came for our 
 dismounted party to embark in their lorries for the 
 front forthwith. That is to say that on the first day, 
 within a few hours only of the opening attack, our 
 last reserve was called up. All of us, even those who 
 had been most sceptical, instantly understood what 
 this meant and how grave the situation must be. 
 The dismounted party comprised, with the exception 
 of one man left to every four horses, all the fighting
 
 MARCH 103 
 
 rank and file of the Regiment. Dano marched at the 
 head of the two platoons from the Squadroon ; and 
 we all walked with him to the main road about a mile 
 and a half away, where the long train of lorries were 
 drawn up in waiting. Very rapidly, because we had 
 rehearsed it before, and in spite of the stream of 
 ambulances filled with gassed and wounded coming 
 the other way, the embarkation was carried out, and 
 the Hower of the British Cavalry rolled off as infantry 
 in lorries to the red and black horizon. The Colonel, 
 the Second-in-Command, the three Squadron Leaders, 
 all of us standing there on the road waving farewell 
 to our lads, many of whom we should never see again, 
 must have felt some shame at this curious freak of 
 organization which sent the manhood of the Regiment 
 into action under the command of a very young 
 officer indeed, while we seniors remained behind in 
 safety with the horses. 
 
 What adventures this dismounted party met with ; 
 how, on arriving at the line to which they had been 
 assigned, they found it existed only on the map ; how 
 they desperately defended the bank of the St. 
 Quentin Canal in thick mist and against heavy odds ; 
 and how the remnants were withdrawn and trans- 
 formed into Cavalry again, is too long a story for me 
 to set down here. 
 
 When the last of the lorries had disappeared in 
 the direction of the smoke and flames and guufire, 
 the Skipper and I walked sorrowfully back to our 
 billets. Neither of us expected to see any of our lads 
 again. We now packed up all our belongings and 
 prepared to move at a moment's notice. We could 
 hear the roar of battle drawing closer. Every hour 
 brought wild, disquieting rumours. Soon the terrible 
 
 o
 
 194 THE SQUADROON 
 
 pageant of a broken army began to pass before our 
 eyes. One poor Chinaman, who could not steel his 
 heart to throw away his heavy sack of kit, fell 
 down under its weight and died on the road by our 
 billet. 
 
 " Alleernandee go ting, ting, ting, Chinaman 
 marchee quick ! " were his last words. 
 
 On the following day came an urgent demand for 
 a hundred mounted men from our Brigade to join 
 immediately the mounted remains of another Division. 
 The Squadroon was called upon to furnish an officer 
 for this party. All, of course, immediately volunteered, 
 and after the usual three cold hands of poker the lot 
 fell to Jimmie. The vagaries and the exploits of the 
 " last hundred," as we called them, would fill a volume 
 as stirring as anything in fiction. Next we were 
 asked for an officer for a particularly perilous piece of 
 liaison, and this time the cards declared for Hector. 
 On the second day hurried orders came to move the 
 horses back out of the danger zone. As by now there 
 were only about one officer and two other ranks to 
 each Troop, the work of saddling up was one of 
 extreme difficulty. It was, however, accomplished in 
 course of time, and a curious-looking column set out 
 southward with every officer, including the Colonel, 
 leading three horses and some unfortunate men 
 leading as many as four. That was by no means a 
 pleasant march. As we passed through one village a 
 swarm of demoralized, drunken young soldiers, without 
 arms or equipment, shouted foul insults at us. Then 
 we passed out of the British into the French area. 
 We, going backwards, met a steady stream of French 
 troops moving up. They eyed us in silence with 
 bitter looks, or made ironical remarks to each other
 
 MARCH 195 
 
 as we passed. In the villages old men and women 
 came out of their houses to curse and spit at us ; and 
 altogether, though I was leading the horses of three 
 comrades who at that moment were stoutly fighting 
 against overwhelming odds, I had rarely felt more 
 embarrassed than during this our seeming flight 
 through the territory of our Allies. That night we 
 bivouacked under some tall trees on the borders of a 
 marshy stream, each officer watering, feeding, off- 
 saddling and grooming six horses, just the same as 
 did the men. During the night all the neighbourhood 
 was heavily bombed, but without any injury to us. 
 Early in the morning we heard, amongst other 
 shocking news, that all our dismounted party had 
 been blotted out. Numbers of unarmed stragglers from 
 the battle line, who had been rounded up and roughly 
 reorganized, were now handed over to us to help with 
 the horses; but none had ridden before, and when 
 with great difficulty we had at last got them mounted, 
 a counter-order came and they were taken away from 
 us again. 
 
 We of the led-horses marched again that day and 
 bivouacked at nightfall in the Forest of Compiegne. 
 We were a somewhat sad little party that, having 
 done the best we could for our horses, lay down 
 to sleep beside them, wrapped in our blankets 
 and with our heads pillowed on our saddles. Next 
 morning came more cheering news. We heard, what 
 few of us believed, that up north the British had 
 made a brilliant counter-stroke, capturing Douai and 
 Lille ; and that down south the Americans had made 
 an even more brilliant advance, capturing heaven 
 knows how many prisoners, guns and miles of country. 
 The persistence with which this rumour circulated as
 
 196 THE SQUADROON 
 
 the situation grew darker and more dark was one of 
 the chief wonders of those disastrous days. We 
 learned also, to our great delight, that our dismounted 
 party, though severely handled, had been by no means 
 wiped out ; that it had been relieved and was now on 
 the way back to Pontoise ; and that the Regiment 
 was to send up twenty-five men, each leading three 
 horses, to meet it and thus to form again out of the 
 remains of the Regiment a mounted Squadron. In 
 this way, the other two Regiments doing the same, a 
 strong composite Regiment was made up out of the 
 Brigade. The Squadroon formed the headquarters of 
 our regimental party. The Skipper, Purple, Eiffel, 
 Sam'l and William Henry all went off with it as well as 
 the remaining officers from the other two Squadrons. 
 Hector, having arrived back from his liaison just after 
 the departure of the "phantom army," as we called 
 it, immediately spurred off in the direction it had 
 gone; but was caught and sternly detained by the 
 Colonel. 
 
 Now our situation was this : the dismounted party 
 was away ; the " last hundred " were away, where, we 
 had no idea ; the " phantom army " had gone up to 
 meet and mount seventy-five of the dismounted party, 
 if so many still remained ; and one other party of 
 fifty horses had gone to help mount the Canadian 
 Brigade. With the Regiment then, in the Forest of 
 Compiegne, there remained only R.H.Q. and Staff, 
 practically no men at all, several horses, Hector, Tiny, 
 myself and one officer of another Squadron. 
 
 Towards evening Dano, with the surplus over 
 seventy-five of the dismounted party, who had not 
 been mounted and taken on by the " phantom army," 
 weary, battle-stained and footsore, limped into camp.
 
 MARCH 197 
 
 As soon as these had fed and rested, those that were 
 fit to fight were mounted ; a comb-out was made of 
 the echelons and R.H.Q., and another mounted party 
 of about forty men set out under Hector to augment 
 the Skipper's " phantom army." 
 
 Although I have not the space to follow the 
 fortunes of these various parties, and to tell the 
 thrilling story of the actions that they fought, I feel 
 I must try to make clear how it came to pass that 
 little scattered bands of horsemen were roving far and 
 wide along the battle line ; and how, although these 
 bands fought, often at great distances from each 
 other, under the unhampered command of their own 
 young leaders, all were yet fighting for a common 
 object, and the movements of all were co-ordinated by 
 the one command and Staff which, in all the panic 
 and confusion of those terrible days, never once lost 
 its head, nor lost cool, firm touch with the most 
 remote units under its command. 
 
 This is the way that we, uninformed regimental 
 soldiers, appreciated the situation from the evidence 
 of our own eyes and ears. The enemy had made an 
 attack on a front of over fifty miles. The intensity 
 of the opening bombardment had thrown our men 
 out of the first line of trenches. The second line of 
 trenches existed only on the map. On the second 
 day trench warfare had given place to the warfare of 
 movement. In places our Fifth Army fought with a 
 skill and stubbornness that beggars all description. 
 In places it fought well. In most places it did not 
 fight at all. The reason was not far to seek. In 1918 
 the quality of our recruits was far different from what 
 it had been earlier on. They were either immature 
 boys or men of a class who had held their safety
 
 198 THE SQUADROON 
 
 higher than their honour. Nevertheless, at bottom, 
 they were still of the stout island stuff that will do to 
 the end if only it is told what to do. Our Army had 
 swelled so swiftly to enormous dimensions that it was 
 difficult to find for it that vast number of officers 
 which our system requires ; and from carelessness, or 
 perhaps for want of better material, thousands of 
 commissions had been given to men who were totally 
 unfitted for the leadership of their fellows or for the 
 trust of human lives. The training of these new 
 officers had perforce been rapid, and though a few 
 months can perhaps make an officer capable of 
 trench warfare, it takes, whatever popular opinion 
 may say, many years to make an officer capable 
 of open warfare. There are, happily, scores of 
 brilliant exceptions, but we were arguing in general 
 terms. 
 
 It is an immutable law of open war that when an 
 officer is ignorant of what to do, he will always go 
 backwards. The German advance was on a front of 
 fifty miles. Wherever our men opposite to him lay 
 down and fired their rifles, he stopped at once and 
 tried to push on somewhere else. And unfortunately 
 he always speedily found a place where none of our 
 men did lie down to fire at him and where he could 
 push on. If all had lain down and fired at him, his 
 offensive might have ended on the second or third 
 day. But by steady tapping all along the line, he 
 soon surrounded the stalwart little bands which here 
 and there held out to the last ; and by a cruel irony 
 of fate, these, the bravest and the best, when at last 
 they saw the German signal rockets going up far 
 away behind, telling how hopelessly they were sur- 
 rounded, were all either killed or captured ; while 
 

 
 MARCH 190 
 
 those others who betrayed them are still gaily telling 
 Blighty how they alone won the war. 
 
 At this stage, that is to say at the time of the 
 departure of the " phantom army," the truest hearts 
 of the Fifth Army were either dead or prisoners ; 
 and most of the remainder, with, of course, sporadic 
 exceptions, were incapable of further resistance. The 
 Cavalry were on the extreme right of the British line 
 with the French. Between, roughly, Noyon and 
 Amiens, was a large gap where the Fifth Army 
 should have been, and along this front the Germans 
 were advancing practically unopposed, with incredible 
 rapidity. French reserves were coming up by road 
 and rail as fast as possible, but so swift was the 
 enemy's advance that in some places these were 
 attacked while detraining or while still actually in 
 their trains. For the first two days the majority of 
 our Cavalry had been used as infantry in the line. 
 Every moment was now of critical importance. If 
 the enemy could break through that Noyon-Amiens 
 line, he would drive a wedge between the French and 
 the British Armies, he would be able to march straight 
 through to Abbeville, and he would thus put the whole 
 of the British Army in the bag. The instant, there- 
 fore, that parties of the Cavalry were withdrawn from 
 the line and mounted again, they were sent to meet 
 the advaucing foe and to check him at all costs till the 
 French could come up and take over. Thus it was 
 that these small isolated bodies of Cavalry, led by 
 youngsters, many of whom had fought in a very 
 different kind of retreat from Mons, rode resolutely 
 forward through the broken remnants of an army ; 
 fiercely attacked the triumphant enemy wherever 
 met ; and then desperately held their ground until
 
 200 THE SQUADROON 
 
 relieved by the blue-grey poilus of Foch. Then they 
 mounted again and rode off ever northward to repeat 
 these tactics until they made their final stand within 
 a few miles of Amiens itself. 
 
 During these days we saw things of which it is not 
 good to speak — of which afterwards we never did speak, 
 except late at nights, in the privacy of our own mess. 
 
 After two days of bitter fighting near Noyon, in 
 which they faithfully fulfilled their object, the " last 
 hundred" and the "phantom army" were recalled, 
 the Brigade was reorganized as a Brigade, and we 
 marched to the village of Moyenvilliers. Early on 
 the next morning we heard that the enemy was 
 advancing over a ridge only a few miles away. We 
 speedily saddled up, and, as we had practised a 
 thousand times before on Salisbury Plain, on the 
 scorching flats of India, on the South African veld, 
 on the Curragh and on the sands of Paris Plage, we 
 moved out in real Cavalry formation as a whole 
 cavalry brigade. The Colonel rode far ahead with 
 the advanced guard. Squadron Leaders galloped out 
 to him. Squadron Seconds-in-Command galloped out 
 to lead the Squadrons. Troop Leaders galloped out to 
 join their Squadron Seconds-in-Command. This body 
 of rapidly moving horsemen, scattered in little troop 
 columns over a wide expanse of country, so as to 
 escape the full effect of shell-fire, yet moving methodi- 
 cally to a single will, formed a most imposing spectacle. 
 We swept around three villages, whose inhabitants 
 were so startled by our martial air that they instantly 
 seized all that was most precious and portable of their 
 Penates, abandoned their homes, and fled to swell the 
 pitiable multitude of refugees that was already begin- 
 ning to block the southern roads.
 
 MARCH 201 
 
 Just beyond these villages was the ridge that we 
 were going to hold. Troop Leaders now galloped up 
 to their Squadron Leaders, who gave them their 
 positions on the ground, so that, on the arrival of 
 their Troops, they were able to lead them straight 
 into action. So far all had gone as on a drill parade. 
 But it takes two sides to make a battle, and nowhere 
 was there a Boche to be seen. Presently we learned 
 that this had been a false alarm ; that the enemy was 
 above fourteen miles away, and that he was pushing 
 hard for the Paris railway towards Plainville. To 
 Plainville then we spurred with all speed, but on 
 arrival we found that the enemy had already been 
 checked some miles in advance of it by the French. 
 
 In that village we passed the night, a night which, 
 in the midst of the darkest period of my life, was 
 one of the gayest and most cheerful of my life. The 
 village had been evacuated of every human inhabi- 
 tant, and this so suddenly, that, with the exception 
 of some light valuables, they had been able to take 
 nothing away with them. Poultry abounded in every 
 farmyard ; unmilked cows stood lowing piteously in 
 their stalls; pigs, rabbits, eggs, and other delicacies 
 were found in plenty among the outhouses. Granaries 
 groaned under the heavy burden of fat oats. The 
 barns were piled high with sweet-scented hay. In 
 nearly every house were well-stocked cellars of wine 
 and cider. Was there ever such an El Dorado for 
 starving man and beast ? If not us, the Boche ! As 
 we dug our line along the outskirts of the village, our 
 nostrils were assailed by the delicious fragrance of 
 roasting pork and savoury baking meats. The in- 
 terior of the houses presented a pathetic spectacle. 
 Drawers, cabinets, boxes stood wide open, their
 
 202 THE SQUADROON 
 
 contents thrown about in wild disorder. Beds and floors 
 were littered with garments and intimate apparel. 
 All was just as the poor sobbing owners, making a 
 frenzied choice of what to take, had left it a few hours 
 before. 
 
 Looking back to it now, through the sober medium 
 of peace, our behaviour on that evening appears 
 highly shocking. We had all that the heart of man 
 could desire except light. Oil or candles there were 
 none. " I'll fix that ! " said Hector, and he vanished 
 into the church, reappearing a few minutes later with 
 candles enough to last us for a month, including one 
 of at least four feet long. Eiffel always wore a haver- 
 sack of mysterious and unfathomable capacity, a 
 veritable widow's cruse, containing packs of cards, 
 toilet kit, chocolates, spicy literature, a rabbit or two, 
 perhaps a chicken, and a wealth of curious souvenirs. 
 He now industriously busied himself in filling up its 
 vacant spaces. 
 
 We sat down to our sumptuous dinner in hilarious 
 spirits. Our dead lay behind us, to-morrow we might 
 be dead ourselves ; we lived only for the moment. 
 There was almost a Christmas-like air about that 
 feast. Our uniforms were muddy and battle-stained 
 beyond belief. Over them Purple wore a bowler hat. 
 Jimmie wore a student's cap of green velvet and gold 
 lace, Tiny wore a woman's beaded bonnet, Sam'l wore 
 a kepi, Dano wore what I believe is called a maternity 
 gown. The Skipper sat at the head of the table in an 
 antiquated tall hat; and when the General came 
 around, forgetting that he was thus hatted, he went 
 out in this incongruous headgear and gravely saluted, 
 to the huge amusement of the onlookers — and to his 
 own great confusion when he received a sharp rebuke
 
 MARCH 203 
 
 for such indecorous levity. After dinner we thought 
 happily of the comfortable four-poster beds with 
 which we were each accommodated. Hector and 
 Eiffel, who had gone out to their room, presently 
 reappeared arrayed only in filmy feminine " nighties," 
 and the two young giants proceeded to execute a ballet 
 dance around the room in this highly inadequate 
 attire. As, however, we did not know from minute to 
 minute what the next might bring forth, they were 
 sent away to dress again ; and we all lay down to 
 sleep on our warm and welcome beds, booted, belted, 
 spurred, and ready for the suddennest of war's alarms. 
 
 Next morning we were early on the march again 
 towards Amiens. Our men had been put on their 
 honour in the matter of drink, and, although there 
 was wine enough in the village to intoxicate a whole 
 Division, it was a source of pride to us that, under 
 circumstances so tempting, we had no single case of 
 drunkenness. 
 
 During that march we saw a Dotty Mail. In it, 
 showing our loss of ground in dark shaded lines, was 
 a map, which dispelled any lingering belief we might 
 have had in the mythical counter-stroke up north, 
 or any lingering doubts we might have had as to the 
 immensity of the disaster that had overtaken our 
 arms. 
 
 As we looked at the sorry wreckage that streamed 
 along the road, one of our officers remarked : 
 
 " We retreated from Mons, but not like this ! Look 
 at them, we're beaten ! why don't we make peace ? " 
 
 Long after midnight we reached the hamlet of 
 Cottenchy. A few inhabitants had not as yet been 
 evacuated ; and all the available accommodation was 
 reserved for their highnesses the stragglers, so we
 
 204 THE SQUADROON 
 
 picketed our horses in a field and slept on our saddles 
 beside them. Long before dawn we were roused. 
 The men hastily brewed their beloved tea. At all 
 times between us and them was a strong, unspoken 
 affection, but in the line and in times of great danger, 
 this affection grew into a brotherly tenderness ; and 
 now each Troop brought us steaming mugs of the 
 stimulating beverage before they touched a mouthful 
 of it themselves. 
 
 "We learned that the Canadian Brigade, with its 
 usual dash, had started out to attack the Bois de 
 Moreuil, in which the enemy had already gained a 
 footing ; and we moved off with all speed to join in 
 the attack. We swept up the next ridge, through 
 (..-• bearded, hollow-eyed creatures who, a few weeks 
 
 before, had been in the habit of insulting us when we 
 passed, and who now added an even greater insult 
 still by cheering us as we rode through them and on 
 to do our simple duty. 
 
 The Squadroon was immediately despatched to 
 assist the Canadians in their attack. What befell 
 them there, how they tried and failed to capture a 
 German field gun ; how Arthur Jenner won the D.C.M. 
 and Frank the Military Medal, are stories which I 
 have not the time to tell; and how at nightfall, 
 after a fierce, fluctuating battle, the wood was ours, 
 is already a matter of history. Nor was I present in 
 the battle myself. Before it began Eiffel had been 
 sent away as a divisional galloper, Sam'l as a brigade 
 galloper, and I to the dressing station. 
 
 Towards three in the morning the Squadroon were 
 relieved and withdrawn to a little village in the valley 
 below. The horses stood saddled up in an orchard, 
 and we made our headquarters in a small cottage close
 
 MARCH 205 
 
 by. Just as the owners of this cottage had loaded 
 their cart and were leaving their door, a shell had burst 
 right on them, for among the ruins of a cart and the 
 mangled carcases of a pair of horses, we found the 
 broken bodies of two old women and a small boy. 
 Inside was the usual litter and confusion of panic- 
 stricken flight — open drawers, open cupboards, open 
 boxes, clothes scattered all about the floor. The 
 dying embers of a fire still glowed feebly in the grate. 
 Corkran, paragon of mess waiters, and Brown, con- 
 cocted us a savoury mess of bully stew. We devoured 
 same ; we fought over again the battle of the day ; we 
 wrote home to say that all was well ; and then, just 
 as dawn was breaking, we lay down to rest. The 
 Skipper, Purple and I all slept in the huge and only 
 bed. Tiny slept in a baby's cot, and the remainder 
 got down to it on the floor. 
 
 It must have been well on in the afternoon when 
 we had a rude awakening. Heavy shells began to 
 fall in the village. Loud sounds of battle came from 
 the ridge above. While we were rubbing our sleepy 
 eyes, Jim, the Skipper's groom, arrived at the door 
 with his horse. 
 
 " You're wanted on the skyline, sir," he said 
 laconically. 
 
 " Bring on the Squadroon, Purple," said the 
 Skipper, as he leapt out of bed and galloped away. 
 
 As my orders were, I hastened to the dressing 
 station. On the way I could see that the troops who 
 had taken over the wood from us had been attacked 
 and had broken. The enemy was pouring out of the 
 wood and down the slope towards us. Between him 
 and us was a slight dip and then another lower ridge. 
 Up this lower ridge I saw our Brigade galloping,
 
 206 THE SQUADROON 
 
 squadron by squadron, and coming into action on the 
 crest. The whole dismounted Brigade, which now 
 scarcely numbered two hundred rifles, held a line of 
 nearly a mile in length. On the extreme left lay the 
 Squadroon, and on their left the ridge fell sharply 
 downward to a steep valley, which ran, as dead ground, 
 right up to the enemy's wood. Even my unmilitary 
 eye at once grasped the terrible danger of that blind 
 valley, and the fact that we had not the men to hold 
 it. Then the wounded began to arrive, and for the 
 next three or four hours I was too busy stretcher 
 bearing to see what was going on up on the ridge 
 above. Eventually the shelling became so heavy that 
 it was found necessary to remove the dressing station 
 some distance to the north, and I was sent to the led- 
 horses to explain its new position. Twilight was 
 deepening when I found them. Purple and an 
 armourer were trying to repair a broken Hotchkiss 
 Gun. 
 
 " How are things going ? " I asked anxiously. 
 
