BRITTEN AUST 
 

 i 6 1 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 witin funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 littp://www.arcliive.org/details/battlewracl<OOaustrich 
 
BATTLEWRACK 
 
 BY 
 
 F. BRITTEN AUSTIN 
 
 ▲irraoR or '• Ml action," '* the shapiko or lavinia 
 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON 
 
 LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO 
 

TO 
 
 CHARLES F. GABB 
 
 IN HIS PRIVATE AFFECTIONS 
 
 THE PATTERN OF STINTLESS FRIENDSHIP 
 
 IN HIS 8BLFLBS8 PATRIOTISM 
 
 THE MODEL OF A TRUE ENGLISHMAN 
 
 THESE SKETCHES OF HUMANITY AT STRIFE 
 
 ARE DEDICATED 
 
 IN THE GRATITUDE OF A LONG MEMORY 
 
 ^-38507 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 The Battery (1914) 
 
 
 
 PAQK 
 1 
 
 Pro Patria 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 Nerves! . 
 
 
 
 
 48 
 
 The Air Sgout (1914) . 
 
 
 
 
 70 
 
 KULTUR (1915) . 
 
 
 
 
 91 
 
 The Magio op Muhammed Din 
 
 
 
 
 101 
 
 The Other Side . 
 
 
 
 
 124 
 
 Na Nos! 
 
 
 
 
 151 
 
 Per la Pitj Grande Itaua ! 
 
 
 
 
 162 
 
 Panzerkraptwagen ! 
 
 
 
 
 . 188 
 
 Naoh Verdun ! . 
 
 
 
 
 214 
 
 The Chatelaine op Lysbois^e 
 
 
 
 
 . 243 
 
 They Come Back . 
 
 
 
 
 277 
 
Practically all these stories have appeared in the 
 Strand Magazine, Pearson's Magazine, Pall Mall 
 Magazine, or The Sphere. To the Editors of these 
 periodicals I tender my acknowledgments. 
 
 It is fair to state that some of these stories, in 
 particular " The Battery," " The Air Scout," " Pro 
 Patria," " Nerves," were written and in some cases 
 appeared before the present War. 
 
 VUl 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 The sun hung in the mists of morning, swollen, 
 blood-red, a symbol of augury, as the artillery 
 brigade pulled out of the village where it had been 
 billeted for the night. At the tail of its long line of 
 slowly moving vehicles marched a compact column 
 of brown-clad infantry. In front moved a squadron 
 of cavalry. The lieutenant-colonel commanding the 
 brigade trotted smartly past the batteries with his 
 staff. Fresh from an interview with the divisional 
 artillery commander, he tried not to look pre- 
 occupied and anxious as he met the searching eyes 
 of his men. From an unknown distance a dull thud, 
 irregularly repeated, vibrated through the dense 
 atmosphere. The colonel raised his head sharply 
 to listen. The men in the column exchanged glances 
 full of meaning. 
 
 The dull concussions continued, but the column 
 did not increase its pace. The long line of guns and 
 wagons rolled onward at a steady walk, amid a 
 jangle of chains and harness. The gunners on the 
 limbers smoked and talked. Occasionally there was 
 a burst of laughter. It seemed that that ominous 
 thudding was a summons which concerned them not 
 at all. In the fog which drifted in patches across the 
 road its origin seemed enormously remote. 
 
2/' ; : '. ; ; ; the battery (i914) 
 
 The junior subaltern of the third and last battery 
 in the column heard the sound with less indifference. 
 Each of those muffled shocks came to him like a 
 knock upon his heart. He listened for them anxiously 
 and shuddered, in spite of himself, as the air vibrated 
 on his ears. He needed none to tell him their mean- 
 ing, novel though the sound was to him. They were 
 the first long shots of the opening battle. As he 
 listened, blindfold as it were in that fog, his animal 
 tissues shrunk at this menace of an untried experience, 
 while at the same time another part of him, the 
 dominant, grew fretfully anxious lest the battery 
 was too far in rear, lest they should be too late. The 
 conflict of these opposing impulses in him made him 
 nervous and fidgety. He wanted to talk to someone, 
 to discuss the situation, to exchange opinions upon a 
 host of possibilities. He looked longingly at the 
 No. 1 of the leading gun of his section as he 
 walked his horse at the side of the leaders and chatted 
 quietly to the driver. The sergeant appeared so 
 calm, so strong with already acquired experience. 
 He felt almost irresistibly impelled to enter into 
 conversation with him — opening phrases kept coming 
 to his tongue — but a shame at the weakness of his 
 own nerve restrained him. He braced himself with a 
 thought of his rank and responsibilities and remained 
 silent. The subaltern was new to war and new to 
 the battery. He had come straight from the " Shop " 
 with a draft of men to replace the wastage of the last 
 battle. He was very young and, until that morning, 
 very proud of himself. 
 
 Unexpectedly, the column halted. Why ? The 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 3 
 
 subaltern chafed. It was intolerable to idle there 
 upon the road with that urgent summons momen- 
 tarily shaking the air. The concussions followed one 
 another much more quickly now and came with a 
 sharper sound. They seemed to run all along a wide 
 arc stretched far to right and left in front of him. 
 Occasionally they came in heavy salvos that swal- 
 lowed the noise of isolated shots. He could see 
 nothing. The fog lay thick upon the road, a white 
 curtain against which danced black specks as he 
 strained his eyes at it. The column stood still and 
 silent. Only a jingling of chains arose as the horses 
 nosed at each other. Presently, as the passengers in 
 a fog-bound train hear the rumble of the other train 
 for which they wait, a sound came to him out of the 
 mist and explained the halt. It was the hollow 
 rhythmic tramp of infantry. The sound increased 
 and then maintained itself at a uniform pitch. In 
 the distance the artillery salvos followed one another 
 ever more quickly, peal on peal of thunder. Still the 
 hollow beat of boots upon the road continued. The 
 subaltern swore to himself. Were they to wait there 
 while the entire army passed ? At last the hollow 
 sound diminished, died down, ceased. A sharply 
 uttered order ran down the column. The line of 
 vehicles moved on again. 
 
 For a long time they marched through the fog, 
 drawing ever nearer to the cannonade. There were 
 no more halts. Nevertheless it seemed to the sub- 
 altern that their progress was wilfully, culpably slow. 
 As a matter of fact, the column, responding to the 
 magnetism of battle, had involuntarily quickened 
 
4 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 pace. The physical anxiety of the subaltern com- 
 municated itself to, and was misinterpreted by, his 
 brain. He imagined that he was concerned wholly 
 for the fate of the army if deprived of the valuable 
 support of the brigade to which he was attached. He 
 conceived enormous disasters hinging on their non- 
 appearance. Suddenly he noticed, with surprise, that 
 his knees were trembling against the saddle, his hands 
 shaking as they held the reins. This discovery startled 
 him. His anxiety for the army was obliterated by 
 another. Could he be sure of himself ? A spasm of 
 alarm shot through him. Would that calm mysterious 
 higher self in him lose control ? He had a glimpse of 
 himself in a whirlwind of sensations, a maddened 
 animal dashing to escape. It must not be. He exer- 
 cised his volition as an athlete exercises a muscle, 
 testing it. Desperately, he willed himself to immo- 
 bility. The tremor in his limbs did not cease. He 
 agonised lest someone should perceive it. Sweat 
 broke out on his forehead. Nevertheless his brain 
 was clear. He held fast to that. Never mind what 
 his body did, at all costs his brain must be kept clear 
 and cool. Engaged in these introspections he forgot 
 the fog, forgot the lagging brigade, forgot the ever- 
 swelling uproar in front of him. 
 
 Suddenly the mist broke, rolled away from a sunlit 
 landscape. They were at the summit of a slight eleva- 
 tion. About them was open country, dotted with 
 trees and farms. In front the road dropped and then 
 mounted. He looked over the heads of the artillery- 
 men before him and saw a long column of infantrymen 
 ascending the further hill. It was for that column that 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 5 
 
 the brigade had waited. The recognition of the fact 
 reawakened perception through a Hnked memory. He 
 heard again the peaHng thunder of the guns, to which 
 for some minutes he had been obUvious. Instantly 
 an intense, anxious curiosity took possession of him. 
 Where were they fighting ? In the fog his mind had 
 formed a picture of hnes of guns coughing out flame 
 and noise at each other, desperately in conflict, just 
 at the other side of the curtain drawn before his eyes. 
 Now, the veil dropped, he looked at reality and only 
 so much of the picture persisted as to puzzle him. 
 Save for the column marching ahead there was no 
 sign of life in that open countryside. Yet the air was 
 full of sound. No longer was it a series of dull con- 
 cussions. It was one vast, continuous, ringing roar, 
 broken at intervals by the sound of violent fracture 
 as a puff of wind came to his cheek. Excitedly, he 
 strained his eyes at the distances, seeking some point 
 where he could localise the conflict. There was 
 nothing. Yes ! Far ahead of him, beyond the hill which 
 the infantry were climbing, a faint haze of smoke hung 
 in the air. In that haze tiny puffs sprang into being 
 and spread lazily. There, then ! Encouraged, his 
 gaze searched the landscape. Far to his left, over a 
 little wood that closed the view, hung another such 
 haze, and, as his eyes ranged over the country, he saw 
 a line of smoke-puffs leap from nowhere above a hill 
 to his right. The line was constantly renewed until 
 the smoke trailed across the blue sky like a cloud. A 
 thrill ran through him. He forgot himself, lost all 
 memory of his doubts. He quivered, but it was with 
 eagerness to rush into the fight. Oh, to mount that 
 
6 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 hill and see what was happening ! The infantry drew 
 up over it, disappeared beyond the summit like a 
 snake drawing in its tail. The artillery crawled 
 onward. 
 
 He was calculating the minutes that must elapse 
 before their arrival on the crest when suddenly his 
 hopes were dashed. The brigade was turning off 
 along a by-road to the left. Baulked of his desire, he 
 swore savagely, almost with tears. A man on the 
 limber near him looked up in sharp surprise. He 
 desisted, clenching his teeth. Inwardly he raged. As 
 he too swung round the corner, his back to the direc- 
 tion of the smoke-cloud he had so excitedly watched, 
 it seemed that he was turning out of the battle. The 
 brigade moved for some distance along that road and 
 then halted, drawn close in to the hedge. Behind 
 them swelled the noise of tramping infantry, growing 
 louder. The men who had followed them were going 
 to pass. They came, swinging along at a good pace, 
 steadily rhythmic. They passed, endlessly. The sub- 
 altern found himself gazing curiously at the faces of 
 men in the stream. Some were stern and set, some 
 laughed carelessly, some shouted jokes to the artillery- 
 men, many were strangely haggard and drawn. He 
 noticed one man who gazed at nothing with a rapt 
 expression. His lips were moving. He was praying. 
 They were going into battle. The subaltern was again 
 aware of the thunder of the guns. 
 
 The brigade waited. The tramp of the infantry 
 had long since ceased. They seemed alone, forgotten, 
 on the road. Suddenly an order was passed down 
 the column. The subaltern repeated it, almost before 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) T 
 
 he was aware that he had heard it. " No. 3 Section — 
 Prepare for action ! " Instantly the gun detachments 
 leaped to the ground. The breech and muzzle covers 
 were removed and strapped to the front of the gun 
 shields. The breech, the firing mechanism, the 
 ranging gear, the sights were swiftly examined. The 
 men on the ammunition wagons tested the opening 
 of the lids, looked to the fuse indicator, saw that the 
 fuses were at safety. These things done, they re- 
 sumed their seats. The subaltern's heart beat fast. 
 Now? 
 
 Minute after minute passed. The brigade waited 
 in all readiness to move. Presently the order came. 
 " Walk !— March I— Trot I " They passed quickly 
 along the road. The subaltern looked ahead, saw his 
 battery leader turn through a gate into a broad 
 meadow on the right. The other batteries were 
 turning into the field further up. He lost sight of 
 one of them. He arrived at the gate, wheeled into it. 
 " By the left— Form Battery Column ! " The sub- 
 sections of single guns drew out and up level with the 
 other gun of the section, each with its following wagon. 
 The first line or reserve wagons dropped behind. The 
 battery trotted smartly forward across the field. It 
 was a large meadow, unintersected by hedge or ditch, 
 rising gently to the ridge whereto their original road 
 had climbed. At the summit was a small copse. Far 
 in front the subaltern saw a group of horsemen riding 
 swiftly towards it. He knew it for the colonel and 
 his staff. Between him and them was a mounted 
 figure, halted, and, some distance further away, 
 another figure. It was the battery commander and 
 
8 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 the sergeant-major marking the position of the 
 battery and the Hne of fire. The battery went on. 
 The ridge was looming up close in front. " By the 
 left — Form Line ! " The guns wheeled into a long 
 line. Their accompanying wagons slackened speed, 
 fell some forty yards in rear. " Walk ! — Halt ! — 
 Action Front I " The guns stopped. The detach- 
 ments leaped down. Two men seized the gun-trail, 
 unhooked it from the limber, gave the order " Limber 
 drive on ! " The horses trotted quickly round in a 
 half-circle and went to the rear. The trail was carried 
 round, reversing the gun. A moment later the atten- 
 dant wagon came up, placing itself close on the left, 
 its axle a little in rear of the gun-axle. About each 
 gun in the line there was a second or two of busy 
 movement. The No. 1 threw back the traversing 
 lever, laid the gun approximately in the true direction, 
 noted the level of the wheels. Others lowered the 
 shield, put on the brakes, fixed the sights. Two 
 others opened the ammunition wagon and half with- 
 drew a number of rounds in readiness. The subaltern's 
 horseholder came up. As he surrendered his mount 
 he felt that he was stepping into the arena. 
 
 He looked along the line of guns. The detachments 
 of each were in position, motionless — ^No. 1 kneeling 
 on the left side of the trail, 2 on the seat on the right- 
 hand side, 3 on the left, 4 kneeling behind 3, 5 and 6 
 kneeling in rear of the wagon by the gun. At the 
 right-hand end of the line was the battery commander. 
 In front of him a wagon-limber had been placed for 
 his protection. Up the hill-side men were swiftly 
 paying out a telephone wire. A lieutenant and a 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) ^ 
 
 couple of look-out men were cantering up to join the 
 party now halted at the side of the copse. 
 
 The subaltern turned to see the captain of the 
 battery at his side. He smiled and nodded. " How 
 do you feel ? " he asked. " Shivery ? " The captain 
 was in command of the first-line wagons in reserve. 
 He stood near the battery to watch the expenditure 
 of ammunition. 
 
 The subaltern placed himself behind the wagon of 
 his gun nearest the commander, and waited, stiffly 
 erect. He felt himself tingling with eagerness, yet he 
 could scarcely bring himself to believe that this was 
 battle. It might have been parade. He forgot the 
 all -swallowing roar about him, remembered only that 
 he was in command of those two guns, was respon- 
 sible that they dealt out death coolly, accurately, 
 scientifically. 
 
 The telephone was complete. A man knelt on the 
 groimd near the battery commander, the receiver to 
 his ear. Almost immediately there was a sharp 
 order. " Lines of Fire ! " From each gun a man 
 ran out quickly towards the ridge with a couple of 
 black and white posts. He planted them in line and 
 ran back. The angle of sight was passed down the 
 battery. The gun -barrels moved slightly, aiming at 
 the invisible enemy. Despite the ceaseless roar with 
 which the air trembled, a hush of expectancy seemed 
 to lie over the line of guns. Other orders came quickly 
 down the battery from the commander. " Angle of 
 sight 1*25' elevation."—" Collective."—" Corrector 
 154."—" 4100." No. 6 of each gun called out the 
 fuze. Five set it, passed the shell to 4 who pushed 
 
10 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 it into the breech. Two closed the breech and ad- 
 justed the range indicator. Three laid the gun and 
 sat with his hand on the firing lever. " Ready." 
 
 " Fire ! " The No. 1 of the first gun repeated the 
 order. Three pulled the lever sharply upwards. A 
 long tongue of flame spurted out of the muzzle with 
 a deafening report. The gun-barrel shot violently 
 back under its hydraulic buffer and was in place 
 again ere the eye could well note the movement. 
 The other two guns of the right half-battery fired 
 successively at three seconds' interval. The men at 
 the telephone received a message. It was trans- 
 mitted as orders to the battery. " No. 1 — 30 degrees 
 more right. No. 2 — 20 degrees more right, No. 3 
 — ^30 degrees more right." "Left half — 30 degrees 
 more right.— Corrector 162.— 4300." The three 
 shells already fired had gone too far to the left. 
 "Fire." The subaltern heard the order of the 
 sergeant on his right. "No. 4 — Fire ! " Then 
 his own sergeants, "No. 5 — Fire ! " "No. 6 — 
 Fire ! " He thrilled at the loud explosions. He 
 was in action ! He was flattered to find how clear 
 his mind was, how steady his nerve. He supervised 
 the laying of the guns as the next order came down 
 the line. " Corrector 158 — 4350. — One roimd battery 
 fire." At five seconds' interval the six guns fired one 
 after the other. There was a wait. Had they found 
 the range ? Yes ! " Section Fire — 10 seconds." 
 He was engrossed with his two guns as they were 
 swiftly loaded and fired at the interval ordered. 
 
 Away to his left the other two batteries of the 
 brigade were firing likewise. The rapid, violent 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 11 
 
 reports of the line of guns overlapped, merged into 
 one long-drawn-out explosion that intensified spas- 
 modically as two or more fired at the same instant. 
 The clamour of the general battle was obscured, 
 forgotten. The subaltern glanced at the bare hill 
 in front of him, over which the shells from the brigade 
 were streaming at the rate of one hundred and eight 
 a minute. On what were they falling, two and a 
 half miles away ? A straggling thought in him found 
 leisure for the question while yet the main forces of 
 his mind were concentrated on the busy detachments 
 and the guns they served. He had scarce noted it 
 when an order was passed down the battery. " Stand 
 fast." Immediately there was silence. Only a faint 
 haze spread and thinned between the gun-muzzles 
 and the ridge to show that they had been at work. 
 What of the distant, invisible target ? The captain, 
 who had been standing by the battery commander, 
 passed on his way to the wagons. The subaltern 
 stopped him. 
 
 " What was it ? '' he asked. 
 
 " Battery coming into action — just caught 'em — 
 wiped out," answered the captain laconically and 
 hurried on. 
 
 The subaltern stared — horror-stricken involun- 
 tarily. Wiped out ! He tried to imagine the wreckage 
 of that battery overwhelmed in a few instants by a 
 rain of shells coming from they knew not whence. 
 He failed. In that meadow, strangely quiet now 
 despite a terrific din that welled up from over the 
 ridge, he could not picture it. The hill in front was 
 a wall across his vision. 
 
12 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 The brigade waited, but no further orders came. 
 For the moment their work was done. The guns 
 stretched across the field, their muzzles elevated, 
 like a row of silent, expectant dogs. The lieutenant 
 commanding the adjacent section came up and asked 
 the subaltern for a cigarette. The subaltern gave 
 it, repressing a smile. That lieutenant never had 
 any cigarettes. 
 
 As he relaxed from the strain of those few furious 
 minutes the subaltern felt suddenly hungry. He 
 remembered that he had filled a pocket with biscuits 
 and munched at one as he gazed idly along the battery. 
 Fitfully his mind returned to the brief activity of his 
 guns and he contemplated the recollection with 
 comfort. Never had he lost mastery over himself. 
 He was a man tried and proved. 
 
 With a vague dull curiosity he watched the group 
 by the wood on the hill above him. Members of it 
 were moving to and fro. He noticed one figure 
 standing with both hands up to his face, his elbows 
 sticking out. He was examining something through 
 his glasses. The subaltern wondered whether it was 
 the colonel and the thought came to him that on a 
 word from that man he and his fellows might be 
 hurried to death as if to execution. Every minute, 
 orderlies rode at speed up to the group. 
 
 Presently an order came to the battery. It opened 
 fire again, this time deliberately, without haste, at 
 2500 yards and in a slightly different direction. Again 
 the subaltern appealed to the captain for information. 
 
 " Infantry advancing. We've only got a screen 
 there. Sixth Corps coming into action on our right. 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 1« 
 
 We're filling the gap between it and the Second 
 Corps. Enemy are trying to break through." 
 
 " Oh," said the subaltern, " we're in for a hot 
 time, I suppose." He said it carelessly, without any 
 idea of what was coming. 
 
 " We most certainly are," said the captain. The 
 emphasis of the reply startled the subaltern, made 
 him feel uneasy. He devoted himself to his guns in 
 an effort to banish the anxiety which threatened him. 
 The gun-squads were working with unhurried pre- 
 cision. A man kneeling behind the wagon drew out 
 the long projectile, set the fuze, passed the shell to 
 his fellow at the gun, the breech was closed, the lever 
 pulled, and the gim spoke with an exactly equal 
 interval between rounds. They might have been 
 feeding a machine in a factory, so regular, so un- 
 emotional was the operation. Behind the wagon 
 the ground was littered with the canvas cartridge 
 clips. Behind the gun the fiung-back brass cartridge 
 cases mounted to a heap. In front the air was blurry 
 with gases. Away to the right a new series of reports 
 broke out. More batteries had evidently come into 
 action. Coalescing all individual sounds the general 
 clamour of the battle swelled in surges of hideous 
 noise from one deep-toned, continuous roar. The 
 subaltern became habituated to it, scarcely noticed it. 
 
 Happening to look roimd he saw a howitzer battery 
 coming into the field. A few minutes later the regular 
 sequence of its detonations told him it had got to 
 work. It was evident that troops were being hurried 
 up to meet the threatened attack. Along the hill- 
 side to the right a line of infantry was strung out. 
 
14 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 advancing towards the wood. Another followed it. 
 When he turned again he saw more infantry entering 
 the field and deploying. He got a glimpse of the 
 road filled with brown caps that just showed above 
 the hedges. Almost immediately the battery ceased 
 fire. Only the periodic discharges of the howitzers 
 continued. The battery commander was kneeling 
 over a map spread upon the ground. Up by the little 
 wood a heliograph was flashing rapidly. A little 
 further on a couple of men were flag-wagging with 
 vigour. Some crisis was approaching. Behind him 
 the infantry commenced to advance. On his left 
 front a couple of men spurred horses up the flank of 
 the bare hill -side. 
 
 The infantry passed the battery in their advance, 
 the company that had remained in column to avoid 
 the guns deploying into the line. Another line of 
 supports followed and behind them another. They 
 went steadily up the hill, the two scouts from the 
 battery passing through them as they galloped back. 
 The subaltern thrilled with a sense of imminent 
 danger. As yet he had sten no shell burst. Now it 
 was going to begin. The howitzer battery still fired 
 over the heads of the advancing troops. 
 
 Up and up went the first line. The subaltern 
 watched it with a throbbing heart. It opened its files 
 as it went, and, when nearly to the crest, bro^e into 
 a steady run. It reached the summit. Fpr a moment 
 it showed black against the sky. Now ? Nothing. 
 The line disappeared over the hill. The second line 
 mounted, doubled, showed against the sky and in- 
 stantly a crowd of smoke -puffs leaped into the air 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 15 
 
 above it. He saw tiny figures knocked all ways to the 
 ground and immediately afterwards a run of sharp 
 crashes came to his ears. The line disappeared over 
 the hill, leaving behind figures that lay still and 
 figiu-es that tried to crawl out of the way of the third 
 line. He watched them, fascinated, through his 
 glasses. The third line advanced, undaimted. The 
 crowd of smoke -puffs broke out again ere it reached 
 the summit and continued while it passed. When it 
 had gone, the subaltern noted an increase in the 
 number of prostrate figures. Behind him more in- 
 fantry collected in the field but no more advanced. 
 The hostile shrapnel continued to burst over an empty 
 hill-side. Presently it ceased. From the other side 
 of the hill arose a furious, feverish crackling, notice- 
 able even in the general uproar. The battery waited 
 for it knew not what. 
 
 Slightly wounded men began to trickle down the 
 hill-side. One passed close to the subaltern, lurching 
 unsteadily. He was bleeding profusely from a wound 
 in the head. He stopped, swaying from side to side, 
 and looked at the lieutenant with a glare of idiocy. 
 " Hell," he said with sombre simplicity, " Hell," and 
 then went on without waiting for a reply. The 
 lieutenant was inexpressibly shocked. It made him 
 feel ill. He turned and saw the wounded man walk- 
 ing like* one blind, hands out, across the field. The 
 one word, " Hell," rang in his ears. He nibbled at 
 another biscuit to steady his stomach. " Pretty 
 rotten that," he said to himself, striving to get rid 
 of the sensation by classifying it. " Rotten." 
 