 " Bad," snapped Purple. " Now you're here you 
 might hold some horses ; we're one man to five or six, 
 as it is." 
 
 In times of stress he wasted few words. I pressed 
 for details. 
 
 " They've beaten off two attacks," he said at last. 
 " This sounds like another beginning." 
 
 Indeed, it did. After a lull the gunfire suddenly 
 broke out afresh in growing volume and intensity. 
 Great shells bellowed on to the villages, roads and 
 quarries around. From the ridge came a crash of 
 musketry, rising, falling, now a furious chatter, now 
 dying away altogether, now suddenly swelling to a 
 deafening roar. No weapon in war is so terrible as
 
 MARCH 207 
 
 musketry. Shells come soaring out of the blue, 
 blindly impersonal, and on the whole do little damage. 
 But rifle-lire is malignantly personal ; it tells of men 
 who see each other, battling face to face, individuals 
 filled with fear and fury and the will to kill. 
 
 A bitter sleet drove downwards from the north. 
 Holding three horses, I sat huddled under a steep 
 bank, listening miserably to the deadly strife, shiver- 
 ing with cold and fear and pity for my friends above, 
 praying that they might prevail. I would have liked 
 to talk, but it was useless trying to talk to Purple. 
 The other horse holders, too, sat in silence. As 
 suddenly as they had begun the sounds of battle died 
 down. How had it gone ? Had we held, I wondered, 
 or was it finished up there, and might an}' moment 
 the Huns come swarming down upon us ? Presently 
 the blood-stained figure of Paddy Donovan reeled up 
 to Purple through the dusk. 
 
 "We bate them off again, sorr!" he cried 
 drunkenly, " but the old squadrohn is desthroyed. 
 The Captain says, says he, will yez send up ivry man 
 yer can, even if yer has to let some harses go. The 
 ould Colonel is kilt, God rest his sowl, he was the rale 
 jintleman, and the Major is sthruck forninst the head, 
 and " and Paddy swooned away. 
 
 A few minutes later Frank appeared. Even he 
 was mud-stained and slightly, very slightly, dis- 
 hevelled. He ".saluted smartly by bringing his hand 
 with a ringing smack to the small of his rifle. 
 
 " The Captain presents his compliments, sir, and 
 will you kindly send up immediately two boxes of 
 ammunition and the anti-aircraft gun if it is working?" 
 
 " How did you get on ? " I asked. 
 
 " I fear we have sustained a considerable number
 
 208 THE SQUADROON 
 
 of casualties, sir, but I think we may say we have 
 brokeu up the enemy's attacks. He will not attack 
 again to-night." 
 
 Purple caught some passers-by in khaki and 
 made them hold horses, thereby releasing eleven men, 
 whom he despatched up to the line with the anti-air- 
 craft gun and the ammunition under the guidance of 
 Frank. 
 
 After the tumult of the day an uncanny stillness 
 fell upon the night. Hour after hour we of the led- 
 horses sat in silence with no further news from the 
 line till about three in the morning, when Sam'l came 
 to us. He had escaped from the Brigade, and had 
 been up to visit the Squadroon. 
 
 " It turned me sick," he said, " to see them ; and 
 the few that are left are done in for want of food. I 
 pinched some tea and rum from the Brigade, and I've 
 got the tea boiling in a dixie in a house just over there. 
 I came to get some one to help me carry it up." 
 
 " Go on, Padre," said Purple, and he took over my 
 three horses. 
 
 Very slowly and carefully, so as not to fall into 
 shell-holes or to trip over the stiffening bodies that so 
 thickly dotted the slope, we carried our precious fluid 
 up that sinister hill of death. Just as we at last 
 reached the Squadroon line, the moon sailed out from 
 behind a dark bank of cloud. About sixteen men, 
 with the Skipper, Dane and Jimmie, also just common 
 privates in the line, lay in little shallow rifle-pits that 
 they had scraped with their bayonets. These pits 
 were half full of slush. By each were two rifles with 
 bayonets fixed and a pile of ammunition, and all 
 around lay quantities of empty cartridge cases, show- 
 ing how fierce the fight had been. Before the arrival
 
 M AIlCH 209 
 
 of Frank's last reinforcement there bad only remained 
 the three officers and five other ranks. It must, 
 indeed, have been touch and go. A sentry challenged. 
 At the sound of our voices the Skipper, long and 
 haggard in the moonlight, rose stiffly out of his rifle- 
 pit. 
 
 " Stout fellows," he said, "stout fellows! Wake 
 the men up, Dano — by the time they have had their 
 tea it will be time to stand-to." 
 
 I handed him a steaming mug with a stiff tot of 
 rum in it. He laid his hand on my arm and pointed 
 to the still, dark forms. 
 
 " Look, Padre, my Squadroon ! " he said with a 
 queer, twisted smile, and turned away to gulp his 
 tea. 
 
 I walked along the line and looked for the last 
 time on the white, cold face of each old friend. There 
 lay our latest child from Sandhurst, the heir to great 
 possessions, his curly head pillowed on his arm, his 
 young life spilled so soon, so soon. There, terribly 
 twisted, lay Corporal Gregson, our great half-back. 
 Twice he had been hit and had refused to leave the 
 line until the third bullet had stilled his stout heart 
 for ever. There, face downwards, lay young Morgan, 
 the cheery coster lad, who, for some act of boyish 
 folly, was still under sentence of field punishment. I 
 was inexpressibly pained to think that he should have 
 left us in disgrace. There, on his back, with an arm 
 across his chest, and with one knee drawn up as 
 though asleep, lay Tiny, brave, affectionate, loyal little 
 Tiny. Once we had been on leave together, and I 
 thought now of an old, silver-haired lady, nearly blind 
 — still hoping and praying. There, among others, 
 lay seven sergeants and poor old Micky O'Grady, who 
 
 p
 
 210 THE SQUADROON 
 
 ought to have been away back miles behind with his 
 waggon. There was not one of all those dead faces 
 that did not stab my heart with happy memories of 
 comradeship and grievous sense of loss. Ah, God, the 
 pity and the madness of it all ! 
 
 " I walked sorrowfully back to the Skipper. 
 
 "Hullo, where's my rum and tea?" came the 
 indignant voice of Jimmie. 
 
 While it was actually being served out he had 
 fallen down and slept from sheer exhaustion, un- 
 noticed among the other still forms; and now, alas, 
 the tea and rum were all of it gone ! 
 
 "What's going to happen now?" I asked the 
 Skipper. 
 
 "Arthur Jenner, our optimist here, says they'll 
 come over in mass at dawn." 
 
 " Will they, do you think ? " 
 
 " They'd be mad not to push again. We're all 
 that's left between Berlin and the sea." 
 
 " And if they do, can you, can you stop them ? " 
 
 " No," said the Skipper, " not a hope — if they 
 really mean business. All my Hotchki are knocked 
 out. They sent us a machine-gun, but it doesn't 
 work ; and our rifles are so choked up with mud and 
 showers of falling earth from shell bursts, that it's all 
 we can do to open and close the breaches at all, much 
 less fire fifteen rounds a minute." 
 
 Dano growled savagely that he hoped to hell the 
 blinkers would attack. If ever he had loved a man 
 that man was his Troop Sergeant, with whom for 
 the last two years he had fought and wrangled and 
 blasphemed into a perfect understanding, and who 
 now lay dead beside him with a bullet through his 
 eye, and a dark, thick stain covering all his face.
 
 MARCH 211 
 
 Dano had heard the sickening smack of the fatal 
 bullet ; he had seen the bloody matter oozing ; he had 
 eased his old comrade's death agony ; and he was 
 burning to repay. 
 
 " Plow about that valley down there on the left, 
 didn't they try to work up it'? " I asked the Skipper. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right. The Fourth Brigade are on 
 the other side, and I've got over a hundred of the 
 Blankshires holding the valley itself." 
 
 "But will they— er, stay?" 
 
 " Rather ; we caught them just in time coming 
 away from the wood. When it was explained to their 
 officers that they were going the wrong way and that 
 wo wanted to win this battle for a change, they turned 
 to and fought like tigers. Hector is with them. I 
 went down again just before dark and they were quite 
 happy. They'll stay now till all's blue." 
 
 But he was wrong, for even then, down in the 
 valley, Hector lay bleeding to death of a mortal wound 
 — alone. 
 
 A sound of stealthy digging attracted our attention. 
 We looked and saw Sam'l busily scraping the earth 
 with a bayonet. Two rifles and a heap of dead men's 
 bandoliers lay beside him. 
 
 "What are you doing there, Sam'l?" asked the 
 Skipper. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 He repeated the question. 
 
 " I'm staying here, Skipper," he said, and went on 
 digging. 
 
 As there was nothing else for it, I too picked up a 
 rifle and looked around for a place to dig in. 
 
 " Have you been relieved off the Brigade? " asked 
 the Skipper of Sam'l.
 
 212 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " No, but they can easily get another galloper." 
 " Have you been relieved off the dressing station ? " 
 
 " No," I said, " but Purple " 
 
 " Back you both go, then." 
 
 We did not answer. Sam'l went on steadily dig- 
 ging- 
 
 " If you were any good here, I'd let you stay," he 
 
 said. " But if the Boche really pushes, a few men 
 more or less makes no difference now. We've got to 
 stay, but you've got other jobs. Off you go." 
 
 We dug on in silence. 
 
 The Skipper walked over and took Sam'l by the 
 arm. 
 
 " Go," he said very quietly, pointing down the ridge. 
 
 And with heavy hearts we walked back down the 
 dire hillside. 
 
 That was the last we saw of Sam'l for several 
 months, as the next day he was wounded in the leg 
 while carrying a message for the Brigadier. 
 
 Next morning the Boche did not come over in 
 mass, as Arthur Jenner had predicted. Undoubtedly 
 he meant to attack, but the best-laid plans of Boche 
 and beast gang aft agley. All the night long British 
 and French guns had been hurrying up to this 
 decisive point of the war. The dawn indeed broke 
 with a loud crash of artillery, but the shells came 
 shrieking over our heads from the ridge behind us, 
 the last ridge between us and Amiens ; and, above 
 the deep-voiced guns of Britain, we heard with joy the 
 roaring rattle of the seventy-fives. 
 
 All the wood, all the German line was lashed with 
 shard. Just in front of the Squadroon, between it 
 and the wood, was a haystack with a German heavy 
 machine-gun behind it. Soon a shell burst alongside,
 
 MARCH 213 
 
 scattering the gun crew and setting fire to the stack. 
 One Bocho fled rapidly to the wood and escaped. Two 
 others ran lirapingly after him and were hoth shot 
 down ; and three lay maimed, frantically writhing, 
 while the flames of the burning hay lapped around 
 and slowly licked them up. 
 
 Next, orders came for a piece of sublime bluff. The 
 Squadroon, as having suffered most, was to remain in 
 its position. The rest of the Brigade, a pitiful hand- 
 ful, were withdrawn, and proceeded, in conjunction 
 with another Brigade on their left, to make an attack 
 up the blind valley. This attack was, of course, not 
 pushed home, but it achieved its purpose. All day 
 the Squadroon lay cramped and cold in their little 
 rifle-pits — for to expose themselves in daylight on 
 that crest was instant death — being crumped at inter- 
 vals and firing whenever they saw a Boche's head. 
 
 Every hour voices of fresh guns joined the roaring 
 chorus from the ridge behind, and gradually an inde- 
 finable feeling of mastery crept over us all. We knew 
 in our bones that the battle was to us ; that the great 
 German offensive had at last been brought to a stand- 
 still. 
 
 Late in the night large numbers of French took 
 over our long, thin line. Worn out though they were, 
 and although the noise and movement drew much 
 fire, the Squadroon stayed on to bury their comrades. 
 They made a rough wooden cross for each out of 
 ammunition boxes, and took from each some small 
 souvenir to send home to his relations. It is a 
 melancholy example of how little the people at home 
 could realize the conditions of war that, in answer 
 to nearly every letter of condolence covering these 
 souvenirs, we received abusive replies, wanting to
 
 214 THE SQUADROON 
 
 know why we had not sent more, and hinting that we 
 had misappropriated the dead man's belongings. 
 
 When this sad rite was finished, all that was left 
 of the Squadroon, with every officer and man carrying 
 two rifles and the remains of the Hotchkiss Guns, 
 marched away back to the horses. 
 
 A few hours later we were on the road to Amiens. 
 That strong exhilaration that always attends the escape 
 from strain and peril was evident in us alL It seems 
 most heartless now that we should have jubilated with 
 so many friends left on the field behind us. But that 
 reactionary emotion is one, I think, over which the 
 heart and will have no control. Moreover, to us there 
 was nothing terrible in Death. The dark, sad-visaged 
 angel was our very near companion, and if she should 
 come to take us by the hand, well, it would only be to 
 lead us onward to our brothers who had gone before. 
 Meanwhile the glad young life still pulsed in our veins. 
 We knew, without the flood of laudatory messages from 
 French and British commanders alike, that we had 
 done our duty ; we were worn out and starving, and 
 soon we should have food and rest; and so for all 
 these various reasons we were almost hysterically 
 happy. 
 
 Next to me rode a young officer from another 
 Squadron, a shy, modest boy, who, throughout the 
 trials of those terrible ten days, had borne himself 
 with consistent and conspicuous gallantry. Though, 
 of course, he did not say so, I felt now that he was 
 gay because he knew how pleased his wife would be 
 with the decoration that he had surely won. 
 
 " Isn't this quiet topping ? " he said happily. 
 " After all that infernal racket ! Not a shot, not a 
 shell to be heard ! "
 
 MARCH 215 
 
 Hardly were the words out of his mouth when 
 we heard a shell falling. It was so sudden and un- 
 expected in the prevailing hush that I ducked so 
 sharply as to strike my helmet against the arch of 
 my saddle. The shell burst close by, and when I 
 looked up my young friend and his horse were lying 
 dead on the road. 
 
 Unable to make Amiens that night, owing to the 
 congestion on the road, we bivouacked in a wood. 
 Here Eiffel rejoined, his haversack bulging with 
 dainties and delicacies gathered in from heaven 
 knows where, and which we straightway set about 
 with a will, asking no idle questions as to their 
 origin. 
 
 (I 
 
 
 hj 
 
 
 
 r* I k 
 
 
 > 

 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 APRIL 
 
 WE reached our old friend Amiens the follow- 
 ing day, and passed there two halcyon 
 nights. We were billeted, not in the once 
 gay city itself, but in a distant suburb on 
 the eastern outskirts. Nevertheless, after the hardships 
 of the last ten days, we were wonderfully contented 
 with our lot. Our mess and all our bedrooms were con- 
 tained in the commodious house of a wine merchant, 
 a house which, although furnished in the plush and 
 gilded mirror style, and painful to the eye of the 
 beholder, was luxuriously appointed and fitted with 
 every modern convenience. Here we found our echelon 
 awaiting us, so, in addition to the delight of hot baths 
 and soft beds, we revelled also in the joy of pyjamas 
 and clean raiment. 
 
 Although the bombardment proper of Amiens 
 had not yet begun, the owner of our house with his 
 wife and family had already fled, leaving house, house- 
 hold goods and cellars in charge of an elderly care- 
 taker. On the day after our arrival, while shells were 
 falling in a little square about a hundred yards away, 
 a daughter of the family returned to look for some 
 account book that had been left behind in the hurry 
 and confusion of their exodus. We all felt very
 
 APRIL 217 
 
 uncomfortable at the agitation of this unhappy girl, 
 who wept bitterly at the sound of bursting shells, at 
 the sight of the home she had so recently loft, now 
 disordered by a horde of young barbarians ; and most 
 of all, at the profanation of the virginal sanctity of 
 her bedroom by the rude occupation of Dano and 
 Eiffel. 
 
 We were now no longer a squadron, a regiment, a 
 brigade; we were just remnants— a few horses and 
 not quite enough men to ride them. 
 
 Very fortunately for us, a famous Yeomanry 
 Regiment, a Regiment which had covered itself with 
 glory in the far-off days of Ypres, had lately been 
 dismounted and was about to be transformed into a 
 Machine Gun Battalion. This Regiment was now 
 mounted on the nearest horses to hand and despatched 
 bodily to us to fill up the great gaps in our ranks. It 
 arrived on the second day of our sojourn in the suburb. 
 The men were indeed the yeomen, the bowmen, the 
 truemen of England, of the finest old agricultural 
 stock ; but the horses ! Shade of Cromwell, quels 
 chevaux ! 
 
 Three-cornered, ragged bags of bones, unmouthed, 
 unbalanced and unbent, they answered neither hand 
 nor leg, bridle, aid nor spur. Men were very scarce 
 in those days, but horses, it seemed, were scarcer still. 
 And owing, perhaps, to the scarcity of men, it was 
 impossible to train even the horses that there were. 
 We knew well the training system of the reserve 
 regiments. The horse is a gregarious animal. This 
 salient point in his nature, his gregariousness, was 
 fully taken advantage of by the so-called instructors 
 to save an infinity of trouble and to cover a multitude 
 of ignorances. Remounts, ridden by recruits who
 
 218 THE SQUADROON 
 
 had less idea of riding than the remounts had of 
 being ridden, were herded about in droves until these 
 droves could collectively be handled and directed by 
 the instructors in the same way that a pack of 
 fox-hounds is handled and directed by the whips. 
 Then these " trained " horses were despatched over- 
 seas to war, where, unfortunately, gregariousness in 
 the horse is so very often fatal to its rider. As most 
 of us, from the Skipper downwards, had lost some 
 or all of our chargers, and were expecting great things 
 from this batch of remounts, our disappointment and 
 disgust was of the deepest. A busy day was spent in 
 organizing into Troops the new material with the 
 remnants of the old, and in distributing the quadru- 
 peds, alleged to be horses, to honest men totally un- 
 deserving of the punishment. 
 
 As the German advance had now undoubtedly 
 been arrested, we were to be sent back to the vicinity 
 of Abbeville, marching early the next morning, in 
 order to undergo a thorough refitting and re-equipping 
 from the base ordnance depot. 
 
 Now the caretaker of our house, zealous for his 
 master's interests, had unlocked the great vault 
 beneath the house and had sold vast quantities of wine 
 to the men. The wine was dark and heavy, something 
 of the nature of port, but more dull, without the glow- 
 ing ruby, without the rapturous richness. It was, in 
 fine, a base and treacherous wine. The men had 
 been paid that day ; they had had little to drink for 
 many weeks ; the entry of the stout yeoman had to be 
 consummated according to prescriptive rites ; and in 
 their simplicity they treated this baleful beverage as 
 ordinary tin rouge. Next morning, I write it with 
 shame, the Squadroon was very late on parade.
 
 APRIL 219 
 
 After a two days' march we billeted in a small and 
 comfortable village just outside Abbeville. Here five 
 officers joined the Squadroon. Two had been with us 
 before, had gone wounded to Blighty, and now returned 
 joyfully to the fold. The other three were new. 
 Every day of the few days that we were there, fresh 
 horses, fresh men, fresh kit, and fresh equipment 
 came up to us, and we were filled with bustle and 
 activity, trying to make again a serviceable squadron 
 out of so much raw material. All day remounts went 
 to riding school, recruits to drill, young officers and 
 new N.C.O.'s to tactical rides. We felt it in the air 
 that we were training against time. Here, too, we 
 had our first experience, among drafts of immature 
 boys, of the conscript proper, the full-grown man 
 who had not joined up until he had had to. His was 
 a class which a regular Regiment naturally held in 
 the deepest abhorrence and contempt. Nevertheless, 
 many of our conscripts soon won the respect of their 
 contemptuous comrades. The Skipper ordained that, 
 as no one knew the circumstances behind each case, 
 any casting up into their faces of their compulsion 
 would be held as a grave crime; and that all the 
 new-comers, yeomen, boys and conscripts alike, were 
 to be received into the Squadroon with the old spirit of 
 camaraderie which still survived so many of the men 
 who had helped to create it, and which, he hoped, 
 would soon again flame up in all its former united 
 brightness. Many of our conscripts, we found, were 
 steady, conscientious workers, usually married men 
 with families, or sole supports of relatives. Later on, 
 when we saw them staunch in action, it set us 
 wondering if, perhaps, in the early days of the war, 
 when all the world was wild with war hysteria, it had
 
 220 THE SQUADR00N 
 
 not needed a stronger and sometimes a finer character 
 not to join up in the face of all contumely than it did 
 to take, blindly and heedlessly, the popular path of 
 khaki. The steady, respectable father who did not 
 join up was held by the populace in deepest scorn. 
 The dissolute young ne'er-do-well, who, excited by 
 brass bands and the taunts of young women, joined 
 up in a mist of drunken sentimentalism, was instantly 
 a national hero. And when we thought these things 
 over we understood how wise were the words of those 
 who said that no government' should have the cruelty 
 to leave a decision so momentous to the option of the 
 individual. 
 
 After only a few days of this strenuous recon- 
 struction, black news reached us. We had already 
 lost one complete Army, and all the area that it 
 had held. Now, we learned, the Hun had launched 
 another tremendous offensive up north ; the Portu- 
 guese had broken ; the enemy had crossed the Lys, 
 had penetrated deep into our line, and was driving 
 hard for the sea. 
 
 Immediately we were on the road again, hastening 
 by forced marches to the danger point. That, indeed, 
 was a troublous time. Our old horses were worn out 
 by the hardships of March ; our remounts were weak, 
 poor and untrained ; our new drafts did not know 
 how to pack their saddles, or how even to saddle up 
 their horses ; and some of our new officers were so 
 young and delicate that, instead of being able to lead 
 men, they needed constant mothering themselves. 
 While struggling northwards in these adverse circum- 
 stances, we received Haig's historic, laconic, soldierly 
 message to the British Army. It struck exactly the 
 right note. Our backs were against the wall, it
 
 APRIL 221 
 
 said, and every one must stand and fight it out to 
 the last. 
 
 As we progressed further and further northward, 
 the roads were blocked and our march was impeded 
 }>y floods of refugees. The plight of these unhapp}' 
 people was all the more pitiable because, in many 
 cases, it was the second time that they had found 
 themselves in this most wretched situation. Many of 
 them, in the first days of the war, had fled before the 
 invading Huns, had returned, behind our armies, to 
 their ravished homes, and now again were thrown 
 out homeless on the roads. Doddering old men, 
 women and children, paralytics and invalids, perched 
 high atop of piles of bedding and furniture on country 
 carts drawn by overladen horses ; pushing perambu- 
 lators, handcarts and wheelbarrows, all filled with 
 infants and pathetic possessions ; riding on little carts 
 drawn by dogs ; walking, shuffling, staggering along 
 under the weight of their babies and their bundles, 
 they flowed past us in a never-ending stream of 
 misery. Of all nations the Briton has, on the 
 surface, the roughest manner ; and of all nations 
 the Briton has, beneath this superficial roughness, 
 the kindest heart. Where their own compatriots 
 often looked on the distress of these poor creatures 
 with an indifferent eye, the British soldier was always, 
 when humanly possible, kind and helpful. When an 
 overloaded cart stuck in the mud, khaki shoulders 
 were soon straining at the wheel. When an old dame 
 fell exhausted by the road, khaki arms raised her to 
 her feet and supported her on her way. When a 
 child fainted from hunger, khaki hands pressed 
 nourishment to its lips. Old men's sorrows were 
 momentarily lightened by the gift of ration baccy.
 
 
 
 222 THE SQUADROON 
 
 Khaki cars and lorries gave constant lifts. And as we 
 looked on so much wretchedness, we wondered where 
 was all the glamour and glory of war, of which 
 throughout our lives, we had heard and read so 
 much. 
 
 Presently we reached a position of readiness 
 behind the Forest of Nieppe. Terrific and almost 
 incessant gunfire 'was in progress. The enemy was 
 making the most desperate endeavours to break 
 through. But here the atmosphere was very different 
 to what it had been in the south. Already the breach 
 about Armentieres was firmly closed. Against our 
 unwavering w line the furious assaults dashed them- 
 selves to pieces ; and, out in front, field-grey corpses 
 lay piled high upon each other. Covering all the 
 landscape, behind every hedge and wood and copse, 
 in every dip and hollow and sunken lane, sown as 
 thick as seeds in spring, numerous as the sands of the 
 sea, bristled our myriads of guns. When our leaders 
 galloped from one headquarters to another, asking 
 if our assistance was needed, and if so, where they 
 would wish us to come into action, our services were 
 invariably declined. One Australian Brigadier re- 
 marked, with more force than politeness : 
 
 " What the hell are you doing here ? Do you think 
 we're going to run away ? " 
 
 Here, at any rate, the British Army was far from 
 being beaten. But for the next few days the issue was 
 still critical. 
 
 Doing those days we led a curious, nomadic life. 
 By day we shyly hung about in woods, unseen by 
 aircraft, and close behind the line, ready to render 
 assistance if necessary. Our chief cares were to 
 prevent our horses eating trees, making fires to keep
 
 APRIL 223 
 
 ourselves warm, and the boiling of our picnic tea. We 
 saw no real fighting, and the few casualties that we had 
 were caused by random shell-fire. At night we some- 
 times bivouacked in the wood or we sometimes with- 
 drew a few miles to a village where the Squadroon was 
 billeted in a hospitable farm. Horses stood out 
 shivering in the open, and were rapidly assuming 
 the elegant proportions of the skeleton. But the men 
 slept snug and warm in hay-filled barns ; and we all 
 slept, neither snug nor warm, up in the dirty and 
 verminous loft of the farm. Long before dawn we 
 saddled up and marched off to the woods in order to 
 reach their shelter from the hawk-eyed air scouts 
 before the treacherous daylight. Not till after dusk, 
 because of these same hawk-eyed air scouts, could we 
 leave their cover again. Our existence was a continual 
 and apparently aimless saddling and off-saddling in 
 the dark, and, as William Henry phrased it, an 
 everlasting to-ing and fro-ing. 
 
 Flick, our latest joined, went far to keep us young 
 and entertained. A man at last, after a somewhat 
 cloistered and precious childhood, he was filled with 
 wonder and excitement at all the strangeness of his 
 new surroundings, and was devoured by an eager 
 curiosity concerning the cause of things. When the 
 nights were cold, having only one blanket apiece, we 
 used, for greater warmth, to sleep in pairs, rolled up 
 in the two blankets. This partnership was called in 
 soldier parlance " mucking in." Muck in ! There 
 was a manly, martial, swashing sound about the 
 phrase that instantly took the fancy of Flick. 
 
 "Who'll muck in with me ? " he cried eagerly on 
 our first night in the loft. 
 
 Eiffel w-w-would. Before the night was very old,
 
 221 THE SQUADROOxN* 
 
 Eiffel slept snugly in two blankets and poor Flick lay 
 out uncovered on the bare, cold boards — shivering, 
 but gaining experience. 
 
 Also Flick's tin hat and his head were unsuited to 
 each other. The former had raised a large lump on 
 the latter. This lump went on swelling to such an 
 egg-like size that the tin hat rose higher and higher 
 off his head until, when we trotted, it began to revolve, 
 and soon spun around and round and round like a 
 teetotum top. 
 
 " Gor blimey ! " exclaimed an astonished onlooker. 
 " Strike me if it ain't a blinking gyroscope ! " 
 
 And when, after a few nights in our loft, the 
 morning examination of his vest revealed the presence 
 of the enemy, his pride and delight knew no bounds. 
 
 " I've got 'em, I've got 'em," he cried, as who 
 should say, "Am I not now the compleat soldier? " 
 
 After some days of this Robin Hood-like life of the 
 woods, what time but few trees remained unringed 
 by our hungry horses, we received grave news from 
 the neighbourhood of Ypres. The Hun was striking 
 hammer blows at the re-entrant angles of the salient. 
 Around about Mont Kemmel the situation was critical 
 in the extreme. So violent and sustained was the 
 enemy's attack that it was feared he might burst a way 
 through by sheer weight of numbers and of metal. 
 Once again we bestrode our poor skeletons and 
 hammered along the hard high road, not with great 
 speed, but, for some reason, at a snail's pace. During 
 this march an evil chance befell the Squadroon. At 
 the start our destination was unknown : we were to 
 be directed to our billets or to our position in the line, 
 as the case might be, when we arrived at a certain 
 town about fourteen miles distant. While we were
 
 APRIL 225 
 
 passing through one town, the Squadroon, which wafl 
 rear Squadron of the Regiment, was held up by the 
 traffic-control sentry for Dearly half an hour at a busy 
 cross-road. While we waited, our brigade Machine 
 (inn Squadron cut in by a side road between us and 
 the Squadron of our Regiment ahead. This was a 
 thing that very often happened on marches, so we 
 followed along not at all put out by the intrusion. 
 
 After many miles, when the day was already 
 ending, the Machine Gun Squadron ahead of ua 
 turned off the road into a field and began to put 
 down their lines. Then we saw that there was no 
 one else in front of them. In answer to our questions, 
 the Machine Gunners told us that the rest of our 
 Regiment had turned off at a village about five miles 
 back, and that they had no idea whatever whither it 
 was bound. We went files about and then halted 
 for a few minutes. The Skipper stood on the road 
 darkly looking at his map. He was a vain man and 
 a kind man. It galled him deeply that so many men 
 and horses should be put to so much inconvenience 
 by a stupid carelessness on his part ; and it galled 
 him even more deeply to think that every officer and 
 man was thinking that he had led them astray. Flick 
 strolled up and broke in on his gloomy meditation. 
 
 " Have you lost yourself, sir ? " he asked, not with 
 any trace of bitterness or reproach, but in a tone of 
 guileless and childlike inquiry. He simply wanted to 
 know. 
 
 The Skipper's hand went down to his revolver ; 
 but Dano took Flick by the scruff of the neck and 
 dealt with him behind the hedge. It was late on in 
 the night by the time that we eventually found our 
 billets. 
 
 q
 
 226 THE SQUADROON 
 
 The next week or so was with us a very curious 
 phase. We found to our astonishment that most of 
 the troops about us, even up there so close to Ypres, 
 were French. Our Brigade lay billeted in the villages 
 and farms around in rear of Mont de Cats, and sent 
 down dismounted parties to help the French hold the 
 support system of the line that faced the Boche at 
 Mont Kemmel. The Squadroon, with their horses 
 picketed along the four hedges of a field, occupied an 
 abandoned cottage on the lower slopes of the steep 
 hill that is crowned by the monastery of Mont de Cats 
 itself. This was an association full of interest and 
 sentiment for us, as it had been the Squadroon who 
 retook those sacred piles and that commanding posi- 
 tion, after a sharp engagement, from the retiring 
 enemy in 1914. 
 
 For two nights we remained in the comparative 
 peace and comfort of our cottage. Here our chief 
 business was to prevent marauding bands of French 
 soldiers, and sometimes solitary freebooters, from 
 looting the humble goods and chattels of the deserted 
 home. Our Allies are indeed persistent and relentless 
 depredators — and cannibalistic withal. We all slept 
 in one small room ; most of us on the stone floor. 
 During the first night Flick awoke with a feeling of 
 uneasiness. He thought he had heard a shell go 
 over. He sat up and cocked his ears. He waited, 
 five minutes, ten, fifteen ; by Jove, yes, here came 
 another ! and a long " heavy " whistled evilly as it 
 sped over the cottage and on, probably searching for 
 an important railway bridge about three-quarters of a 
 mile behind. Flick sat up listening intently. Sure 
 enough, after another fifteen minutes there came 
 another shell. He leaned over and woke up Dano.
 
 APRIL 227 
 
 " I say, old boy, there's a hell of a barrage going 
 on ! " he said. 
 
 In a few seconds there was ! 
 
 On the third afternoon came the Squad roon's turn 
 to go down into the support line. We marched over 
 a shoulder of the high Mont de Cats hill, and down 
 the steep declivity that fell sharply into a broad valley 
 below. The passage of that road, which was under 
 direct observation from the enemy's positions, was 
 always fraught with danger and excitement. He fired 
 several " crashes " of battery fire on to portions of it 
 while we were on the march, and several times we 
 had to take shelter under steep banks while the 
 whizz-bangs burst and the fragments flew around. 
 On our way lay a small collection of houses on either 
 side of the road, which was dignified by the name of 
 a village. Some " crashes " had been fired on it a few 
 minutes earlier, and, as we began to pass through it, 
 shells again fell thick and fast. About the road lay a 
 few lately killed and wounded French soldiers. The 
 air was heavy with crashes and groans and dust and 
 smoke and shard and flying fragments of masonry. 
 In all this horrid tumult two small children walked 
 hand in hand straight up the middle of the road 
 toward us. One was a small boy of about six, the 
 other a little girl of about four. Their eyes appeared 
 dazed, and they walked as though in their sleep. The 
 Skipper swore gruffly, the men swore, we all swore. 
 We put them in the ditch and left them ; that was 
 all we could do, as we had to shove on. I have often 
 wondered since how those little mites came to be there 
 alone and if they are still alive. 
 
 We reached, with only a few casualties, our desti- 
 nation on the lower slopes of the great hill. In a
 
 228 THE SQUADROON 
 
 grove by the roadside was a luxurious encampment of 
 army huts, formerly a divisional headquarters. Just 
 beyond the grove lay the sector of support trench to 
 which we had been assigned in case of emergency, 
 and, until that emergency arose, we were allowed to 
 live in the huts. It sounds most dangerous that we 
 should have occupied a large encampment under the 
 direct observation of the enemy ; but there were so 
 many such encampments all around and so many 
 farms, houses and villages, all teeming with troops, 
 that the Hun gunners could not attend to them all. 
 Moreover, alongside each hut, little deep, narrow 
 trenches and funk-holes had been dug, in which we 
 could take instant cover whenever we were shelled. 
 A large formation of dismounted French cavalry, in 
 conjunction with whom we were holding the support 
 line, were already lodged in the encampment. By a 
 curious coincidence the Capitaine in command was 
 an old friend, who, in the year before the war, had 
 been attached to the Regiment over in Ireland for 
 autumn manoeuvres. He was a fine horseman, a 
 skilful soldier and a most charming gentleman. We 
 combined messes with happy and interesting results, 
 for although none of us could talk any but the 
 pidginest of French, all the French officers could talk 
 fluent English ; and the interchange of international 
 banalities and international ideas was no doubt broad- 
 ening to the mind and instructive to the intelligence 
 of both races. 
 
 While we were in that support line the great battle 
 of Mont Kemmel was in progress. Our encampment, 
 some distance behind the front line, was all among 
 the field batteries. All day and all night, without 
 ceasing, the guns growled and roared and bellowed
 
 APRIL 229 
 
 and l»arked and belched and coughed and spat around 
 us acccording to their various natures. A Nissen hut 
 is a veritable sound box. It echoes, re-echoes, magni- 
 fies and reverberates every sound ; and soon our 
 heads ached and rang and split with the pandemo- 
 nium of ceaseless and deafening noise. At intervals 
 a crash of shells was fired on our grove, but with 
 marvellously little damage. We saw, however, a vivid 
 demonstration of the accuracy of modern gunfire. A 
 French battery came into action a few hundred yards 
 away from our grove, alongside a line of trench. 
 Four of its guns were in the open, the other two con- 
 cealed in a hedge. The battery fired away merrily for 
 a time ; and then there came retribution. A crump 
 fell alongside one of the guns, wounding several gun- 
 ners. Then another fell, a direct hit, on another 
 gun. The teams all took refuge in the trench. In 
 about ten minutes, calmly and deliberately, with not 
 more than ten shells, all the four guns in the open 
 were knocked out by direct hits. The two guns under 
 cover of the hedge were not touched. I looked on at 
 this grim, horrible spectacle with a bleeding of the 
 heart and with wonder why those four unfortunate 
 guns had been put out in the open. 
 
 The strain of the past weeks had played havoc 
 with the Skipper's feeble frame : his nerves were 
 worn to shreds, his hands trembled, his feet dragged, 
 his voice was very weak ; he was about at the end of 
 his tether. On our last night in these quarters the 
 battle was particularly violent ; and he passed the 
 whole of it in pacing around the sentry line. I, too, 
 unable to sleep amid the infernal din of the artillery, 
 got up and joined him at about four in the morning. 
 In front of us Metteren— or was itBaileul? I forget— 

 
 230 THE SQUADROON 
 
 was burning. The sound of incessant machine-gun 
 fire came from its direction. The Skipper pointed to 
 the blazing town. 
 
 " Look," he said, " thousands of Bodies swarming 
 over the walls ! Can't you see them ? " 
 
 I looked. A vast sheet of flame, made up of tiny, 
 darting, licking tongues of fire, enveloped all the town 
 and leaped and danced above the darkened ruins. 
 Intertwining with the quivering mass of flame were 
 curling, twisting wreaths of smoke, now light, now 
 dark, ever changing in density and colour. The 
 aspect of the whole to tired eyes gave the illusion of 
 endless and multitudinous movement. I looked for a 
 few moments and was not at all sure that I did not 
 see innumerable figures, field-grey figures, swarming 
 over the walls. One could have seen anything in 
 those writhing flames. 
 
 " It's less than two miles off," he said ; " they'll 
 be here in no time. We must sound the ' stand-to ' at 
 once and man our trench. I'll — I'll just get Purple 
 to have a look first, though." 
 
 Purple was with difficulty roused out of a sound 
 slumber. He came out cf his bunk, out of the hut, 
 and took one look at the ghostly host of salamanders. 
 
 " Go and lie down, Skipper, and get some sleep ! " 
 he said, and instantly proceeded to follow his own 
 excellent advice. 
 
 Early in the morning we were withdrawn to our 
 horses, and, after a few more days of waiting about 
 on roads and fields, in case we should be needed for 
 the battle, we were despatched by slow degrees to the 
 vicinity of Etaples and the joys of safety and the sea.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 
 
 SLEEP, Sleep, how wonderful are the powers 
 of thy healing art ! Refreshed in mind 
 and body, it was a light-hearted company 
 that rode, some few days later, on a wet, 
 wild evening of early May into the humble little 
 village of Enoch, which was destined to be our home 
 for the next few months. The horses stood in the 
 open, the billets of the men were abominable, the 
 inhabitants were more surly, ungracious and grasping 
 than any we had met before, and at first sight no 
 single prospect pleased us, and all the folk were vile. 
 Nevertheless, we were so rejoiced at the idea of 
 leading a human life again — for some weeks at least, 
 we hoped — so delighted at the prospect of the 
 pleasures of civilization, of baths and beds and 
 pyjamas, and nights of quietness, unbroken by the 
 hideous sounds of battle, that we gaily made the best 
 of all the many disadvantages of our habitation, re- 
 solving to make good the glaring inconveniences and 
 deficiencies as soon as possible by our own labours 
 and ingenuity. 
 
 Indeed, it was not surprising that our billets were 
 not of the best, and that we were painfully cramped 
 for space, because, not only had the British area been
 
 232 THE SQUADROON 
 
 very greatly reduced by the huge losses in ground of 
 the Fifth Army, and by the lesser losses up north, 
 but also into this already restricted area masses of 
 American troops were now pouring from across the 
 Atlantic at an astonishing rate of speed. 
 
 We had been brought back here to carry on with 
 the work which, for a few days only, we had been 
 doing before the northern offensive began ; the work 
 of reconstruction, of transforming our raw and hetero- 
 geneous material into skilful and efficient Cavalry. 
 It was a very happy period for us all, that peaceful 
 springtime among the blossoming trees and the 
 flowering meads, glorying in bright warm days on the 
 shores of the lazy, purring sea. Only those who have 
 long walked hand in hand with Death, and soon must 
 walk hand in hand with her again, can ever know the 
 full sweetness of Life. 
 
 Our first care was the horses. After weeks of 
 continual standing saddled up, hardship, short com- 
 mons and exposure, their condition was too pitiable 
 for any words. For the first month we employed 
 every human art, wile, trick and villainy of horse- 
 mastership and economy in bringing back the flesh to 
 their wasted frames. During this process the in- 
 habitants liked us less than ever. When the horses 
 were fit to work again we had training of remounts, 
 tactical rides, schooling, and long days of drill and 
 manoeuvre on the sands, followed by picnic dinners in 
 the woods, and bathing of men and horses in the 
 tepid sea. 
 
 Particularly we were all filled with zeal for school- 
 ing horses at that time, partly because we had all 
 learnt since March, from our own bitter experiences, 
 what misery it is to ride an untrained horse, and
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 233 
 
 partly because some of us had lately returned from 
 the very interesting and practical equitation school at 
 Cayeux. The Skipper, whose dear hobby before the 
 war was polo, had always been an enthusiastic trainer ; 
 and now Dano and Jimmie came back from the school 
 equally enthusiastic. The wave of enthusiasm spread 
 over the whole Squadroon. We hired a small field, 
 made open-air manages, put up schooling jumps and 
 spent many happy afternoons in the noble art of long 
 reining and of haute ecole. A vile practice, too, arose 
 among us — an echo of Cayeux— that, as we each came 
 in to breakfast, we seized the heaviest thing to hand 
 and smote it across the nearest shoulders, shouting 
 vociferously " Leg, leg, leg ! " 
 
 All this time a silent and unseen process was at 
 work. Slowly and surely the old, glad spirit, the strong 
 esprit de corps of bygone days, budded and bloomed 
 in the new elements of the old Squadroon until we 
 were all once again bound together by chains more 
 durable than of iron. The yeomen, inclined at first to 
 be a little reserved, soon did us the high courtesy of 
 doffing the historic badge that they had worn with so 
 much pride and so much honour, and of donning in 
 its place our own beloved badge. The immature 
 boys, under the influence of hard, but not too hard, 
 work, plenty of recreation and good and copious 
 rations, soon took on the form and style of men. 
 Conscripts, and men called up under the raising 
 of the military age, found amongst us volunteers 
 far older than themselves. And all, I think, after 
 their endless vagaries and transitions through depots, 
 training centres, reserve regiments and base camps, 
 where nobody was anybody's child, were glad to find 
 that they had reached a i*oal home at last.
 
 234 THE SQUADROON 
 
 The Adjutant having returned, healed of his 
 wounds, Tubs, the versatile and invaluable, took up 
 again the leadership of our First Army. Old Bill 
 came back to us from Blighty with nothing worse 
 than a slight stiffness in his gait. Later on, too, 
 Sam'l returned ; but his wound had been followed by 
 a serious and chronic complication, for, during his 
 convalescence, he had become married. In France 
 the daily prayer of every fighting soldier was to stop 
 a " Blighty one.' 1 But when anyone had had that 
 great good luck, and when he had been back home for 
 a few weeks, he almost invariably started moving 
 heaven and earth to get sent out again. The past 
 and the future — that is the mirage on the deserts of 
 the human mind — never satisfied with the present, 
 except between spells of peril. But something tells 
 me that this is a well-worn platitude. Anyway, the 
 return of Bill and Sam'l was doubly welcome, since it 
 not only restored to us the pleasure of their company, 
 but it also put an end to the ceaseless correspondence 
 on the subject of their weekly applications to return. 
 
 For the officers there was a wealth of entertain- 
 ment in the neighbourhood. We could, if we wished, 
 play tennis at Paris Plage, play golf at Le Touquet, 
 go sailing from Etaples, or go picnicking in the woods 
 with dainty war-workerettes ; and all these things we 
 sometimes did. But our most frequent amusements 
 were cricket in the afternoons and rounders in the 
 evening. The Skipper and Tubs had sometimes to go 
 away and play in brigade and divisional matches, but 
 for the most part all our efforts and all our interests 
 were centred in the Squadroon. A section of G.H.Q. 
 at Montreuil kindly lent us their delightful cricket 
 ground, an oasis in the woods of St. .Tosse. There we
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 2& 
 
 played great matches against other Squadrons of the 
 Regiment, Squadrons of other Regiments, our Battery 
 and our Machine Gun Squadron. And what I think 
 we enjoyed still more, we frequently played matches 
 of our own, Army against Army, or one half-squadron 
 against the other half. On these occasions pack 
 ponies accompanied us to the ground, laden with the 
 ingredients of tea, with an abundance of buns from 
 the bakery at Etaples, and sometimes with quantities 
 of strawberries from the neighbouring farms ; and as 
 the men, after an exciting match, did full justice to 
 this royal spread, reclining on the fresh green grass, 
 or under the cool shade of sweetly scented pines, 
 they perhaps forgot for a while their thin horses, their 
 saddles that wouldn't polish, the girls they'd left 
 behind them, the eternal round of sentry-go, the 
 horrors they soon must see again. 
 