 Then the orders came. The gun-teams dashed up 
 
16 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 and in a few moments the battery was moving at 
 speed to its left across the meadows. Its route was 
 a diagonal directed on the ridge. It went in all haste. 
 Its half-depleted wagons had been replaced by full 
 ones from the first lines. The subaltern felt that he 
 was rushing towards a crisis. He was strangely ex- 
 hilarated as he galloped on towards a line of trees 
 that rose to the ridge at right angles. A gate showed 
 in the line of trees and beyond the gate a road. The 
 battery slackened speed, dashed through the gate, 
 vehicle after vehicle, and turned to the right towards 
 the ridge. The road was narrow, walled with high 
 hedges and overhanging elms. It mounted to a shrub- 
 filled notch on the height. There the battery was 
 halted. The half-filled wagons now composing the 
 first line drew into cover. The battery-commander 
 and several men rode on. The battery waited, 
 screened by the wooded crest of the hill. From the 
 unseen landscape in front arose an appalling tumult 
 of sound. It was like the noise of a colossal confla- 
 gration ; the roar of flames, and the crackle of burning 
 woodwork enormously magnified. 
 
 Suddenly the battery moved on again. Quickly 
 it mounted the crest and dipped down on the other 
 side. Again a gate on the right hand and in a momcxit 
 the battery was racing at full speed across a stubble- 
 field. A hundred yards ahead galloped the com- 
 mander. To their left was open country, full of 
 sound. Above them, over the ridge upon their right, 
 a run of sharp explosions broke out. The subaltern 
 heard them without heeding. He shouted encourage- 
 ment to his men as they dashed across the field, 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 17 
 
 though his voice was scarcely audible to himself. He 
 was in a whirl of excitement. Life hung on every 
 second. 
 
 " Halt ! " The guns stopped, were unlimbered 
 and reversed in an instant. The teams raced back 
 to cover. The wagons dashed up beside their guns. 
 Around them one or two shells burst harmlessly 
 upon the ground, like the first heavy raindrops which 
 precede the storm. It broke. Overhead the sky 
 collapsed with a fearful crash. The subaltern saw a 
 myriad spouts of dust leap up from the stubble, saw 
 his most trusted sergeant fall like a sack across the 
 gun-trail. There was another riving crash overhead. 
 The subaltern turned to hear an order megaphoned 
 from the sergeant-major at the end of the line. 
 " Guns in Action — Just below Church.'* He whipped 
 out his glasses, focussed quickly for the church, saw 
 a row of pin-points of flame flicker along a hedge. 
 A moment later the air in front of him was shaken 
 by a group of crashes, followed on the instant by a 
 long, high-pitched drone. In the middle of it he 
 heard the megaphone. " 3350 yards — Corrector 
 140." The men worked desperately at the guns, 
 like sailors in a blinding storm. The shrapnel beat 
 down among them like hail, ringing on the shields. 
 " Section Control.'* The subaltern gave the order. 
 " Fire ! " The whole battery fired swiftly, his guns 
 among the first. He watched the distant hedge below 
 the church through his glasses, saw a crowd of smoke- 
 puffs burst over it even as the flame-points flickered 
 again. He shouted an alteration of the corrector and 
 his voice was swallowed by the crash of the hostile 
 
18 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 shells. Again the shrapnel droned, flicked up the 
 dust around him. He heeded it not. He saw a man 
 roll over with a shell in his hands. He sprang to him, 
 seized the shell, thrust it into the breech without the 
 loss of a second. Rapidly the guns fired. Away to 
 his right he heard the quick detonations of the other 
 guns and again the crash of bursting shrapnel. He 
 gazed again at the distant hedge. It was a duel 
 between that battery and his. Extinction was the 
 portion of the one which failed in speed and accuracy. 
 With a savage thrill he saw a high shaft of flame 
 spout up behind the hedge. A shell — he claimed it 
 as his — had plumped into an ammunition wagon and 
 exploded. Wrought to fever-pitch, the artillerymen 
 loaded and fired. A cloud of dust hung about each 
 gun, obscuring the view, stabbed every few seconds 
 by a sharp thrust of flame. Down the hill -side the 
 smoke of shrapnel which had burst too low drifted 
 close to the ground like steam from a passing loco- 
 motive. Away in the distance, along that hedge — 
 the men in the battery saw only that, were oblivious 
 to all else — a cloud of smoke gathered, grew thicker 
 every instant. Under it the pin-points of flame 
 flickered with ever longer intervals between the 
 flashes. Over the battery on the hill the shrapnel 
 burst with less and less of noise, less and less of 
 accuracy. The subaltern exulted. They were 
 getting the upper hand. He yelled stimulation to 
 his men. His two guns fired faster even than before, 
 raining shells at the hedge. Suddenly he was aware 
 that the hostile shrapnel had ceased. Behind the 
 hedge he saw a cloud of dust arise. Their enemy was 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 19 
 
 retiring at speed. He altered the range, flung shells 
 into the dust-cloud until it disappeared. " Bat- 
 tery Control — Stand fast." The guns ceased fire. 
 
 The subaltern turned to look at what he believed 
 to be the wreckage of his battery. It was littered 
 with dead and dying men. A wagon lay on its side, 
 was being righted as he looked at it. Men pulled 
 away a body from underneath. Every vehicle in 
 the line, guns and wagons, was pock-marked with 
 splashes of lead. The shield of one gun had been 
 neatly perforated by a shell and the crew of that 
 gun lay about it as they had been dispersed by the 
 explosion. Their clothes were still on fire. The 
 subaltern was staring stupidly at them when the 
 lieutenant who never carried cigarettes approached. 
 He opened his mouth to speak — ^no doubt to ask for 
 another cigarette — ^when suddenly his expression 
 changed to a sickly smile and he pitched forward. 
 The subaltern turned round in a flash of savage 
 anger. This was murder. They had finished fight- 
 ing 
 
 " Infantry advancing across stream — 1800 yards," 
 came the stentorian voice of the sergeant-major. The 
 subaltern understood as he ran back to his guns. It 
 was to repel the infantry that they were there. The 
 duel with the other battery was merely an episode. 
 He looked down into the valley below him, saw that 
 it was filled with little grey figures. A stream bi- 
 sected the mass. They were advancing quickly, in 
 rushes, apparently without opposition. Some of the 
 foremost were lying down, firing at the height. 
 Below him, from origins that were hidden by a fold 
 
20 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 of the ground, rose the noise of a fierce and sustained 
 rifle fire. The battery got to work again. Methodi- 
 cally, evenly, it sprayed that advancing horde with 
 shrapnel. Other batteries, invisible to them, were 
 helping, for a larger number of shells burst over the 
 foe than they accounted for. The vicious little puffs 
 of smoke multiplied. The subaltern watched their 
 effect with cool, unemotional interest. It was like 
 striking into a mass of ants. Numbers sprawled ; 
 the multitude was undiminished. He hurled his 
 thunderbolts upon them like a god, himself serenely 
 unassailable. A half-contemptuous pity for them 
 arose in him but did not interfere with the exact 
 performance of his duties. The men at the guns 
 laughed. 
 
 Suddenly, without warning, the air above him was 
 riven with a triple crash. The familiar drone followed, 
 was blotted out by a second violent detonation. 
 Gusts of smoke blew across the sky. A hail of 
 shrapnel bullets kicked up the dust, pattered on the 
 guns. His cap was knocked from his head by an in- 
 visible hand. A man at the gun sprang up, performed 
 a grotesque parody of a dervish-dance, twirled with 
 outstretched arms, and collapsed. Another sat for a 
 second with both hands to his head and fell back. 
 For a moment the service of the guns was suspended. 
 The subaltern ran towards it, shouting. The dimin- 
 ished crew bent grimly to their task. The overhead 
 crashes of the shrapnel came down in one continuous 
 detonation. The bullets rained down upon them in 
 heavy showers. The hostile artillery had got their 
 range exactly. Where were they ? The subaltern 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 21 
 
 searched the distance for gun-flashes. He saw none. 
 Their enemy was invisible, snugly tucked away some- 
 where. It would have profited little to have dis- 
 covered them. His orders were to fire at the infantry 
 and at the infantry his two guns fired, as fast as 
 depleted squads could serve them. The rest of the 
 battery fired likewise. He did not see how many 
 guns were still in action, could not spare a moment 
 to look. His attention was held by the swarm of 
 advancing figures. The hail of shrapnel was an agony 
 at the back of his consciousness ; he ignored it, 
 resolutely. 
 
 Suddenly a horse pitched and rolled, kicking 
 violently, at his feet. It startled him. He had not 
 seen it arrive. A man disengaged himself from the 
 struggling animal, stood up and shot it dead with his 
 revolver. It was the captain. 
 
 " In — command — at the infantry — section control 
 — carry on," he panted, and ran to his place at the 
 end of the line. 
 
 The battery commander was killed then ! The 
 thought flashed across his mind, was lost in the urgent 
 business of the moment. He shortened the range, 
 altered the corrector, aiming at the nearer edge of 
 the approaching infantry. A moment later three or 
 four men arrived at a sprint and reported themselves. 
 The subaltern heard without emotion that more had 
 started, would never arrive. He detailed them. The 
 discharges of the guns followed faster. 
 
 How long this phase lasted the subaltern never 
 knew. Ordinary standards of time could not measure 
 that nightmare where he constantly shortened the 
 
22 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 range, hurled unavailing thunders at an inexorably 
 advancing flood. He remembered the moment of 
 agony when he saw that they were running out of 
 ammunition, the joyous relief when the first -line 
 ammunition-wagons raced up and stopped at the 
 right hand of the guns. Under a pall of smoke from 
 the bursting shells he saw his gun-crews dwindling, 
 each man doing the work of two, of three. Once a 
 heavy explosion on the ground attracted his atten- 
 tion. It was the commencement of a series. Choking 
 fumes, now black, now yellowish, drifted over him. 
 A howitzer battery had joined their assailants, was 
 firing high explosive. Exasperated, he searched the 
 distances for a glimpse of the hostile guns. He saw 
 no sign of them. They were being overwhelmed, as 
 they themselves had overwhelmed the battery he had 
 not seen, by foes whose concealment he could not even 
 guess at. 
 
 Suddenly — how, he knew not — ^the word was 
 passed to him : "In command." He ran to the end 
 of the line, found the sergeant-major crouching 
 behind the wagon-limber. Blood was running from 
 a diagonal bullet -score across his face. Close by were 
 the bodies of his predecessors in command. 
 
 " Four guns in action, sir," said the sergeant- 
 major. " Brigade commander's orders : ' Hold our 
 ground.' " 
 
 " How long ago ? " queried the subaltern. 
 
 " Some time," was the reply. " Not sure — but 
 think the colonel and staff are killed, sir." 
 
 The subaltern looked along the line of guns, 
 frowned at the tiny groups of gunners. 
 
THE BATTERY (19l4) 23 
 
 " Where's the observing party ? " 
 
 " At the guns, sir." 
 
 " Rangetakers ? Horseholders ? " He had to 
 shout to be heard in the continuous crashing of the 
 shells. 
 
 " At the guns. Every man in action, sir, except 
 with the horses under cover." 
 
 The subaltern took in the situation, glanced at the 
 advancing infantry. Despite the efforts of the battery 
 the nearer of them had got close, were now hidden 
 by a fold in the ground. From that fold of ground 
 came a frenzy of rifle -fire and, he fancied, shouts and 
 cries. With despair in his heart, he determined to 
 "hold his ground." Veiled in dust and smoke his 
 four guns fired irregularly but rapidly. 
 
 A tumult of noise broke out to his right, almost 
 behind him. 
 
 " Outflanked ? " he queried at the top of his voice. 
 The sergeant-major nodded. 
 
 At the same moment he saw a swarm of brown in- 
 fantry come over the fold of ground in front of him. 
 Disaster followed disaster. A high-explosive shell 
 swallowed one of his precious guns with an awful 
 explosion of flame and smoke. A soot-faced man 
 ran up and shouted to him that the wagon-supply 
 was all but exhausted. Only the gun-Umbers re- 
 mained. The subaltern glanced at the defeated 
 infantry surging towards them. His jaw set hard 
 with a fierce resolve. 
 
 " Call up the teams," he shouted. 
 
 The sergeant-major signalled to the hill. A 
 moment later the limbers were racing over the shell- 
 
24 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 swept field. The survivors of the battery sighed 
 with reHef as they fired away their last shells. 
 
 Far off upon a height the divisional artillery com- 
 mander was watching them through his glasses. 
 " Why isn't that battery withdrawn ? " he asked 
 irritably. He turned to give an order, then checked 
 himself. " No, it's too late," he said. He continued 
 to watch them. 
 
 ■ •••••• 
 
 The guns were limbered up in a storm of shells. 
 The subaltern threw himself upon a horse that came 
 handy. The detachments waited for the order to 
 retire. 
 
 " The battery will advance — ^in line ! — Gallop ! " 
 he yelled. 
 
 He spurred his horse straight for the infantry. 
 Behind him his three guns bumped and leaped over 
 the inequalities of the stubble-field. Onward they 
 raced. They tore through the approaching infantry 
 as though they were mere phantoms, regardless of 
 those that fell before their rush. Overhead the 
 shrapnel burst less frequently. They hurled them- 
 selves down into a depression and up again on the 
 rise of a little ridge. One or two brown soldiers were 
 lying prone on it and firing rapidly. 
 
 " Halt !— -Action front !— At the infantry !— Point 
 blank 1 " yelled the subaltern. 
 
 In front were the grey-uniformed soldiers, swarms 
 of them, not a hundred yards away, rushing on them 
 with gleaming bayonets. Working like madmen. 
 
THE BATTERY (1914) 25 
 
 the artillerymen reversed the guns, loaded, aimed, 
 fired. Again and again the guns spoke. The squads 
 worked like men doomed, anxious only to take toll 
 for their own lives. The shells, set to zero, burst 
 almost at the muzzles of the guns. Their bullets 
 tore through the groups of infantrymen, mowed them 
 down. They seemed to melt away. Behind him the 
 subaltern heard a loud cheer. The beaten infantry 
 were being rallied, led again to the attack. 
 
 In front of his guns the enemy surged forward, only 
 to be swept away. Hesitation was manifest among 
 them. Men turned and ran back. The rearward 
 movement spread. He exulted in their confusion. 
 As his guns fired their last roimds, a line of brown 
 infantry rushed past them with a mighty shout, their 
 bayonets levelled at the charge. The grey infantry 
 broke and fled. 
 
 The subaltern looked round, wiping the acrid 
 smoke-grit from his eyes. Behind him, down the 
 hill -side where his battery had fought, masses of 
 brown infantry were advancing. The tide had 
 turned. 
 
 Far away, the divisional artillery commander took 
 his glasses from his eyes. " By G — d ! that chap's 
 saved 'em ! " he said. He wrote out an order and 
 despatched it. 
 
 The subaltern stood oy his line of silent guns, 
 watching the fight roll away from him. He felt 
 atrociously hungry and thirsty. His water-bottle 
 
26 THE BATTERY (1914) 
 
 was empty. He felt for the biscuits in his pocket. 
 There was not one. He wiped his hand across his 
 mouth and there was biscuit -dust upon the back of 
 it. Then he cursed in bitter disappointment. He 
 could not forgive himself for having eaten those 
 biscuits, as it were in his sleep. 
 
 Presently an order came and he drew the renmant 
 of his battery out of action. 
 
PRO PATRIA 
 
 In the dark of the autumn evening the rearguard 
 drew itself wearily through the silent village. To a 
 column of infantrymen, dusty, dejected, haggard, 
 with rifles held indifferently on the shoulder, at the 
 trail, or tucked under the arm, succeeded a pro- 
 cession of miscellaneous vehicles — ^ambulances, army- 
 wagons, brick-carts, gigs, anything that would roll 
 on wheels it seemed. Some of these vehicles were 
 loaded high with goods whose nature was hidden by 
 the bulging tarpaulins stretched tightly over them, 
 but the majority held only men who sat up listlessly, 
 swaying with every jolt of the vehicle, dull-eyed, 
 mournful, and silent. The faces of most of them 
 were partially masked by bandages that passed at 
 varying angles across their heads. Others nursed an 
 arm in a sling ; some were apparently undamaged. 
 These were the slightly hurt. Here and there in the 
 long train, a head, swathed like that of an antique 
 corpse, raised itself from the depths of a wagon and 
 peered over the side, striking a note of suffering 
 which found no repercussion in the men, fatigued 
 beyond sensibility, who marched by the wheels. 
 After a longer or shorter space those heads relapsed 
 again out of sight, sinking without murmur or gesture, 
 in hopeless resignation. These vehicles bore the 
 
 27 
 
28 PRO PATRIA 
 
 wreckage of the army, swept up by the retreating 
 rearguard which cleared the road of everything that 
 could afford an indication to the enemy of the nature 
 of the force in front. 
 
 Behind the lugubrious procession a battery moved 
 at the walk. The animals that drew the guns were 
 lean and spiritless ; many were lame, and the coats 
 of all were dull with dust and sweat. Most of the 
 teams were short of their proper tale of horses. The 
 guns, limbers, and wagons were likewise thick with 
 dust, and where this dust was not it could be seen 
 that they were scored and pock-marked by shrapnel 
 bullets. A professional eye looking at those guns as 
 they passed would have remarked that the breech 
 and muzzle covers had been removed, were strapped 
 to the front of the shields. They were ready for 
 instant action, yet many of the men who served them 
 swayed in sleep upon their seats on limber or wagon. 
 The countenances of all were grimed with dirt, 
 channelled by dried rivulets of sweat and moisture 
 from eyes irritated by acrid fumes. They looked 
 like men who had been fighting a conflagration. 
 They passed, guns and wagons, and after them came 
 a squadron of cavalrymen sitting limply upon 
 wearied horses. Another long column of infantry 
 followed, and, immediately upon its heels, an endless 
 cavalcade of horsemen. All, infantry, convoy, 
 artillery, and cavalry, moved onwards steadily, 
 without hurry and without halts, at a pace that had 
 evidently long ago become automatic. 
 
 The houses between which they passed were silent, 
 deserted, for the most part boarded up. No face 
 
PRO PATRIA 29 
 
 looked out of any window, no light glimmered in any 
 interior, no smoke came from any chimney. At the 
 door of the only inn a couple of cavalrymen stood by 
 their horses, sentries posted to deter the thirsty 
 straggler. Some of the men in the column looked 
 yearningly at the houses as they passed, imagining 
 the joys of sleep and food ; the majority plodded 
 onwards mechanically in the failing light. All, 
 perhaps, seeing the village, had dallied with the idea 
 of bivouac. To their disappointment had succeeded 
 a despair of ever halting. The officers by the side of 
 their companies urged them forward with monoto- 
 nous voices, aware themselves of the uselessness of 
 their efforts. The infantry was marching at its best 
 pace. Nevertheless as the column drew out of the 
 village its speed spontaneously increased. A rumour 
 had spread along it from end to end. They had 
 given the enemy the slip. 
 
 The last cavalrymen, left at the entrance of the 
 village until the column should have cleared it, 
 passed along the street, turning in their saddles to 
 look at the empty road behind them. The sentries 
 at the inn mounted and trotted quickly forward to 
 rejoin their ranks. The last man passed out of sight. 
 The village street seemed strangely empty in the 
 absence of the floods of men that had been pouring 
 through it, with but little interruption, for many 
 hom-s. Only the rhythmic tramp of the infantry 
 upon the road, pulsating through the air like the 
 audible systole and diastole of some mighty heart, 
 and fading with every moment, remained like a 
 reminiscence of the army. Presently that, too, 
 
30 PRO PATRIA 
 
 ceased. Silence brooded over the houses whose out- 
 Hnes were rapidly blurring with the oncoming night, 
 a silence broken only by the melancholy ululations 
 of an owl that ventured to scour the deserted 
 street. 
 
 That owl was baulked of its stoop by a sudden 
 human utterance in a Cockney voice. 
 
 " It's all right, Bill— they've gone." 
 
 The figure of a man was dimly defined in the door- 
 way of one of the cottages. He turned to answer a 
 question. 
 
 " Yus. The 'ole bloomin' lot. Rearguard an' all." 
 
 The figure in the doorway was joined by another 
 from the dark interior of the cottage, and the pair 
 slunk cautiously into the street and looked up and 
 down. 
 
 " We've done it, Sam," said the man addressed as 
 Bill. 
 
 " Yus," replied Sam, peering around him under a 
 frown from heavy brows. " Now for that public — 
 me ole Gawd-lummy ain't 'ad nothin' in it fer a 
 week." 
 
 "'Struth!" said Bill, stretching himself. "I 
 ain't 'arf stiff wiv standin' in that poky little cup- 
 board." 
 
 " Not so stiff as those poor blighters '11 be to-night," 
 said Sam, with a thought of his marching comrades. 
 " Now — ^right wheel ! March ! An' see that you've 
 got a cartridge in yer rifle," he added in a tone of 
 authority. It was evident that he was the leading 
 spirit. 
 
 There was the metallic click of a cartridge inserted 
 
PRO PATRIA 31 
 
 into the breech and then both men crept furtively in 
 the shadow of the cottages towards the inn. The 
 hanging sign of the house was silhouetted black 
 against the sky just above their heads, when Sam 
 stopped suddenly, pointing his rifle into the gloom. 
 
 " 'Alt ! 'Oo goes there ? " he cried ; under his 
 breath he blasphemed rapidly, ferociously ; the 
 blasphemy of a man whose nerves are chaos, his 
 speech-centres out of control. A shadowy figure 
 moved in the darkness. " 'Ands up — or I fire ! " 
 shouted Sam, the menace rising harshly out of his 
 muttered vituperation. 
 
 A pitiful voice replied from the obscurity. Its 
 panic expressed itself in a thin rising inflection that 
 became almost a squeal. 
 
 " Don't shoot !— don't shoot I " 
 
 " Come out into the road," commanded Sam. 
 " Cover 'im. Bill," he added. 
 
 The figure obeyed, was now shghtly more visible 
 against the light reflected from the white road. 
 
 " What are you doin' 'ere ? " asked Sam. 
 
 The voice became rapid in nervous explanation. 
 
 " I'm lame — ^got lamed miles back there — I was 
 'urryin' to rejoin my regiment " 
 
 " I dorCt think," said Sam sternly. " You're a 
 bloomin' deserter, that's wot you are." 
 
 " Oh, chuck it, Sam ! " said Bill suddenly. " More 
 the merrier ! Let's get into this bloomin' public — 
 I'm fair parched for a drink. Come along, matey — 
 don't take no notice of 'im. You didn't 'arf give us 
 a scare, though, my word ! " he added, as he moved 
 towards the door of the inn. 
 
32 PRO PATRIA 
 
 The third man, however, persisted in justifying 
 himself in a querulous, tearful voice. 
 
 " I tell yer I got lamed — I ain't no deserter — I 
 just couldn't keep up — ^there's a piece of skin off my 
 foot as big as yer 'and — I'll show it yer if yer don't 
 believe me " 
 
 " Oh, chuck it," said Sam irritably, giving him an 
 uninviting march-route for his foot. " 'Elp us to 
 knock this blighted door in ! " 
 
 The three of them kicked and shouldered against 
 the inn door without result. The locks held firm. 
 
 " 'Ere, stand clear," said Sam, grasping his rifle by 
 the muzzle. He swung it about his head and brought 
 it down against the door with a heavy crash. Bill 
 imitated him, swinging his reversed rifle like a sledge- 
 hammer in a manner that bespoke the ex-navvy. 
 The third man's efforts were swifter if less effective. 
 The noise of their blows sounded terribly loud in the 
 hush of that dead village, so loud that once or twice 
 they paused, frightened, their ears alert for answering 
 soimd. None came and they resumed their attack. 
 The door commenced to splinter and to crack upon 
 its hinges. Collectively they threw their whole weight 
 against it in sudden impact. It gave way and the 
 three of them followed it in a heap. 
 