 Those inter-troop matches were matches indeed, 
 requiring quite a different kind of genius to that 
 of conventional cricket. Corkran, the dandy ever, 
 appeared always in white flannels raised from good- 
 ness only knows where, and piled up big scores by 
 exquisite leg glides and shots cleverly placed between 
 the fielders. But the innings were usually short. 
 Nearly every member of each side took his turn of 
 bowling — or throwing as the case might be, and often 
 was— and the variety in velocity and iniquity of this 
 rapid succession of performers soon demoralized the 
 most expert batsman. Our yeoman corporal, who had 
 played regularly for a first-class county, never, I think, 
 made double figures in a troop match. Tubs, who 
 lor two years had worn his Harrow cap, was frequently 
 dismissed for duck by some wild bowler in breeches, 
 putties and spurs and grey-back shirt, with braces
 
 236 THE SQUADROON 
 
 slipped over shoulders and dangling down . behind. 
 And the Skipper, who had captured many wickets at 
 Lord's and on other historic fields, was often swiped 
 out of the ground by Arthur Jenner, by Harold, his 
 own servant, and by other hearty players unpadded, 
 or wearing one pad only — as like as not on the wrong 
 leg— who, like true artists, hit out freely according to 
 the light of nature, wholly unhampered by such arti- 
 ficial traditions as gloves, guard and the straight bat. 
 
 Then we caught our horses, which had been 
 grazing around the outskirts of the ground, threw a 
 blanket over their backs and rode home, filled with 
 the pleasant tiredness that comes of strife without 
 anger and long hours cleanly spent in the peace and 
 sweetness of God's good air. Then, always ready, 
 nay eager, for a meal, we sat down to dinner in our 
 large and comfortable mess-room with all the windows 
 open wide, letting in the freshness of the summer 
 evening. It was the one and only spacious room in 
 the village, with a huge table that not only took us 
 all with ease, but many a guest as well. And, while 
 we ate our food and talked away and won the war, 
 the great gramophone played to us all the latest 
 songs from home. "Roses of Picardy" and "The 
 Bells of St. Mary's" were at that time the favourites, 
 though " Hullo, my Dearie," was by no means as yet 
 dead. Once we cleared the room and Flick began to 
 teach us the jazz, but Madame immediately came in 
 and stopped such indecent frivolity. 
 
 Towards the end of dinner, just about the time 
 when an immense bowl of strawberries and cream 
 would make its appearance, the refugees from Etaples 
 would begin to pass through. That unfortunate town 
 was so frequently and so heavily bombed that in the
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 
 
 evenings almost all its inhabitants used to go out and 
 sleep in the woods around or in the neighbouring 
 villages. Every night towards the end of dinner a 
 sort of phaeton carriage passed by en route to the 
 next village, the lucky village of Brexent, containing 
 two elderly ladies and a girl of wonderfully sweet and 
 simple beauty. As they passed we always jumped up 
 from the table, ran to the window and waved greet- 
 ings. The two old ladies and the fascinating young 
 one smiled and gaily waved back ; to the great indig- 
 nation of the latter's husband, who rode alongside the 
 carriage on a bicycle and scowled horridly at us over 
 his shoulder. One night he was so busy scowling, 
 and scowled so hard and so long, that, not being able 
 to scowl at us and look where he was going at the 
 same time, he ran into a wheel of the carriage and 
 buckled the wheel of his bicycle ; and we, as immorally 
 responsible for the accident, had to buy him a new 
 one. 
 
 After dinner the hour before darkness was devoted 
 to rounders. In this excellent game, as well as at 
 cricket, there was keen rivalry between the Armies. 
 When a good ball was hit, and it was touch and go 
 whether a rounder would be scored, the shouts of 
 excitement could be heard for miles. But the greatest 
 joy of all, to friend and foe alike, was when a fielder 
 threw at and hit a runner between the posts ; and 
 the harder he hit him, especially if on the head or 
 face, the greater the joy of the onlookers. 
 
 And now I come to a very delicate subject. It is 
 with great diffidence that I speak of it at all, for, in 
 doing so, I am disclosing one of the great secrets of 
 the war, a dark secret that reflects no credit on the 
 Squadroon. After March and April, when we reached
 
 238 THE SQUADROON 
 
 Enoch, our horses were as near to skeletons as any 
 living thing can be. Some weeks later, when inspected 
 and marked by the G.O.C., they were the best con- 
 ditioned in the whole Division. How did this arrive? 
 As I write it now, after all these months, I still feel 
 the hot blush of shame mounting to my forehead. 
 The railway ran through Enoch. Along the railway, 
 at a slow pace, ran ration trains of trucks piled high 
 with bales of hay and sacks of corn. For some days, 
 with bulging eyes and watering mouths, we watched 
 these treasures rolling past, and we brooded, deep and 
 long. So near and yet so far! And then— but I 
 may not say more, or I should be guilty of illegally 
 divulging a patent, the joint patent of Dano, Flick and 
 Jimmie. 
 
 Yes, those were happy days, the past forgotten, 
 the future resolutely unthought of; although we did 
 sometimes look wistfully across the blue waters and 
 wonder how long, how long — if ever ! 
 
 While we were in these billets a man was accident- 
 ally killed ; and it was a strange thing that this one 
 death in an atmosphere of perfect peace, followed by 
 the barbaric pomp of a military funeral, created a far 
 deeper gloom than was ever created by many hundreds 
 of deaths in action. 
 
 About this time two great events happened. First, 
 the Germans had made their last desperate offensive 
 on the French, had been counter-offended, and were 
 now showing the first signs of their impending 
 dissolution. Secondly, after long months of closure, 
 " leef " had been reopened. 
 
 The Skipper, who was the first of us to " proceed on 
 permission," had just returned, and, as none of us had 
 been home for nearly a year, we were eagerly question-
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 
 
 ing him about the state of Blighty. Needless to say, he 
 was delighted at such an opportunity of holding forth. 
 
 "It's really rather touching," he said, "after all 
 these years people still wave out of their windows to 
 the old leave train — all the way up from Folkestone 
 to Victoria." 
 
 " What's the Little Village like these days ? " asked 
 Tubs. 
 
 " Oh, same as usual. All the feminines who were 
 wealthy before the war are toiling like honest work- 
 ing women ; and all the feminines who were honest 
 working women before the war are flaunting it like 
 fine ladies." 
 
 11 But what did you do yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh, I racketed about to dances and theatres and 
 things. Curious thing the theatre crowd at Piccadilly 
 Circus. Just arriving there I couldn't get it out of 
 my head that they hadn't all just arrived too. I sort 
 of felt it was a special occasion, something to do with 
 me. It's funny to think that all that huge, seething 
 crowd is there every night, is there at this minute — 
 was there those nights when we were on the ridge 
 in front of Amiens — barging and bustling from tube 
 to theatre and theatre to tube. Yes, rather, I was 
 hecticly gay, but I suppose k I'm getting old, for it all 
 bored me quite a good deal. One day I went out to 
 Kew on top of a bus. I enjoyed that best." 
 
 "Ay, you can often get more fun for twopence 
 than what you can for ten bob," said Bill. 
 
 " By-the-by, I learned one thing. If there's ever 
 another war, and you're ambitious and want to get 
 on, don't go near the war zone ; don't go a yard 
 beyond Whitehall and Piccadilly. There's a lot of 
 old dug-outs in my club who saunter between it and
 
 240 THE SQUxVDROON 
 
 their offices. Last time I was on leave they were all 
 captains. Now they are all colonels. And there's 
 only one major in a fighting regiment ! One I noticed 
 particularly ; not only has he gone up to colonel, but 
 last time I saw him he had only one ribbon, a corona- 
 tion ribbon, and now he's camouflaged behind two rows 
 of loud ribbons of countries he can't ever have even 
 seen. Stick to the Homeland, chaps, if you want high 
 honour and foreign decorations. Don't believe that 
 gag about no man being a prophet in his own country 
 — it ain't so! " 
 
 This set Dano off on his favourite growl. 
 
 " The blinking Staff," he said, " they get every- 
 thing ! Safety, comfort, high rank, big pay ! Why 
 the blinking blink should they get all the decorations 
 as well ? They do nothing but plot and scheme to do 
 each other down ! They just batten on our blood and 
 bones ; they're the — the — war profiteers of the Army ! 
 And when you and I come back off leave we have to 
 get up at five in the morning — with a thick head — to 
 catch the blinking train, while some little squirt of an 
 A.D.C. with red tabs, who spends all his life in a 
 chateau, or some blinking clerk from Rouen, comes 
 back like a lord after lunch by the staff train, and, 
 what's more, has a car to meet him at Boulog. It's 
 too " 
 
 " It's all very well to damn the Staff," said the 
 Skipper, "but you must remember that it takes a 
 fellow an awful lot of expense and the blinking awful 
 sweat of at least two years' hard cramming before he 
 can get into the Staff College— and there he has two 
 years of worse sweat than ever before he passes out. 
 Only thoroughly suitable fellows are allowed to enter 
 at all; and, whenever you have any dealings witb
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 241 
 
 them, they always know all your difficulties hefore 
 you even tell them, and are invariably considerate 
 and helpful." 
 
 "Yes, quite so," said Purple; ''but how many 
 Staff College fellows are there on the Staff now ? One 
 in a hundred, perhaps ! " 
 
 " What I want to know is why they get all the 
 decorations as well as all the other advantages," 
 repeated Dano fiercely. 
 
 " Well," said the Skipper, " in the first place it's 
 presumed a man is an exceptionally good man or he 
 wouldn't be on the Staff at all. Secondly, put your- 
 self in a General's place. He lives with a lot of his 
 Staff en famille as it were. They are always ready 
 night and day to do his lightest bidding. Not only 
 do they serve him well and faithfully in all military 
 matters, but they see he gets the things he likes to 
 eat— and perhaps more to the point, to drink — his 
 favourite cigarettes, cigars. They ride with him, shoot 
 with him, fish with him, play bridge with him ; they 
 are alwavs with him, like the most dutiful of sons. If 
 he is human and affectionate and grateful, and likes to 
 see happy faces around him, it's going to be very hard 
 to pass over his own Staff when rewards are going." 
 
 " They can keep all their decorations ! Give me 
 two eyes, two arms and two legs, and I don't want any 
 more," said Bill. 
 
 " That sounds all right, Bill," said I, " but as a 
 matter of fact there's no man living who isn't pleased 
 to get a decoration. If he wasn't, his mother or his 
 wife or his sweetheart would be. Out here, where we 
 all know each other's strength and weakness, and 
 where we know that pretty well all men are brave, 
 mid where we know also all the jobbery that goes 
 
 u
 
 2-12 THE SQUADRQON 
 
 on, perhaps ribbons don't count for much. But a 
 youngster on leave takes his best girl to dine at the 
 Carlton. At the next table there are four other 
 youngsters all with the M.C. His breast is bare. 
 His girl jolly soon notices and begins to think things ; 
 and he feels pretty quickly what she is thinking. No, 
 it would have been much better either to have had a 
 Croix de Guerre, like to French, or no decorations at 
 all. They are so palpably unfair." 
 
 " Especially immediate awards," said Purple. 
 " There's no standard about them at all. Take a 
 Brigade. The Colonels of two Regiments don't believe 
 in rewarding fellows for doing only their duty, and 
 send in no names except for deeds of superhuman 
 gallantry — which, by the way, are sometimes done by 
 utter wasters and men who are drunk. The third 
 CO. goes on the system of rewarding fellows who 
 have consistently done their job well for a long time. 
 When his Regiment has been in action he deliberately 
 makes up a fictitious story about them and sends it in. 
 So, in the one Brigade, of the three Regiments, all of 
 which have seen exactly the same fighting, you will 
 often see two Regiments with practically no decora- 
 tions at all, and the third simply smothered in them. 
 Again, suppose two C.O.'s go on the system of reward- 
 ing long-deserving merit by these fictitious stories, the 
 Colonel with the livelier imagination and the readier 
 pen will get more rewards for his lads than the other 
 less talented one. I've often been amused at medal 
 presentation parades to see the look of blank astonish- 
 ment come over fellows' faces when they've heard for 
 the first time their own special acts of gallantry ! 
 And those long lists of gallant deeds in the Times 
 make me rock with laughter."
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 849 
 
 " They soon get to believe them," said the Skipper. 
 
 " But surely the case of the fellow who docs his 
 job well for a long time is the one that ought to be 
 rewarded," said D&no. 
 
 "I quite agree," said the Skipper, "if you are 
 going to have these rotten rewards at all ; but not by 
 a system that has its very foundation in falsehood. 
 Instead of all this endless correspondence, and all this 
 mean and sordid business of racking our brains to 
 invent lies, they might, after a good action, hand so 
 many medals to each CO. and leave it to him to dis- 
 tribute them in hi3 own Regiment." 
 
 " They can keep their blinking medals so long as 
 they leave me my limbs," repeated old Bill. 
 
 He, over ten years a yeoman, wore the Mons, the 
 real Mons, ribbon ; a rare distinction among any but 
 the regular Army. And so, with no great knowledge 
 of our subjects, we often talked and argued and 
 wrangled and moralized and laid down the law. 
 
 I have mentioned, I think, that marriage befell 
 Sam'l in the days of his convalescence. Anyway, it 
 did. As the weeks went on and his leave was still a 
 thing of the dim and distant future, Sam'l yearned. 
 Then a great and Columbus-like plot was hatched. 
 The following Monday was a holiday. A romantic 
 week-end was projected. The owner of a fishing 
 smack at Etaples was bought body and soul; the 
 Sam'1-ette was warned to be at a certain town on the 
 south-eastern coast of England. Sam'l, given favouring 
 winds, was to embark early on Saturday morning 
 on his Leander-like enterprise — how Leander-like, he 
 had no idea at the start. No opposition was antici- 
 pated from the Skipper, who was held mainly respon- 
 sible for the calamity of Sam'l, as he had frequently
 
 244 THE SQUADROON 
 
 and publicly maintained that every man should be 
 married by the age of twenty-five. Indeed he expati- 
 ated so often and so earnestly on the beauty and the 
 pricelessness of a good woman's love, that we all 
 wondered how it was that he was not married him- 
 self. Moreover, at this time, he was particularly keen 
 about national reconstruction. As we had expected, 
 he readily gave his consent. The day broke dark and 
 lowering, but Sam'l, against the urgent protests of 
 the owner, insisted on putting out to sea. Soon the 
 winds roared ; the waters rose ; the waves beat about 
 that little barque. Loud raged the tempest for several 
 days. On the white cliffs of Albion the Sam'1-ette 
 stood watching and waiting, anxious and forlorn, like 
 the father of Lord Somebody's daughter in the poem. 
 Having eventually landed on the northern coast of 
 Spain, Sam'l, silent and sheepish, returned to us 
 more than a week later. 
 
 At this time, night after night, whenever the 
 weather was fine, the bombing planes passed over us 
 on their dire visits to Etaples ; and night after night 
 we sat up watching from our windows the fiery tumult 
 in the skies. First we heard the checking drone of 
 the Boche engines ; then the furious barking of the 
 " archies " ; then we saw the forest of ghostly arms, 
 waving and groping up into the heavens, like the tenta- 
 cles of some great blind octopus ; then the constellation 
 of sparks and flashes, as the rapid barrage burst ; then, 
 from the earth, the dull red leaping flashes and the 
 sullen, echoing roar of the exploding bombs. Then 
 fragments, of falling shell, humming and whirring and 
 hissing and whizzing, fell about us, sometimes crash- 
 ing through roofs, sometimes injuring a man or horse. 
 Sometimes the groping tentacles fastened on to a
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 2 15 
 
 plane. More arms and more darted across the 
 heavens and closed upon the victim. And the 
 spectacle of that tiny noxious insect, that little 
 dragon-fly, all shining silver in the ghostly beams, 
 was so weirdly beautiful as to take the breath away. 
 Sometimes, too, we saw up there a sudden conflagra- 
 tion, and a flaming mass came falling through the 
 void. A faint sound of cheering from Etaples would 
 reach us as we looked on with mingled horror and 
 delight and pity. 
 
 These visitations became so grievous that more 
 and more searchlights were posted on all the country 
 around, and, among them, one on a rise just above 
 our village. Next time the raiders passed over, this 
 searchlight opened, and the raiders promptly dropped 
 nine bombs upon us. Two fell into cottages, the 
 remainder along a street. There was the whizzing 
 sound of the falling bombs ; an instant after, mighty, 
 dull red flashes, showers of sparks, deafening 
 crashes ; and a few seconds later, a hail of brickbats 
 and debris, which shattered nearly every roof in the 
 village. Every atom of glass and china, was, of 
 course, smashed to atoms by the concussion. The 
 huge candelabra in our mess-room fell in terrible ruin 
 on the table. Not a window pane remained. Outside 
 the scene was heart-rending. The villagers, all old 
 men, women and children, were panic-stricken. 
 Shrieking, groaning, moaning, uttering sounds of 
 inhuman terror, they leaped out of their beds and 
 rushed blindly, madly out into the country. Only 
 a few of our horses were killed, only a few men 
 slightly wounded, but I noticed that men who had 
 never flinched in battle were not altogether unshaken 
 by this Terror of the Night.
 
 246 THE SQUADROON 
 
 Those weeks of recuperation had worked wonders 
 on our raw material, human and equine. Horses 
 were big and hard ; less gregarious and more flexible. 
 Men were likewise big and hard ; could pack a saddle, 
 saddle a horse; could shoot a little, could ride a 
 little. Young N.C.O.'s could handle Sections with 
 some degree of skill ; and already Flick began to show 
 promise of becoming a Great Leader. 
 
 To enliven the monotony of training, and at the 
 same time to give it an added zest, we decided to have 
 sports. Not exactly sports, nothing quite so common- 
 place, but something grander, wider, nobler, more in 
 the spirit of Olympic games. Tubs, of course, and 
 William Henry, undertook the stage management. 
 Our friends of G.H.Q. again lent us an ideal ground. 
 Tracks were laid down, tapes were put up, a fiendishly 
 ingenious obstacle course was constructed, and greasy 
 poles were placed across a deep stream for mop fight- 
 ing. There were gallows with suspended buckets of 
 flour and pitch for tilting ; a regulation Olympia 
 jumping course; a smaller course for remounts; a 
 smaller one still for pack ponies. Posts were put up 
 for bending races and mounted musical chairs. A 
 programme of events, calling forth every form of 
 military skill, had been drawn up with such ingenuity 
 that scarcely a man in the Squadroon could fail to win 
 a prize of some sort. Every comfort and convenience 
 had been provided ; a band had been inveigled from 
 Etaples ; chairs had been begged, borrowed and 
 stolen ; marquees and lesser tents rose up in snowy 
 splendour and coolness ; and a great tea tent and bar 
 — the latter under the capable, sympathetic and 
 broad-minded direction of Dano — were to be strong 
 centres of attraction. Also, two clowns of unrivalled
 
 RECONSTRUCTION 217 
 
 mputleucc and vulgarity had been secured afc enormous 
 trouble. All our friends bad been invited, including 
 our Generals, not as Generals but as friends. 
 
 One thing only, one most important thing, was 
 still wanting. In the second of Plutarch's Lives }'OU 
 may read of a great genius, I forget his name, who, 
 knowing his world, quickly reformed the decadent 
 Athenian cavalry. He built riding schools in the 
 most fashionable parks and resorts, got all the prettiest 
 girls of the town to come and look on at the drills, 
 and soon there was no finer cavalry in the world. 
 This strong, sweet feminine influence we lacked ; but 
 we made haste to repair the deficiency. The best- 
 looking amongst us, about the choice of whom, in- 
 cidentally, there was considerable dissatisfaction, were 
 sent the round of the hospitals and the canteens, 
 armed with invitations to the pretty workers, who 
 graciously accepted, and who, by their gentle presence, 
 would stimulate us to incredible prodigies of knightly 
 emulation — and who afterwards would write homo 
 how frivolous and idle the Cavalry were. 
 
 The Mother Superior, or whatever she is called, of 
 the G.H.Q. Waacery, propitiated by the homely face 
 and the trustworthy manner of the Skipper, consented 
 to come herself and to allow a hundred or so of her 
 girls to come as well. Races for them, affinity races 
 and three-legged races with our braves, were included 
 in the programme. After the prizes had been 
 presented, and the usual cheers had been given for the 
 usual people, Tubs, with his customary thoroughness, 
 had arranged that the moon should rise, that the 
 band should play dreamy dance music, and that the 
 "Waacs and our braves should dance on the green 
 sward till the witching hour of midnight.
 
 248 THE SQUADROON 
 
 All these plans had been made; all difficulties, 
 with great tact and labour, had been overcome ; all 
 the paraphernalia had been collected and erected ; 
 all the men were overflowing with anticipation and 
 excitement, and everything was smiling and serene. 
 After dinner on the eve of the great day, we all stood 
 around the piano in high spirits. Tubs hammered 
 out the accompaniments, Sam'l sang our popular 
 songs in a fine baritone, and Dano roared out his 
 particular piece of resistance, while we all opened our 
 pipes and let ourselves go in the chorus : 
 
 " Come, landlord, have you any good wine, 
 Fit for the cavalry of the line ? 
 Stiboo, you beggars, stiboo, you beggars, stiboo ! " 
 
 In the middle of our concert Eddie and Dunn, the 
 Adjutant, wandered in, casual-like, and joined in our 
 songs with a careless gaiety. Just as they were going 
 away, Dunn whispered to the Skipper : 
 
 " Pack up everything, old boy, we're off to-morrow 
 night. Rotten luck about your sports ! Yes, another 
 gap ; we don't know where, but it looks like Amiens." 
 