 They struggled to their feet, cursing, and some- 
 one struck a match. It was Sam. The others 
 followed the dim illumination into the interior. 
 There was an exclamation of joyful surprise and 
 then the match went out. The exclamation was 
 renewed as Sam struck another and lit a hanging oil- 
 lamp. 
 
PRO PATRIA 38 
 
 " Gawd blimy if they ain't left it for us ! " 
 
 They were in a small room at the back of the bar. 
 A long table filled most of the space, and on that table 
 stood a large joint of beef, several loaves of bread, 
 and one or two pewter tankards. A number of plates 
 each containing food and crossed at odd angles by 
 knife and fork told a story that the overturned chairs 
 about the room corroborated. 
 
 " Left in a blamed 'urry," said Bill, picking up 
 one of the tankards. " Fancy leavin' the beer ! *' 
 
 The third man pushed past him eagerly and sprang 
 at the table, clawing at the food. He almost wept. 
 " Two days — I ain't *ad nufiink fer two days, mates," 
 he whimpered between huge mouthfuls. He went on 
 cramming himself with everything he could reach, 
 uttering the while inarticulate cries of satisfaction 
 that sounded like sobs. 
 
 The others were rivalled but not surpassed in this 
 gastronomical performance. Less excitedly, they 
 also were eating enormously. For long minutes the 
 three men sat at the table under the hanging lamp 
 without uttering a word. They fed like famished 
 animals at a trough. As their hunger grew less fierce, 
 however, the two comrades looked up and exchanged 
 appraising glances with their new companion. He 
 was a little fellow, with a cunning face and an ill- 
 shaped head that needed no criminologist to class it. 
 Petty rogue was stamped on him. The metal letters 
 and number on the shoulder-strap of his dirty and 
 ragged uniform showed that he, like themselves, 
 belonged to a Cockney battalion. The two com- 
 rades were burly fellows of the navvy type, full- 
 
34 PRO PATRIA 
 
 bodied, full-faced, narrow in the brows, powerful in 
 the arms. Distress, the utter lack of work, had 
 probably forced them into one of the new regiments. 
 The little man, with equal probability, had enlisted 
 for similar reasons and had found escape not so easy 
 as he expected. 
 
 At last, replete, they desisted from their orgy of 
 victuals. Bill stretched his legs and looked good- 
 humouredly at his comrade. 
 
 " This ain't better than the army, I don't think ! " 
 he opined, qualifying the army by an epithet which 
 in its circumstances was not inappropriate. 
 
 " Curse the army ! " replied Sam, frowning from 
 under his heavy sandy brows. He shivered w^th the 
 commencement of digestion. " Light the fire, Bill," 
 he commanded brutally. " And you,'* he added, 
 turning to the little man, " go an' get some more beer 
 — an' don't drink any or I'll smash your bloomin' 
 'ead in ! " 
 
 Bill, always in awe of his friend, had already com- 
 menced to obey, but the little man was not yet broken 
 to Sam's discipline. 
 
 " 'Ere ! — 'Oo are you orderin' about ? " he ex- 
 postulated in his thin, aggrieved voice. Then he 
 dodged quickly to escape a flying tankard. With a 
 frightened glance at the burly tyrant, he hastened 
 out, jug in hand. 
 
 When he returned, he deposited several packets of 
 tobacco on the table and pushed them towards Sam. 
 " Thought per'aps you'd be wantin' some, mate," he 
 said humbly. " There's a 'ole barrel o' beer in the 
 bar. If 'e'd 'elp me, I could get it in 'ere." 
 
PRO PATRIA 35 
 
 " Go and 'elp 'im, Bill," ordered Sam, pocketing 
 the tobacco. 
 
 The two men rolled in the barrel of beer and hoisted 
 it onto the table. Then, with full tankards handy 
 and their pipes smoking like factory chimneys, the 
 trio pulled their chairs up to the fire. 
 
 " Curse the army, I say ! " said Sam in a challenging 
 voice, apropos of nothing. He had been staring 
 moodily at the crackling logs. " I want to get back 
 to my wife an' kids." 
 
 " 'Ear, 'ear ! " said Bill, raising his tankard before 
 he drained it. " Curse the army ! " 
 
 " Chins ! " said the little man. The proposal was 
 drimk unanimously. 
 
 " I'm fed up with it," continued Sam, still in his 
 mood of heavy reflection, " abso-bloomin'-lutely fed 
 up ! Marchin' 'ere, marchin' there, march all day, 
 march all night ; w'en you do stop, nothin' to eat ; 
 march back w'ere you come from, then right about 
 face and march ag'in till you don't know w'ere you 
 are. I joined the bloomin' army to fight, not to go 
 on a blighted walkin'-tour ! " 
 
 " Fight ! " chimed in the little man. " You ought 
 to 'a' been wiv us the other day I Talk about fightin' ! 
 Our company fought three thousand on 'em for hours 
 an' hours — all alone. We killed 'imdreds of 'em, 
 me an' about a dozen others, till we 'ad to retreat. 
 That's wot I calls fightin' ! " 
 
 "Is it ? " sneered Sam. " You wos one o' that 
 picket guard wot run away from a cow, you mean. 
 Fightin' ! That ain't fightin' — ^bein' shot at by swine 
 you can't see. I ain't 'ad a sight o' one on 'em yet. 
 
36 PRO PATRIA 
 
 not one — an' yesterday forty men of our company 
 was killed w'ere we laid in a 'tater-field. Ain't that 
 so, Bill ? " 
 
 " Forty-two," corrected Bill, " an' you couldn't 
 find some of 'em after the shell 'ad 'it 'em." 
 
 " That's it," continued Sam, " shells ! Shells 
 plumpin' down and chokin' yer, shells over'ead as if 
 the sky was breakin' in and droppin' down in bullets. 
 Shells ! That's wot I can't stand — bein' 'it on the 
 back of the 'ead w'en you're lyin' down an' takin' 
 cover accordin' to orders. It fair got on my nerves — 
 all day, shells, shells, shells, an' not a mouthful to 
 eat, an' then, at the end, right about face, quick 
 march, we're beat. Beat ! We'll see if we get beat ! 
 No, — it's just bloomin' silly — ^they march us orf our 
 feet for a week just to make us a target for their 
 damn artillery and then tell us we're licked and 'ave 
 got to march back double-quick. I'm fed up 
 wiv it. I've chucked the blank army. Chucked 
 it, d'yer 'ear ? " he turned savagely on the little 
 man. 
 
 " You're right, mate," said the little man, stand- 
 ing up to refill his tankard at the barrel. " So 've I. 
 Wy should we fight ? That's wot I arsks yer. We're 
 the pore workin'-man — we ain't got no property," 
 he developed the manner of a street-corner orator, 
 and thumped his tankard on the table. " We ain't 
 got no stake in the country. Let them as 'as got a 
 stake in the country fight for it, says I. Not get a 
 pore /ionest workin'-man to go an' do it for 'em. 
 'Tain't right, mates. That's w'y I chucked the 
 bloomin' army, I don't mind tellin' yer — because I 
 
PRO PATRIA 37 
 
 felt it wasn't right ! I'm a honest workin'-man an' 
 I don't believe in war." 
 
 " 'Ear, 'ear," said Bill sleepily. 
 
 " Chuck it ! " commented Sam unsympathetically, 
 regarding the hands of the orator. " You a workin'- 
 man ! You ain't never done a day's work in yer life, 
 unless you calls work pickin' pockets at the races. I 
 don't want no Socialism — an' I don't want no war, 
 neither. I wants to get back to my missus an' the 
 kids an' a regular job." 
 
 " 'Ear, 'ear," said Bill. " Wot price the Ole Kent 
 Road on a Saturday night, Sam ? " 
 
 " That's wot I was thinkin'. Is to-night Saturday, 
 Bill ? " 
 
 " Cursed if I know," was the reply. " I've lost 
 count." 
 
 Sam sat gloomily looking into the fire. In his 
 brain was a vision of the great thoroughfare, Hned 
 with naphtha flares, thronged with people who 
 clustered about the stalls, here and there the blaze 
 of lights upon the white -and-gold fagade of a picture- 
 palace, the yellowish radiance of a public-house. He 
 visualised it now, distant from it, as the rustic looks 
 back to his village, sentimentally. There the inci- 
 dents, commonplace enough, sordid even, which had 
 made his life something individual to himself, had 
 linked themselves one by one. 
 
 " Bill," he said huskily, " if I saw those blank 
 foreigners mar chin' up the Ole Kent Road, I'd go 
 for 'em — if there wasn't a man to 'elp me." 
 
 " 'Ear, 'ear ! " said Bill. " So would I." 
 
 " I've got a bit o' skirt meself wot lives just off the 
 
38 PRO PATRIA 
 
 Ole Kent Road," said the third man in a tone of 
 reminiscence. " Let's 'ave some more beer. I say," 
 he remarked suddenly, having refilled his mug, " if 
 the army comes back it'll be a fair cop for us, won't 
 it?" 
 
 " I ain't goin' back," said Sam sturdily, still 
 gazing into the fire. " I'm fed up — ^and w'en I'm fed 
 up I'm fed up." 
 
 Bill had wakened at the suggestion. 
 
 "But s'pose they come back, Sam ? Wot '11 we do ? " 
 
 The third man interposed. 
 
 " 'Tain't wot we'll do. It's wot they'll do. They'll 
 shoot us, by Gawd they will ! " Panic came into 
 his sharp little white face. He was desperately in 
 earnest. " They'll shoot every man of us ! " 
 
 " They won't come back," said Sam. 
 
 " Ho ! Won't they ? And 'aven't they counter- 
 marched before ? W'y — I 'card an officer say only 
 this afternoon that they'd be 'avin' another go at 'em 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Did yer, really ? " asked Bill, now thoroughly 
 frightened. 
 
 " 'Strue as I stand 'ere ! — ' We'll march back quick 
 an' catch 'em,' 'e said," the little man invented 
 rapidly. " An officer in the cavalry, it was. Staff - 
 officer, shudn't wonder." 
 
 " Oh, my Gawd ! " cried Bill, his beer-muddled 
 faculties dispersing before a gale of fear. " 'Ere, 
 Sam — I'm orf ! Come on ! You brought me into 
 this, yer know — I didn't want to desert. I told yer 
 so, lots o' times — ^an' now ! — Come on ! — I ain't goin' 
 to stop 'ere to get shot ! " 
 
PRO PATRIA 39 
 
 " 'Arf a mo ! " said the little man. " 'Tain't no 
 good runnin' orf in that uniform. Wot we've got to 
 do is to find some togs. Then if they comes back 
 we're just /lonest rustics, see ? " 
 
 Sam stood up. The sudden panic of his companions 
 had communicated itself to his slower brain. He also 
 trembled at the prospect of recapture. 
 
 " That's the ticket, mate. You've got it. You're 
 a smart little cove. Wot's yer name ? " This, he 
 implied, was condescension. 
 
 " Hoswald — Hoswald Smiff — my farver was a 
 toff, a flash cove, 'e was. Come on, mates — ^there's 
 sure to be some togs upstairs — shudn't wonder if 
 they've left some dibs be'ind 'em, too." 
 
 " They left the beer, anyway," said Bill. His tone 
 implied that people who left beer would leave any- 
 thing. 
 
 Rather unsteadily, the trio ascended the steep and 
 narrow stairs of the inn. Sam carried a lighted candle 
 which Oswald Smith had found in the kitchen. A 
 disappointment awaited them. In every room the 
 drawers stood open, empty, their contents carried 
 off. The trio swore in harmony and in fugues. They 
 cursed with the pointless fluency of drunken men 
 baulked of an intention. Then they lurched down- 
 stairs again. 
 
 " Wot '11 we do now ? " asked Bill, his face pale 
 with fright. " They'll be on us before morning, 
 sure ! " 
 
 " Certain ! " said Oswald. 
 
 " I ain't goin' back," said Sam doggedly. " I'm 
 fed up." He stood and tried to think, his mind 
 
40 PRO PATRIA 
 
 harassed by the necessity for a disguise which had 
 been suggested to it. 
 
 Bill drank deeply from his tankard and, in the 
 middle of the draught, was visited by a brilliant 
 idea. 
 
 " I know," he cried. " Let's cut the letters orf 
 our uniforms. They won't be able to tell w'ere we 
 come from an' we can make up some yarn — say we 
 found 'em — 'ad our own togs pinched by the soldiers." 
 
 The others seized on the suggestion. To their 
 alcoholised brains the plan seemed more than feasible ; 
 it was certain of success. Feverishly and clumsily 
 they ripped the regimental letters from each other's 
 uniforms and cast them into the fire. The identifica- 
 tion labels, everything which could point to their 
 connection with the army, followed. They stood, 
 anonymous it seemed to them, in their stripped 
 khaki. 
 
 " That's done wiv," said Sam, with a heavy sigh. 
 " Let's 'ave some more beer." 
 
 Joyous now, their minds relieved of the fear of 
 recapture, the trio refilled their tankards and their 
 pipes. They settled themselves again. 
 
 " I say, mates," said Oswald, " ever 'card the yarn 
 
 of the bloke 'oo ? " He told the story and, ere 
 
 the noisy laughter which greeted the end had died 
 away, began another. He revealed himself as a 
 fellow of rare social qualities. His repertory of 
 anecdotes, many of them relating shady episodes of 
 his own career, was inexhaustible. On his own con- 
 fession he was a sharper or worse ; the humour of 
 his experiences the eternal humour of the sharp- 
 
PRO PATRIA 41 
 
 witted clown and the dull policeman. He diversified 
 his entertainment with comic songs rendered with 
 more verve than elegance. Bill obliged with others of 
 a sentimental nature. They drank beer and more 
 beer. They bellowed out choruses whose rh>i;hm 
 was marked by the heavy beating of tankards upon 
 the table and laughed and shouted as though they 
 sat at a " free-and-easy " in the Old Kent Road. 
 The fire blazed up the chimney, fed by chairs de- 
 molished one after another. Such merry men as they 
 could not condescend to the fetching of fuel. The 
 room was thick with tobacco-smoke. On the floor 
 little lakes of beer communicated by a rivulet whose 
 source was the spigot of the barrel. The three men 
 gave themselves up to a roaring orgy. They forgot 
 entirely the army which was marching away from 
 them, the other army which approached. 
 
 At last, in an atmosphere heavy with debauch, they 
 slumbered, three worthless soldiers of whom any army 
 was well rid. 
 
 Sam was awakened from a muddled dream of a 
 tenement near the Old Kent Road by a rough hand 
 upon his shoulder and the sound of a peremptory 
 voice. 
 
 "All-ri', Bill," he murmured, " revalley 'asn't 
 sounded yet." Then he opened his eyes, tried to 
 orientate himself in his surroimdings. It was morning. 
 He was in an unfamiliar room and the room was 
 filled with unfamiliar men, dressed in a strange 
 uniform. His shoulder was again roughly shaken. 
 
42 PRO PATRIA 
 
 The voice, uttering words foreign to him, but whose 
 meaning was not in doubt, spoke again. A strange 
 stern face was thrust close to his. Sam got on his 
 feet, still bewildered. Immediately he felt his arm 
 firmly grasped. His companions were undergoing 
 similar treatment. At the sight of them, the in- 
 cidents of the previous night returned to his memory. 
 Recapture ? He was reassured by the foreign incom- 
 prehensible language about him. He would give 
 himself up comfortable as a prisoner. His dangers 
 were over. 
 
 Oswald was in the grasp of two stalwart captors, 
 the frightened eyes in his cunning little face looking 
 up wildly into their unemotional countenances. Bill, 
 who had slid with his head under a chair in the stupor 
 which followed their orgy, was less easy to awaken. 
 The strange soldiers kicked him liberally, eliciting 
 sleepy curses but scarce a movement. 
 
 Sam could not repress a grin ; Bill's morning recall 
 to the sorrows of this waking world was usually made 
 in this manner. 
 
 Then he was pushed on by a firm, unrelenting 
 hand which reminded him vividly of that of a police- 
 man. As he was propelled through the door he had 
 a glimpse of Bill being hoisted bodily on to his feet 
 by several of the strange soldiers. Behind him, 
 Oswald was asking imploring questions in his thin 
 expostulating voice. They received no reply. The 
 trio were pushed swiftly, inexorably, into the 
 street. 
 
 Outside in the bright sunshine they perceived that 
 the village was full of cavalrymen garbed in an un- 
 
PRO PATRIA 43 
 
 familiar uniform. Their position was obvious. They 
 had been captured by the enemy's advance-guard. 
 Just without the door they were halted and the 
 danger of any movement was explained to them in 
 dumb show by a soldier who allowed them a dis- 
 concerting view down the muzzle of a rifle. 
 
 In front of the inn was a rustic bench and table, 
 occupied at the moment by a big, fair-moustached 
 man who bent over a map. Around him a group of 
 officers stood waiting in respectful attitudes. Pre- 
 sently the fair-moustached man looked up and said 
 a few words to one of the officers. He had a good- 
 humoured, smiling face, that man. The trio con- 
 templated it anxiously and drew some comfort from 
 its jovial appearance. 
 
 Sam turned to his companions. 
 
 " Mates," he said huskily, " we're copped. But 
 mind, we don't know nuffink. We ain't goin' to give 
 the boys away, are we ? " 
 
 " No, Sam," rephed Bill, even more huskily. 
 " Wot'U they do to us, d'yer think ? " 
 
 " Nuffink," was the answer. " We're soldiers — 
 they don't shoot prisoners." 
 
 Oswald drew a long breath of relief at this. Sam 
 looked at him sharply. 
 
 " Mind — not a word, you little skunk — or I'll bash 
 yer 'cad in." 
 
 " All right, mate," said Oswald. " I ain't goin' to 
 peach." 
 
 The good-humoiu-ed officer on the bench spoke a 
 couple of sharp words. Immediately the prisoners 
 were pushed in front of him. A pair of very blue 
 
44 PRO PATRIA 
 
 eyes looked over them, seemed to smile at them, they 
 thought and hoped. 
 
 " What are you ? " he asked sharply in English. 
 
 " Soldiers, sir," replied Sam quickly. Not very 
 confident of the discretion of his companions, he was 
 anxious to make himself the spokesman of the party. 
 
 "Indeed? What corps ? " 
 
 The blue eyes smiled on Sam. He felt them 
 dangerously fascinating. It was with an effort that 
 he kept himself from a reply and remained silent. 
 His dull faculties were desperately on the defensive. 
 
 " What corps ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 The officer drew out a heavy gold watch. He 
 smiled outright at them. 
 
 " I give you five minutes. If you do not reply, 
 you will be shot against that wall." 
 
 " We're soldiers — prisoners of war, sir," said Sam. 
 " You can't shoot prisoners of war." 
 
 " Indeed ! " The blue eyes above the fair mous- 
 tache looked innocently amused. " You call your- 
 selves soldiers — ^to what corps do you belong ? To 
 what regiment ? Where are your shoulder-straps ? " 
 He got angry suddenly. " Tell me at once what regi- 
 ments — ^what time they passed here, or you go against 
 that wall ! " 
 
 Sam set his teeth and went pale. The conse- 
 quences of their anonymity became plain to him. He 
 met the eyes of the quick-witted little Cockney rogue. 
 The cunning, ill -shaped face was lit with a feverish 
 excitement. 
 
 " Don't yer see, mate ? " he whispered eagerly. 
 
PRO PATRIA 45 
 
 " Our chaps 'ave give 'em the shp. 'E wants to find 
 out wot corps passed through 'ere " 
 
 " Silence ! — ^Answer, you ! " 
 
 The fascinating blue eyes looked at Sam, almost 
 mesmerised him. 
 
 " We'i^ soldiers — prisoners o' war," he repeated 
 doggedly. 
 
 " Soldiers ! Soldiers without regiments — ^without 
 corps ! Prove it then, my man. Quick ! I have no 
 time to waste. Where are your shouldet-straps ? 
 Your identification papers ? " 
 
 The trio remained silent. The officer adopted a 
 more cajoling tone. 
 
 " Come, come, my man. You don't want to throw 
 your lives away on a trifle. I am willing to treat you 
 as prisoners of war if you prove to me that you are 
 soldiers. Tell me your regiments." 
 
 The trio stood in stubborn silence, the ex-navvies 
 rather sheepish, the Cockney rogue watching the 
 questioner with quick and knowing eyes. " No ? 
 Then you are spies." He turned to his men and 
 uttered a brief order, pointing to Sam. 
 
 On the instant the ex-navvy found himself pushed 
 with his back against the wall, looking into a grim 
 row of rifle-barrels. The squad that menaced him 
 stood equably waiting the word of command. The 
 officer rose, walked across to him and smiled in his 
 face. Once more he drew out his watch. 
 
 " One minute," he said pleasantly. " One minute 
 to prove that you are a soldier and no spy." 
 
 Sam stood as erect as suddenly enfeebled knees 
 would let him. He felt the bricks of the wall pushing 
 
46 PRO PATRIA 
 
 against his back in the instinctive retreat of his body 
 from the imminent danger. His eyes were fixed on 
 the officer who stood calmly regarding his watch. He 
 felt sick and dizzy and very cold. He shivered as in 
 a mantle of ice. His mouth went dry. The panic- 
 stricken part of his brain began an attempt ^to coimt 
 the seconds without any revolt at the stubborn 
 decision of his directing self. One, two, three — 
 twenty — ^thirty — ^the minute seemed endlessly long. 
 He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, 
 striving desperately to bring himself to speech in the 
 fraction of time which remained to him. He suc- 
 ceeded. 
 
 His voice came raucously, an agonised appeal. 
 
 " Mates ! — Remember — ^the Ole Kent Road ! " 
 
 The officer uttered a sharp sound and the windows 
 shook with the loud report of the rifles. In a thin 
 haze of smoke, the prisoners saw Sam lurch forward, 
 his arms outstretched, swaying on his toes for one 
 ghastly moment ere he pitched. 
 
 The officer calmly replaced his watch and brushed 
 past Oswald. He seized Bill by the arm. 
 
 " You ! " he said, with that sudden and disconcert- 
 ing anger of his. " Will you speak ? " 
 
 Bill stood sheepishly staring at him. 
 
 " The Ole Kent Road— 'Ome ! " he mumbled to 
 himself. Relentless hands pushed him against the 
 wall. At his feet lay Sam, a dark pool forming under 
 him. 
 
 " Will you speak ? " vociferated the officer. 
 
 " 'Ome," mumbled Bill. " 'Ome !— Oh, Gawd ! " 
 
 He ignored the demand — seemed not to hear it. 
 
PRO PATRIA 47 
 
 The officer, exasperated, stamped upon the gravel. 
 Again he uttered the sharp order, again the windows 
 shook. Bill slid down the wall with his head on his 
 breast. 
 
 The officer turned to the survivor, the petty rogue, 
 nurtured fatherless in a London slum. " Now, my 
 man,'* he said cheerfully. " You see I am not to be 
 trifled with. Come — ^tell me what corps passed 
 through here yesterday." He added with a smile of 
 contempt, " These scruples are absurd in a deserter." 
 
 A cunning grin came over Oswald's face. 
 
 " Yah ! " he said. " Deserter, am I ? So I am, 
 but I ain't goin' to peach on my pals. They've give 
 yer the slip right enough — an' yer knows it. Yah ! " 
 He finished with an ugly grimace. 
 
 A moment later, he also stood with his back to the 
 wall. 
 
 " Yah ! " he cried, and grinned as at some private 
 joke. 
 
 The rifles spoke and he spun and fell. In his pocket 
 was the officer's gold watch. 
 
 At the foot of a bullet -marked wall lay three worth- 
 less soldiers. Far away, a beaten army, lost for the 
 nonce in the fog of war, rallied itself without molesta- 
 tion for another struggle. 
 
NERVES ! 
 
 A HEAVY north-east gale was setting with a flowing 
 tide into the River Ems. Out at sea dark grey rain- 
 clouds blew raggedly over a background but little 
 lighter in colour. The distant sea stretched away, 
 cheerless and leaden, to a horizon that was whelmed 
 in a grey mist where the elements met, indistinguish- 
 able. The nearer waters broke in a confused turmoil 
 of white-caps on either hand. A heavy swell rolled 
 dark between these shoals. Up the estuary a blur of 
 dirty brown smoke, rising from behind a line Ox bleak 
 sand-dunes, smudged the sagging sky. It rose from 
 the little town of Emden, round the corner. A 
 couple of tall posts, wireless " aerials," stood out 
 black against the smoke. 
 