 .
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 
 
 ONCE again, as at Cambrai, the nights were 
 filled with stealthy marching, the roads 
 crawled with a monster movement, the 
 darkness breathed muffled sinister sounds, 
 like unto some huge prehistoric beast, straddling over 
 a vast area, and dragging its scaly bulk onwards, 
 seeking after its prey. Each night at nine o'clock 
 the Squadroon filed out on to the appointed rendez- 
 vous. Soon there was a quick flash of a torch, the 
 voice of the Adjutant asking if we were all up; then, 
 a few minutes later, the low-voiced order " Get 
 mounted " rippled down the ranks, we climbed into 
 our saddles and the long column was on its way 
 again. 
 
 Those marches were by no means pleasant. The 
 first three nights it poured with rain ; also the dark- 
 ness was so dense that we had to keep close up to the 
 Squadron ahead lest we should lose our way at every 
 turn. On these marches too, unlike those of the 
 Cambrai gap, we did a lot of trotting. Now trotting, 
 in half-sections, in the inky dark, with no distance 
 between Squadrons, is as painful a performance as 
 anyone can well go through. There is continual back- 
 ing and filling, barging and bumping, concertiuaing,
 
 250 THE SQUADKOON 
 
 rushing forward to make up, galloping and checking, 
 banging and crashing, bitterness and blasphemy, 
 envy, hatred and malice and all uncharitableness. 
 Moreover, the pouring rain, the sloshing mud, the 
 prohibition to smoke and the presence of batteries 
 and other troops marching alongside us on the self- 
 same' road, all tended to increase the pain the strain 
 and the weariness of our pilgrimage through those 
 long nights of doubt and sorrow. 
 
 Shortly before dawn we would reach the village 
 that was to be our that day's moving tent. Horses were 
 watered at river or stream or well or pump as most 
 convenient was ; sleepy billeting parties with flash of 
 torch and lantern conducted men and horses to their 
 respective resting-places. Then, when all were settled 
 in, we sought our mess in some or other humble little 
 cottage where Madame had perhaps already prepared 
 coffee for us, and where perhaps, too, a bottle of wine 
 or beer or cider, or wine and beer and cider, stood 
 temptingly on the table. And, if Madame was kind 
 and Purple had been tactful, there might even be 
 bread and an omelette as well. Day would be break- 
 ing as we sat down to this light repast, followed by 
 the longed-for pipes we might not smoke upon those 
 secret marches. Then, in the available bed or beds 
 and on the floor, we lay down to sleep, in our clothes, 
 of course, since we had no other wardrobe beyond 
 what we carried on our backs and in our haversacks. 
 
 At eleven o'clock we breakfasted and lunched in 
 one, or, to use the vulgar parlance of the camp, we 
 brunched, and thereafter the remainder of the day 
 was spent in grooming, watering and feeding the 
 horses, the usual inspections, snatches of sleep and 
 food. No movement of men and horses in the open
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 251 
 
 was allowed, lest the enemy's ubiquitous air scouts 
 should discover the enterprise that was afoot. The 
 Skipper, at the cost of much precious space in his 
 haversack, always carried a book on these occasions, 
 and if he had not been able to finish it by the eve of 
 zero day he looked on ahead to see what the ending 
 was, for, he said, it would be rotten luck to be outed 
 in the middle of a real good story without ever know- 
 ing how it had ended. I suspect myself that he found 
 a thrilling novel was as a strong narcotic to his lively 
 imagination in those days of suspense before the 
 battle. 
 
 In some subtle, indefinable way, the atmosphere 
 of this movement was entirely different to that of 
 Cambrai. In the Cambrai gap we marched in bitter 
 winter weather for mile upon mile, through devastated 
 areas and through old battlefields, with the ominous 
 sights and sounds of the line always before us and 
 gradually drawing closer. To me it had held an 
 essence of peculiar horror, horror made doubly horrible 
 by a strong presage of evil and disaster. This time 
 it was different. It is true that we were drenched to 
 the skin, and that we were badly bruised and chipped 
 and scarred from the nightly battle and the rattle 
 of the trotting on the hard high road. It is true that 
 the marches were more and longer, and that towards 
 the end we were very tired indeed. But three things, 
 I think, went to make up that palpable difference. 
 The weather, though wet, was warm — an immense 
 factor in war where cold is the bitterest of agonies 
 and the deadliest of foes. We marched, not through 
 the hideous ruin of a once fair land, but through a 
 land still fair and smiling, peopled by a prosperous 
 peasantry and little touched by the blasting hand
 
 252 THE SQUADROON 
 
 of war. Arid, greatest of all, I know now what we 
 did not know then, but what our subliminal consci- 
 ences did know then, that we were marching to victory. 
 The vast, indomitable spirit of Foch that flowed as 
 hugely as the sea, had infected, infused, inspired, 
 unknown to our puny selves, our puny spirits with 
 his own irresistible will to conquer : and the enemy 
 was already overthrown. 
 
 At about seven o'clock in the evening we roused 
 ourselves from slumber, or returned from our troops, 
 or from visiting other Squadrons, or from whatever 
 we might have been doing, and sat down to our 
 dinner of pork and beans and tinned fruits. After- 
 wards a final pipe and then we got ready for the 
 march again. 
 
 Much of the smoothing of our path on these 
 occasions was effected by the Skipper's gigantic Harold. 
 This stalwart yeoman's heart was as large as his body, 
 his good nature was inexhaustible and he smiled a 
 broad smile of invincible amiability. He invariably 
 accompanied Purple with the billeting party, and as 
 soon as he entered our prospective mess he radiated 
 an air of so much manly strength and kindliness that 
 the very surliest of surly old madames would soon be 
 softened and our welcome would be assured. From 
 continual practice and by the aid of a little manual of 
 conversation, he had learnt to speak passing fluent 
 French ; and, before we had been many hours in any 
 house, we would hear the entire establishment, old 
 and young, family and domestics, singing in unison 
 under his direction : — 
 
 " Bonaoir ole zhin, 
 Sharioh shin shin, 
 Napooh too-ta-loo, 
 Good-bye-ee ! "
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 253 
 
 On the second evening of our march we watched 
 him through the window of our mess husily cleaning 
 out, under the pump, a caldron used for hoiling pig- 
 swill ; and we idly speculated what on earth he was 
 up to. Presently he came in and addressed the 
 Skipper : 
 
 "Shall we bath now, sir?" he asked with his 
 usual broad smile. 
 
 The Skipper blenched. 
 
 "Er — no, I don't think so, not this evening, 
 Harold, not this evening." 
 
 " Oh, come, come, sir ! " said Harold, reproach- 
 fully ; and the Skipper was led off like a lamb to the 
 slaughter. 
 
 Much of this inverted order of things, of this turn- 
 ing the night into day and the day into night, united 
 with the very small amount of sleep that we were 
 able to snatch during the spare hours of the night- 
 like day, gradually told upon the hardiest of our 
 nerves. Towards the end of those long marches we 
 began to " see things." A lorry looming close upon 
 the roadside was the Scotch Express — a blazing, 
 shrieking streak rushing through the night. The 
 pale gleam of a lantern on the water disclosed a 
 Eoman galley — the shields, the crested helmets, the 
 short broad sword, the rowers bending to their oars 
 in regular rythmic order. A miniature cottage with 
 one faint light flickering in the gloom appeared, to 
 my tired eyes, an imperial palace, brilliantly illumi- 
 nated and peopled with a glittering, mazy throng of 
 courtiers and ladies bright. The most familiar objects, 
 transformed by night and weariness, assumed all kinds 
 of fantastic shapes and semblances. 
 
 Towards the end the rain ceased and the weather
 
 254 THE SQUADROON 
 
 mended. Before marching through Abbeville we wer6 
 strictly forbidden, on account of the prevalence of 
 spies, to answer any questions whatever about our- 
 selves, our identity or our destination. Consequently, 
 there was quite an electric atmosphere when a High 
 Officer bumped into Flick in the dark and angrily and 
 in vain demanded his name and regiment. 
 
 "I told him I didn't know," said Flick, in the 
 plaintive tones of a lost child. 
 
 If any of the men were asked any question by any- 
 body on the road, even if it was only to ask the time, 
 they promptly replied, " Horatio Bottomley." 
 
 After leaving Abbeville we marched, not along the 
 broad highway to Amiens, for that, no doubt, was 
 already choked with blood and iron, but along the 
 right bank of the river and in and out among the 
 marshes of the Somme. At first the road was good. 
 The little sparks that, like fireflies, were struck out 
 of the flint by the iron-shod hoofs of our horses, 
 delineated the whole length of the column. Then 
 the road became narrower and softer, till it was 
 nothing more than a track, along which we proceeded 
 in single file. Heavy, sombre woods enveloped us on 
 either side, and presently the darkness became so 
 dense that we could scarcely see a foot in front of us. 
 Then we skirted the edge of a broad lagoon. It was 
 enclosed all around by black, formless masses of foliage, 
 above which, here and there, tapered the shadowy 
 shapes of tall, melancholy trees. The surface of the 
 lagoon was dark and still, and glistened like polished 
 jet. The beat of our horses' hoofs was muffled in the 
 mud : no wild-fowl moved over the glassy waters ; no 
 sound broke the heavy silence of that gloomy soli- 
 tude. Every moment one thought to see the ghostly
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE '2o5 
 
 ferryman, it all seemed so like somo mythical nether 
 world, peopled by the spirits of the dead. 
 
 At length we came out of the black shadows of 
 this dark Pluto's region and passed over by a bridge 
 on to the old main road. Anon there was a long halt, 
 and we all foregathered at the head of the Squadroon, 
 where we reclined against the steep bank of the road 
 and, as we were not allowed to smoke, took stiff nips 
 of neat rum instead from Dano's well-filled flask — 
 with the result that we soon became mildly hilarious. 
 
 The march was long and the day had fully dawned 
 by the time that we had got our horses picketed 
 among the trees on the swampy bank of the river at 
 Picquiny. 
 
 Zero hour was to be at 4/20 on the following 
 morning, August 8th. That day was fully occupied 
 in grasping the scheme, which was then divulged to 
 us for the first time, in marking in the contours and 
 the various sectors on our newly issued maps, and in 
 the innumerable inspections and routines that are 
 necessary on the eve of every battle. Jimmie and 
 another young officer were taken away from us as 
 gallopers to the Corps. More officers, we feared, 
 would be taken later on ; and I was appointed a 
 galloper between the Squadroon and R.H.Q. 
 
 Our dinner that evening was none the less cheery 
 for the fact that in some cases it might be our last on 
 earth. This time to-morrow night, I could not help 
 thinking, how many of these merry young faces will 
 be cold and rigid, tortured masks of agony ? 
 
 Shortly before nine o'clock, men, leading horses, 
 came clattering over the cobbles out of holes and 
 corners, shanties and shelters, to their appointed 
 rendezvous ; and soon we were started on our final
 
 256 THE SQUADROON 
 
 approach march to the position of assembly at 
 Longueau, just through and out beyond Amiens. 
 That march was fraught with the keenest anxiety 
 and suspense ; and, indeed, the fate of the whole 
 gigantic operation now hung by the slenderest of 
 threads. During the previous night the Germans had 
 made a raid on that very sector of our line through 
 which to-morrow's offensive was to be launched, and 
 had captured a sergeant and several prisoners, all 
 Australians. After the shock of being raided, and 
 the greater shock of being captured, prisoners often 
 suffered from a loosening of the moral fibre. Under 
 those painful circumstances, even stout-hearted men 
 were apt to babble out all they knew, in a sort of 
 hysterical hope that in this way they might save their 
 lives — which, incidentally, were never in danger. The 
 Huns, moreover, knew well how to take full advantage 
 of this peculiar state of mind in the newly captured, 
 the psychology of which they thoroughly and scientific- 
 ally understood. All these prisoners knew about the 
 offensive. The fate, not only of thousands of lives, 
 but of one of the largest operations in the whole war, 
 now depended on the staunchness of that handful of 
 humble, shaken, and bewildered Australian soldiers. 
 
 Had they kept their heads shut ? Had they blown 
 the gaff ? every one was asking. Anyway we should 
 soon know. At about two o'clock we reached the 
 western outskirts of Amiens. Slowly in the gloom we 
 marched through the city in which, less than a year 
 ago, we had enjoyed such cheery times. All waa 
 deserted now. Everywhere houses lay in ruins. The 
 gay street of Les Trois Cailloux, once so bright with 
 brilliant shops and cafes and pretty ladies, was pitted 
 from end to end with shell-holes. Our old friend, the
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 267 
 
 Hotel de la Concorde, where we had first revelled in 
 the delights of civilization on our return from the 
 line, stood piteously gaping, gutted and roofless. The 
 dear old station, hallowed by happy memories of leave 
 to Paris, was riddled, rickety and tottering, like a drop- 
 sical old man leaning with shaky hand upon his stick. 
 Sad indeed was the sight of so much recent ruin. In 
 the middle of the town, towards three o'clock, we 
 halted, and waited and waited. We heard, with what 
 truth I know not, that miles ahead a tank had broken 
 down on the road and was causing this very serious 
 block. The question, whether the prisoners had blown 
 the gaff or not, now appealed to us with a strong per- 
 sonal force. If they had, the Hun guns would open 
 with terrific intensity on Amiens, and on the roads 
 leading out of it at any moment. The town itself, 
 iu the heart of which we were, would certainly be 
 deluged with gas. Our usual little group stood at the 
 head of the Squadroon, discussing these matters in all 
 their aspects, with the slightly exaggerated hilarity 
 that always preceded action. 
 
 " Somebody's going to get hurt to-day ! " laugh- 
 ingly remarked an officer of the Squadron ahead 
 who had joined our group. 
 
 He, poor fellow, was one of the first to fall. An 
 anxious half-hour passed and then we began to 
 move again. We breathed more freely now. If the 
 prisoners had babbled, the enemy's defensive barrage 
 must have fallen before this. " Stout lads," we said, 
 " stout lads," referring appreciatively and gratefully 
 to those true-hearted prisoners. Advance, Australia ! 
 W T e crawled along past the park, past the station, past 
 the wine merchant's house in which we had been 
 lodged after the battles of March, and out alongside 
 
 s
 
 253 THE SQUADROON 
 
 the railway to our position of assembly. As we 
 approached it we saw all around us, through the 
 dimness of the spreading dawn, forests of lances and 
 vague, misty outlines of masses of Cavalry. 
 
 Now, that day it was not ours to tower in the 
 van. We were, in fact, the last Squadron of the last 
 Regiment of the last Brigade of the last Division to 
 pass through the gap. Having reached our position, 
 it was unlikely that we should move for some hours. 
 Under the cover of a very high and sheer railway em- 
 bankment, we watered, fed and off-saddled our horses, 
 scrounged wood, lit fires, fried our bacon and boiled 
 our tea. Just before 4.20, we all climbed up the 
 embankment to watch the opening barrage; but, 
 although we were so very close behind the line, we 
 could see nothing of it, and, although I have since been 
 told that it was more tremendous than the barrage of 
 Cambrai, we could scarcely hear a sound. Nor did 
 any enemy's shells fall within sight of us, and we 
 began to think that the offensive had not come off 
 after all. But sound is a thing of strange caprices. 
 After about two hours we saddled up and moved on to 
 the next ridge. There we heard news of a complete 
 and brilliant success, news so wonderful that we 
 scarcely dared to believe it. From that ridge we could 
 hear sounds of battle from a village here and there, 
 where the enemy was still desperately holding on, 
 but we could see nothing of the fighting, which was 
 now many miles ahead. Soon long columns of 
 prisoners, in their grotesque, camouflaged helmets, 
 came tramping back along the tracks. Their officers 
 walked far ahead, haughty and disdainful, in spite of 
 their sorry situation, and seemed to look upon their 
 men as so much dirt. One in particular we noticed,
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 
 
 an elderly man of high rank and commanding presence, 
 who strode majestically along with his hands clasped 
 behind his back, at least fifty yards in front of the 
 unclean and common men. Next, news arrived of our 
 First Division ; how a gap had come off at last ; how 
 they had rounded up a German leave train ; how they 
 had captured quantities of men, guns and booty. 
 Although we ourselves were so far out of it, no words 
 can express our delight at these glad tidings. All our 
 training, we felt, had not been in vain. 
 
 Soon we moved on again. This time we passed 
 along the cavalry track, along which all the British 
 Cavalry had already passed before us, through our 
 lines, over the chaos of no man's land, and out through 
 the German lines into the open country beyond. This 
 was the line, in prolongation of the line that we our- 
 selves had helped to hold, which marked the highest 
 tide of the German advance of March. Since then 
 the two front lines had here been facing each other. 
 The first thing that struck us was how sketchy the 
 trench systems were : little shallow trenches of no 
 solidity and with no elaborate support and reserve 
 systems behind them. Perhaps both sides were too 
 short of men in those days to have built up, in the 
 time, solid fortifications ; and that, no doubt, was one 
 reason why this particular place had been chosen for 
 our offensive. As we passed through our own front 
 line and into no man's land, we noticed with keen 
 satisfaction that our casualties of the day, in the 
 small area of our own vision at any rate, had been 
 very light indeed. Here and there a dead horse, here 
 and there a dead man: no heaps of slaughtered 
 horses, no swathes of fallen men. Bands of prisoners 
 under British guards were searching about the long
 
 260 THE SQUADROON 
 
 grass and carrying back the wounded on stretchers. 
 When one sees how much difficulty and how many 
 whole men it takes to carry back a single wounded 
 man, one marvels that the badly wounded ever survive 
 at all. Whenever I see the golden wound stripes on 
 civilian sleeves, I picture, long ago, four men, possibly 
 Germans, staggering and tripping along over wire and 
 shell-holes under the dead weight of a heavy, groan- 
 ing burden. 
 
 In no man's land were gruesome relics of last 
 March. I have, I confess, never been able to over- 
 come a strong feeling of delicacy, akin to that of 
 peeping at a lady at her toilet, about looking on the 
 faces of the newly killed, unless they belonged to 
 those whom I had known and loved. The poor empty 
 bodies always' looked, somehow, so very much at their 
 worst, so soiled and crumpled ; the poor stark faces 
 had often that written on them which none but their 
 own nearest should see with pitying eyes. So widely 
 was this felt, that, wherever possible, the soldier 
 reverently covered the face of his fallen comrade — 
 and of his fallen foe, for death ends all small and 
 petty things like fear and hate and war. 
 
 But those gruesome relics of March in no man's 
 land, dried husks from which the soul long since had 
 fled, held for me a singular fascination. Almost all 
 had melted, as it were, until they were nearly flush 
 with the ground : little low patches of khaki rags, 
 bare bones with boots on the extremities, the gleam 
 of white teeth from beneath wisps of ragged hair. 
 Even still the attitudes of these mummies and skele- 
 tons expressed every kind of emotion. A small heap 
 of rags and bones, and hair and teeth, cowering in 
 a shell-hole, vividly expressed terror and despair.
 
 THE GREAT ADVAN< E -201 
 
 Another figure, although heavy laden with kit, and 
 now no more than skin and bone, still, in some 
 strange way, remained in a crawling position on 
 blackened hands and bony knees, mortally stricken, 
 but crawling, crawling, the expression of the will to 
 live. Another, with skeleton hands clasped resignedly 
 behind rank red hair, was glad that so much toil and 
 so much pain were endod. Another leaned back against 
 a low parapet, facing the enemy, with one arm raised 
 in scornful defiance and with the parchment skin 
 drawn tight over features of great beauty, like a noble 
 figure in bronze. It was like that, and at the same 
 time, just over the little river there, that Hector had 
 died. There they lay all around, the broken pawns of 
 this great game, in which they had had so little stake. 
 There, too, lay shattered, gaping tanks and frag- 
 ments of crashed aeroplanes. One burnt-out British 
 plane lay alongside our track with, underneath it, a 
 few charred bones. Presently we passed out of no 
 man's land into the German lines. Here we saw how 
 violent had been the bombardment which we had 
 scarce been able to hear, and how effective. Singly 
 and in groups the field -grey figures strewed the earth. 
 It seemed that most of them had met their death in 
 leaving their trenches and trying to flee. Just by 
 the side of a trench in the support line, three Germans, 
 as though suddenly surprised by the barrage and 
 still hesitating what to do, had been stricken down by 
 a shell. One lay on his back across the parapet and 
 stared up at us. He was an insignificant little man 
 with a ragged, straggling moustache. His face was 
 cracked like a cracked egg ; the lower portion of it 
 was displaced an inch or so to one side and, as a result, 
 his monstrous, staring eyeballs started out, bulbous
 
 202 THE SQUADROON 
 
 and filmy. The memory of that cracked dead face 
 haunts me still. The Skipper, who disliked horrors, 
 shuddered and fixed his eyes on his map; especially 
 when we came to things that had been wounded men 
 lying helplessly in the pathway of the Tanks. 
 
 "Everyman, woman and creeping child in Europe 
 ought to be brought here and ought to have their 
 noses rubbed in this abomination ! Then there 
 wouldn't be any more wars," he growled. 
 
 Very slowly and with many halts we moved along, 
 rather envious of our comrades of the Cavalry who 
 were doing such great things ahead. Soon we passed 
 nests of captured machine-guns, with their gunners 
 lying dead around them ; then in the copses, hollows 
 and sunken lanes, captured field-guns; and then, 
 further on still, great howitzers and " heavies " — guns 
 which you may see now in London. 
 