 In the river, just off the low sandy point, lay a long, 
 four-funnelled cruiser. In the heavy rain-squalls 
 which swallowed her every few minutes she looked 
 like a thing of mist, so well did the grey of her hull 
 and superstructure blend with the grey of sea and 
 sky. She pitched slowly and gently at the taut- 
 stretched cables of her bow anchors, her nose pointed 
 seawards towards the incoming tide. From her 
 steam-pipes the white vapour which issued, deafen - 
 ingly stridulant, was torn violently away in horizontal 
 pennons. At her peak a small flag blew out stiffly. 
 
 48 
 
NERVES ! 49 
 
 At her stern, the ensign — ^black rectangiilar cross on 
 white, centred with the crowned eagle and quartered 
 with a small black cross upon the national colours, 
 black, white and red — flattened itself out in the wind 
 with loud claps as the gale half -released it for a second 
 and then seized upon it again. 
 
 To and fro upon her navigating bridge the oilskin- 
 clad officer of the watch paced restlessly. Under 
 his sou' -wester, anxious, strained eyes peered from 
 a haggard face whose weather-beaten brown was 
 paled to an imhealthy yellow. Up and down he went, 
 but never for a moment did he take those anxious 
 eyes from the dark channel ahead of the ship's bows. 
 The look-outs, posted at each end of the bridge close 
 behind the canvas " dodger," gazed with equal 
 fixity towards the sea. On their faces the same 
 tension," the same evidence of sleepless nights, was 
 visible. Behind them, in a wheelhouse from which 
 the glass panels had been removed, stood a couple 
 of quartermasters. Stiffly motionless behind the 
 steering telemotor they conversed in low nervous 
 voices. The hands of one of them, a giant of a man, 
 shook continuously as he held them pendent against 
 his thighs. 
 
 A blue-uniformed officer with gold bands across his 
 cuffs appeared upon the bridge and approached /the 
 lieutenant. They saluted each other with a friendly 
 nod after the formal fingers to the brow. 
 
 " Any orders yet, Herr Leutnant ? " asked the 
 new-comer. He was a heavily built man with a 
 bluish nose that bent birdlike from between pro- 
 truding eyes. He worried continually with thumb 
 
50 NERVES ! 
 
 and finger at a ragged grey moustache. He followed 
 the lieutenant to a position in the centre of the bridge. 
 
 " We start directly," said the navigating lieutenant 
 in a weary voice. " When the Herr Kapitan returns.'* 
 
 Both stared silently down at the roof of the conning- 
 tower just below them, and at the two long guns 
 which emerged from the turret in front of it. The 
 open manhole in the conning-tower vitalised the 
 familiar objects with a touch of grim expectation. 
 
 " Ach ! " said the engineer at last gloomily. " It 
 is perhaps better — I cannot sleep here — I cannot 
 read." 
 
 " Sleep ! " echoed the lieutenant. " I have not 
 slept for a week. I see always those cursed destroyers 
 slipping through the mist — I see them when I close 
 my eyes — I see them when I am on duty — I know 
 no longer whether I see them or not — and worse than 
 the destroyers " he broke off suddenly. 
 
 " Ach, ja," said the engineer, " you have had a 
 bad time — but you can at least see the danger coming 
 — ^sometimes, down there, I begin to imagine things 
 • — I have not let myself imagine, Herr Leutnant — 
 I have read the sublime words of Zarathustra — I 
 could always read them — ^but now I can, no longer. 
 How long have we been here, Bielefeld ? " he finished 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Four days.'* 
 
 " Ach so ! I thought it was a week — what days ! " 
 
 " Jawohl ! " 
 
 The two men fell silent again, staring at the sea. 
 Once the lieutenant made a quick movement of 
 alarm, whipped out liis binoculars, and gazed into 
 
 I 
 
NERVES ! 51 
 
 the grey distance. He put them back after some 
 minutes without a word. On the whole ship was no 
 other sound than the strident rasp of the escaping 
 steam and the drone of the gale through the wind- 
 tautened stays. 
 
 The engineer spoke again. 
 
 " What does Borkum say ? " 
 
 " Enemy disappeared into the offing — could not 
 keep their stations in this weather.'* 
 
 " It is our chance, then." 
 
 " Yes — ^perhaps." 
 
 " You fear ? " 
 
 " Everything — in this rat-trap. The picket-boats 
 are all in. If only we could start ! " 
 
 " Jawohl — anything is better than this — ^besides, 
 the movement of the engines is soothing — ^this still- 
 ness day after day is unnerving. If only we had some 
 good Welsh coal ! This soft stuff ! One burns and 
 burns and gets no heat ! " 
 
 " And advertise ourselves to every cursed scout 
 in the North Sea ! " 
 
 A sailor, heavy in oilskins, drew up and saluted. 
 
 " The Herr Kapitan is coming, Herr Leutnant." 
 
 The engineer disappeared. His friend went to the 
 starboard rail of the bridge and looked over. A 
 motor-boat was approaching in a smother of flying 
 spray. 
 
 A boatswain's whistle shrilled loudly. A minute 
 later the captain came up the ladder onto the bridge, 
 shaking the water from his oilskins like a||wet dog 
 and dabbing at his square reddish beard iwith a 
 handkerchief. The lieutenant saluted, searching j^his 
 
52 NERVES ! 
 
 commander's face for a hint of the orders he bore. 
 The captain's eyes were hard, the eyes of a man who 
 had been contemplating desperate possibilities. His 
 bluish lips cut in a thin straight line across his beard. 
 He spoke curtly. 
 
 " Get the starboard anchor up. Tell the Herr 
 Stabs-Ingenieur I wish to speak to him." 
 
 He went heavily into the wheelhouse and bent over 
 the chart. Outside, the lieutenant blew his whistle 
 and shouted an order. An instant later the shrill 
 piping of the boatswain repeated the call. There was 
 a scurry of men along the deck towards the bows and 
 the clank of a capstan hauling in the heavy chain. 
 
 The staff-engineer stood in conversation with the 
 captain. In the low murmur of their voices certain 
 words were emphasised by repetition — " Knots — 
 this coal — ^revolutions — coal." The captain nodded. 
 
 " Do your best," he said briefly. 
 
 " We make a dash for it ? " queried the engineer. 
 Still he worried at his ragged moustache and the pro- 
 truding eyes above his beaklike nose moved with 
 little quick stares like a frightened bird. 
 
 The captain smiled grimly. 
 
 " We rejoin the fleet — ^while we can — ^those are 
 the orders. We will do our best and God be with us 
 — do you find that maxim in Zarathustra, Herr 
 Wollenmetz^? " 
 
 The engineer shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Ach ! I know no longer, Herr Kapitan — any- 
 thing is better than this — anything ! " 
 
 " We start at once," said the captain and went 
 out onto the bridge without more words. The ship's 
 
 I 
 
NERVES ! 53 
 
 bugler saluted and stood stiffly to attention as he 
 emerged. 
 
 " Battle stations ! " said the captain. 
 
 The howl of the gale in the rigging was lost in the 
 sternly joyous run of brazen notes, taken up and 
 repeated all over the vessel. For a minute or two 
 the erstwhile deserted decks swarmed with hurrying 
 men. They disappeared rapidly into turrets, fighting- 
 tops, fire-control stations or stood, alert, behind the 
 unprotected anti-torpedo gims. 
 
 There was a buzz of excited voices which would 
 not easily be hushed. At last the never-diminished 
 tension of four long days of inaction was broken. 
 They were going to move, to do something. No 
 longer were they to lie there, waiting, waiting, while 
 perhaps at any minute destruction was creeping 
 stealthily towards them under the surface of the 
 water. They forgot the wearing vigils of the previous 
 weeks at sea, the unrelieved strain of watching the 
 horizon for a grey spot in daytime or a blur closer at 
 hand in the obscurity of the night. They forgot the 
 awful minutes which dragged out, heavy with their 
 lives, as they approached an unknown ship, forgot 
 the paralysing uncertainty when the wireless began 
 on its mysterious message, reporting her. They forgot 
 the night alarms, the perpetual dodging of the hostile 
 cruisers, the chases and the escapes and the last fierce 
 pursuit, which had driven them, all but out of coal, 
 behind the shelter of Borkum Island. The memory 
 of these things was blotted out by the nerve-sapping 
 suspense of the past four days, while they waited for 
 a chance to elude the hostile cruisers watching for 
 
54 NERVES! 
 
 them in the offing. Now they experienced the glad- 
 ness of a release as from an untangible but none the 
 less close prison. Nevertheless, all of this emotional 
 and mental strain was marked in eyes dark-rinmied 
 and faces that had grown thinner. The alacrity of 
 their movements now was not the alacrity of men 
 who leap, calm-souled and confident, to test their 
 strength in a crisis ; it was the fussiness of neurotics 
 who are glad to translate their nerve force into 
 physical action as an escape from the barren travail 
 of their brains. 
 
 Volumes of black smoke rolled heavily from the 
 four funnels of the cruiser, were blown rapidly by the 
 gale in one thick all -obliterating mist towards the 
 low shores. An engine-room telegraph clanged 
 harshly while the port anchor, dripping black mud, 
 came slowly up to the hawse-hole. Again the tele- 
 graph clanged. There was a flurry in the water 
 astern, and the long grey cruiser commenced to move 
 along the dark fairway into the stormy grey of the 
 autumn afternoon. 
 
 Quickly she got into her stride. On the port bow 
 the island of Borkum was beginning to loom up just 
 distinguishable through the driving scud. The 
 wireless was talking with it. Borkum reported with 
 steady regularity : " No enemy in sight." The cruiser 
 hurried down the eastern branch of the Ems, meeting 
 a heavy swell that rolled darkly towards her to be 
 divided into two thin translucent curtains of water 
 poised like wings on either side of her bows. The 
 shoals to port and starboard glimmered away into 
 the distance, wide stretches of running, leaping. 
 
NERVES ! 55 
 
 jostling white-caps. The water under their lee 
 showed an ugly, dirty yellow that contrasted with 
 the black waves of the channel. On the bridge the 
 navigating lieutenant still peered anxiously into the 
 veiled horizon. Every now and then he glanced back 
 at the welter of black smoke issuing from their 
 funnels and muttered fluent curses that were the 
 perverted expression of the prayer in his heart. 
 Behind him stood the captain and the commander, 
 conversing in the intervals of raising their binoculars 
 to their eyes. 
 
 At every minute a message from the wireless room 
 was brought to the captain. Borkum was still talking. 
 Suddenly the tenor of its messages changed. " Two 
 British cruisers passing the minefield in the Western 
 Ems." A moment later Emden reported three sub- 
 marines at the fork of the channel behind. The 
 captain smiled grimly. He could not now go back, 
 but apparently he had given his warders the slip. He 
 went to the engine-room telephone and spoke a few 
 words to the chief. In answer the masses of black 
 smoke from the funnels rolled out even more densely 
 than before. The ciu-tains of flying water at the bows 
 rose a little higher and remained at the elevation. 
 Borkum announced ; " Mines evidently swept or 
 damaged — cruisers untouched." In fact, in slight lulls 
 of the gale, slow dull booms were audible to leeward. 
 The batteries on the island were firing. The captain 
 turned and laughed with the commander. The situa- 
 tion could not be more favourable. They had as 
 good as escaped. 
 
 A few long minutes and they had reached the open 
 
56 NERVES ! 
 
 sea. Borkum was a grey blur on their port quarter, 
 the land to the east of them passed into invisibility. 
 Here they felt the full force of the gale. The cruiser 
 nosed into great waves that leaped green above the 
 bows and fell with a heavy thud upon the deck. She 
 endeavoured to combine a steady roll with violent 
 pitching, and the officers on the bridge clutched at 
 the rail with one hand while with the other they 
 pressed their glasses hard against their eyes. The 
 veils of driving mist which swept continuously across 
 the waters might hide a menace that would loom up 
 at any instant as destruction. Suddenly a telephone 
 bell rang in the wheelhouse behind them. A man 
 ran out, saluted and reported : 
 
 " Submarine right ahead — about 1000 metres." 
 The message came from an observing station on 
 the foremast. The three officers on the bridge 
 searched the sea in front of them with their binoculars. 
 Yes ! No ! Yes ! The navigating lieutenant saw a 
 flitting patch of foam on the dark sea, a splash in 
 the air as a wave lifted. He recognised it instantly 
 as a periscope cutting through the water, coming 
 straight towards them. They must shoot — shoot at 
 once ! He turned to his superiors. The captain had 
 already shouted one order, was now yelling instruc- 
 tions to the men at the port anti-torpedo guns. The 
 cruiser turned slightly to starboard. Onward drove 
 the patch of foam, aiming apparently at their side. 
 The lieutenant felt his left hand hurt him — it was 
 the intensity of his nervous grip upon the rail. Be- 
 hind him he heard a sudden order, followed instantly 
 by the sharp, splitting report of the light guns. At 
 
NERVES ! 57 
 
 the same moment the circle of a conning-tower broke 
 the surface of the sea, followed by a glistening whale- 
 back. As it emerged he saw it veiled in a sheet of 
 flame, a film of smoke. He had a glimpse of a great 
 hole in the whale-back and then the submarine dived 
 nose foremost, kicking up her stern in the air as she 
 went. For one awful, ghastly second the lieutenant 
 had a view of the large initial in her conning-tower. 
 It was U — Unterseeboot ! — They had sunk one of 
 their own submarines ! 
 
 He turned to see the face of his captain fixed in an 
 expression of horror. Everyone on the bridge was 
 trembling. They had lost command over themselves, 
 and they knew it. No one spoke. With a fierce effort 
 of will the lieutenant pressed his glasses to his eyes, 
 scanned the horizon. What was that ? He saw a 
 dark spot rising and falling, circling against the grey 
 sky like a black gull wheeling in the gale. It was a 
 seaplane, daringly reconnoitring even in this weather. 
 It was discovery. Borkum confirmed the fear. 
 " Cruisers turning back to sea — difficult to range in 
 this weather." 
 
 The guns' crews at the anti-torpedo armament 
 had also seen the aeroplane. A shot cracked out, 
 automatically, without orders. The captain, losing 
 all control over his nerves after the last shock, ran 
 along the bridge to the port rail and excitedly ordered 
 them to continue. " Fire ! " he shouted. " Fire ! 
 A hundred marks to the crew that brings it down ! " 
 His face worked with an insane hatred, his voice was 
 the voice of a man out of himself. It seemed that he 
 wished to revenge his terrible mistake upon the 
 
58 NERVES ! 
 
 aeroplane. Crack ! Crack ! Crack ! went the guns, 
 while the men behind the rubber shoulder-pieces 
 swore violent oaths. The firing had continued for 
 a couple of minutes or more when the telephone bell 
 rang again. 
 
 " The lieutenant in the observing station wishes 
 to know what you are firing at, Herr Kapitan ! '* 
 
 The captain was about to discharge a volley of 
 oaths upon the man when a sharp cry from the com- 
 mander stopped him. The captain looked again 
 through his glasses. It was suddenly obvious to 
 everybody that the aeroplane was no aeroplane but 
 in actual fact a wheeling gull. 
 
 " Cease fire, you — (objurgatory) — fools ! " yelled 
 the captain. In a nervous rage he bit furiously at 
 the red beard below his lip. " Tell the Herr Leut- 
 nant Feldmann to keep a better look out ! " he 
 said savagely to the messenger. 
 
 Eight bells sounded. The navigating lieutenant 
 was relieved. He descended from the bridge and 
 stood for a moment in a warm spot in the lee of the 
 forward funnel, trying to achieve a yawn that kept 
 opening his mouth without filling his lungs. His blood, 
 drugged with fatigue -toxins, was in urgent need of 
 more oxygen, but his overtaxed nerves failed to syn- 
 chronise the action of the muscles. His eyes burned 
 in his head. He stumbled down the companion- 
 way, rubbing at them, and took off his dripping oil- 
 skins outside the wardroom door. His servant 
 appeared and was ordered to bring him a stiff tumbler 
 of brandy. Then he entered the empty wardroom 
 and flung himself full length upon a sofa. He tried 
 
NERVES ! 59 
 
 to shut his eyes, but found himself obstinately staring 
 wide awake at a paint -blister on the bulkhead. Dis- 
 connected thoughts — visions, rather, of craft of 
 various types driving through the gale passed through 
 his brain. Especially the black dot of the seaplane 
 which was no seaplane danced before his eyes, mad- 
 dening him with its refusal to be banished. Behind 
 a door in his consciousness was the horror of the sunk 
 submarine — he fought hard to keep that door closed, 
 and caught himself staring into it in intervals of 
 relaxed vigilance. He could not sleep, try as he 
 would. Even the strong spirits failed to narcotise 
 him. If anything they spurred his harassed brain 
 into greater activity. He fretted for a drowsiness 
 that would not come. At last, with a curse, he rose 
 and walked out of the wardroom. 
 
 Outside he stood for a moment, hesitating, craving 
 for companionship like a sick man who lies awake at 
 night. He ran over the list of his comrades at their 
 battle stations. Then he made his way down to the 
 engine-room. 
 
 A stifling atmosphere, hot, damp and thick with 
 the smell of oil, assailed him as he descended the 
 steep iron ladder. The sweat broke out on his brow 
 as he passed along a gloomy narrow corridor, just 
 wide enough for a man, between packed boiler-tubes 
 ranged on both sides to the roof like bottles in a 
 wine merchant's vault. He emerged finally into a 
 large space, briUiant with electric light. On a plat- 
 form at one end stood the staff-engineer with some 
 of his assistants, surrounded by a formidable array 
 of indicator-dials, telegraphs, telephones, speaking- 
 
60 NERVES ! 
 
 tubes, and other fittings of whose use he had but a 
 vague idea. The engineer still worried at his little 
 grey moustache as he gazed below him to where the 
 turbines hummed in their casings. It was com- 
 paratively quiet down here. Only a few men were 
 visible, but the lieutenant knew that a hundred or 
 so were labouring fiercely in the bowels of this mass 
 of mechanism which gave the ship her life. From a 
 manhole at the other end of the engine-room a couple 
 of men were drawing out what seemed to be a corpse, 
 its naked torso black as with an explosion. It was 
 a stoker who had collapsed. The staff-engineer 
 frowned as the limp body was carried off to the sick 
 bay. He turned and snarled irritably at the question 
 of the lieutenant. 
 
 " 250 revolutions and not a turn more can we get 
 out of this Gott-verfluchte coal. That is the tenth 
 man in the last quarter of an hour. There's no use 
 in worrying us. We can do no more. Go and tell 
 that to the Herr Kapitan and leave us to our work." 
 
 " It seems clear in front, but there is a couple of 
 cruisers somewhere behind," observed the lieutenant 
 in a placatory voice. 
 
 " I don't care if Hell's in front of us and the Devil 
 himself behind ! " roared the engineer, losing self- 
 control in the exasperation of his nerves. " We 
 should at least get something that would give some 
 heat there. Gott set dank ! Do you know how many 
 tons of this nmck we are burning per hour ? " he 
 finished savagely. 
 
 The lieutenant waited for the answer. 
 
 " Thirty tons per hour — and we are only getting 
 
NERVES ! 61 
 
 250 revolutions — ^go and tell that to the Herr Kapi- 
 tan ! " 
 
 The lieutenant's own irritation was inflamed by 
 this display of temper. 
 
 " We didn't supply the coal " 
 
 The engineer overwhelmed him with a roar of 
 curses, and finished with an angry order to leave 
 his engine-room. His bulging, birdlike eyes glared 
 with an insane hatred. 
 
 The lieutenant returned a bitter retort that had 
 no justification in fact and climbed up the ladders 
 to the deck. There he stood swaying for a moment 
 or two, chilled to the bone by the change in tempera- 
 ture, although he was on the lee side of the super- 
 structure. Raindrops splashed heavily upon him 
 from above. The ship was plunging and rolling more 
 than ever, and he noticed the motion after the com- 
 parative quiet below. The gale had evidently 
 freshened. He shivered with cold and half-turned 
 to gO' below again. Then he changed his mind and 
 stumbled forward, sUpping at every step on the wet, 
 unstable deck. 
 
 In the forward turret was his friend Gunnery 
 Lieutenant Arenschmidt. He opened the steel door 
 and entered. The narrow metal box into which the 
 breeches of two 8*2 guns protruded was lit by electric 
 lamps behind wire guards. It was filled with the 
 crews of the two guns, seated comfortably on the 
 floor with their backs against the walls. In the shell- 
 bins at the top of the ammunition-hoists a projectile 
 lay ready for each gun. The gunnery lieutenant 
 rose as his friend entered and held out his hand with 
 
62 NERVES ! 
 
 a smile. He was a jolly young man, this lieutenant, 
 whose manly beauty, marred though it was by a 
 student sabre-cut, fluttered many a female heart. 
 He spoke now with all his usual boisterous good- 
 humour. 
 
 " Hallo, Bielefeld ! Glad to see you ! Giving them 
 the sHp after all ? " 
 
 Despite the buoyancy of his tone the navigating- 
 lieutenant noticed that his lips trembled and that his 
 eyes were deadly serious. 
 
 Ere any reply was possible, a bell rang sharply. 
 The gunnery lieutenant jumped away from his 
 friend. The indicators from the forward fire-control 
 station marked a direction, an elevation and a range. 
 The navigating lieutenant stood back away from the 
 alert groups behind the breeches. He felt the floor 
 turning with him while the ship lurched heavily. A 
 moment later he heard a muffled thud and every- 
 thing shook. The starboard gun had been fired. He 
 heard the hiss of the air-blast clearing the fumes from 
 the firing-chamber, and then the breech was swung 
 open. The hydraulic chain-rammer, jointed like a 
 foot-rule, pushed another shell into place, followed 
 by its charges. The hoists rattled as another pro- 
 jectile came up in readiness. The bell rang again. 
 The crew at the port gun were suddenly busy. There 
 was another shock. What was happening ? What 
 were they firing at ? The navigating-lieutenant 
 dashed out of the turret, closing the door quickly 
 behind him. 
 
 As he ran up the ladder to the bridge, he heard 
 a roar in the air, and a moment later a great sheet of 
 
NERVES ! 63 
 
 flame leaped up just in front of the forward funnel 
 with a colossal detonation. The blast of the explosion 
 flung him to the deck. He picked himself up, bruised, 
 dazed, but uninjured, and looked for the enemy. 
 The turret had swung its two guns over to starboard, 
 and as he followed their direction they discharged 
 with a couple of almost simultaneous reports. He 
 steadied himself and gazed hard into the distance. 
 In the mist on the horizon he thought he distinguished 
 a long, low band of brownish smoke, and at one end 
 of it a dark spot and a tiny twinkle of flame. A 
 minute later the roar of heavy projectiles tearing 
 through the air came to his ears. Instinctively he 
 flung himself flat upon the deck in the shelter of a 
 gun-turret of the starboard battery. The sharp, 
 splitting report of the gun in that turret was blotted 
 out on the instant by a fearful upheaval that leaped 
 from the centre of the ship with such a blast of noise 
 as seemed to burst his ears. He had a glimpse, he 
 knew not how, of a sheet of lurid flame and of a 
 mighty upspout of water on the ship's flank. In the 
 awful silence which ensued — a silence so profound 
 that he wondered if he were permanently deafened — 
 he staggered to his feet. The turret in front of him 
 had been burst open, the gun protruded askew at a 
 curious angle. He gazed at it, motionless, as though 
 rendered imbecile with the shock. Then a chorus of 
 agonised screams and shrieks came from the turret 
 and continued. He heard them with a sense of relief, 
 so terrible was that unbroken silence. Recovering 
 his wits, he looked about him. The second gun- 
 shield of the starboard battery had also been de- 
 
64 NERVES ! 
 
 stroyed, the bridge was a hanging mass of contorted 
 scrap-iron, the wireless " aerials " streamed away 
 to leeward in the gale. The two forward funnels had 
 disappeared and torrents of black smoke were welling 
 up from the level of the deck, obliterating every- 
 thing. In that smoke, tongues of fire licked up- 
 wards, whether from the furnaces or from a con- 
 flagration he did not know. Automatically he began 
 to run towards the conning-tower. Without defining 
 itself, the thought that the captain should be in- 
 formed of the state of affairs impelled him. As he 
 went he heard again the roar of projectiles. Again 
 he flung himself flat. This time the enemy was not 
 so successful. A shell burst somewhere on the fore- 
 castle. The rest flung up spouts of water all around 
 that fell again with a heavy splash. An instant later 
 he was hammering at the lid of the manhole in the 
 conning-tower. 
 
 The lid was unfastened from within. He pushed 
 it aside and slid in, feet foremost. The round steel 
 box was filled with fumes. Through them he per- 
 ceived several bodies stretched out upon the floor. 
 He stumbled over one of them, and the handkerchief 
 over the man's face slipped aside. It was the com- 
 mander. He heard the voice of one of the gunnery- 
 lieutenants at a telephone communicating with a 
 fire-control station, followed by rapid orders to the 
 electricians turning the handles of the range in- 
 dicators. At another telephone a man was making 
 frantic but ineffectual efforts to get a reply from the 
 wireless room. A junior officer at the steering wheel 
 gave him a slow strained grin, almost like an expres- 
 
NERVES ! 65 
 
 sion of pain. The captain glared at him with eyes in 
 which there flamed a Berserk madness. 
 
 " Well ! " he shouted, sticking his red beard into 
 the lieutenant's face. 
 
 The navigating lieutenant gave his information, 
 staggering with the heavy lurches of the ship. It 
 flashed on his mind while he spoke that she no longer 
 rose so buoyantly to the waves. The captain listened, 
 his face twitching insanely, puckering his fierce eyes. 
 When the lieutenant spoke of the blur of smoke on 
 the horizon he sprang round and peered out through 
 the narrow slit between the wall and the roof. Then 
 he turned with a cry of panic. 
 
 " They are all round us ! Starboard your helm 1 
 West -by-north-west ! " 
 
 The ship came round on her new course with a 
 wallowing roll. The captain peered again through 
 the observation slit. 
 
 Suddenly there was a fearful shock, a deafening 
 roar, and the slit was vividly illuminated. The 
 conning-tower had been again struck. The captain 
 toppled backward on his heels, an object of sickening 
 horror. The top of his head was gone. The gunnery- 
 lieutenant sank quietly to his knees and slid over 
 sideways. The officer at the helm was leaning over 
 the wheel, motionless and staring. A splinter had 
 gone through his brain. Lieutenant Bielefeld sprang 
 to take his place. Three men beside himself, range- 
 takers and electricians, were left alive in the conning- 
 tower. They seemed in a stupor, dazed by the shock. 
 
 " Telephone to Lieutenant von Waldkirch that 
 he is now in command ! '* 
 
66 NERVES I 
 
 An electrician roused himself, attempted to obey, 
 and reported : 
 
 " The communications are broken, Herr Leutnant." 
 
 " One of you go and fetch him — he is in the after 
 fire-control station." 
 
 A man wrenched at the lid of the manhole. 
 
 " It will not open, Herr Leutnant — it is jammed." 
 
 The lieutenant glanced at the observation slit. 
 The aperture was no longer regular. In front of him 
 it gaped, behind him it was closed. 
 
 " So ! — ^then we will carry on ! " His face had gone 
 deathly pale, but his lips were tight -pressed. " Tele- 
 phone to such guns as you can — ^independent firing ! " 
 He himself leaned over to the voice-funnel from the 
 engine-room. " Wollenmetz ! — Wollenmetz ! " 
 
 The reply came in a gush of fluent curses, evidently 
 roared with full lung-power at the other end and ter- 
 minating with : " What is it ? " 
 
 " Are you all well down there ? " shouted the 
 lieutenant. 
 
 "All well! We have a shell in the engine-room, 
 the men in the forward stokeholds are all suffocated 
 — and we have dropped to 100 revolutions — ^what is 
 happening with you above ? Tell me for Gk)d's sake ! 
 It is hell here ! " 
 
 " We carry on— fur Gott und Kaiser T' yelled the 
 lieutenant in reply. 
 
 At the helm, he kept the cruiser steadily on her 
 new course. Every moment he expected to feel the 
 shock of more hits but none came. Evidently they 
 were getting out of range. It seemed curious with 
 the known lessening of the ship's speed, but there was 
 
NERVES! 67 
 
 the fact. Encouraged, he shouted down the tube to 
 the engine-room to get all the speed they could. 
 " We are running out of danger ! " he added cheer- 
 fully. " Find out what has happened to the ship if 
 you can — ^all communications are broken." For a 
 long time he waited for a reply, but none came. His 
 shouts down the tube elicited no response. Thus 
 isolated from the life of the ship of which he was 
 actually in command he kept on his course, bearing 
 every now and then a little more to the west in his 
 fear of the ships towards the north-east. How long 
 he continued thus he could not tell. Every now and 
 then he glanced at the clock in front of him. It 
 marked always the same time. It was broken. 
 
 Rolling heavily, the cruiser ran onward, unmolested. 
 The three men began to converse cheerfully. The 
 possibility of escape now seemed to them a prob- 
 ability. The lieutenant also began to indulge the 
 same hope, but the whereabouts of the ship which 
 had engaged them worried him. 
 
 Suddenly there was a terrific shock, another red 
 illumination of the slit at the top of the armour -wall, 
 another tremendous roar. Two men who had been 
 leaning against the wall fell dead without a scratch. 
 The impact had killed them. The other man had 
 sprung to the lid of the manhole, was beating against 
 it with his fists and screaming like a maniac. Pre- 
 sently he sank down and hid his face in his hands, 
 moaning like a terror-stricken child. The lieutenant 
 ignored him in an agony of apprehension. Were they 
 overtaken ? 
 
 Outside, explosion followed explosion. The floor 
 
68 NERVES ! 
 
 of the conning-tower listed steeply to starboard, and 
 with every lift and drop of the vessel the bodies about 
 his feet slid towards the wall. Suddenly, to his horror, 
 he saw a wisp of smoke issuing from the voice-tube 
 leading to the engine-room. What had happened ? 
 Had they stopped ? As the ship dived down a wave 
 he tuned himself to sensitiveness. He felt the momen- 
 tary race of the screws threshing the air, just per- 
 ceptible. Thank God, they were still moving ! The 
 succession of detonations outside never ceased. He 
 could only guess at their effect and the direction from 
 which the projectiles came. Assuming the enemy 
 to be still to starboard, he put the helm hard over in 
 a last despairing effort to run out of range. The 
 compass card whirled round in the wrong direction ! 
 The steering-gear had gone. 
 
 The ship no longer rose to the seas. She rolled 
 heavily from side to side in the trough of the waves. 
 The lieutenant looked around helplessly at the 
 bodies on the floor, at the wrecked indicators, at the 
 useless wheel, at the man who rocked to and fro with 
 his head in his hands. His continuous pitiful moan- 
 ing exasperated the lieutenant to madness. He drew 
 his revolver and commanded him, with frenzied 
 vehemence, to be quiet. The man stared wildly at 
 the muzzle of the revolver, opened his mouth as 
 though about to shriek, and collapsed in a dead faint. 
 
 The lieutenant turned from him and went to the 
 observation slit. As the ship lifted clumsily sideways 
 on a wave he had a view of a dark grey cruiser driving 
 through the mist, quite close — on the port side ! 
 This was a new unsuspected enemy. Water was 
 
NERVES ! 69 
 
 streaming from her decks as she rose buoyantly on 
 the sea. A string of flags fluttered along a halyard 
 from her mast. She seemed as normal as a ship on 
 mianoeuvres. Suddenly half a dozen spurts of bright 
 flame broke from her dark sides. The lieutenant 
 felt the ship under his feet shiver and stagger in a 
 deafening roar. Then he felt the weight of his body 
 heavy against the wall of the conning-tower. He was 
 lying almost horizontal against that wall. Through 
 the slit he looked out upon confused water only, in 
 the place of sea and sky. A great wave rolled straight 
 towards him, splashed against the conning-tower, 
 poured through the slit in a torrent. He sprang back 
 in pitch darkness, fighting with both hands in a last 
 instinctive struggle for life. The solid floor went 
 from under him, human hands clutched at his legs, 
 blindly feeling up his trousers. He kicked — choking 
 — in a rayless night. 
 
 • • ^ • • • • 
 
 Hull-down on the horizon a German battle-cruiser 
 was reporting a strange vessel that had suddenly 
 appeared, challenged and received her fire, and then 
 run back into the midst of British cruisers which had 
 immediately sunk her. Emden sent disquieting 
 answers to urgent enquiries. ^ 
 
 The great wireless station at Nauen received the 
 news of another inexplicable disaster. 
 
72 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 The blow of the enemy had been terrible. The 
 Army had been smitten in its eyes. It was now only 
 a blind giant striking at an adversary whose vision 
 was unimpaired. The entire air-squadron of the 
 force, rising from its harbourage at the break of day, 
 had been suddenly assailed by a superior fleet that 
 dropped out of the clouds upon them. Watchers 
 from below had seen short lightning flashes stabbing 
 the grey mist, had heard a sharp outbreak of firing, 
 had seen phantom aeroplanes rising, circling, swoop- 
 ing, colliding in thin cloud, had seen the machines 
 one after another tumble and dive, lapped by flames, 
 in a sickening rush to earth. Not theirs alone now 
 lay, crumpled and contorted masses of scrap-iron, 
 over the country-side, but of theirs none had escaped. 
 The rear of their battle -line was a picture that his 
 scouts could report upon at leisure. What lay at 
 the rear of his ? None knew, but the vehemence of 
 his fire told that he was pressing his advantage. 
 The presentiment of defeat lay heavy on the little 
 group as they disputed on the blame to be allotted 
 for the catastrophe. 
 
 The staff-officer tugged impatiently at his little 
 grey moustache. His teeth champed at a bit of grass 
 that was no longer there. In his anxiety he had not 
 noticed that it had fallen from his mouth. 
 
 " I wish those chaps would be quick," he said. 
 " The General is most anxious to have that flank 
 cleared up." 
 
 " They are being quick, sir," replied the aviator, 
 with a smile. His keen, thoughtful face showed that 
 he was not indifferent to the urgency of the situation, 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 73 
 
 but his calm mouth told of nerves that nothing could 
 shake. Within that green bower lay the one hope of 
 the Army — its lightest and swiftest monoplane, 
 damaged in landing the day before, now being re- 
 paired as fast as skilled hands could do the work. 
 
 " You quite understand, don't you ? " said the 
 staff-officer, repeating himself for the tenth time. 
 " The General thinks that a movement is in progress 
 against our right flank. A screen is extending there 
 which he cannot penetrate. If they are moving a 
 large force round us he can detach the Sixth Division 
 to hold them, and with a massed attack he'll crumple 
 up their left centre which they must have weakened. 
 He'll repeat Salamanca, that's what he said — I don't 
 know what happened at Salamanca," he concluded 
 irritably, " but anyway he daren't move a man till 
 he's sure. I wish your chaps would get finished." 
 He looked up into the air above him with a circling 
 glance. " How many have they got now ? " 
 
 " Four, I make it," replied the aviator equably. 
 " They had ten yesterday. Five were smashed up 
 this morning. One got winged an hour ago." 
 
 At that moment a dirty and perspiring man came 
 out of the bower and, approaching them, saluted. 
 
 " Ready, sir," he said. 
 
 " Right, (iet her out, then," said the aviator. 
 " No ! Wait ! " His gaze had gone up to the sky. 
 " There he comes again." 
 
 " D — n ! " said the staff -officer, staring upwards 
 also. 
 
 High in the air an aeroplane was coming towards 
 them, parallel with their own battle-line. In the 
 
74 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 swollen roar of the conflict, the hum of its engine was 
 inaudible. It seemed to drift onward leisurely enough, 
 sinking slightly as it approached but well above 
 effective gun-fire. Tiny white dots of smoke that 
 sprang into the air below it were a proof of that. 
 Slowly, as though making a careful examination, it 
 passed overhead. Suddenly it turned and dropped 
 still lower, coming back towards them. Something 
 had awakened suspicion in the men up there. The 
 reason for that artificial bush became apparent. 
 The staff-oflicer gazed at the aeroplane, now rapidly 
 enlarging itself in his vision, as though mesmerised. 
 Anxiety for that precious machine under the leaves 
 paralysed him. 
 
 The aviator had turned to look at the gun on the 
 motor -lorry. The group about it sat in quiet expec- 
 tation. Its muzzle moved gently, came a little out 
 of the perpendicular. The aviator looked up again 
 at the machine drifting overhead. He heard a sudden 
 heavy detonation on his left and almost simultane- 
 ously he saw a bright flash appear in the dark body 
 of the aeroplane. The machine lurched, toppled, 
 dived, and, falling rapidly, turned bottom up in the 
 air. A couple of dark figures fell out, raced it in its 
 rush to the ground. A long minute later it struck 
 the centre of the field. Flames burst out of a shape- 
 less wreck. The aviator did not heed it. He ran 
 towards the bower. 
 
 " Quick ! " he cried. " Get her out ! " 
 Torn down by twenty pairs of eager hands, the 
 bower fell apart. The little monoplane was run out, 
 lay like a dragon-fly resting lightly on the earth. 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 75 
 
 The aviator climbed into his seat between the wings, 
 sent a glance from the compass to the map held open 
 in its frame, saw that the message bags were ready 
 to his hand, tested the strap of the field-glasses hang- 
 ing from his neck with a sharp tug. He was ready. 
 In front of him two soldier mechanics stood holding 
 the long blades of the tractor screw. Over there, 
 beyond the wood, the uproar of the battle mounted 
 in violent paroxysms each of which surpassed its 
 predecessor. The tall staff-officer approached and 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " Gk)od-bye — and good luck," he said, "and for 
 Heaven's sake let us know what's happening on that 
 flank. Don't wait to get back — drop the message." 
 He looked at his watch. " It's now twelve — if we 
 don't know something within an hour it's all over 
 with our chance. Can you manage it ? " 
 
 " I'll try, sir," said the aviator, checking the hour 
 with a glance at his own clock. 
 
 The staff-officer turned an anxious pair of eyes 
 upward for a swift look into the sky, seemed about 
 to make a remark and then obviously refrained. 
 " Good luck ! " was all he could trust himself to say. 
 
 The aviator smiled and nodded cheerfully. Then 
 he ejaculated a sharp order to the mechanics. They 
 flung the blades of the tractor into revolution. The 
 machine, emitting a series of riflelike reports, com- 
 menced to run across the field. The tractor became 
 a blur. 
 
 The woodland appeared to rush towards him and 
 then suddenly dropped away in a diagonal under- 
 neath. His eyes on the dial of the barograph, the 
 
76 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 aviator warped the machine round and set the planes 
 to an acute angle of elevation. Confident in the 
 power of his engine he mounted steeply in a spiral. 
 The record on the dial rose with every second — 100 
 feet — 200 — 400. In two and a half minutes he had 
 risen 1000 feet. He cast a swift look below him. He 
 was still over the field, had a glimpse of a group of 
 tiny figures clustered in front of the sheds. The rim 
 of the horizon came up, the earth fell into a great 
 concavity. It was like looking down into a vast bowl 
 containing woods and fields and flattened hills. 
 From the bowl clouds of yellow-grey dust arose like 
 smoke and out of the dust came a multiplicity of 
 heavy crashes that detached themselves from a back- 
 ground of unceasing clatter mingled with one long 
 rolling thunderous roar. 
 
 It was but a hasty glance the aviator threw below 
 him. Still mounting, his eyes searched the blue air 
 on a level with himself, above him. The enemy's 
 three machines where were they ? Far off to his 
 left a dark speck hung in the sky. He watched it 
 intently as his machine climbed. It was a biplane. 
 It appeared to be drifting away from him, engaged 
 in a reconnaissance of their left flank, he decided. 
 At any rate as yet they seemed not to have perceived 
 him. The others were not visible. He shot a glance 
 at the barograph — 3000 feet. He had been climbing 
 for five and a half minutes. Almost immediately he 
 saw a trail of smoke ascending with incredible velocity 
 in the air a little below him to his right. The trail 
 finished abruptly in a vivid flash, a burst of white 
 smoke and a violent detonation. The monoplane 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 77 
 
 rocked from side to side in the sudden disturbance 
 of the air but continued to climb. A second later a 
 similar trial ended in an explosion at a level with 
 him on his left. He saw a gash appear suddenly in 
 the fabric of one of his planes, and the needle of the 
 barograph switch back 50 feet with a jerk. Then 
 the altitude record mounted again steadily — 3250 — 
 8500 — 4000. The noise of the battle diminished as 
 he rose, dropped to a point where it was all but 
 obscured by the roar of his own engine. Below him 
 the smoke trails leaped up at him and burst viciously 
 in vain. 
 
 Four thousand five hundred — ^he glanced at the 
 hostile biplane to his left and saw that it hung larger 
 in the sky. Even in the moment for which he watched 
 it it dilated. It was approaching at top speed. He 
 was discovered, pm'sued. Instantly he turned off 
 to his right and raced across the battlefield in the 
 direction of the threatening flank. As he did so, he 
 perceived another aeroplane rising from the enemy's 
 hues. It climbed swiftly in bold swoops and then 
 shot off towards him in a great upward slant. Two ! 
 Where was the third ? He failed to discover it and 
 held on his course. 
 
 His direction was at an angle across the battlefield 
 which took him towards the enemy's left flank rather 
 than to their own right. As he sped over it, he looked 
 down upon a broad miles -long belt of yellow-grey 
 dust that rose raggedly into the air, and was spotted 
 with an innumerable multitude of white puffs that 
 renewed themselves as fast as they were dissipated. 
 In many places these puffs congregated thickly and, 
 
78 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 as they broke, linked themselves with others until 
 they floated like little narrow clouds in the air below 
 him. As he looked down into the great concavity 
 of the earth he seemed to be over some enormous 
 smoking fissure in a crater whose circumference was 
 the horizon. The rumble and roar which ascended 
 from it assisted the illusion. Tiny sparks of flame 
 darted and flickered in the fumes of that inferno, 
 and here and there flashed a number of glittering 
 points, the reflection of the sun from advancing 
 bayonets. To distinguish men was impossible, but 
 in occasional rifts in the dust curtain he could make 
 out brown patches of varying size, and, over to his left, 
 on the enemy's side, similar though darker patches. 
 
 He could permit himself no sustained scrutiny of 
 the scene below him for the management of the 
 machine began to claim all his attention. Even at 
 that great height above the battle, the air on that 
 windless day, shaken and riven by the unceasing 
 concussions of the massed artillery of two armies, 
 was full of flaws. The needle of the barograph 
 flickered, oscillated violently in leaps to and fro. 
 The monoplane, tilted dangerously, now on one side, 
 now on the other, in eddies of the tortured atmo- 
 sphere, slid downward dizzily ere it could be brought 
 up to climb a bank of air. It needed strong arms 
 at the controls, a quick brain and nerves of perfect 
 tone to keep her upon the appointed course. Glancing 
 back, the aviator saw that the flight of the nearer of 
 the two hostile machines, the one which had risen from 
 the enemy's lines and was now approaching him on 
 his left, was similarly erratic. 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 79 
 
 An overpowering heat, as from a vast open furnace, 
 arose from the battlefield below. It was the heat 
 from thousands of explosions, renewed incessantly 
 and sustained over many hours. Stifling gusts blew 
 on to the aviator's face, carrying with them a peculiar 
 smell of burning cloth. With these gusts the roar 
 of the battle seemed to leap up to him. The air was 
 oppressive despite the speed at which he clove it, 
 highly charged with electricity, heavy with the 
 menace of a storm. Yet no cloud broke the monotony 
 of the blue sky. The machine raced onward, was 
 now crossing the battle lines of the enemy's left flank. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a faint rattle behind him. The 
 hostile aeroplane, realising that it had failed to head 
 him off, was firing furiously. He felt the machine 
 shiver under a quick succession of hard raps. In- 
 stinctively, he pressed upon his accelerator, and, 
 with a touch on the warping lever, the machine shot 
 forward at terrific speed. The raps ceased. He 
 turned his head and saw his enemy rapidly diminish 
 in size behind him, saw that the other aeroplane, the 
 one he had seen first, had fallen far in rear. A con- 
 fident smile came on the tight lips of the aviator. 
 He could outpace them both. 
 
 He was now above the enemy's left flank — a little 
 to the right of the spot that the Commander-in-Chief 
 had designated as the object of his possible attack. 
 The scout switched off his engine and commenced to 
 drop along a slant towards the centre of the enemy's 
 position. With the sudden silencing of his engine 
 the roar of the battle came up at him in a crash and 
 stayed there. He glanced at the time — 12.13 — ^and 
 
78 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 as they broke, linked themselves with others until 
 they floated like little narrow clouds in the air below 
 him. As he looked down into the great concavity 
 of the earth he seemed to be over some enormous 
 smoking fissure in a crater whose circumference was 
 the horizon. The rumble and roar which ascended 
 from it assisted the illusion. Tiny sparks of flame 
 darted and flickered in the fumes of that inferno, 
 and here and there flashed a number of glittering 
 points, the reflection of the sun from advancing 
 bayonets. To distinguish men was impossible, but 
 in occasional rifts in the dust curtain he could make 
 out brown patches of varying size, and, over to his left, 
 on the enemy's side, similar though darker patches. 
 
 He could permit himself no sustained scrutiny of 
 the scene below him for the management of the 
 machine began to claim all his attention. Even at 
 that great height above the battle, the air on that 
 windless day, shaken and riven by the unceasing 
 concussions of the massed artillery of two armies, 
 was full of flaws. The needle of the barograph 
 flickered, oscillated violently in leaps to and fro. 
 The monoplane, tilted dangerously, now on one side, 
 now on the other, in eddies of the tortured atmo- 
 sphere, slid downward dizzily ere it could be brought 
 up to climb a bank of air. It needed strong arms 
 at the controls, a quick brain and nerves of perfect 
 tone to keep her upon the appointed course. Glancing 
 back, the aviator saw that the flight of the nearer of 
 the two hostile machines, the one which had risen from 
 the enemy's lines and was now approaching him on 
 his left, was similarly erratic. 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 79 
 
 An overpowering heat, as from a vast open furnace, 
 arose from the battlefield below. It was the heat 
 from thousands of explosions, renewed incessantly 
 and sustained over many hours. Stifling gusts blew 
 on to the aviator's face, carrying with them a peculiar 
 smell of burning cloth. With these gusts the roar 
 of the battle seemed to leap up to him. The air was 
 oppressive despite the speed at which he clove it, 
 highly charged with electricity, heavy with the 
 menace of a storm. Yet no cloud broke the monotony 
 of the blue sky. The machine raced onward, was 
 now crossing the battle lines of the enemy's left flank. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a faint rattle behind him. The 
 hostile aeroplane, realising that it had failed to head 
 him off, was firing furiously. He felt the machine 
 shiver under a quick succession of hard raps. In- 
 stinctively, he pressed upon his accelerator, and, 
 with a touch on the warping lever, the machine shot 
 forward at terrific speed. The raps ceased. He 
 turned his head and saw his enemy rapidly diminish 
 in size behind him, saw that the other aeroplane, the 
 one he had seen first, had fallen far in rear. A con- 
 fident smile came on the tight lips of the aviator. 
 He could outpace them both. 
 
 He was now above the enemy's left flank — a little 
 to the right of the spot that the Commander-in-Chief 
 had designated as the object of his possible attack. 
 The scout switched off his engine and commenced to 
 drop along a slant towards the centre of the enemy's 
 position. With the sudden silencing of his engine 
 the roar of the battle came up at him in a crash and 
 stayed there. He glanced at the time — 12.13 — and 
 
80 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 gave himself a limit of two minutes in which to re- 
 connoitre. For the moment he ignored his adversaries 
 in the air. As he gazed down through the transparent 
 panel between his feet, his glasses to his eyes, the 
 ground that slid away under him appeared to be 
 subjected to a constantly increasing magnification. 
 Fields, houses, roads grew momentarily more distinct. 
 Without taking his gaze from the scene below the 
 aviator checked the drop of his machine and drove 
 forward. Quickly his trained eye took in the details 
 of the ground, the position and approximate numbers 
 of the men that he saw massed in dark patches here 
 and there. Over a long stretch of the position the 
 enemy's line was obviously thinner. The country 
 behind it was empty of troops. The General's in- 
 tuition was correct. The enemy had weakened his left 
 centre. Point Number One was settled. Now what 
 had he done with the troops he had withdrawn ? 
 