 At about midday we made a very long halt indeed. 
 A mile or so ahead we could see horsemen galloping up 
 ridges, and the led-horses trotting down again ; and 
 soon there came the familiar roll of musketry and of 
 machine-gun fire. Then we heard that, after an 
 advance of about six miles, and after great captures 
 in men and material, the Cavalry and the Canadians, 
 our leading infantry, had come up against formed 
 bodies of the enemy, and against an organized line of 
 resistance. It is easv to be wise after events. Per- 
 haps if our Cavalry Division, still untouched in 
 reserve, had been hurried through at once and flung 
 into the battle, these fresh formations of the enemy 
 might, while shaken by the spectacle of disaster about 
 them, have been hurled out of their new line and 
 back to the Somme before they had had time to 
 consolidate it.
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 263 
 
 Just before dark wo watered our horses in the 
 deep, narrow, ramificating valley of Caix. It was, of 
 course, a mass of telephone wires and of light railway 
 lines; a warren of dug-outs, shelters and shanties. 
 We found it strange to occupy the shelters which only 
 a few hours before had been occupied by an un- 
 suspecting enemy, and which still smelled strongly of 
 the bad sour smell of Boche. It was strange to see 
 the piles of material and stores, the great basket- 
 encased bottles of filtered water, the ammunition 
 dumps, the innumerable brush-handled bombs and 
 even chaff-cutters, all so like and yet so very different 
 from our own. We sat down to a meal of bully in 
 a comfortable shelter cut into the side of a cliff, elated 
 at the success of the day in which we had taken so 
 small a part. No shells were falling our way, but 
 up above there was great activity in the air. In a 
 few minutes we saw two planes fall flaming to the 
 earth, after the little dark objects had dropped out 
 and had fallen like stones ; and we hoped and hoped 
 that they were Bodies. By this time we had run 
 completely out of matches. Flick possessed an 
 immense petrol lighter, which we called the flaming 
 onion, but this, too, had betrayed us. A few yards 
 away, reclining against a bank, lay a Canadian soldier 
 with his hands in his pockets, his pipe in his mouth, 
 and his tin hat tilted over bis eyes. 
 
 "Ask that Canute for a match," said Dano. 
 
 Flick went over and politely asked him, but got no 
 answer. He then shook the sleeping soldier's arm. 
 The tin hat fell off with a clatter and knocked the pipe 
 out of his mouth, but still he did not answer ; nor 
 would he ever answer mortal question again. 
 
 Late in the night we were suddenly moved about
 
 264 THE SQUADROON 
 
 a mile along the top of one of the branches of the 
 valley to a small, thick copse, where we tied up our 
 horses to the trees as best we could in the dark. 
 
 Long before daylight we were on the move again. 
 This time the order of battle was reversed. We were 
 the leading Squadron of the leading Regiment of the 
 leading Brigade of the leading Division of the leading 
 Corps of the leading Army of the leading Alliance in 
 the world. Now I must try and draw a little sketch 
 map. It may be altogether inaccurate, showing as 
 it does how I saw the situation then, and how in 
 memory I see it still ; and, after all, this story is not 
 about things as they really were, but only as they 
 seemed to me. That is one of the privileges of a great 
 author. 
 
 Our orders were to reconnoitre the wood A. 
 Reconnaissance of woods and villages ! What we 
 didn't know about that wasn't worth knowing. We 
 set off down the valley with the First Army, under 
 the proud and skilful leadership of Tubes, ranging on 
 ahead in the orthodox manner and formation. We 
 speedily discovered bodies of our own troops on the 
 far side of Caix, so that was all right. Now for the 
 wood. The dawn was slowly spreading as we 
 advanced, and a nasty splutter of machine-gun bullets 
 kept zipping down the valley from Rosieres, which 
 caused us a few casualties. Then, swinging right- 
 handed, we swept around and through the wood in 
 true cavalry style. No opposition was encountered 
 inside, but the moment a horse showed on the 
 outer edge brisk machine-gun fire broke out from 
 Vrely. In front was a steep, narrow valley, com- 
 manded by enemy's guns. In front of that again was 
 the heavily wired line, running through Vrely, now
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 262 
 
 occupied l>y the enemy. While considering how to 
 crack this very tough nut, we found in front of the 
 wood A. a trench line held by the Canadians. So all 
 our warlike movements had been a mere farce behind 
 our own front line ! 
 
 At this conjuncture the Higher Command, having 
 ascertained that the Rosieres-Vrely line was strong and 
 strongly held, decided that the case was not one for 
 promiscuous and isolated enterprises. Preparations 
 were at once set on foot for a proper barrage, followed 
 by an infantry attack, after which we were to slip 
 through and repeat the tactics of yesterday. All this 
 took time. We were withdrawn to a low bank at B., 
 where we waited several hours, what time we cooked 
 our breakfast and boiled our tea. They were, how- 
 ever, by no means comfortable hours. Bullets kept 
 flicking and ricocheting over from Vrely and Rosieres ; 
 and shells fell ceaselessly into the village, all around 
 the edges of the wood and into the valley in front of 
 us at D., the flying fragments of which hit some men 
 and many horses. 
 
 After breakfast, the Skipper, Eiffel and I went up 
 to C. to visit the Canadians. These same Canadians, 
 who had been in the forefront of all the fighting the 
 previous day, were tired, hungry and sleepless. Now, 
 we always felt a little sore about Canadians. We had 
 a brigade of them in our Corps, and they had been 
 so rammed down our throats. They had no child- 
 officers, but all grown men who had had the invalu- 
 able advantage of having gone through the ranks. 
 At Cambrai they were the only unit of Cavalry that 
 had passed through the gap. The last time we had 
 been in the line we had failed to catch any prisoners 
 and they had caught three. Their physique was so
 
 266 THE SQUADROON 
 
 fine, and they carried themselves and their equipment 
 with such ease, that they felt themselves better men 
 than the Boche, and, feeling so, they were. And in 
 our heart of hearts many of us believed that it was 
 the prompt and vigorous action of the Canadian 
 Cavalry Brigade at Moreuil that had saved Amiens in 
 March. 
 
 Now the Skipper was always intensely jealous of 
 anybody who might be more highly considered than 
 his own precious Squadroon. Although no one dis- 
 liked bullets more than he, his jealousy overcame his 
 prudence and he proceeded to swank in the most 
 foolish way. In a leisurely manner we strolled out 
 from the wood, across about fifty yards of open, to 
 the little trench occupied by the Canadians. We saw 
 at a glance that they had the unpleasant anxiety of 
 having pushed on too far, and of feeling that they 
 were left out unsupported in the air. Light crumps 
 were falling along the trench as we reached it. The 
 men were very wisely lying as flat as they could. 
 The Skipper, treading delicately between the prostrate 
 forms, strolled up to the officer in command, who 
 asked him what he wanted. " I just came to see how 
 you were getting on," he said. " I'm leaving a man 
 with you, and if you're counter-attacked, or want any 
 support, just send him back. We've got a Cavalry 
 Division here, behind the wood." 
 
 A palpable wave of relief rippled down the whole 
 line. When one believes oneself to be out in the air, 
 it is good to learn that there is strong support at 
 hand. The shells were falling fast and machine gun 
 bullets whipped freely over from the enemy's line 
 about three hundred yards away across the valley. 
 To show off still further, the Skipper and Eiffel stood
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE B67 
 
 up their whole height in the shallow little trench and 
 slowly and carefully examined the enemy's line from 
 end to end through their glasses. Eiffel was totally 
 devoid of nerves ; for him it was easy ; but though 
 the upper part of the Skipper was cool and calm, I 
 noticed his knees knocking together. Still standing 
 up among the humming bullets, they put their glasses 
 away with quiet deliberation and said good-bye to the 
 Canadian officer. 
 
 11 But you can't go back across that open bit while 
 this strafe is on," he said. " Stay here till it cools 
 down some, or else follow the trench along down to 
 the valley." 
 
 " No, really, Canada, we must be pushing off, it's 
 getting late." 
 
 And we walked slowly back through the strafe to 
 the edge of the wood, feeling in some ridiculous way 
 that, by taking these totally unnecessary risks, we 
 were exalting the horn of the Squadroon. The edge 
 of the wood was being crumped too. 
 
 " Can those blasted Canutes see us now ? " asked 
 the Skipper, when we reached it." 
 
 " N-n-no," said Eiffel. 
 
 " Come on, then ! " 
 
 And we ran for shelter as we had never run before. 
 
 Things were not pleasant with the Squadroon. It 
 was strung out along and closely hugging the low 
 bank at B., waiting for our new attack to begin. In 
 addition to the fragments of crumps from the shells 
 that fell so fast in the valley, we were now and then 
 directly saluted by salvoes of whizz-bangs. Few men 
 were hit by these, as they lay close against the bank, 
 holding their reins ; but soon we were busy with our 
 revolvers, putting mutilated horses out of their agony.
 
 268 THE SQUADROON 
 
 My own poor mare had both her forelegs shot away 
 above the knees, and lay screaming like a child until 
 Dano gave her the coup de grace. The same shell 
 that hit her seemed to burst right underneath my 
 g room. He was hurled up into the air, the seat of his 
 pants were scorched away, his skin was charred black, 
 and he ran wildly down the valley, waving his hands 
 above his head. Arthur Jenner caught him, but he 
 was severely shell-shocked and was for many months 
 in hospital. Soon the excitable Sergeant Jerry, seeing 
 red from finishing off many wounded horses, was with 
 difficulty restrained from despatching wounded men 
 as well. At intervals a circus of red devils swept over 
 our heads and fired their magazines into us. These, 
 however, though alarming, did little damage. In the 
 middle of one of the bursts of whizz-bang fire, William 
 Henry walked slowly across the open from the rear to 
 the head of the Squadroon, saluted with his usual 
 transcendental smartness and handed the Skipper a 
 
 return. 
 
 " Casualty report for signature, sir, five to twelve, 
 sir ; it has to be in by twelve." 
 
 Needless to say, routine matters of that kind are 
 not carried out in the middle of a moving battle, and 
 this dramatic piece of bravado highly amused us all. 
 
 For two hours we remained thus inactive under 
 the bank, very unhappy, fast losing horses and long- 
 ing to be off and doing. Flick was sent away as 
 liaison officer between R.H.Q. and another Regiment. 
 Bill was sent away as liaison officer between R.H.Q. 
 and the attacking Infantry. Usually in such cases 
 the liaison officer attaches himself to a battalion 
 commander and transmits back the progress of the 
 attack. Not so old Bill. "They can keep their
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 269 
 
 blinking decorations as long as they leave me my 
 limbs," was ever his cry. But he had been told to find 
 out exactly how the attack was going, so he would see 
 for himself. Both his horses were shot on the way up 
 to the battalion. Carrying a light cane, he walked over 
 the top with the first attacking wave. When this 
 wave had gained its objective, he went over with the 
 second wave, and so on through five successive attacks. 
 "I was proper thrilled," he told us afterwards, "to 
 see the way the old Fritzes upped with their hands 
 when we came on to them. Aha ! that was grand, 
 that was!" 
 
 Shortly after twelve o'clock our attack commenced. 
 The Regiment mounted and moved up the valley to E. 
 As we were mounting, a sharp burst of whizz-bang 
 fire struck us, and all the ground was littered with a 
 confusion of kicking and struggling and screaming 
 horses and men. When we reached E. we stood for 
 some time mounted while another Cavalry Brigade 
 crushed in alongside of us. Shells came over, not 
 very fast, and mostly burst against the bank at P. 
 Considerable indirect machine-gun fire swept the 
 valley from Rosieres. Infantry would have suffered 
 few casualties from the fire there ; but the horseman 
 is as a teed-up golf ball. Horses and men went down 
 right and left. Dano rode next to me on his beloved 
 Amy. Suddenly there was the ugly thud of a bullet ; 
 she stiffened rigid, then the blood gushed out of her 
 mouth and nostrils and the pretty creature fell dead ; 
 and big tears filled old Dano's hardened eyes. Soon 
 we dismounted and got close under the bank at E,, 
 waiting until news should come that there was a gap 
 for us to gallop through. While we waited there the 
 prisoners began to stream back from Vrely. One
 
 270 THE SQUADROON 
 
 little hard-faced Hun came past us, wearing the iron 
 cross. 
 
 " By Jove," said the Skipper, " I've always wanted 
 one of those," and he stopped him and quickly ripped 
 it off. 
 
 The little Hun, with a sob, struck him a furious 
 blow in the face. The Skipper staggered back and 
 fell into a shell-hole. The men who had seen the 
 affair instantly let go their reins and sprang at the 
 Hun with clubbed rifles. But the Skipper was too 
 quick for them. 
 
 " Stand back ! " he said laughingly, wiping the 
 blood from the corner of his mouth. " If any Fritz 
 had tried to pinch your medals from you, you'd have 
 done the same as this little cove here ! Hier," he 
 continued, giving the cross back to its owner, " metten 
 Sie him in your gepocket, or else zome odder blighter 
 him gepinchet vill. Scooten Sie schnell ! " 
 
 And the little Hun, scowling horribly, passed along 
 the valley towards Caix. 
 
 Now the Colonel was on ahead with the attacking 
 Infantry Commander, watching for our opportunity to 
 slip through. The R.H.Q. group was in a little trench 
 in the valley. Squadron H.Q. was at E. waiting, 
 waiting for orders. 
 
 " I've already lost a lot of men and nearly half 
 my horses, and, barring prisoners, we haven't seen a 
 blinking Boche yet," growled the Skipper. 
 
 Presently the Adjutant staggered up, helmetless 
 and wild-looking, with a spreading stain on his breast. 
 
 " The Colonel's killed and Eddie's blown to bits — 
 you're in command now," he said. 
 
 "All right, old boy, off you go the dressing station. 
 Pass the word for Purple ! "
 
 ***** 
 
 P* 
 
 lofacefa^
 
 THE GBEAT ADVANCE 271 
 
 The Skipper was just mounting to ride off up to 
 the infantry commander when, to our immense joy, 
 Eddie himself walked up. His face was blackened 
 and his tin hat and breast were spattered with brains, 
 but he was unhurt, cool and smiling. A shell had 
 fallen into the R.H.Q. group, but he alone had been 
 untouched. 
 
 "No, the Colonel's all right," he told us, "but 
 altogether we've had ten officers knocked out so far ; 
 and look at Duncan there, he's got shell-shock and we 
 can't get him to move." 
 
 We looked. Sitting on his horse in the bottom of 
 the valley, like a graven image, he stared fixedly in 
 front of him. Persuasion and force alike had failed 
 to move him, and there he kept his ghastly vigil till 
 it was ended by a shell. The killed Colonel now 
 galloped up, very much alive. He told us the time 
 had come for us to slip through, and rapidly explained 
 the plan. He galloped on ahead again and Eddie led 
 the Regiment up the valley G. and across to Warvil- 
 liers. The Squadroon was advanced guard. That 
 ride across the open space between Vrely and War- 
 villiers was most interesting. Many dead Germans 
 lay on the field; but there were more "kamarads," 
 who sat quietly about, eating the unsuspected portion 
 of their rations and waiting to be " cleared up." But 
 what struck us most was the immense number of 
 Boche tin hats all over the ground. 
 
 " They must be bad things to run in ! " said Dano. 
 
 It was clear that the enemy's Rosieres- Vrely line 
 having been broken, those who had held it had either 
 surrendered or had made all haste to escape. We 
 swept around Warvilliers wood. The few enemy in it 
 immediately surrendered without a blow. Our next
 
 272 THE SQUADROQN 
 
 bound was to Ruvroy. That was a more difficult 
 proposition. The Squadron of another Regiment, 
 which should have covered the area on our left, had, 
 we learned later, been destroyed by a machine-gun 
 nest. We therefore crossed the open space between 
 Warvilliers and Ruvroy with our left completely open. 
 A brisk fire was kept up from that exposed flank, and 
 a hostile howitzer battery opened on us. But quickly 
 moving Cavalry are a difficult target, and we reached 
 Ruvroy with few casualties. Most of the defenders 
 had fled before we closed in ; and the few that re- 
 mained, like those of Warvilliers, surrendered at once. 
 As twilight was deepening, as our right and left were 
 now both in the air, and as there was a very strong 
 German line just in front, our orders were to hold 
 Ruvroy until the Infantry should come up ; so there 
 we formed outposts for the night. 
 
 The following day we were withdrawn to behind 
 Warvilliers wood and kept there in reserve in case of 
 hostile counter-attacks. A little beyond Ruvroy lay 
 a very strong line, to which the enemy had been 
 hurrying up reinforcements since the opening of our 
 offensive, and which our Higher Command felt unable 
 to take on without fresh troops and proper prepara- 
 tion. That night we bivouacked where we had waited 
 all day. Before turning in, the Skipper insisted on 
 every man digging himself a shelter. There was a 
 good deal of grumbling, and Dano protested that the 
 men were all done in and that it was unnecessary to 
 dig shelters out there in the open, in such an incon- 
 spicuous place. 
 
 " Get on with it, blast you ! " was all the satis- 
 faction he got. 
 
 Early in the morning a bomb, one single bomb,
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 27:; 
 
 was dropped among us. It was of the deadly " pencil " 
 kind, that explode on the surface and whose contents 
 fly out flush with the ground. The air was filled with 
 heart-rending cries and screams of maimed horses in 
 agony. But the destroying planes were still droning 
 overhead, and we dared not flash our torches. Fortu- 
 nately it wanted only a few minutes to daylight ; and 
 when day dawned, what an unspeakable scene it 
 unveiled : wide pools of gore, gaping gashes, raw ends 
 of severed limbs, flowing entrails, shattered faces, 
 piteous looks of mingled terror and reproach in those 
 big soft eyes — and, above all, those dreadful sounds 
 of suffering. Poor dumb faithful animals, what a 
 one-sided friendship is that of yours with man ! One 
 man only, the line sentry, had been standing up, and 
 he alone of the men was killed. No other man was 
 touched. When we had done with our revolvers the 
 only kindness that was in our power, every horse of 
 the First Army and half those of the Second Army 
 lay dead — thirty-seven in all. 
 
 We then marched back to the Cayeux valley until 
 our horses could be replaced. As we rode along 
 together at the head of the little band that remained, 
 I saw that the Skipper, for the first time since I had 
 known him, was depressed. His own three chargers 
 had been killed in the Caix valley, and he rode a big, 
 raw, totally untrained remount belonging to the 
 9th Lancers that Harold had caught going spare in 
 the confusion. 
 
 " W 7 hat have we got to show for it all ? " he said. 
 " A few prisoners that never meant to fight, that's all." 
 
 But we soon saw a spectacle that cheered and 
 thrilled us through and through ; especially those of 
 us who had known the bitterness of two retreats, the
 
 %1A THE SQUADKOON 
 
 retreat from Mons, and the flight of March. For 
 miles around, as far as the eye could reach, over hill 
 and dale, over ridge and valley and road, the Army 
 of England was advancing. Slowly, deliberately, 
 inexorable as fate, they moved, those columns of 
 ubiquitous guns, those little clumps of khaki men. 
 After four years of material disaster upon disaster, of 
 defeat upon defeat, we now saw before our eyes the 
 splendid realization of British invincibility, the 
 splendid pageant of the Empire's might marching on 
 to victory. 
 
 " Yes, it's a good show," he said, " the best I've 
 seen." 
 
 A little' later we saw five Boche kite balloons all 
 blazing at the same time, and the occupants of each 
 coming down in their parachutes, all in the air 
 together. 
 
 The weather was warm ; the carcases of horses and 
 the bodies of men lying about in the grass, blackened 
 and swollen to loathsome shapes, poisoned all the air. 
 
 The next few days we spent in bivouac by the 
 Cayeux valley. Tubs, Flick and two other of our 
 officers had left us with slight wounds. Many of the 
 men and most of the horses were no more. We 
 realized sadly that the work of reconstructing from 
 raw material lay before us once again. Meanwhile 
 we lived like rabbits in little holes in the ground, 
 occupied most of the day in burying, with our gas 
 masks on, the bloated carcases and corpses, and in 
 lying awake most of the night ; for every night and 
 all night through, in never-ending succession, the 
 bombing planes came over. The woods and valleys 
 echoed and re-echoed with the continuous thunder of 
 the crashing bombs ; the air vibrated to the ceaseless
 
 THE GREAT ADVANCE 276 
 
 rattle of protective automatic guns; the sky was all 
 
 alive with myriads of fireflies, soaring streaks of tracer 
 bullets, red and white. Away in the distance the 
 great blind octopus Armeens frantically waved its 
 hundred, groping tentacles. 
 
 Most men, who are afraid of nothing else on earth, 
 are afraid of night bombing. I myself, when lying in 
 my little hole, just beneath the surface of the ground, 
 although so fearful of all other missiles, had no fear 
 at all of bombs. Indeed, I watched with keen interest 
 the great planes wheeling over, sometimes so low that 
 one could almost have knocked them down with a 
 stick. Unless a bomb hit me direct, it could not harm 
 me in my little hole ; and if it did hit me direct, well, 
 I should not know much about it. 
 
 After some days, great numbers of remounts 
 arrived. The following day we mounted these un- 
 handy animals and rode away northwards to another 
 scene of action. And so we left the scene of the 
 deepest and most brilliant advance of the whole war, 
 in which the Cavalry had done so much and the 
 Squadroon had done so little.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS 
 
 UNCLE JOHN, if I were to tell you the 
 thousand and one adventures that hap- 
 pened to us every day, all the endless 
 varieties of our interminable pilgrimage, 
 all the things we thought and said and did, all the 
 love and joy and sorrow of our wandering company, 
 this book would never end. But I know that I have 
 long since outwearied your patience with an over-long 
 story, so I will now hurry it through to its close. 
 
 The battle had come to a standstill on the new 
 Amiens front. The next British push was to be in 
 the neighbourhood of Arras, of unhappy memory; 
 and thitherward our old travelling circus wended its 
 nightly way. Again we inverted the laws of light and 
 nature, of God and man ; again we spent our nights 
 jostling on the roads, and our days in what little sleep 
 we could snatch between times. Sometimes we rested 
 in open fields, sometimes in chateaux, sometimes in 
 woods, sometimes in comfortable bourgeois houses, 
 usually in humble cottages ; but always in endless 
 diversity. Whenever we stayed more than one day in 
 the same place, we busied ourselves with the training 
 of our remounts, or, I should say, of our horses, as 
 now we scarce had any other than remounts. Their
 
 THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS 277 
 
 condition was so poor, and the ordinary work re- 
 quired of them so great, however, that we could give 
 them only the lightest of schooling. 
 
 During the next two weeks we took a curious 
 detached part in several battles. Although the 
 collapse of the German army was now imminent, the 
 German troops still fought with admirable stubborn- 
 ness. Our gains in ground all along the line were 
 only gained by the fine determination of our men, and 
 at a heavy price in blood. Around about Arras the 
 fighting was still over old and permanent trench 
 systems, quite impassable for Cavalry. Sometimes 
 our role was to exploit local sucesses, and in this role, 
 I am bound to say, we had considerable casualties and 
 no success. The truth is that in a fluctuating infantry 
 battle over old trench systems there is no place for 
 Cavalry. More often our role was collecting and 
 transmitting information from scattered infantry 
 units. An officer's patrol accompanied the H.Q. of 
 each and instantly reported by mounted orderly every 
 new development and every new position to the H.Q. 
 of its Regiment, which again transmitted the informa- 
 tion to brigade and advanced divisional H.Q. In this 
 humble but important role I have heard that our 
 services were of value. Indeed, the greatest of all 
 difficulties in battle is the intercommunication between 
 units. After an engagement many a battalion com- 
 mander does not know the position of his own 
 scattered companies until the Daily Mail with map 
 complete arrives on the following morning. More- 
 over, in the technical art of writing accurate, concise 
 and luminous reports, our young officers were very 
 highly trained. 
 
 In most of those hard-fought battles of which I
 
 278 THE SQUADROON 
 
 was, as it were, a privileged spectator, it seemed to 
 me that Tanks were the decisive factor. One action 
 in particular I remember, close to St. Leger. Our 
 Infantry, after a succession of resolute attacks, were 
 held up by a copse situated astride the crest of a ridge. 
 From where we were, nearly at right angles to the 
 end of the ridge, we could see not only the near slope 
 and the copse, but some of the further or reverse 
 slope as well. We saw the khaki line dribbling 
 forward in little rushes of sections ; we heard the 
 Boche machine-guns open up ; we saw the ground 
 dotted with still and writhing figures ; we saw indi- 
 vidual men gradually crawling forward on their 
 bellies ; then we saw that they had stopped 
 crawling forward and that the attack was at a stand- 
 still. As ever in such case, Tanks were urgently 
 demanded. 
 
 After what seemed an eternity we saw four Tanks 
 waddling down the bottom of the valley. Two seemed 
 to remain in reserve; the other two ascended the 
 slope, one on either side of the copse, raking it with 
 their fire, with the purpose, I suppose, of completely 
 enveloping it. One, that on the further side of the 
 copse from us, reached the crest before its mate. 
 As soon as it had topped the ridge and begun to 
 descend the reverse slope, a shell struck it full and 
 square. It stopped, shivered and burst into flames. 
 Clearly the enemy had an anti-tank gun, or even 
 battery, just down the reverse slope. Then the other 
 Tank, which had not seen its comrade's fate, reached 
 the crest and began to descend, turning in towards the 
 rear of the copse. Miserably impotent, unable either 
 to warn or to stop it, we watched it meet the same 
 sad end. Then the other two Tanks moved up from
 
 THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS 279 
 
 the valley, almost in the footsteps of their ill-starred 
 predecessors. No one nearer to them than we could 
 have seen the destruction of the first two. As these 
 two neared the fatal crest, all unconscious of their 
 doom, I danced about in an agony of despair. It was 
 so dreadful to see them going calmly, steadily on to 
 certain destruction, and we quite powerless to avert it. 
 No sooner had they crossed the crest than they 
 staggered and burst into flames. Only at last, when 
 we sorrowfully took our glasses off this heart-rending 
 spectacle, did we notice wave upon wave of khaki 
 figures rushing the copse. These brave Tanks had 
 not died in vain. 
 
 One month after the date of our setting out on 
 the Amiens offensive we were withdrawn from the 
 line into a position of rest and readiness. I rode 
 alongside the Skipper as we entered the little mining 
 town of Divion. It consisted of four regular, 
 parallel rows of red brick houses of a precisely uniform 
 pattern, laid out by the French Government with 
 geometrical exactitude. I believed that we had already 
 been in every conceivable sort of billet, but this was 
 entirely unlike anything we had ever known before. 
 Our men had been far from the delights of civilization 
 for a considerable time. The voung men of the town 
 were away with the colours ; the inhabitants, not being 
 farmers or the owners of their buildings, had nothing 
 to fear from horses and appeared highly hospitable. 
 Every other house exhibited a notice that beer was 
 sold within. Each section, Purple told us, was billeted 
 in a house fitted with electric light and all modern 
 conveniences. 
 
 " I feel it coming," said the Skipper. " The re- 
 action ! They'll throw an almighty blind — not sure
 
 280 THE SQUADROON 
 
 I shan't myself ! Every man in a civvy bed, too— the 
 casualties will be colossal ! " 
 
 We spent several days there, attached to an 
 Infantry Division which was waiting to attack, just 
 south of Lens. Many and interesting were the 
 personally conducted tours that we made over the 
 divisional front, reconnoitring from map and eye and 
 telescope our prospective lines of advance. And even 
 more interesting, though less profitable, were tours 
 over the historic fields of Notre-Dame de Lorrette and 
 Vimy Ridge. On that former slope the war was 
 once won in its early stages by the splendid tenacity 
 of the French. 
 
 In those days a subtle change came over our 
 atmosphere. We knew in our bones that the war 
 was drawing to a close, that the dawn of peace was at 
 hand. The Skipper, who had been reading Bacon, 
 was seized with a passion for " fruitfulness." " Waste 
 no precious hours," he preached. A wave of educa- 
 tion to fit us for our return to civil life swept over the 
 Squadroon. Our mess was inundated with floods of 
 technical and instructive literature. We compared 
 the rival merits of Canada and Columbia, Tasmania 
 and Timbuctoo, East Africa and Honolulu. Classes 
 in the various arts and crafts were formed among the 
 men ; lectures were delivered by all who had any 
 knowledge of a trade, and by many who had none. 
 Bill expounded the theory of farming; Spokes the 
 art of watchmaking in a crowd. The officers who 
 were staying on in the Army were set reading and 
 re-reading the histories of the great captains. Some 
 studied Jorrocks, than whom there is no sounder 
 philosopher. Tubs devoured Brigadier Gerard. 
 Jimmie manfully tackled Stonewall Jackson, that
 
 THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS 281 
 
 wonderful work which makes clear to the dullest 
 mind the principles and the fascination of strategy — 
 principles which, the Skipper affirmed, could be 
 applied with equal profit to the solving of the most 
 ordinary problems of daily life. Dano, loudly pro- 
 claiming that all books were blinking bunkum, sat up 
 through two whole nights reading the Memoirs of 
 Baron de Marbot. Later on, when this education 
 for the hereafter, or, to use the official phrase, fur 
 " post-bellum conditions," was no longer our own idea, 
 when it became an official and compulsory and very 
 irksome affair, we, human-like, lost all our interest in 
 it. But at that time we had all the enthusiasm of 
 pioneers. 
 
 Thus our days in Divion, bright, happy days, were 
 filled with training and football, and our evenings 
 with much talk and preparations for peace. The 
 merry din and uproar and wrangling in our mess 
 waxed as loud as ever ; for Tubs, the magnet of all 
 rags, had returned mended, had had his neck hard- 
 ened in the old familiar way, and the other vacant 
 places had also all been filled. Brightest, quickest, 
 most warm-hearted and humorous of our new arrivals 
 was Spokes, a cheerful lad who had enlisted in the 
 first days of the war and had passed over three years 
 out in France in the ranks. One morbid failing he 
 had, and one only, which we tried in vain to eradi- 
 cate : he had an unconquerable craving for German 
 tobacco, and we never passed a dead Boche, or a place 
 where there might be dead Boches, that he did not 
 make a gruesome search to replenish his pouch ; 
 and, cognately, he mado a collection of German 
 cap badges, which was the envy of our Intelligence 
 Department.
 
 282 THE SQUADROON 
 
 One morning at breakfast the Skipper read out of 
 the local paper : 
 
 " ' Yesterday at the point of day the General 
 Kawlinson has left his trenches and many thousands 
 of prisoners mid themselves between his hands.' 
 What ho ! now we shall be on the move again ! " The 
 usual ironical laughter at the prophet in his own 
 country greeted this oracular pronouncement. " All 
 right," he said, " you mock yourselves of me, but nous 
 verrons ! " 
 
 Sure enough, the next night found us on the road 
 once more. 
 
 We spent one day in the dismal desolation of 
 Wailly, whose name sounds like what it feels. The 
 horses, of course, stood out in the open. At midnight, 
 on one of the wildest and windiest nights I have ever 
 known, we got sudden orders to saddle up. How the 
 men did it, in the rain and wind and inky darkness, 
 when my own numbed fingers were incapable of doing 
 up a single buckle, is still a marvel to me. 
 
 Just as day was dimly dawning, after the darkest 
 and bitterest march that we had ever made, we 
 reached the ruins of Inchy, a village about five miles 
 from Cambrai, and about two miles from our old 
 friend Bourlon wood. We were given the exclusive 
 use of a small, bare field, without the vestige of any 
 building, tent, cover or shelter of any kind for man 
 or beast. First we proceeded to fix the lie of the 
 country. Our field bordered the renowned Canal du 
 Nord. Great iron bridges, with their girders and 
 flanges twisted by explosion and severed through the 
 middle, slanted down from either bank with their 
 broken ends beneath the water. Pontoon bridges had 
 already been constructed in their place. Two days
 
 THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS 283 
 
 previously the Canadians had made their historic 
 attack, in which they had captured, not only the 
 canal, but Bourlon ridge on beyond, the last ridge 
 before Cainbrai, which completely dominated the 
 town. From our bank of the canal tho ground 
 sloped gently upward. All along the slope were 
 hastily scratched machine-gun pits, rifle-pits and in- 
 numerable shell-holes. Lying by the side of the 
 machine-gun pits were great quantities of empty 
 cartridge cases. Here and there in the long grass 
 we stumbled over dead Canadians ; and in the rank 
 vegetation about the canal bank were numbers of 
 dead Boches. AVe wondered how a position, seem- 
 ingly so impregnable as the canal could ever have 
 been carried, till we learned that a simultaneous 
 attack at right angles to it had been driven in from 
 the direction of Mceuvres. In this way the defenders 
 of the canal bank had found themselves taken in rear 
 as well as in front. Spokes found there ample oppor- 
 tunity of adding to his pouch and to his collection. 
 
 "We, one brigade, were told that we might have an 
 opportunity of breaking through and riding over those 
 same objectives around Cainbrai that we had failed 
 to reach in the previous November. Meanwhile we 
 must possess our souls in patience. Thereupon the 
 Squadroon ceased from cursing the nakedness of 
 their habitation, and forthwith set about transform- 
 ing it into a comfortable dwelling-place. Dumps of 
 material abounded in the neighbourhood. All day 
 scrounging parties and the waggon went to and fro — 
 at no little risk because of the intermittent shelling 
 — between Marquion, Sains-lez-Marquion, Inchy and 
 our field. Soon every man had a cosy, well-built dug- 
 out, the Sergeants had a spacious mess, the horses
 
 284 THE SQUADROON 
 
 were partially protected from bombs, and we officers 
 had made ourselves wonderfully comfortable. We 
 had a bell tent in which the nine of us slept in a 
 somewhat sardine-like manner. But our mess-room 
 was the work of our own brains and our own hands, 
 a work of which we were justly proud. The Skipper 
 had inspired the movement, and had then lain down 
 and slept while we laboured. Spokes, the fertile 
 and inventive, Purple, the exactly mathematical, had 
 together drawn up the plans. We carefully marked 
 out the lines on the ground. We excavated an apart- 
 ment like the dining saloon of a small lake steamer. 
 We made a long, narrow table for the centre, between 
 the two long seats of unexcavated earth. We boarded 
 over these seats and the walls. We made bookshelves 
 and cupboards. We roofed it over with three great 
 hoops of elephant iron, which exactly fitted into each 
 other. We boarded up the ends. A small hoop of 
 iron at one end formed the portico, which led down 
 by three steps into the saloon. In the boarding of 
 the other end we fixed a plate -glass window that we 
 had found among a pile of ruins. Over the portico 
 proudly fluttered the Squadroon flag. The external 
 appearance of the whole was as of a small Nissen hut 
 three-quarters sunk beneath the earth. And because 
 this snug little home was the work of our own hands 
 we were happier there than we had ever been in any 
 chateau. 
 
 " The war has taught fellows how easy it is to 
 build themselves lairs," said the Skipper. " I believe 
 when it's over you'll find all the country lanes at 
 home will be honeycombed with dug-outs, made by 
 brigands and highwaymen whom the war's unsettled 
 for regular, steady work ! "
 
 THE TRAVELLING CIRCUS 2*5 
 
 Nor did our activities cease there. A full-sized 
 football ground and a remount jumping course swiftly 
 came into being under the respective direction of 
 Sam' I and Jimmie. Out of the ruins of houses we 
 pillaged caldrons in which to boil shaving water for 
 the men and evening feeds for the horses. We col- 
 lected also old water troughs and duck-boards ; one 
 dark night the waggon went forth, and in the morn- 
 ing certain Sappers scratched their heads over the 
 mysterious disappearance of a huge wayside water 
 tank. The following day there arose on the bank of 
 the Canal du Nord a bathing house of such spacious- 
 ness and splendour as the Squadroon had never seen 
 in any divisional area. 
 
 While we were there we heard the sounds of the 
 many desperate battles for Cambrai. Heavy shells 
 and bombs occasionally fell around us, but did little 
 damage. One evening, after several days of this wait- 
 ing about, the Skipper, Jimmie and I strolled over 
 to the road and watched a Division marching up in 
 relief. Platoon by Platoon they shuffled along, pale, 
 feeble, immature boys, footsore and weary, staggering 
 under the weight of their packs, and with " cannon- 
 fodder ' ' written all over them. 
 
 " Indeed," I remarked, " we must be at a very low 
 ebb for men." 
 
 " And here are we strutting about with our rib- 
 bons and our spurs, and doing blink all," burst out 
 Jimmie. " I'm going to put in for Infantry again 
 to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Yes," said the Skipper thoughtfully, " if I wasn't 
 so afraid of guns, machine-guns, Huns, bullets, bombs, 
 bayonets, shells, gas, mines, minnie flammen and other 
 werfer, I'd go to Infantrv mvself."
 
 286 THE 8QUADR00N 
 
 And we walked silently back to our mess. 
 
 One day some of us rode up to Bourlon. From 
 the ridge we got a wonderful view of Cambrai lying in 
 a hollow just below. Parts of the town were burning, 
 and all was shrouded in a thin, light smoke. Then 
 we turned into the wood, meaning to look for the 
 graves of our friends whom we had left behind us 
 there in December ; but no sooner had we entered the 
 wood than it was soundly shelled, so, suddenly remem- 
 bering it was our tea-time, we rode off home without 
 delay. 
 
 Shortly afterwards news reached us of our advance 
 from Lens. The Regiment was allotted to one of the 
 advancing Corps, and the Squadroon was despatched 
 with all speed to join its leading Division near Douai.
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE LAST LAP 
 
 FTER two long scrambling marches, made 
 most difficult by the huge mine craters at 
 every cross-roads, by the broken bridges, by 
 the appalling state of the highways, and 
 by the resultant congestion of traffic from all these 
 causes, we reached our Infantry Divisional H.Q., just 
 north of Douai, late on the second night. The 
 Divisional Staff received us with a courtesy, a kindness 
 and an understanding that almost even disarmed 
 Dano's inveterate hatred of all the brass-hatted band. 
 The G.S.O. 1, a slim young Colonel, whose face 
 bore deep traces of many sleepless nights, explained 
 to us the plan of battle. The enemy were falling 
 back with all speed, but in good order, on Valenciennes. 
 To cover this withdrawal, and to hinder our advance, 
 they left out field batteries, machine-guns and parties 
 of cyclists. These isolated parties, scattered over a 
 wide front, held positions which commanded all our 
 approaches. Our duty was to range on ahead, to 
 locate these parties, to turn them if possible, or, failing 
 that, to report their positions to the slower-moving 
 force behind. In this way it was anticipated that the 
 march of our Infantry would be relieved of all anxiety 
 of ambush or surprise, and would therefore be far
 
 288 THE SQUADROON 
 
 more rapid. The G.S.O. 1 feared that, owing to our 
 two long marches, our horses would not be in a fit 
 state to carry out this role on the morrow ; and 
 suggested our not attempting it till the day after. 
 This generosity on his part, arising from his intimate 
 knowledge of Cavalry's special weakness, we were able, 
 thanks to our keen horse-mastership at Inchy, to 
 decline. The day, however, proved dull. The enemy 
 had already withdrawn, and we reached our final 
 objective with no opposition whatever. 
 
 That night we billeted in royal state. Food, it is 
 true, was scarce. But the villagers, cowed and broken 
 by their four years of subjugation, could not do too 
 much for us. The oppressors had departed only a 
 few hours before. Everywhere were German notices, 
 German sign-boards, German placards, German ver- 
 botens. Everywhere were proofs of German fright- 
 fulness. Every piece oi machinery, every plant of 
 industry was destroyed. Every atom of useful metal, 
 every head of cattle, even all the poultry, and not a 
 few beautiful girls, had been carried away. At last, 
 after all those hideous years, these unhappy people 
 were free — free to say what they liked, to do what 
 they liked, to go where they liked ; and they regarded 
 us as their deliverers. With streaming eyes they 
 kissed our hands and embraced our knees, calling 
 down on our heads every blessing that le Bon Dieu 
 could bestow. They loaded us with bouquets; they 
 garlanded our mess with flowers. They unearthed 
 the long-buried instruments of the village band and, 
 while we were at dinner, they marched, headed by the 
 mayor, to and fro before our window playing " Tip- 
 perary" -which, I think, they believed was our 
 National Anthem. At any rate it was the last that
 
 THE LAST LAP 289 
 
 they had heard of the retreating British in 1014. 
 All this was extremely embarrassing for diffident 
 young Englishmen. 
 
 "They only want a visitor from Enoch to put 'em 
 wise," said Bill, "then they'll bung in the claims fast 
 enough ! " 
 
 " I like 'em better like that than like this," muttered 
 Purple. 
 
 The Skipper, blushing and stammering, awkwardly 
 thanked them in atrocious French for their kind re- 
 ception of us. I am afraid we somewhat took advan- 
 tage of this state of affairs in the matter of shelter and 
 fodder for our horses. Never before had they been so 
 splendidly stabled and so profusely found in hay and 
 bedding. The rough but soft-hearted Squadroon, in 
 return for this warm welcome, shared with the hungry 
 inhabitants its own meagre rations. The one serious 
 trouble was light. Oil and candles were as extinct as 
 the dodo. The Germans had installed electric light, 
 even in all the smallest villages, but they had, of 
 course, smashed the installations on their departure. 
 So the few ration candles that we still had with us 
 became more precious than fine gold. 
 
 Presently we received our orders for the morrow. 
 It was believed that the enemy's rear guards would 
 put up a stout resistance. The young Brigadier of 
 the leading Infantry Brigade, under whose orders wo 
 were to work, personally explained his plans to the 
 Skipper and left entirely to him the way in which our 
 part of the scheme was to be carried out. Four field- 
 guns and a company of cyclists were attached to us. 
 Half-way through dinner the Master Gunner arrived, 
 bringing with him a bottle of port. He was an 
 ardent and earnest young officer, who believed that 
 
 o 

 
 290 THE SQUADROON 
 
 guns existed for one purpose, and for one purpose 
 only, to shoot, to shoot, and to keep on shooting. 
 Shortly afterwards the Cyclist Chief arrived, also an 
 enthusiast. We soon learned that he brooded over a 
 long-festering grievance; that he and his ilk were 
 cruelly misunderstood, even by great High Com- 
 manders who should have known better, and that 
 much of his time was spent in disabusing people's 
 minds of the childish idea that cyclists were mere 
 orderlies instead of, what they actually were, bloody- 
 minded fighting troops. The Skipper, warmed by 
 the generous port, gaily clapped him on the back, 
 assured him that he perfectly understood the function 
 of cyclists, and promised him a skinful of blood on 
 the morrow — the while treacherously deciding to save 
 his own horseflesh by the use of such providential 
 orderlies. He was, indeed, highly elated at the 
 prospect of having such an imposing little army to 
 play with, and delighted also with the keenness of the 
 two other young commanders. 
 
 " 'Ods my little life," he cried, " we'll make a most 
 merry din ! And we'll harry and hustle and rattle 
 and bustle, and jostle and justle these old Fritzes till 
 they don't know their heads from their heels ! " 
 
 Then we all gathered around the map. It was one 
 vast network of tiny blue threads. 
 
 " Blast these blinking ditches ! " said the Skipper. 
 " I'd love to put up a good show for these Feet, 
 they've done us so well. It's not going to be an easy 
 passage, though. But we must just get over 'em 
 somehow." 
 
 We had a front of over four miles to cover, thickly 
 interspersed with villages, and a depth of nearly six 
 miles to our final objective. The plan of action was
 
 THE LAST LAI' 291 
 
 worked out with meticulous care. The troop sectors 
 and boundaries were exactly defined, and the routes, 
 and, as far as possible, the times of inter-communi- 
 cation, previously determined. It was arranged that 
 the Third Army took the right, the Second Army 
 the centre, the First Army the left ; that the Fourth 
 Army followed the central road in support, that the 
 cyclists accompanied the support, and that the guns 
 should act entirely under their own Master Gunner — 
 who had fully entered into the spirit of our scheme, 
 and whose views and the Skipper's were in complete 
 accord. It was further arranged that, in order to 
 save horseflesh, when each bound was made good, 
 and when each village was captured, each Army 
 Commander should fire up two white rockets ; and 
 that, if any Army was held up and needed support, 
 it should fire up two red rockets. 
 
 This was no ordinary and orthodox advance guard 
 over a narrow front, but an operation in which each 
 of the three advanced Troops would be acting in- 
 dependently, and of which the success entirely 
 depended on the skill and initiative of the Troop 
 Leaders. 
 
 Overnight the Skipper made out duplicates of 
 every message that could conceivably have to be sent, 
 so that, when the moment arrived, he would only have 
 to fill in the place and the hour of despatch. 
 
 We started off at the point of day. The Master 
 Gunner and the Chief Cyclist, old Bill and I rode with 
 the Skipper some distance ahead of the support, which 
 halted under the command of Purple in a place 
 devoid of any conspicuous landmark. The Armies on 
 the right and left were soon out of sight. Presently 
 there was brisk firing from a village in front. Then 

 
 292 THE SQUADROON 
 
 cruinps began to fall on a cross-roads about a hundred 
 yards ahead. The Master Gunner's eyes gleamed 
 and he quickly got busy. Set a thief to catch a thief. 
 All through the day he seemed to know, by an uncanny 
 instinct, exactly where the German guns were placed, 
 and speedily silenced them. When not engaged on 
 this counter-battery work, he kept up brisk barrages 
 in front of our Armies, directed on places, which from 
 the map, would naturally be held by the enemy. 
 