 As the aviator turned his machine to reconnoitre 
 in the new direction, he was surprised to see the 
 hostile aeroplane between him and his objective. 
 Absorbed in his scrutiny of the ground, he had all 
 but forgotten it. It was slightly higher than him- 
 self and about half a mile distant. He could not 
 carry out his reconnaissance without coming into 
 fatal proximity to its machine-gun, and he could not 
 return directly over the battle lines without passing 
 between the crossed fires of this and the other machine 
 now drawing close. Even as the realisation of his 
 position flashed on him, a narrow slit appeared in one 
 of his planes. The nearer of his foes was already 
 firing. 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 81 
 
 Quicker than thought he turned and raced off into 
 the country behind the battle. A plan, the only one 
 with a possible chance of success, had sprung into 
 his mind. He had no intention of failing in this all- 
 important mission of his. But first he must get out 
 of the range of that deadly machine-gun. He dared 
 not rise across it at barely half a mile range. At full 
 speed he raced away, inclining his machine down- 
 wards. The hostile aeroplane followed, depressing 
 her course likewise, to get him into the zone of her 
 fire or to force him to the ground. The scout's speed- 
 ometer registered 100 miles an hour. Beneath his 
 feet he had glimpses of trees and houses and fields 
 flitting past in a stream where salient features pro- 
 longed themselves into long blurred lines. They 
 looked oddly large after the altitude at which he had 
 been contemplating them. He threw a glance over 
 his shoulder at his pursuers. The nearer was now 
 rather more than a mile away. The other had ap- 
 parently given up the chase. The clock showed 
 12.15 ; in less than two minutes he distanced his 
 adversary by nearly a mile — he had therefore a 
 superiority in speed of about twenty-five miles per 
 hour. He did not consciously deduce this result. 
 His trained mind working with incomputable swift- 
 ness under the stimulant of imminent danger gave 
 the result like an intuition. His plan presented itself 
 to him completely formed. At this distance he could 
 risk the danger zone of the machine-gun for the few 
 moments he would be in it. He swerved his machine 
 upward and climbed steeply. In a minute the other 
 aeroplane was level with him ; beneath him. The 
 
82 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 scout rose along a slant, slowing down his engine 
 until his pace was almost equal to that of the machine 
 below. Both rose steadily. 
 
 The battle din ceased altogether behind him. He 
 flew in the seeming silence of the roar of his own 
 engine and the deeper bass of the other machine, just 
 audible, below. He bent forward over his map and 
 picked out his approximate position. Then he noted 
 a village some twenty miles in rear of the battle, and 
 drew an imaginary line from it south-westward to 
 the enemy's left flank. That village was to serve as 
 turning-point. He should reach it, he calculated, at 
 12.27. The barograph indicated 3000 feet and still 
 rising. 
 
 12.25 — ^the scout bent his eyes on the ground. A 
 couple of minutes later a handful of white cottages 
 flitted past as he looked down between his feet. His 
 enemy could not be seen. The body of the mono- 
 plane hid him as he flew below and slightly in rear, 
 but the roar of his engine, louder than the scout's own, 
 could just be heard. 
 
 Now was the time — ^the scout turned off abruptly 
 at a tangent along the line he had marked out for 
 himself and drove his engine at its fastest. The 
 speedometer needle oscillated over 101 miles an hour. 
 He calculated that he had approximately twenty 
 miles to go ere he reached the patch of country he 
 wished to explore. He should reach the commence- 
 ment of the enemy's left flank at 12.39, and be able 
 to spend six minutes in flying over five miles of 
 ground and then have a couple of minutes in hand. 
 To the trained intellect behind his keen eyes six 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 88 
 
 minutes were amply sufficient. Having run along the 
 left flank it was simplicity itself to turn to the right 
 and glide down into his own lines. There seemed 
 nothing to stop him. The pursuing machine was 
 being quickly left behind. The slow biplane now far 
 off to his right could not possibly arrive in time. The 
 sky in front was clear of any menace. 
 
 Again he began to draw close to the great belt of 
 dust -cloud which stretched out to his right and again 
 the din of battle began to overpower the roar of his 
 engine. Directly ahead was a dark mass of woodland. 
 It was from thence that the enemy's screen around 
 the right flank of the scout's army commenced. He 
 swerved slightly to the left, behind it. The hour was 
 a second or two over 12.38. 
 
 Below him was a network of country roads, and 
 from four strands of that network which ran in an 
 approximately parallel direction, coincident with his 
 own course, arose long dense clouds of dust. It was 
 the dust of marching columns. The scout shot a 
 glance back at his pursuer, assured himself that it 
 was five or six miles in rear, and slowed down his 
 engine as he entered upon a long, gradual descent 
 over the route of those marching columns. 
 
 For mile after mile on those four roads the dust 
 cloud continued. The scout checked off the dis- 
 tances by villages on his map. Adding the length of 
 the four roads together he estimated that about 
 twenty miles of road was occupied by the marching 
 force. It was a whole army corps, then, that was 
 endeavouring to turn th^ir flank. In the open fields 
 between the roads he could distinguish small bodies 
 
84 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 of cavalry advancing in the same direction. The 
 mass on the roads was certainly infantry, broken 
 here and there by long columns of artillery. The low 
 dense clouds of dust kicked up by the tramp of 
 thousands of feet were cut into short sections where 
 the guns and wagons of the batteries rolled onward. 
 From a rough calculation of those intersected clouds 
 he decided that four brigades of artillery were on 
 the march. He had descended now to 2000 feet, and 
 he kept at that height as he roared over the plodding 
 columns. Behind him his pursuer had lessened the 
 distance between them, was getting dangerously 
 close. The biplane on his right was also approaching. 
 Nevertheless, the scout held on his way comfortably. 
 There was nothing to prevent him carrying out his 
 plan. 
 
 He was already well beyond the prolongation of 
 his own army's line of battle when he reached the 
 head of the marching infantry. Contrary to his 
 expectation, however, they were not wheeling to 
 the right. They continued straight on, marching 
 away from the battle, it seemed. The scout was 
 puzzled for a moment. He searched the ground in 
 front of him for more troops. It was apparently 
 empty. Then, from a fold in the landscape consider- 
 ably ahead, he saw another, smaller dust cloud arise. 
 At his highest speed he raced towards it, overtook 
 it in less than a minute. Below him a cavalry brigade , 
 accompanied by two batteries of horse artillery, was 
 trotting sharply forward. What was their objective ? 
 He scanned the country in front of them intently. 
 Some three miles ahead of the cavahy was a wooded 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 85 
 
 hill. He picked it out on the map, saw instantly 
 that it commanded the main avenue of retreat of his 
 army. The enemy's plan was clear. He would 
 occupy it with the cavalry and the two batteries until 
 the infantry got up. The threatened army, then 
 attacked in flank and rear, would find its retreat cut 
 off. If the scout's commander was aiming to repeat 
 Salamanca, the enemy was endeavouring to repeat 
 Jackson's march at Chancellorsville. The danger 
 was pressing. The scout reckoned that within half 
 an hour the hostile cavalry would be in possession of 
 that hill. In an hour the infantry would begin to 
 come up in support. Where was the Sixth Division 
 that he had been told would check the flank move- 
 ment of the enemy ? He searched for it, saw a 
 brown mass about two miles from the wooded hill. 
 Its cavalry might get there in a quarter of an hour 
 by a rapid dash. He had then a quarter of an hour 
 to deliver his message and get the division set in 
 motion. The hour was 12.46. 
 
 He wheeled towards his own line and commenced 
 a downward glide at a gentle angle. Then, taking 
 his hands from the controls, he rapidly wrote down 
 a dear concise statement of the case in his report 
 book. Even if he did not reach earth, his message 
 might. He glanced up to see that his indefatigable 
 pursuer was now swooping down to cut him off. 
 Moments were precious. He ripped out the page, 
 thrust it into the weighted message bag and tied it 
 up. Then he started his engine again, aiming for the 
 brown mass of the Sixth Division. 
 
 Something made him look to his left. He was 
 
86 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 startled to see a large biplane rushing up at him from 
 the direction of the wooded hill. It had evidently- 
 descended to effect some repairs and had lain hidden 
 far behind his own line. He recognised it at once. 
 It was by far the swiftest and most powerful machine 
 possessed by either army. On his present course a 
 few seconds would bring him within range of its 
 machine-gun. To his right the other machine was 
 rapidly growing larger. In front, the slow biplane 
 had sailed over the battle lines, was heading straight 
 for him. The three machines were converging on 
 him. The scout saw that he would either be forced 
 away from the battle or destroyed, his message un- 
 delivered in either case. 
 
 He swerved his machine and climbed. If only he 
 could get above the Sixth Division for an instant, he 
 would throw over the message-bag, chance its being 
 picked up. To do that it was necessary to get higher. 
 On his present or a lower level he would be riddled 
 with machine-gun bullets. His adversaries on either 
 hand rose also, but he got the lead of them. 
 
 As they rose in circles he watched for his oppor- 
 tunity when both should be turned away from him. 
 The moment came. He seized it and dived, with his 
 engine running at full speed. The earth rushed up- 
 wards, its features enlarging themselves as though 
 they swelled to burst. The brown mass of the Sixth 
 Division spaced itself out into battalions, squadrons, 
 below him, in front. They were exactly underneath. 
 He flung out the message-bag, with something like a 
 prayer in his heart. On either hand his adversaries 
 were swooping down upon him. He thought he 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 87 
 
 heard the rattle of their machine-guns, but in the 
 roar of his own engine he could not be sure. 
 
 Down and still down the three machines rushed. 
 Suddenly he noticed the slow biplane in front — on 
 an even lower level than himself. It was very close. 
 He saw the pale dot of the face of the man behind 
 the gun. If he swerved he would be under its fire in 
 a moment. If he kept on his course he must crash 
 into it. His decision was instant, instinctive. He 
 held on. One thought dominated him as he dived 
 straight at it. Had his message been picked up ? 
 If not ? He saw the gleaming backs of the out- 
 stretched plane almost under him. He set his teeth 
 for the impact. A second more — ^the wide stretch 
 of yellow canvas suddenly jerked to the left and 
 crumpled in a blinding flash. He had not touched. 
 He swerved to the right with all his force in the 
 tiniest fraction of a second and shot past something 
 that fell, flaming. ... A shell from below had hit the 
 biplane at the moment almost of collision. 
 
 He had a confused sense of other shells exploding 
 in the air. A battery was seizing its chance to get 
 the enemy's aircraft in a cluster, regardless of the 
 danger to him. He continued his rush downward, 
 feeling rather than knowing that the other two 
 machines were in close pursuit. If he could only be 
 certain that his message had been picked up ! 
 
 He flung a glance back over his shoulder. The 
 powerful biplane that had risen from behind the 
 wooded hill was close upon him. Why did they not 
 fire ? He felt himself a target, was surprised not to 
 see the gash of bullets on his machine. The explana- 
 
88 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 tion flashed on him. The gun had jammed. The 
 biplane came at him as though it were itself a pro- 
 jectile. Its crew had desperately resolved to ram 
 him, to sacrifice themselves rather than to allow him 
 to bring his precious information to the ground. 
 They were almost upon him. He swerved and 
 dodged. The biplane shot past. 
 
 Immediately he saw the other machine close upon 
 him, saw a spurt of fire from the muzzle of its gun. 
 He dived. A belt of trees rushed up at him, fearfully 
 close. Their dark foliage seemed to break into puffs 
 of black smoke over his eyes. He swerved instinc- 
 tively, saw a meadow burst through the dark smoke, 
 fly skyward in a mist of blood. With a last desperate 
 effort he banked. His hands slid from the controls 
 — everjrthing swam. He was vaguely conscious of a 
 heavy impact from underneath 
 
 Something was burning his throat — ^he opened his 
 eyes, gazed into a man's face close to his. Con- 
 sciousness came back in a rush. He pushed away 
 the brandy flask that was being pressed against his 
 teeth and struggled to his feet. Strong arms sup- 
 ported him. Several men were round him, looking 
 at him. He was close to a road, and along that road 
 he thought he saw batteries of artillery galloping at 
 full speed. He was not certain of their reality. They 
 passed like phantoms in his vision, wavering up 
 and down. He wanted to do something — ^to ask 
 something — ^what was it ? He all but fixed the elusive 
 thought — and lost it. His hand felt for the duplicate 
 report -book in his pocket — ^his desire was connected 
 with that. The report-book had gone. Then a 
 
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 89 
 
 fragment of his intangible preoccupation floated, 
 visible as it were, in his brain. He clutched at it. 
 
 " What — ^what guns are those ? " he asked thickly. 
 
 " Divisional artillery — Sixth Division," came the 
 reply. " All right. We got your message." 
 
 The scout put his hand to his brow and then, 
 dropping it, stared at it stupidly. It was red. 
 
 "All right," said the voice. "You're hit— but 
 not seriously. Lie down." 
 
 The scout collected all his faculties in an attempt 
 to bring out one more thought from the obscurity 
 which filled his brain. 
 
 " What — ^what time — ^now ? " he asked. 
 
 " Just one o'clock." The voice appeared to recede 
 to an enormous distance, although he felt the speaker's 
 face close to his. " They're in time — don't worry. 
 Lie down. The ambulances are coming in a minute 
 or two." 
 
 The scout stood obstinately. 
 
 " The— the other— machines ? " 
 
 "Bagged 'em both. You came down beautifully 
 — ^like a kite." The voice sounded from worlds away. 
 
 The aviator put his hand to his head. 
 
 " In time ! " He breathed the words rather than 
 spoke them. They came like the sigh of a man 
 utterly spent. 
 
 The man who had been supporting him turned 
 round with a jump and focussed his binoculars on 
 the wooded hill. A crowd of white puffs was breaking 
 out in the air above it. 
 
 The scout, left unattended, swayed with hands 
 stretched out like a blind man. The field whirled 
 
90 THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 
 
 round and round suddenly with a fearful rapidity and 
 then rushed up and struck him. 
 
 The man with the binoculars ignored his prone 
 body. 
 
 " Beat 'em on the post ! " he shouted in joyous 
 excitement. " By the Lord ! Beat 'em on the post ! " 
 
 1 
 
> 
 
 KULTUR (1915) 
 
 The subaltern commanding this section of the trench 
 sat in a hunched position in the narrow corridor of 
 earth topped with sandbags. His knees drawn up 
 to serve as a support for the writing-pad, he wrote 
 quickly between long pauses when he bit the end of 
 his pencil and stared reflectively at the brown clay 
 wall some two feet in front of his nose. At his side a 
 man stood, bent and motionless, peering into the 
 lower end of a long box, very narrow in proportion 
 » to its length, which he held against the side of the 
 trench so that the other end just rose above the wall 
 of sandbags. Further view down the trench in that 
 direction was barred by the traverse — ^the thick 
 dividing-wall of earth that would localise the effect 
 of a shell -burst or a bomb. All was quiet. The 
 subaltern might have imagined that only he and the 
 look-out at his side remained buried in this flat land- 
 scape where once two armies had flung fire and noise 
 and steel at one another, hidden from the sight of 
 those who should have come to tell him that the war 
 was over and the armies stolen away. He did not so 
 imagine. Ever present to his mind was the parallel 
 line of sandbags, some fifty yards away, between 
 him and which stretched a tangle of wire overgrown 
 with rank grasses and tufts of corn. That parallel 
 
 91 
 
92 KULTUR (1915) 
 
 line was the great permanent fact in his existence. 
 He knew it in its every aspect better than he had 
 ever previously known anything on this earth. Not 
 a spot on that apparently deserted wall might change 
 without his being interested to the quick. Even as 
 he wrote, the feeling and the knowledge of it were 
 concrete in his brain, constraining him to this cramped 
 attitude. 
 
 Since October this wall of his had fronted the other 
 wall and now it was June. For nine long months, 
 through snow and rain and sunshine, from the long 
 nights to the long pitiless days, these two walls had 
 remained the same, sheltering the same lurking 
 enmities though the individuals who temporarily 
 incarnated them came and went. Sometimes ablaze 
 with stabs of darting flame, erupting bombs lobbed 
 with a deceptive innocent slowness through the air, 
 belching a mass of men who ran and stumbled and 
 fell in an infinite variety of ways — men who shouted 
 and who screamed so that their voices pierced the 
 appalling uproar ; sometimes stretching blank across 
 the fields in a deathly stillness as to-day ; their 
 position had never altered. The quagmire between 
 them, criss-crossed with barbed wire, had grown up 
 into a waste of grass and nodding poppies that nearly 
 hid what looked like bundles of weather-stained old 
 clothes whence came a sickening, all-pervading smell. 
 Behind each wall, hundreds of men had died or been 
 carried away, maimed and broken, a lifelong burden 
 for some human heart. Not a sandbag of those piled 
 to make the parapet which sheltered the subaltern, 
 but might have had a man's name written on it in 
 
KULTUR (1915) 93 
 
 memoriam of a life suddenly extinguished. The 
 necrology of the opposing parapet would have been 
 as full. 
 
 In the hush which brooded over so much death — 
 past and to come — a pause, it would seem, where the 
 overhanging invisible demon of war reflected on its 
 work — a mood of questioning, of revolt, came over 
 the subaltern as he scribbled his pencilled lines. 
 
 " On a quiet evening like this one cannot help 
 moralising a little," he wrote, " wondering what it's 
 all for and what we purchase with our death. This 
 constant murdering of individuals on both sides who 
 commit the crime of inadvertently showing an inch 
 of head — how does this help matters ? " The sharp 
 crack of a rifle somewhere along the trench caused 
 the officer to raise his head, listening with all his 
 faculties at strain. The look-out at his side did not 
 stir, no report followed the first, and he bent himself 
 again to his letter. " I don't want to appear 
 squeamish, fine-stomached in this rough game, but 
 I don't think I shall ever be able to kill cold-bloodedly. 
 I have been unfitted by long centuries of culture " 
 
 He was interrupted by the appearance of another 
 officer, who squirmed himself round the traverse with 
 a pronounced stoop necessitated by his uncommon 
 tallness. The fair-moustached, boyish face of the 
 new-comer was radiant with glee. 
 
 " I say, Lennard ! " he said impetuously. " Rip- 
 ping luck ! We've just bagged Fritz ! You heard 
 the shot just now ? Folwell, my sergeant, got him. 
 Been waiting for him for over an hour, without 
 moving a muscle. Topping chap, Folwell. All he 
 
94 KULTUR (1915) 
 
 said was, ' Married life don't seem to 'ave spoilt my 
 aim, sir.' You remember, he asked for leave to get 
 married ? " 
 
 Lennard abandoned his letter and lit a cigarette. 
 
 " I wonder whether Fritz was married," he said 
 with a little malicious smile, the ideas recently in 
 possession of him firing a final shot in a faint rear- 
 guard action with the returning everyday occupants. 
 " Well, that's one more nuisance abated." 
 
 " Rather ! " said the other, seating himself and 
 likewise lighting a cigarette. " Fritz must have 
 bagged not less than a dozen of our chaps," he calcu- 
 lated, gazing reflectively at the thin spiral of tobacco 
 smoke which ascended straight in the still evening 
 air. " Well, he's gone, thank the Lord ! and we got 
 Hans yesterday and Karl the day before. I must 
 have a pot at old Hermann. If we could bag him we 
 might hope for a quiet life." 
 
 Lennard nodded. Each one of the German snipers 
 — if sufficiently lucky to carry on his profession for 
 a day or two — acquired an individuality and a name. 
 Hermann was an especially dangerous neighbour 
 who lurked somewhere in a ruined cottage that lay 
 between the lines where they bent away slightly from 
 each other. He rarely fired except to kill, and hid 
 himself so well that not one of the numerous patrols 
 sent out had succeeded in discovering his lair. 
 
 The two subalterns chatted awhile over their cigar- 
 ettes, while the red gold of the western sky faded 
 into rose. They talked of the little incidents of mess 
 and trench, magnified by their isolation from the 
 main stream of life, and then, harking back, of the 
 
KULTUR (1915) »5 
 
 things that once had been so important to them in 
 London town, and were now so dwindled and remote. 
 A year ago Lennard was a critic who was read, and 
 Wilson, the tall subaltern, a painter whose first 
 success was hanging on the line. Both were, or had 
 been, highly polished products of what we called, 
 proudly, civilisation. As they talked the old scenes 
 came back to them, obliterating the present. At 
 last Wilson rose, responsive to a subtle inner sense of 
 time measured, independent of his consciousness. 
 
 " Well, so long, old thing," he said, standing up 
 and straightening his tall form, fatigued with so much 
 bending. The momentary forget fulness was fatal. 
 On the instant a rifle cracked and the lanky subaltern 
 collapsed as though his knees had been knocked from 
 under him. 
 
 " My God ! " cried Lennard, limb-paralysed by this 
 brutally tragic reassertion of his environment. 
 Trembling, his heart seeming to stop and swell within 
 him, he bent down to his friend. He touched mere 
 clothed flesh, heavy and inert, on which the flies 
 had already settled. They buzzed away, indignantly 
 asserting their right of pasture. A madness of anger 
 at this wanton annihilation of a life that was not just 
 a dull living but an irradiation of the spirit, connoting 
 civilisation, highly conscious, swept over him. He 
 burst into a torrent of incoherent wrathful curses. 
 
 " That was 'Ermann, sir," said the observer at the 
 periscope. " I spotted the flash, in among them 
 bricks." 
 
 Lennard rose, fiercely vengeful. 
 
 " Let me look. Where did you see the flash ? " 
 
96 KULTUR (1915) 
 
 " Three o'clock from that bit of greenstuff in the 
 middle, sir," replied the man, ceding his place at the 
 periscope. " You'll see a dark spot — ^that's 'is loop- 
 hole." 
 
 Lennard gazed down into the mirror of the instru- 
 ment. There was just light enough for him to pick 
 up the spot indicated. 
 
 " Very good." He strode, with bent back, down 
 the trench, muttering to himself. 
 
 It was night when, rifle in hand, he swung himself 
 nimbly over the parapet. For some minutes he lay 
 flat on the ground at the other side, not moving an 
 inch. Over his head the crack of rifles and the loud, 
 rapid hammer taps of the Maxims recommenced 
 their fusillade against the heap of bricks. From the 
 first shade of dusk he had arranged that a constant 
 enfilading fire be kept up on the sniper's lurking-place. 
 He had no intention of letting Hermann slip away — 
 yet. 
 
 He raised his head slightly, fixed his bearings in 
 the gloom and then, still prone, began to nip a way 
 through the wire entanglements. A German flare 
 went up, dazzling with a ghastly light, too brilliant 
 for distinct vision. He lay motionless. As it de- 
 scended and fizzled out upon the ground he had a 
 clear view of his course. He was aiming at a point 
 in front of the German wire, whence he could enfilade 
 the gap between the heap of bricks and the hostile 
 parapet. Over his head the hard, sharp cracks of his 
 own men's fire followed one another continuously. 
 They would not cease for nearly fifteen minutes yet. 
 Meanwhile Hermann would be lying close. He cut 
 
KULTUR (1915) 97 
 
 and wrenched at the wire and wriggled forward, 
 grimly disdainful of the barbs that plucked and 
 tore his clothes. 
 
 Again and again a soaring German flare stopped 
 his progress. Clearly, this incessant fusillade was 
 making the enemy nervous. At each illumination 
 he lay as if he were one of the bundles of old clothes 
 that occasionally he pushed against. The British 
 parapet darted with fire — awoke a sympathetic 
 crackling somewhere to the right. 
 
 At last. He settled himself in a comfortable firing 
 position, couched in the long damp grass. An insect, 
 unaware in its littleness of the large death that 
 whistled above its world, quitted a pendent blade, 
 explored his cheek. 
 
 Crack — crack — crack ! the last British rifles ceased. 
 There was an instant's stillness, and then yet another 
 flare shot up from the suspicious German trench. 
 It fell, sizzled — illuminating the ruins that he watched 
 with all his faculties focussed, all his nerves coming 
 to a point on his trigger finger — ^and then the world 
 plunged into blackness. There was silence and im- 
 penetrable darkness. 
 
 Minute after minute dragged slowly past in a dead 
 hush. Finger on trigger, every fibre tense, the prone 
 figure waited. A primeval self awoke in him — a 
 savage who stalked and could indefinitely maintain 
 his ambush. His senses were as keen as though hyper- 
 stimulated by some strange drug. A grim, patient 
 lust to kill reigned in him. 
 
 The minutes passed slowly, slowly. He looked to 
 one of them, not yet arrived, as to a term When ? 
 
98 KULTUR (1915) 
 
 He felt it approaching, concentrated to a still acuter 
 degree his attention. The trigger seemed to be press- 
 ing against his finger. What was that ? Surely some- 
 thing was moving there in the gloom — by the ruin. 
 Why did not the flare he had ordered go up ? His 
 whole soul went out in a desperate prayer for it as he 
 held his breath and strove with baffled eyes against 
 the darkness. 
 
 Suddenly the craved-for light shot up. Perception 
 and trigger-pressure were instantaneous with the 
 flash of its discharge. A running, stooping figure 
 pitched headforemost before the stab of flame from 
 the rifle. 
 
 Immediately a vicious fire from the German parapet 
 answered this impertinence. The slayer lay still as 
 death, listening with painfully acute perception to 
 the ugly phat ! of bullets in the earth around him. 
 A bomb fell, burst with a deafening report and a 
 blinding flash of flame so close that he marvelled at 
 his escape. By an effort of will he choked down the 
 cough that the fumes provoked. 
 
 Rifle-fire at night is infectious. A sporadic and 
 probably harmless duel sputtered up and down the 
 trenches. At last a gun, way back somewhere, sent 
 over a shell, and, as though obedient to this protest 
 from their big brother, the rifles were silenced, one 
 by one. The opposing trenches again lay in darkness 
 and quiet. 
 
 The subaltern, assuring himself that all was still, 
 wriggled forward to the body of his victim, lay full- 
 length beside it. Quickly he ran through the dead 
 man's pockets, stuffed a bundle of papers into his 
 
KULTUR (1915) 99 
 
 own. Then, a rifle in each hand, he crawled back to 
 his own parapet, climbed over and lay down. In an 
 instant he was sound asleep. 
 
 It was bright morning when he awoke. High up 
 a lark was pouring out its cheerful song. He sat up, 
 rubbed his eyes, saw the two rifles, and remembered 
 with a smile. Close by him a man was heating some 
 coffee in a mess-tin over a methylated flame. He 
 asked for some and drank it with a pleasant physical 
 sense of his body that was still alive, and could drink. 
 It warmed him. Then he remembered the papers he 
 had taken from the unlucky Hermann. Sipping at 
 the coffee, he read a letter that was among them. 
 
 " Dearest Wife and Sweetheart," it ran, " I don't 
 altogether like the hatred of these Englishmen that 
 your letter expresses. They only do their duty as we 
 do ours, and they fight well. Would all this killing 
 were over and we were friends again ! It is in a 
 sacred cause, I know — ^we could not let oiu* culture 
 be stifled — but the sacrifices are heavy. I some- 
 times wonder whether the old days will ever return, 
 and I shall once more write songs for you to sing in 
 London and in Paris. I can faintly hear a nightingale 
 somewhere, or is it you ? — I must close now, as I am 
 just ordered off to a dangerous post, and the dawn 
 will soon be breaking. 
 
 "AU the love of Karl." 
 
 Lennard, moved by a sudden curiosity, looked at 
 the superscription of the envelope, ready addressed. 
 Evidently the sniper had put it in his pocket and for- 
 
100 KULTUR (1915) 
 
 gotten to give it to his comrades before setting out. 
 
 The name was familiar. He coupled it, Karl . 
 
 His victim was a writer of songs that his wife loved 
 to sing and he to hear. He sat for a moment gazing 
 thoughtfully at the letter, yet without definite 
 thoughts. Then, with a sigh, he rose. 
 
 Instantly a bullet smacked against the sandbags, 
 missing his head by a couple of inches. 
 
 " Bad shot, that," he murmured as he ducked. 
 " Lucky thing I bagged old Hermann ! " 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 The intense heat of the day was already a memory 
 of uneasy sleep, and the distant hills seen across 
 the plain of grey, smi-baked mud were soft in a soft 
 sky. Right across the horizon, as seen from the 
 Political Officer's bungalow, stretched the mountain 
 range, rising from deep blue at the base through a 
 gradation of fairy amethyst and turquoise to a 
 dehcate pink suffusing the summits. The Political 
 Officer, his left elbow resting on his writing-table, 
 his fingers caressing the bowl of the old briar whose 
 stem was gripped between white teeth, tobacco - 
 smoke wreathing away from him, contemplated it 
 with bent brows and narrowed eyes. The gaze of 
 that lean face, sallow with many Indian smnmers, 
 roved not over the distant prospect, tempting though 
 were the transitions and flaws of changing colour on 
 crag and peak to left and right of the point on which 
 his vision was fixed. His expression was stern, the 
 thrust forward of his clean-cut jaw predominant. 
 Esthetic enjoyment of the aspect of the frontier 
 hills thus perfidiously beautiful in the evening light 
 had no part in his meditations. 
 
 The curtain of the door was plucked aside. A 
 long-robed native, white-bearded, entered noiselessly, 
 
 101 
 
102 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 bowe^, ^Vttb arms' outstretched from his sides, stood 
 erect and waited for orders. 
 
 The PoHtical Officer responded with a nod to the 
 " Salaam, Sahib.'' His gaze detached itself from the 
 distant view, ranged keenly over the tall figure in 
 front of him. Under the swathes of the green pagari 
 that narrowed the brown forehead a pair of dark 
 eyes of strange intensity met his own. The dis- 
 turbing effect of their direct gaze was heightened by 
 the bushy white brows under which they glowed. 
 The big, beaked nose, thin-bridged, emphasized their 
 power. The long, white beard spreading over the 
 breast solemnified them with a hint of ancient 
 wisdom. The eyes of the white sahib and the ascetic 
 Haj (as his green turban proclaimed him) met 
 unflinchingly. 
 
 " The Sahib asked for the fakir Muhammed Din — 
 is it well, Sahib ?'' 
 
 "It is well, fl'a;," replied the Political Officer, a 
 twinkle in his eye and a subtle emphasis on the title. 
 
 " Did not the Prophet throw his green mantle 
 over Ali that he might himself escape from his 
 enemies, O Protector of the Religion ? " replied the 
 fakir, a little piqued. 
 
 " Maloom " ("It is known "), said the Political 
 Officer, curtly but with a tone of friendliness. " I 
 called you not to discuss the religion, but to protect 
 it. I have work for you, Muhammed Din — dangerous 
 work." 
 
 " It is well. Sahib:* 
 
 " An emissary of our foes is among the tribes, 
 Muhammed Din, and is preaching a false gospel to 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 103 
 
 them. War and the woes of war will surely follow 
 if we do not still his tongue. Listen I You have heard 
 that the infidel Caliph Willem of the West has falsely 
 proclaimed himself a follower of the Prophet that 
 he may use the power of true believers to further 
 his own wicked ends ? " 
 
 "It is known, Sahib.'' 
 
 " He has sent one of his tribe, dressed as a fakir, 
 into the hills to preach a new Jehad. Already the 
 mullahs (priests) are gathering about him. This fakir 
 calls himself Abd-ul -Islam, but he is a Feringhi, 
 no true believer, and no true friend to the religion. 
 Yet he is leading many astray, for he deludes 
 them with a false magic. You will see for yourself. 
 You remember the magic pictures you saw at 
 Karachi ? " 
 
 " I remember, Sahib." 
 
 "It is such magic as that. There is none but 
 Muhammed Din I might safely trust to close the 
 mouth of such a rogue ; therefore, Muhammed Din '* 
 — ^the eyes of white sahib and Moslem fakir again 
 looked into each other — " I am sending you on the 
 mission. I asked you to come as a fakir because 
 I judged that to be your best disguise. You have 
 come as a Haj, which is even better. I do not want 
 this impostor killed, if it can be helped. I want 
 him exposed, discredited. I send you, Muhammed 
 Din." He looked at him with significance as he 
 added : 
 
 " You may find an old acquaintance." 
 
 The fakir stroked his long beard. 
 
 " He shall be brought to you riding backwards 
 
104 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 upon an ass, and the women shall mock at him ' 
 Sahib, I swear it." 
 
 The Political Officer smiled. 
 
 " None can if you cannot, Muhammed Din. Now 
 I will explain these things to you more fully." 
 
 The Political Officer spread a map across the table 
 and pointed out the route of the German agent across 
 the Persian frontier and among the hills. His present 
 abiding-place was fairly accurately known. The 
 pseudo -fakir attentively considered the ways to it. 
 Then he drew himself erect. 
 
 " It is well, Sahib. 1 will now go." 
 
 " You have a plan, Muhammed ? " 
 
 The fakir smiled grimly. 
 
 " This dog has his false magic. Sahib, but Muhamnied 
 Din knows many magics that are not false. I have 
 sworn." 
 
 " Go, then. Allah be with you ! " 
 
 " And with you. Sahib ! " 
 
 Muhammed Din salaamed once more, lifted the 
 curtain, and passed out. The Political Officer watched 
 him go across the compound, and then bent down 
 to his work again with a little outbreathing of satis- 
 faction. The Secret Service had no more reliable 
 man than Muhammed Din. 
 
 The squalid little village high up in a cleft of the 
 brown and barren hills, that gleamed golden aloft 
 where they cut sharply across the intense blue of 
 the sky, was filled with an uncommon concourse of 
 tribesmen. And yet more were arriving. Down the 
 stony paths which led to the village from the heights, 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 105 
 
 up the boulder-strewn, dried-up stream-bed which 
 afforded the easiest passage from below, the hillmen 
 hurried in little groups — a bearded khan, a modern 
 rifle on his shoulder, his cummerbund stuck full of 
 knives, followed by a ragged rabble of retainers, 
 variously armed. Their weapons were mementoes 
 of generations of rifle-stealing and gim-running. 
 Lee-Enfields, Lee-Metfords, Martinis, Sniders — ^all 
 were represented. Not a few carried the old- 
 fashioned jezail, the long-barrelled gun with inlaid, 
 curved stock. All had knives. 
 
 They swarmed on the rough roadway between the 
 squat stone, windowless houses whose loopholes were 
 eloquent of their owners' outlook on life. They 
 clustered round the stone-parapeted well in the 
 centre of the village, so that the women with the 
 water-pots were richly provided with an excuse for 
 loitering. The clamour of excited voices resounding 
 from the walls was re-echoed at a fiercer shout from 
 the steep, towering hill-sides, stone-terraced near the 
 village into plots of cultivated land. 
 
 This was no ordinary assemblage. From far and 
 near the tribesmen swarmed in, and men met face 
 to face whose habitual encoimter would have sent 
 both dodging to cover, rifle to the shoulder. The 
 blood-feuds were laid aside. Families that for 
 months had lived in terror of their neighbours across 
 the village street, quitting their domiciles stealthily 
 by the back way when they had occasion to go out, 
 while the sudden rifle-shot of the concealed marks- 
 man added steadily to the tale of vendetta victims 
 on both sides, mingled now with the throng, albeit 
 
106 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 cautiously. Men whose dwellings were a doorless 
 tower which they entered and left by a basket on 
 a rope, who tilled their fields with ever a rifle in their 
 hand, strode now down the street, their dark eyes 
 roving from side to side, and passed their adversaries 
 with scarce a scowl. Mullahs, Koran in hand, their 
 young disciples at their skirts, threaded their way 
 through the crowd, giving and receiving pious 
 salutation, exhorting, preaching, inflaming the fanati- 
 cism of passions naturally fierce. The blood-feuds 
 between man and man, village and village, were 
 forgotten in the reawakened, never-extinguished feud 
 between Islam and the infidel. Behind the priests 
 marched men armed to the teeth, their faces working 
 in a frenzy, their eyes inflamed. They were ghazi — 
 wrought up to the pitch of fervour where their own 
 life is a predetermined sacrifice, so that they may 
 first slay an unbeliever, sure of immediate Paradise 
 as their reward. 
 
 Above the murmur of voices came the continual 
 drone : 
 
 " La Allah il Allah ! There is no God but Gk)d, 
 and Mohammed is His Prophet ! " 
 
 It re-echoed down the valley in sudden shouts. 
 
 Into this excited throng strode the green turban, 
 the venerable figure of Muhammed Din, piously 
 telling his beads. Men jostled one another out of 
 his way, for this fakir was quite obviously an especially 
 holy man, one who had made the pilgrimage. Giving 
 and receiving the Moslem greeting, " May the peace 
 of Allah be with you ! " he inquired the house of the 
 village mullah, and made his way towards it. 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 107 
 
 He met the priest just on the point of quitting 
 his dwelling. The mullah had a busy and important 
 look. It was a great day for him. 
 
 " The peace of Allah be with you ! " said Muhammed 
 Din. 
 
 " And with you, O holy man 1 " replied the mullah. 
 He scented an application for hospitality. " Blessed 
 is the day that you come to us, for Allah worketh 
 wonders in my village. Many have come to witness 
 them. Alas ! that you did not come before, O holy 
 one, or my house that I have already given up to 
 others would be yours ! " 
 
 " A comer and a crust of bread, O Mullah ! " 
 
 " Alas I Allah be my witness ! Neither remains 
 to me, O holy one — ^but I will lodge you with a pious 
 man when the saint whom Allah has sent to us has 
 finished the wonders he is about to show. I must 
 hurry, O holy one I for the moment is at hand. 
 The peace of Allah be with you ! " 
 
 " Allah has guided my footsteps to you, O Mullah, 
 for I have come from a far land to see these wonders. 
 I will accompany you, for it is His will." 
 
 " Hurry, then I " said the priest irritably, " or 
 Shere Khan's house will be full. Allah knoweth 
 that I praise Him for thy coming ! " he added by 
 way of afterthought. 
 
 The house of Shere Khan, the headman of the 
 village, was besieged by a turbulent crowd of tribes- 
 men, who jostled one another for entrance. In view 
 of the limited space within, only those known to be 
 most influential were admitted. They deposited 
 their weapons as they entered. 
 
108 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 Muhammed Din followed the mullah, who bustled 
 in with an air of great importance. The largest 
 room of Shere Khan's house, a gloomy, stone-walled 
 apartment, almost completely dark since the loop- 
 holes high up were stuffed with rags, was set aside 
 for the occasion. More than two -thirds of it was 
 already filled with tribesmen, who squatted on the 
 floor. The remaining portion was rigidly kept clear 
 by one or two of Shere Khan's armed retainers. 
 " Sit farther back, O Yakub Khan ! More space, 
 O Protector of the Poor ! Farther back, O Yusuf, 
 lest the miracles about to be performed by the will 
 of Allah scorch thee ! Back, back, O children of the 
 Prophet ! I entreat ye ! " The entreaty was em- 
 phasized by sundry kicks which the sentries grinningly 
 delivered with a sense of the privileges proper to 
 such an occasion. 
 
 The wall at the end of the clear space was whitened. 
 High up on the other wall, behind the tribesmen, 
 was a newly erected box of wood, large enough to 
 hold a man, supported on pillars of light timber, 
 and only to be reached by a ladder, of which there 
 was at the moment no sign. The tribesmen turned 
 their heads curiously towards this unusual con- 
 trivance and nudged and whispered to one another. 
 
 " Behold the cage in which the saint keeps the 
 devils over which Allah and the Prophet have given 
 him power ! " 
 
 Those who were nearest it stirred uneasily. 
 
 " What if it should be the will of Allah that they 
 break out of the cage ! " 
 
 " We are Gk)d's and unto God shall we return ! " 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 109 
 
 replied his neighbour nervously, quoting the verse 
 of the Koran which gives protection in time of 
 danger. " May Allah protect us ! " 
 
 Muhammed Din sat modestly among the throng, 
 telling his beads with bent head. 
 
 " What thinkest thou of these wonders, O holy 
 one from a far land ? " asked the man next to 
 him. 
 
 " The wisdom of Allah is inscrutable and much 
 that is hidden shall be yet revealed," replied Mu- 
 hammed Din solemnly. 
 
 There was a stir of expectation throughout the 
 gloomy apartment. The mullah entered by a door 
 at the farther end, near the whitened wall, uttered 
 a sonorous benediction, and sat down, with grave 
 self-satisfaction, in the front row. 
 
 One minute more of tense waiting — and then, 
 amid a low murmur from the assembly, the curtain 
 at the far door was again lifted. The " Saint " 
 appeared. For a moment he stood in a dramatic 
 pose, illuDciined by a ray of light from without as 
 he held back the curtain. Then, dropping it, he 
 strode solemnly forward into the cleared space. 
 Every eye gazed at him with an avid curiosity. The 
 light in the doorway had revealed him as a youngish 
 man, despite the full beard which lent him dignity. 
 His stately carriage of the long Moslem robes, dimly 
 perceived in the gloom, was worthy of his role. 
 
 He stretched out his hands. 
 
 " The peace of Allah be with you ! " he said in a 
 deep tone that had only the faintest tinge of a 
 European accent. 
 
110 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 In a low deep chant of awed voices the assembly 
 returned the salutation. 
 
 " O children of the Prophet ! Men of the hills ! 
 Greeting ! Greeting not from me but from the 
 greatest Sultan of the world ! " He spoke in their 
 own dialect, but with a strong admixture of Persian 
 words. " Listen ! Ye know already — for his fame 
 has passed the confines of the earth — ^that the great 
 Sultan Willem of the Franks was visited by a vision 
 from God, and that having had truth revealed unto 
 him he turned aside from the error of his ways and 
 embraced the true faith. Written in great letters 
 of gold over the Sultan's palace shall ye find the 
 sacred words : ' There is no God but God and 
 Mohammed is His Prophet ! ' " 
 
 He stopped to allow his words their full effect. 
 A murmur of wonderment came from his audience. 
 " A-ah ! God is great ! Unto Him be the praise ! " 
 
 He resumed. 
 
 " And with him turned all his vizirs and mullahs 
 and khans from the false belief and called on Allah 
 and Mohammed. I — even I, Abd-ul-Islam, who stand 
 before you — ^am one of them. The Sultan Willem 
 issued a decree to all his people that they should 
 believe in the true faith — and lo ! Allah wrought a 
 miracle and they all believed, destroying their false 
 mosques and building new ones to the glory of the 
 Prophet. Great is Allah and Mohammed His Pro- 
 phet that these things should have come to pass, 
 O children of the Faith ! They are hard of belief, 
 for the Franks ye well know are a stiff-necked race. 
 Yet such it is, and my Lord the Sultan hath sent 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 111 
 
 me on an embassy to you that I may tell you these 
 marvellous things. And that ye may more readily 
 believe, Allah in His great mercy has given me 
 power to show you these wonders with your own 
 eyes." His tone took on a deeper, more sonorous 
 solemnity. " O Allah ! Allah ! In the name of 
 the Prophet, vouchsafe that these thy children 
 may see the great Sultan Willem as he is at this 
 moment ! '* 
 
 He clapped his hands sharply together. 
 
 Instantly a beam of intensely white light shot 
 across the dark apartment from the " cage " and 
 fell upon the white wall at the other end. The 
 " Saint " stepped quickly out of the radiance. On 
 the white surface there suddenly appeared a life- 
 size portrait of His Imperial Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm 
 II — gowned in long robes and coiffed with a turban. 
 A gasp of astonishment broke from the peering 
 spectators in the dark room. Once more the " Saint '* 
 clapped his hands. The Imperial figure walked in 
 stately fashion straight towards the audience — 
 seeming that in another moment it would be walking 
 out in the air over its heads — stopped, stretched out 
 its right hand, smiled. The muscles of its face 
 moved, the mouth opened — in a speech that none 
 heard. " Aie ! Aie ! " broke from the spellbound 
 tribesmen. 
 
 " Alas ! that he is so far away that ye cannot 
 hear his words ! " lamented the " Saint." " But I 
 can hear them. He tells you to believe in me, who 
 am his messenger, by the grace of Allah and the 
 Prophet. O Allah, vouchsafe that these Thy followers 
 
112 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 may witness with their own eyes the conversion of 
 the vizirs to the true faith ! " Again a clap of the 
 hands, and the picture on the wall changed. 
 
 The tribesmen gazed at what to a Western eye 
 would have been an obviously cardboard imitation 
 of an Oriental room with a dais on one side of it. 
 On that dais stood the figure in Moslem robes. 
 Filling the remainder of the room was a throng of 
 men in German uniforms, pickelhaube on their heads. 
 They advanced one by one to the figure on the dais, 
 knelt, offered up their spiked helmets, and received 
 in exchange a turban from their graciously smiling 
 lord. 
 
 " See, O people, and believe ! " cried the " Saint." 
 
 " Ate ! Aie ! " came the response. " We see and 
 we believe ! God is great ! There is none great but 
 God, and unto Him be all the praise ! " 
 
 " Listen ! O true believers ! The Holy Prophet 
 laid a command on the great Sultan Willem that he 
 should immediately convert all the Frankish nations 
 to the true faith. And the Sultan Willem gave glory 
 to Allah that this command was laid upon him. He 
 sent forth his armies in the great Jehad. The Sultan's 
 armies are the most numerous and bravest in the 
 whole world — not Timur nor Rustum might have 
 stood against them — and none may count the number 
 of their victories in the great war against the infidel 
 Franks. Their triumphs are as the rocks on the 
 hill -sides, beyond reckoning and eternal. All the 
 nations of the Franks fled before them, and were 
 slain like dogs as they ran. And most of all fled 
 h efore them and were slain the insolent English dogs 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMEB DIN 113 
 
 that, thinking themselves far away from the power 
 of the Sultan Willem, are puffed up with a vain 
 pride and tread upon the neck of the true believer 
 in the land beyond the Indus — nay, who invade 
 your hills and lay waste your crops, seeking to 
 destroy the one true faith. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Allah knoweth \ He speaketh through thy lips, 
 O holy one ! " was the chorused reply from the 
 darkened room. There could be no denial of any 
 statement from a source of such sanctity. 
 
 " Look then upon the battle and the destruction 
 of the English dogs ! " cried Abd-ul-Islam, giving 
 the signal once more. 
 
 Immediately another picture appeared upon the 
 wall — a picture of pseudo -British troops, uniformed 
 so as to be familiar to the tribesmen, taking up a 
 position for battle. 
 
 " Watch ! O children of the Prophet ! " cried the 
 wonder-worker. " Behold the djinns which the 
 Sultan Willem has under his command — ^for to him 
 has the Prophet given the power of Solomon — behold 
 the djinns that go before the Sultan's army destroy- 
 ing the English infidels ! " 
 
 Great founts of black smoke leaped up among the 
 soldiers on the wall — debris was flung high into the 
 air — ^bodies lay upon the ground, visible where the 
 smoke cleared. The soldiers fired quickly from behind 
 cover, dodged, flung up their arms, and fell smitten 
 by an invisible foe. The picture, though a " fake," 
 was cleverly done and would have deceived more 
 sophisticated spectators. The tribesmen did not 
 suppress their exclamations of awe and wonder. 
 
114 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 " Behold ! " cried the showman. " The soldiers 
 of the Sultan advance ! " A serried line of German 
 infantry swept across the picture, bayonets levelled, 
 and the survivors of the defending troops fled before 
 them. The line changed direction and marched 
 straight towards the spectators, an irresistibly 
 advancing menace, swelling larger and larger, un- 
 cannily silent. 
 
 Shrill cries of alarm broke out from the darkened 
 room. " Aie I Aie I Allah protect us ! We are 
 God's and unto God shall we return ! " 
 
 The line of infantry swelled to a superhuman im- 
 mensity, seemed on the point of reaching the spec- 
 tators — and then there was darkness. 
 
 From the gloom came the voice of the German 
 emissary. 
 
 " You have beheld, O children of the true Faith, 
 the infidel English ran Hke dogs ! " 
 
 " Like dogs they ran ! With our own eyes we 
 have seen it, praise be to Allah ! Death to the 
 infidel ! " 
 
 " Now see the soldiers of the Prophet, the victorious 
 army of the Sultan, destroying the Christian mosques 
 in the conquered country ! " announced the show- 
 man, in a voice of triumph. 
 
 On the wall was thrown the picture of a Belgian 
 village church. German soldiers were busy about it. 
 Then volumes of smoke began to issue from the 
 windows, tongues of flame. The roof fell in. The 
 church was reduced to a ruin. 
 
 " Behold ! Ye see with your own eyes ! " 
 
 " We see we see ! God is great ! Unto Him 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 115 
 
 be the praise ! " came the reply from the spec- 
 tators. 
 