 The crumps soon ceased falling on the cross-roads. 
 But the firing in front grew sharper, and through our 
 glasses we saw the Second Army working around the 
 village. The Master Gunner lifted on to a line behind 
 the village. We dared not shoot at it because of the 
 inhabitants. The Cyclist was eager to join in the 
 fray. 
 
 " Not yet," said the Skipper, " not till he fires up 
 his S.O.S." 
 
 Presently, far away on the right, on the line of 
 our first bound, a white rocket soared up into the air, 
 followed a moment later by a second. Good old 
 Third Army ! Then, a few minutes later, two more 
 white stars of triumph floated up from far away on 
 the left. Cheers for Tubs ! 
 
 " That'll put the wind up the Boches in front ! " 
 chuckled the Skipper. " It's awful to see the enemy's 
 signals going up on your flanks behind you — like in 
 March, eh, Bill?" 
 
 " Ah, that's right," said Bill with conviction. 
 
 A few minutes later the firing in front died away. 
 Through our glasses we saw the inhabitants climbing 
 on to the roofs and waving towels and clothes, 
 signalling to us that the Boche had gone ; and a 
 moment later two white rockets rose up from the
 
 THE LAST LAP 
 
 village. Bravo, Dano ! Back went a cyclist along the 
 road with a message to the Brigadier that the first 
 objective was gained. The support pushed on to the 
 village, and to its next halting-place just beyond. In 
 the village we found Dano, faint but blasphemous 
 from a flesh wound in the arm. Expostulating to the 
 last, 'he was sent back to the dressing station, and 
 Sam'l took up the command of the Second Army. We 
 were again much embarrassed and impeded by the 
 passionate gratitude of the inhabitants, who, with 
 mysterious rapidity, had made bouquets, which the 
 mayor formally presented to us. Tubs and Jimraie, 
 away in their respective villages, were likewise 
 accorded civic triumphs. Tubs told us afterwards 
 that when the mayor had suddenly darted at him 
 with a huge bouquet, his horse had shied violently, 
 and he had only saved himself from falling off by 
 ignominiously clinging around its neck. No sooner 
 had we left our village than the Boche began to shell 
 it, knowing quite well though he did that it was full of 
 old men, women and children. 
 
 Throughout the day our advance from bound to 
 bound went off like clockwork, and the reports went 
 back with clock-like regularity. There was continual 
 firing. Sometimes one Army was checked, sometimes 
 another, but the guns got busy, the other Armies 
 ranged ahead, their rockets went up behind the 
 defenders, and these then bethought themselves and 
 went. Only towards evening, in the last bound of 
 all, was there any hitch. Sounds of heavy and con- 
 tinuous firing came from the right. On the left Tubs 
 signalled that he had -reached his goal. In front, 
 bright and tremulous against the darkening sky, two 
 silver stars proclaimed Sam'l the victor of St. Amand -
 
 294 THE SQUADROON 
 
 where, incidentally, he captured several Boches, and 
 where he received floral tributes and a popular ovation, 
 greater far than any of ours. But the firing still 
 continued on the right. Time passed and the Skipper 
 began to get anxious. 
 
 " They haven't got on yet — and they haven't sent 
 up their S.O.S. I can't make it out," he said; 
 "and I particularly want to keep this reserve in 
 hand." 
 
 The Chief Cyclist looked hopeful and thought he 
 was going to taste his promised blood at last. Just as 
 the Skipper was mounting to ride over and see the 
 situation for himself, the firing ceased; and, twenty 
 minutes later, far away on the right, up soared the last 
 two signals of success. 
 
 " Who-oop ! Good old Jimmie ! " he shouted. 
 " Come on, Cyclist, come on, Purple, bring along the 
 Army, we must hurry up and put out outposts till the 
 Feet arrive. If the Boche puts in a counter-attack 
 now, it'll take us all our time to hold him on that 
 wide front." 
 
 When we rode along the line into that village on 
 the right, we found it held by a handful of men under 
 Sergeant Jerry. The Third Army had encountered a 
 machine-gun nest, situated behind a broad ditch and 
 manned by Prussians of the breed that held their 
 honour higher than their lives. The guns were ours, 
 but Jimmie and half the Third Army lay dead in front 
 of that fatal ditch. 
 
 " In the last lap— my God, what cruel, cruel luck ! " 
 said the Skipper brokenly. 
 
 Those were the last shots that we fired in the war. 
 The next day the Division to which we were attached 
 was withdrawn from the line and we went back to rest
 
 THE LAST LAP 295 
 
 near Marchierme. Our Brigadier said kind things to 
 us, our Divisional Commander wrote in kind things 
 about us, but we turned back with a sorrow in our 
 hearts that we had never known in any of the darkest 
 days of the past.
 
 CHAPTER XVII; 
 
 THE GREAT RASPBERRY 
 
 ON that march back the Squadroon was led by 
 Tubs, while we others, with the remnants 
 of the Third Army, went to search out and 
 bury our fallen comrades. We learned that 
 the bodies had already been removed by the inhabi- 
 tants of the nearest village. On arrival we found an 
 imposing burial service in progress. A priest in rich 
 vestments intoned the office of the dead. A surpliced 
 choir chanted the requiem. Beautiful wreaths and 
 piles of flowers strewed the coffins and the graves. All 
 the people of the village, young and old, rich and 
 poor, headed by the civic dignitaries in all the 
 pathetic pomp and splendour of their official robes, 
 were gathered there to pay homage to our men 
 and to the boy of twenty, the veteran soldier of 
 three tried and trusty years, who had led their libera- 
 tion. When the English feel most, they are most 
 silent. All this ostentatious ceremony jarred on 
 us badly. After the service was over, the mayor 
 addressed us : 
 
 " Mon capitaine, messieurs, we pray you to accept 
 the sentiments of our most profound sympathy. 
 Although desolated at their fate and at your deep
 
 THE GREAT RASPBERRY 297 
 
 sorrow, wo are proud that your brave comrades, who 
 gave their lives to set us free, shall now sleep until 
 the great reveille among our fathers and ourselves. 
 Their beds shall ever be tended by our loving hand-. 
 watched and warded by our grateful thoughts, Their 
 names shall be inscribed in our Book of Gold, and 
 shall be learned by all our children. Their souls 
 shall be prayed for daily in our church. Rest assured 
 you leave them in good keeping, for we are proud 
 indeed and grateful to receive our deliverers among 
 us." 
 
 "And well you may be," said the Skipper sadly, 
 " for you have here some of England's noblest soil." 
 
 We were billeted in the large, luxurious house of a 
 brewer, -which had lately been a high German Head- 
 quarters. On arrival we found Tubs already there, 
 wearing an expression of mingled injury and indigna- 
 tion. He hastened to tell us all about it. He had 
 halted on the roadside. He was reading a note from 
 the Adjutant when a huge car cannoned off a mule 
 cart and almost into him. He was so surprised that 
 he forgot to salute the mighty helm of brass within. 
 
 "Lieutenant, do you know who is speaking to 
 you ? " boomed the Great Person. 
 
 Tubs did not know, although he might have 
 guessed, and falteringly admitted his ignorance. The 
 Great Person then explained who he was, how great 
 he was, how wonderful he was ; took Tubs's name and 
 regiment and severely reprimanded him for letti 
 his command sprawl all over the road. 
 
 "And I wasn't even on the road at all," com- 
 plained Tubs. "Every horse was off it and on the 
 grass at the side. It was simply because I didn't 
 know who he was ! "
 
 298 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " Serves you blinking well right," grunted Purple. 
 " That'll learn you to smarten up your march discipline 
 in future." 
 
 Tubs again protested against this insult added to 
 his injury, and there for a time the matter dropped. 
 
 Towards evening Frank arrived with the daily 
 budget. Forwarded for our information and return 
 were the kind remarks of our Infantry Commanders 
 in writing. Forwarded also for our information and 
 return was a bitter and vehement screed in the own 
 handwriting of Tubs's friend of the roadside on the 
 subject of their morning's meeting. R.H.Q. had 
 attached a letter, thoughtfully adding any withering 
 words that he might have omitted. 
 
 " Gift to stuff 'em ! " we chuckled, with the appre- 
 ciation of true artists for a fine piece of work ; for this 
 was a private affair between gentlemen — no offence 
 taken where no offence meant. Tubs only was upset. 
 It is on the most conscientious that Nemesis invariably 
 descends. But a little later orders arrived. Unfortu- 
 nately that afternoon R.H.Q. had gone away to a 
 conference, leaving the office in charge of a very 
 young officer as yet unversed in military etiquette. 
 In orders, publishing our shame upon the housetops, 
 appeared a lurid precis of the Great Person's letter. 
 Our fury knew no bounds. 
 
 "I'll, I'll blinking well Mil the Adjutant!" splut- 
 tered Tubs. 
 
 This was, in truth, an excellent thing for us. We 
 of the Squadroon were somewhat too smug, too self- 
 satisfied, too certain that we were of a different and 
 superior clay, too confident that we could do no wrong. 
 And now it cut us to the quick to know that our 
 shame was noised abroad ; to think that other
 
 THE GREAT RASPBERRY 299 
 
 Squadrons would mock at our discomfiture, and that 
 callow corporals on the echelon would howl with 
 devilish derision. 
 
 "I'm most awfully sorry, Skipper ! " said Tubs at 
 dinner, apologizing for the fiftieth time. 
 
 The Skipper, usually so sensitive to censure, made 
 no remark. His spirit was far away in B little rlower- 
 strown garden of sleep. To love greatly is to suffer 
 greatly. Tubs repeated his apology for the fifty-first 
 time. 
 
 " What's that ? Oh, the raspberry ! If you say 
 any more about it, Tubs, we'll have to harden your 
 neck again '. " 
 
 Slowly, absently, with one long-fingered hand, he 
 crumpled up into a ball the five papers— the two 
 letters of immoderate praise for a simple action duti- 
 fully carried through, the three documents of over- 
 whelming censure for a slight laxity of discipline — 
 and threw them into the fireplace. 
 
 Purple slowly rose from the table, picked up the 
 ball and smoothed out the papers. 
 
 " For information and return," he said gravely. 
 
 Thereafter a new calendar came into use in fehe 
 S [iiadroon. We reckoned time by so many days after 
 the Coming of the Great Raspberry ; and later on, tor 
 the sake of brevity, this era came to be called zero, 
 and we dated our letters -f 5, -f (5, and so on.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 APRES LA GUERKE FINIT 
 
 SOME days later, after a rapid advance of 
 many miles, we were sitting and lounging 
 about in our mess with an unusual air of 
 idleness and unrest. The Armistice had 
 passed off with us without any outward signs of 
 emotion. We had found it difficult, I think, to realize 
 all at once how much it meant to us ; we had also 
 very little food indeed, and, what perhaps was more to 
 the point still, absolutely no drink whatever — for drink 
 is the greatest patriot in times of national celebration. 
 We were talking, of course, of the new life that lay 
 ahead. It was wonderful to be able to talk now of 
 life in the future with some degree of certainty, and 
 we talked and talked of what we were going to do and 
 be and see. About one thing we were all agreed, that 
 first of all we were all going to take a month's holiday, 
 going to bed when we chose, getting up when we chose, 
 sleeping by night and living by day. And then we 
 fell to discussing Germany, and to hoping that she 
 would be soundly twisted for all this inconvenience she 
 had caused us. The Skipper, usually so talkative, 
 was strangely silent. We knew vaguely that he 
 dreamed wild, foolish dreams of universal and per- 
 petual peace.
 
 APRES LA GUERRE FINIT 301 
 
 " I suppose you would let the Huns into the League 
 of Nations?" said Tubs, with a wink at us. 
 
 But this was the one subject on which he would 
 never argue. 
 
 " Don't ask me, children," he said, with a laugh, 
 "you know me too well to believe anything I 
 say. Read your papers, read what the noblest minds 
 and the finest intellects of the world, and, perhaps 
 what is more convincing still, the hardest heads of 
 the world, have to say on the subject; and think 
 about it, and go on thinking about it — and some." 
 
 Ironical cheering and applause greeted this 
 declaration. 
 
 " I'll write to John Bull about it ! " said Spokes. 
 
 " All right, you blinking mocking birds ! " said the 
 Skipper, rather nettled, but joining in the laugh. 
 " You, you, echoes of the savage and ignorant populace, 
 go on talking, do ! Only when I hear your childish 
 prattle do I realize how immeasurably great I am ! " 
 (Loud and prolonged cheers.) 
 
 Then the great Leaders went to stables, leaving 
 the Skipper and me alone in the mess. 
 
 " I suppose you're not for this Army of Occu- 
 pation ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, I belong to the old Army of Preoccupation." 
 
 " But are you going to stay on in the Army '? *' 
 
 " Stay on? No. Me for the reserve — then, if I'm 
 wanted, I shall have to crawl out again, I suppose. 
 But meanwhile I'll hang up my old tin hat in the 
 hall. No more petty wars just for war's sake, for dis 
 chile. No, I'm tired, tired, sick to death of destruc- 
 tion. Now that I know what it feels like to be hunted 
 and shot at myself, I don't think I'll ever hunt a fox 
 or shoot a bird again."
 
 302 THE SQUADROON 
 
 " And what are you going to do ? " 
 
 "Oh, I shall be a bitter old man about the club, 
 whispering military scandal to other bitter old men, 
 who, when the war ended, came down from the acting 
 rank of Field Marshal to their substantive rank of 
 Second Lieutenant, and are praying for the next war. 
 Can't you see us, me and some bitter old buster in a 
 corner by the fire, with our heads close together? 
 ' Have you heard that rotter B. has got G. 2 the Nth 
 Division ? ' I shall ask. ' No ! that hopeless ass ? ' 
 ' Fact, I assure you ! ' and then in a lower voice, 
 * His wife and the General, you know ! ' and we 
 significantly wag our heads. Then we'll have another 
 martini, and he'll tell me how he was a dead cert, for 
 the command of the Light Brigade, when at the last 
 moment, by a monstrous piece of jobbery, C. got it 
 through the influence of Ramsay Macdonald. Then 
 we both breathe bitter hate against the War House, 
 and all the hanky-panky and jobbery and log-rolling 
 that therein is. Then he'll say, ' By-the-by, old boy, 
 you know G. in the Military Secretary's Branch, don't 
 you? They say he has a bigger say in giving 
 appointments than Churchill himself. I — er, wonder 
 if you would mind getting me an introduction to 
 him ? ' And as years go on and on, I shall tell people 
 more and more how it was I who won the Great 
 Wo-ar. Oh yes, it'll be a cheery life ! " 
 
 " But somehow I don't think it will be your life, 
 Skipper," I said, smiling. 
 
 " Well, so far life has been delightfully soft and 
 easy for me. Perhaps it's not too late to start again 
 and play a man's part." 
 
 We were silent for some time. 
 
 " I wonder," he said, " these lads that have come
 
 APRES LA GUERRE PINIT 
 
 so closely into our lives— this time uext year, will 
 they still be as close, or shall we be dropping back 
 again, each to our own spheres ? If we do drop back 
 again, then, I think, the war will have been fought in 
 vain. 
 
 A few days later sudden orders came for my 
 demobilization. As I waved au revoir out of the 
 window to all the great Leaders and other friends of 
 the Squadroon who had escorted me to the station, I 
 somehow missed that jubilation which, for years, we 
 had expected to feel when the war was over and we 
 were bound at last for Blighty.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 L' ENVOI 
 
 NOW, Uncle John, I will bore you no more. 
 I will forbear to tell how the Squad - 
 roon rode proudly through liberated 
 Belgium into Germany, on to Cologne, 
 and over the Hohenzollern bridge across the Rhine ; 
 for that, as the greatest of living writers says, is 
 another story, No, my tale is told, the book of books 
 is done. If it is not a work of genius, it is at least, 
 you will admit, a monument of industry. All these 
 hundreds of pages, all these thousands of words, written 
 by my own hand ! Was there ever such a babbler 
 before ? 
 
 I write these closing lines at the Skipper's country 
 home. In the next room, as he changes, he is singing 
 lustily in an excruciatingly untuneful voice : 
 
 " Whate'er befall 
 I still recall 
 
 That sun-lit mountain-side. 
 • •••«• 
 
 If faithful to my trust I stay, 
 No fate can fill me with dismay. 
 Love holds the key 
 To set me free, 
 And love will find a way." 
 
 Outside the sun is shining, the trees are all in
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 bloom, the air is full of fragrance and of m eutness — and 
 we have two eyes, two arms, two legs. No wonder he 
 sings. 
 
 Through the window I can see Jackson doing 
 wonderful things, in spite of his wooden leg, about the 
 garden ; and in a few minutes Harold will come up 
 with my hot water. No more butler than be was 
 soldier, but still and ever the stalwart veoman, he will 
 come in with a broad smile, and he will sit down on 
 my bed and talk freely about old billets and old bat 1 
 in over there. Yes, here he comes, and after long 
 reminiscences, he says : 
 
 " Well, I must get on with polishing the Captain's 
 boots for the Victory March on Saturday. Will you 
 be in it, sir ? " 
 
 " No, Harold, but I shall be looking on." 
 
 And so I was ; and when, amid the rolling thui; 
 of the cheering, I saw the representatives of the 
 Squadroon in that proud procession, my heart was 
 very full ; and I thought of those others of us who, 
 like me, were looking on, but, unlike me, with the 
 Vision Splendid ; and as the Skipper strode by with 
 pale face and bowed head, I knew that he was think- 
 ing of them too. 
 
 "Why is it, I cannot explain, that those years 
 of horror and suffering and devilish destruction now 
 seem the happiest period of a very happy life ? Was 
 love the key"? Nor am I alone in this delusion, for 
 there is a great, silent freemasonry abroad — the 
 fellowship of those who have journeyed through the 
 Valley of the Shadows. In town and village, on road 
 and street, we know each when we pass. The man 
 who punches our ticket on the bus, the youth who 
 serves us in the shop, wearing on his lapel the ba
 
 306 
 
 THE SQUADROON 
 
 of the Regiment to which he once belonged — we know 
 each other. No word is spoken, just a look, that's 
 all — a look full of understanding, full of memories of 
 those old days of once upon a time when all young 
 men were heroes and when all Englishmen were 
 brothers. 

 
 THE ROAD TO EN-DOR 
 
 By E. H. JONES, Lt. I.A.R.O. 
 
 With Illustrations by C. W. Hill, Lt. K.AF. This 
 book, besides telling an extraordinary story, will 
 appeal to everyone who is interested in spiritualism. 
 The book reads like a wild romance, but it is 
 authenticated in every detail by fellow-officers and 
 official documents. 
 
 Second Edition. 8s. 6d. net. 
 
 Timts :— " Astounding ... Of great value." 
 
 Daily Telegraph:— "This is one of the most realistic, 
 grimmest, and at the same time most entertaining, books evei 
 given to the public. . . . ' The Road to En-dor ' is a book 
 with a thrill on every page, is full of genuine adventure. . . . 
 Everybody should read it." 
 
 Birmingham Post . — "The story of surely the most colossal 
 
   fake ' of modern times." 
 
 Daily Graphic'. — "The most amazing story of the war." 
 
 Morning Post : — " It is easily the most surprising story 
 of the escape of prisoners of war which has yet appeared. . . . 
 No more effective exposure of the methods of the medium 
 has ever been written. This book is indeed an invaluable 
 reduction to absurdity of the claims of the spiritualist 
 coteries.'' 
 
 Evening New : — "The tale of two lieutenants is perhaps 
 the noblest example of the game and fine art of spoof that 
 the world has ever seen, or ever will see." 
 
 Glasgow Evening News: — "An absolutely fresh, un- 
 expected and inimitable true story <'f what we fancy is the 
 greatest spoof of the Great \V.<i."
 
 EDWARD WYNDHAM TENNANT 
 
 By his Mother, PAMELA GLENCONNER 
 
 With portraits in photogravure. Demy 8vo. 21s, net. 
 
 This biography, of one of the most vivid personalities that 
 shone for a while upon the war's horizon, contains his letters 
 written while in France, letters from his uncle, the late George 
 Wyndham, early poems, and the volume of verse called 
 "WorpleFlit." 
 
 Daily Express :—' ' Edward Wyndham Tennant is one of the chosen 
 band of war poets whose work will survive.'' 
 
 Daily Graphic :—' ' Lady Glenconner's very sympathetic and beautifully 
 written memoir. . . . It is unusually complete. ' [Second Edition. 
 
 National News ;— " This beautiful memoir." 
 
 THE SILENCE OF COLONEL BRAMBLE 
 
 By ANDRE MAUROIS 
 
 Second Edition. Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 
 Daily Telegraph: — " Those who do not already know the French book 
 in b'rench Willi lose nothing of its charm in English form. . . . The 
 humours of the mess room are inimitable. . . . The whole thing is 
 real, alive, sympathetic. There is not a false touch in all its delicate 
 glancing wit." 
 
 FIELD AMBULANCE SKETCHES 
 
 By A CORPORAL 
 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 These sketches by a stretcher bearer are extraordinarily clear 
 and actual. To the civilian they bring home the actualities of 
 war, while soldiers of every class will enjoy them in their 
 fine truthfulness. 
 
 SAPPER DOROTHY LAWRENCE 
 
 The Only English Woman Soldier 
 
 Late Royal Engineers, 51st Division, 
 179th Tunnelling Coy., B.E.F. 
 
 With Portraits. Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 
 Daily Mail : — "Her very astonishing tale ... an extraordinaty 
 
 performance." 
 
 Daily Chronicle :—*' Miss Lawrence's book is interesting and well done." 
 Scotsman: — "Her exploit supplies the materials for a fine tale of 
 
 adventure, and she tells her story uncommonly well."
 
 D U0 
 
 £> 3 7 '5 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW. 
 
 RETD FEB 2 8 19971 
 
 Series 9482
 
 AA 000 297 574 6 
 
 3 1205 00514 3902