 " Now see others ! " cried the German. " This 
 is the work of the Sultan's armies — ^will ye now 
 doubt that he has set his face against the Christian 
 infidels ? " 
 
 Picture after picture of ruined and desolated 
 churches followed upon the wall. The German 
 authorities had evidently prepared a special film of 
 them. Cries of wild approbation broke from the 
 fanatical tribesmen, the mullahs loudest. 
 
 " Once more, O people, look upon the English 
 prisoners, whose lives have been spared because they 
 have embraced the true faith, being led through the 
 Sultan's capital ! " 
 
 A film of a few British prisoners from Gallipoli 
 being marched through the streets of Constantinople 
 was then shown, amid shouts of applause. 
 
 The picture was taken off, but the beam of light 
 still blazed across the room. The German placed 
 himself full in it. 
 
 " Ye have seen with your own eyes, O warriors 
 of the hills ! Praise be to Allah for His mercies ! 
 Ye will no longer doubt. In the name of the Prophet, 
 the Sultan Willem, the protector of Islam, commands 
 that ye rise up and sweep beyond the Indus. Every- 
 where the power of the English is broken. With 
 your own eyes ye have seen it. Only on your borders 
 do they still keep up a vain show. Rise up, O children 
 of the Prophet, and sweep these dogs of infidels into 
 the sea I The rich lands of India and much loot will 
 be the reward of your valour. Paradise awaits 
 
116 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 those who fall in the sacred fight ! The green banner 
 of Islam shall wave over the entire earth, for there 
 is no God but God, Mohammed is His Prophet, and 
 the Sultan Willem is His chosen instrument I " 
 
 Karl Schultz felt an inward glow of triumph at 
 his own histrionic power as, his words ringing sonor- 
 ously through the stone apartment, he stood in the 
 full blaze of light and raised his arm. It evoked loud 
 shouts of fanatic frenzy from the excited assembly. 
 They clamoured to be led against the infidel there 
 and now. He kept his arm outstretched as though 
 to still the tumult, as though his discourse were yet 
 unfinished. 
 
 But the cries would not cease. " Great is Allah ! 
 Death to the infidel ! Death ! Allah ! Allah ! 
 There is no God but God ! Allah ! Allah ! Allah ! 
 Death to the infidel — death ! '* 
 
 Suddenly there was a new element in the vocifera- 
 tion, a movement among the assembly far back in 
 the dark room. " Make way for the holy man with 
 great tidings from India ! Make way for the Haj ! 
 In the name of the Prophet — ^make way, dogs that 
 ye are ! " 
 
 Schultz looked towards the venerable figure of 
 Muhammed Din pressing through the throng. A 
 sudden doubt leaped up in him, was extinguished 
 in self-confidence. The strange fakir approached. 
 The wild clamour of the tribesmen was stilled in 
 curiosity. They fell back in a sudden awe. 
 
 Schultz watched the venerable stranger advance 
 solemnly, silently, into the blaze of light in which 
 he himself stood. Again he was conscious of an 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 117 
 
 instinctive tremor. "The peace of Allah be with 
 thee, O Haj / " he said, and he found that he had 
 deliberately to control his own voice. There was 
 something imcannily impressive in the advance of 
 this silent, dignified old man. 
 
 " And with all the faithful ! " came the sonorous 
 reply, enigmatic to the German's ears. 
 
 He found himself looking into a pair of strangely 
 disturbing eyes ; heard, with a wild reeling shock 
 of the spirit, his own tongue spoken in a low, level 
 Oriental voice. 
 
 " Move not a finger and make not a sound, Schultz 
 Sahib, or you are a dead man ! " Schultz Sahib's eyes 
 glimpsed the muzzle of a pistol not six inches from 
 his chest. " Smile, Sahib ! or your friends may 
 interrupt us." ; 
 
 Having once ceded to the menace of the pistol, 
 the German's brain could not resist the command 
 of the imperative eyes that seemed to be boring 
 deep into him. He smiled — o. deathly smile. 
 
 " You have forgotten me, Schultz Sahib ? It is 
 not so long since we worked together on the railway. 
 One of us at least learned a great deal about the other 
 in those days, Sahib. Smile ! — keep smiling ! " 
 
 A wild revolt surged up in the German, subsided, 
 without exterior evidence, under the glare of the 
 dominating eyes which held his fascinated. He tried 
 to turn away his gaze, was checked by the level, 
 purposeful voice of the fakir. 
 
 " Keep your eyes on naine. Sahib ! Look else- 
 where and you are dead before you have looked ! '* 
 
 He heard the words reverberating through him, 
 
118 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 endlessly re-echoing in chambers of his soul magically 
 open to them. He felt himself fixed, immobile, in 
 a strange paralysis of the faculties. The terrible 
 eyes looked into his that he could not close — he felt, 
 as it were, waves of immeasurable strange force flow- 
 ing from them, rolling over him, submerging him. 
 And yet still he looked into the eyes of the fakir, 
 his own eyes an open port to their influence. 
 
 A subtle, pervading odour ascended his nostrils, 
 filled his lungs, mounted to his head. His brain 
 grew dizzy with it. And still the compelling eyes 
 held him, prevented him from turning his own eyes 
 to the source of the odour. He lost the sense of his 
 environment, was oblivious to the awed tribesmen 
 staring silently at the pair in the blaze of light. He 
 saw nothing but the eyes — lost consciousness of his 
 own body. He stared — and lost consciousness even 
 of the eyes at which he stared. 
 
 There was vacuity, oblivion, an annihilation of 
 time — ^and then out of that vacuity a voice com- 
 menced to speak. He heard it with a shock of the 
 nerves — it crashed through darkness with a mighty 
 power. He seemed suspended like a lost spirit in 
 everlasting night, fumbling around the vague yet 
 massive foundations of the world — indefinitely remote 
 from all that he had ever known. He could not 
 detach himself from those foundations. They 
 quivered under the booming voice, communicated 
 an unpleasant thrill to the core of him. An awful 
 unimaginable disaster seemed to envelop him. The 
 tiny germ of consciousness that was still his fought 
 for extension, strove to see. All was blackness — 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 119 
 
 blackness. And still the voice went on relentlessly, 
 driving through darkness, like a ploughshare thrust 
 forward by the firm grip of a mighty and inexorable 
 hand. Immeasurable results seemed dependent on 
 its progress. He listened to it — and as he focused 
 himself on the listening, a dim perception of his 
 environment came to him. He was vaguely con- 
 scious of a sea of faces, upturned, listening — ^as he 
 himself listened. Those faces — ^they were in some 
 relation to him, there was a link between them and 
 him — he could not determine it. He listened. The 
 words rang like sounding brass, the vowels roaringly 
 sonorous, the consonants clashing. He concentrated 
 himself on their meaning — penetrated to it suddenly 
 as through veils smitten asunder. 
 
 " Lies and again lies, children of the Prophet ! 
 A mockery of lies ! The Sultan Willem is a servant 
 of Shaiian who feigneth religion that he may lure true 
 believers to their damnation while they unwittingly serve 
 the Evil One ! " His perception leaped up, clawing 
 at danger, and then was dragged down again, en- 
 gulfed. He felt himself like a man drowning in black 
 waters at night — down — down — and then, fighting 
 obscurely, he shot up again, heard the inexorable 
 voice continuing : " This magic you have looked upon 
 is a false magic — the magic of unbelievers in league 
 with Eblis I " He heard the re-echoing denunciation 
 in a spasm of full consciousness — ^was suddenly 
 cognizant of the sea of faces, of fierce passions exhal- 
 ing from it — ^was completely aware of the menace 
 of utter ruin. A great revulsion surged in him. This 
 must be stopped — stopped I The necessity for 
 
120 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 instant protest was an anguish in him. All of him- 
 self that he could summon from the darkness as his 
 own shrieked the negative, and yet he did not utter 
 a sound — knew that he did not. " Climb up into 
 that box some of you^ and ye shall find no magic but 
 a Frank there .' " He strained with all his soul 
 towards the faculty of speech — felt his powers 
 vanquishing the spell of dumbness — on the verge 
 of utterance shaped his words of denial. " Lo .' have 
 I not spoken the truth ? Yea, I cannot speak other 
 than the truth, for I am the runaway servant of Mu- 
 hammed Din, and his sanctity hath broken the compact 
 between me and the Evil One / " In staggering horror 
 he realized — the voice was his own ! 
 
 He stood fixed, incapable of movement, and saw 
 — ^like a man that has dreamed and cannot yet 
 distinguish dream from reality — ^the mob of tribes- 
 men surging obscurely in the long stone room, saw 
 the blinding white eye of the lantern still shining 
 steadfastly upon him — saw it waver, swing from side 
 to side, and then, with one last blinding flash, dis- 
 appear. In the utter darkness he heard shouts and 
 shrieks and fierce derisive laughter. He heard crash 
 upon crash as heavy objects were flung from a 
 height at the other end of the room. He heard a 
 piercing yell, an agonized, appealing utterance of 
 his own name. For a brief second it shocked him 
 into complete consciousness — his operator ! Then, ere 
 he could break his invisible bonds, he felt a pair of 
 cool hands pressed tightly against his brow, over his 
 eyes, and he relapsed totally — ^with a last little gasp 
 — ^into nothingness. 
 
THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 121 
 
 He awoke again to see the tribesmen surging round 
 him, fiercely shouting. The room re-echoed with 
 reiterated cries of " Sharm ! Sharm / "* and a howl 
 that was so unmistakably for blood that it chilled 
 him to the heart. The room was lighter now — ^the 
 rags had been pulled down from the high loopholes 
 in the wall. He saw Muhammed Din standing before 
 him, fending off his adversaries. He was still incap- 
 able of voluntary movement. A great faintness 
 swept over him. He reeled back ; found himself 
 supported by the angle of the wall. He had been 
 thrust back there all unconscious of the move- 
 ment. 
 
 Dazed and sick, he heard Muhanmied Din speaking. 
 
 " O children of the Hills, Allah and His holy 
 Prophet sent me to you to rescue you from the snare 
 of the Evil One. On me is laid the charge of vengeance 
 upon this wretch, who was my slave ere he became 
 the possessed of Shaitan. But this much of ven- 
 geance will I grant ye, for this much is just. He 
 made a mock of you. Make ye a mock of him. Let 
 him be driven out of the village, face tailwards upon 
 an ass. The women and children shall cry derision 
 upon the runaway servant who came to deceive you 
 as a saint with the false magic of Shaitan ! " 
 
 Staring speechlessly before him, the exposed 
 charlatan heard the howls of approval of the mob. 
 His faintly working intellect wondered how the 
 mullah was taking this deception — perhaps even 
 yet He saw Muhammed Din hold up a large 
 
 * Sharm, a stain of dishonour that can only be obliterated in 
 blood. The conception that underlies the blood-feud. 
 
122 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 
 
 bag of money. He recognized it with a last hope- 
 lessness. 
 
 " This gold " — Muhammed Din emptied some of 
 it upon his hand — " this gold hath my servant surely 
 received from Shaitan. It is accursed unless some 
 holy man receive it. Therefore to you, O Mullah, 
 do I give it." 
 
 The mullah snatched at it. 
 
 " Great is Allah and for the meanest of His crea- 
 tures doth He provide ! " he said. " Thou speakest 
 truth, O holy fakir. Praise be to Allah that I am 
 here to protect the faithful from the accursed magic 
 of this gold. As to this wretch, accursed of Allah, 
 let him be driven quickly forth as thou say est, O 
 holy one ! It is meet that thy vengeance should 
 not have to linger." 
 
 There was a rush at the fallen magician. He 
 swooned into their arms. 
 
 Some little time later, when the last stone had been 
 flung and the last epithet of mocking insult had 
 ceased to echo from the hills, Schultz Sahib, his 
 hands bound behind his back, his feet tied under 
 the belly of his mount, raised his eyes from the ass's 
 tail that he had been contemplating. 
 
 " Thou hast won, O Muhammed Din — but even 
 yet I do not understand. What happened ? " 
 
 The fakir smiled. 
 
 " Thou hast thy magics, Schultz Sahib — ^what 
 thinkest thou of the magic of Muhammed Din ? 
 Hurry, O Willem, hurry ! " he cried, as his stick 
 descended with a resounding thwack upon the hind- 
 
¥ 
 
 THE MAGIC OF MUHAMMED DIN 123 
 
 quarters of the ass. " Thou art laggard in thy 
 invasion of the territories of the English ! " 
 
 The Political Officer listened to the story, and, 
 embracing hypnotism in the studies of his exile, made 
 a note of it. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 A DEEP silence brooded over No. 3 Ward, Officers. 
 It was late afternoon in October, but the room was 
 as yet unillumined from within. The two long 
 lines of windows that confronted one another — ^the 
 ward was a temporary hut -building — did so in a 
 contrast of lights, the eastern windows, backed by 
 grey obscurity, reflecting broken beams of the glory 
 of gold and purple and fiery red that streamed in 
 from the west. The two lines of beds, the indistinct 
 greys and whites of the ward, were delicately touched 
 by the warm glow where they rose into its radiance. 
 It picked out the short curves of the turned-back 
 sheet, humped with the recumbent form beneath, in 
 an imponderable caress upon the broken humanity 
 that lay, desperately finite, under the splendour that 
 knows no final setting. A mingled odour of disin- 
 fectant and anaesthetic hung in the air, explanatory 
 of the dead quiet, of the heavy breathing that was 
 part of the silence. This was a ward of the severely 
 wounded, recently arrived. From the utmost climax 
 of human effort, thunderous to the ear, dreadful to 
 the eye, maddening to the soul whether it exulted 
 triumphant over the menace of instant extinction 
 or shrank appalled and paralysed in the horror of 
 brutal death, from the fierce superiority of the un- 
 
 124 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 125 
 
 scathed killer, from the sudden shock, these men had 
 come, many of them unconsciously, by train and 
 ship and train and car to the white and green hospital 
 on the empty moorland, to the hushed screened peace 
 of the bed-ranked ward. 
 
 At the further end of the ward a Medical Officer 
 stood in murmured conversation with a Sister. He 
 was outlined black against the radiance of the sunset, 
 but on her the glow fell fully illuminant, rosy upon 
 the starched whiteness of the coif and apron, touch- 
 ing the pale face into faint colour. Her large, serious 
 eyes rested upon him, attentive to his instructions, 
 glanced away to the patient in the end bed as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Number Ten must be very carefully watched. 
 Sister," he said, the little smile upon his face indica- 
 tive only of his confidence in the quiet young woman 
 before him, in no way minimising the gravity of his 
 words. " I am afraid we are going to have a very 
 hard fight for him. But we mustn't let him slip 
 through our fingers. We'll keep him on this side if 
 we can." 
 
 She assented with a nod of the head, and a long 
 deep breath that was clearly a sigh. He scrutinised 
 her sharply. 
 
 " You have something on your mind. Sister. No 
 bad news, I hope ? " His voice was very kind. 
 " Captain Hershaw is all right ? " 
 
 The Sister's engagement was generally known in 
 the hospital. 
 
 The large eyes opened, revealing a mute, long- 
 suffered anxiety. 
 
126 THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 " It is more than a week since I heard from him, 
 Doctor. I am afraid — horribly afraid," she said in 
 a low voice. " This terrible fighting ! " 
 
 " The post is sometimes held up during active 
 operations, Sister. You must not be prematurely 
 anxious. A week is not very long. You must believe 
 in his luck. He has had a charmed life so far," the 
 M.O.'s kindly smile emphasised his reassuring tone. 
 
 " He has — he has. And life always seems so — so 
 vivid in him. I cannot imagine him" — her voice 
 sank almost to inaudibility — " dead." 
 
 " Don't ! " He smiled, full of sympathy. " Be- 
 lieve in his star." His tone changed to the profes- 
 sional. " Would you like to go off duty. Sister ? 
 I will speak to the Matron. A car is going into town. 
 Go and look at the shops." 
 
 " No — no. Doctor, thank you very much. I won't 
 leave my dear boys here. Poor lads ! it does me good 
 
 to fight for them — ^almost as if " she stopped, 
 
 turned away. 
 
 " Very well. Sister. Send for me if any change 
 occurs in Number Ten." 
 
 The M.O. walked down the ward, throwing little 
 glances at the silent patients, and departed. 
 
 For some little time the Sister busied herself noise- 
 lessly about the ward. Then Number Ten stirred 
 uneasily in his bed. 
 
 " Sister ! " he called in a faint voice. 
 
 She was by his side in an instant. 
 
 " A drink, please ! " 
 
 She gave it him, looked down on the young, strongly 
 masculine features as he drank, with an interest that 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 127 
 
 was subtly, unconsciously more than professional. 
 From the moment of his arrival in the ward — even in 
 his silences — ^Number Ten had been a ^personality. 
 Though powerless in bed there was a curious hint of 
 brute force in him. 
 
 " Now you must go to sleep again, Captain Layer- 
 ing," she said, smoothing his pillow. 
 
 " I can't, Sister." His eyes closed and opened 
 again in a spasm of pain. " I — I want to feel some- 
 one near me," his voice was very weak, " to get hold 
 of life again. Sister, sit beside me — for a moment, 
 please." 
 
 She glanced at him irresolutely, smoothed the hair 
 from his hot forehead with a cool hand, and then 
 acceded to his request, seated herself on the chair 
 by the bed. 
 
 " But you mustn't talk ! " she warned him. 
 
 " I won't. Sister ! " He was quiet for a moment. 
 " Sister ! I'm very bad, I know — but I'm not going 
 to die ! I won't die — I won't let myself die ! " 
 Despite his weakness, there was intense will-power 
 in his tone. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! Of course you are not going to 
 die." Involuntarily, she laid her hand upon the bed 
 as if to transfuse some of her own life-force into him. 
 
 He reached out a hand, grasped hers, resisted her 
 attempt at withdrawal. 
 
 " Please ! — please ! " he murmured. " I want to 
 
 hold on to life — ^there's so much " His eyes 
 
 closed sleepily. " I feel life flowing into me," he 
 said. The grip on her hand was tight. 
 
 For a long time she sat thus, her hand clasped in 
 
128 THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 his. Number Ten slept, with heavy breathing. It 
 seemed to her that his fever diminished. She feared 
 to withdraw herself lest she should awaken him. 
 The long ward was deathly still. 
 
 Presently there was a noise of footsteps. An 
 orderly approached, changing his gait to a clumsy 
 tip-toe in obedience to her gesture. 
 
 " A telegram for you, Sister," he said. 
 
 She glanced at the patient, essayed to release her 
 hand. It was firmly held in the sleeper's grasp. 
 
 " Open the telegram, Thomson," she said in a 
 whisper. 
 
 The orderly obeyed, handed her the drab piece of 
 paper. 
 
 She took it, glanced at it, nodded a speechless dis- 
 missal to the orderly. 
 
 " The War Office reports that Ronald is missing 
 believed killed HershawJ' 
 
 The words branded themselves into her brain as she 
 sat there fixed, immobile. She could hear them in 
 the wailing cry of the widowed mother who had 
 written the telegram, but her own voice seemed to 
 her for ever dumb, never to break this crushing silence. 
 She stared — ^with dry eyes— rstraight before her. 
 The obsequial lights of the departed sun, framed by 
 the window opposite, were extinguished one after 
 another. She did not stir, was unconscious that her 
 hand was still in the grasp of the wounded man. 
 
 " The War Office reports " It was like starmg 
 
 at a high, closed door. 
 
 An immeasurable time passed before an orderly 
 entered, switched on the electric light, drew the 
 
THE OTHER Sn)E 129 
 
 blinds. She roused herself, found the grip upon her 
 hand relaxed. She rose — ^with tight lips and burning 
 eyes, went about her duties. 
 
 That evening it was by an effort of will, sternly 
 administered, that she sat at table in the Sisters' 
 messroom. She scarcely ate, was deaf to the feminine 
 chatter around her. One of the sisters, a notorious 
 flirt, joked her upon her loverlike postiu-e with 
 Number Ten. The orderly had evidently talked. 
 Sister Braithwaite did not reply. As soon as possible 
 she fled to her little matchboarded cubicle. 
 
 By her bedside was a photograph of a clean- 
 featured young man, with intellectual eyes, more 
 than ordinarily vivid in their expression. She kissed 
 it passionately — " Ronald ! Ronald ! " — ^the loved 
 name came from the depths of her. The merciful 
 tears fell fast, her bosom heaved. 
 
 She slept with a packet of letters pressed tight 
 against her warm body. 
 
 She heard her name called : " Mary ! Mary ! " in 
 a startlingly familiar voice. She heard herself reply : 
 " Ronald ! " It was very dark. Where was she ? 
 Ah, by the stream. It seemed queerly natural that 
 she should be by that stream. It was not so dark 
 after all — only twilight. Twilight with dark woods 
 coming down to the stream. Her name was called 
 again : " Mary ! Mary ! " her lover's voice im- 
 patient. Again she heard herself reply : " Ronald I 
 Where are you ? " " Here, dear ! On the other 
 side ! You must cross the stream." 
 
130 THE OTHER SHDE 
 
 Of course ! She must cross the stream — ^that was 
 quite natural — ^and there was a Httle footbridge, 
 offering passage. She went over, not daring to look 
 down. On the other side she waited. He was not yet 
 visible. She wondered what suit he would be wear- 
 ing, wondered why she wondered. He came towards 
 her, his clothes curiously more conspicuous than his 
 face. He was clad in his old tweed suit, and mysteri- 
 ously it seemed odd to her. Yet what else should he 
 be wearing ? It was the suit he always wore when 
 out for a walk. She glanced at her own clothes with 
 a subtle sense of strangeness, yet it was her old summer 
 frock she wore. This little puzzle about clothes 
 played itself out in cosmic depths of her, receded or 
 was solved, vanished. Her lover was standing at 
 her side, enfolded her. 
 
 " Mary ! I have been so anxious about you ! *' 
 
 She looked up to eyes that seemed like stars in the 
 twilight. 
 
 " I, too, Ronald — I have been worrying about 
 you." There was a sense of something terrible in 
 the background, imminent, and yet she felt it 
 had been with her for a long time. It ceased. 
 " But everything's all right now — I have found 
 you." 
 
 A little glimmering something in the depths of her 
 asked why she said that, seemed to repeat doubt- 
 fully : " Found you " in a long, eternally re- 
 echoing voice. She felt eerie. It was as though her 
 existence was a duplicate imperfectly combined, like 
 the double vision, half running into each other, of 
 badly adjusted^binoculars. 
 
THE OTHER Sn)E 131 
 
 " I am so glad you are safe, dear," she heard her- 
 self say. 
 
 " Let us go and hear the nightingales," he said in 
 the voice so ringingly his own. He drew her along 
 the path in the twilight, his arm about her waist. 
 
 Nightingales ? Now ? Of course, why not ? The 
 season was early June — ^what was the silly half- 
 thought submerged beyond the horizon of her 
 mind ? 
 
 She allowed herself to be impelled by the pressure 
 of his arm. Closely linked, they followed the tene- 
 brous path by the wood, climbed skirting its dark 
 edge. Her lover talked copiously and interestingly 
 as he always did — on a multitude of subjects. He 
 was humorous, satirical, rhapsodic, earnestly elo- 
 quent by turns. How like him it was ! She admired 
 the wide range of his mind. Much more easily than 
 usual — she realised it in a little glow of self -flattery 
 — she comprehended him all through a long and 
 intricate disquisition. Yet lurking somewhere in her 
 dream-consciousness was the feeling that there was 
 an all-important topic on which he did not touch. 
 A part of her tried to identify that topic and failed. 
 The failure worried her. He talked of travel, of a 
 trip into (Germany through the Black Forest, across 
 Lake Constance into Austria and the Tyrol. Of 
 course ! That was to be their honeymoon tour. In 
 the days before — before what ? — before something — 
 they had often talked about it. They were not even 
 officially engaged then — she remembered how they 
 used to laugh together over these distant projects 
 that were treated as imminent facts. They had even 
 
132 THE OTHER Sn)E 
 
 had a little quarrel over the choice of two alternative 
 stopping places. She came back to his voice. 
 
 " Listen ! " he said. " Listen ! " 
 
 A nightingale was singing with supernatural 
 power. Loud, thrillingly resonant under the stars 
 that now powdered the sky, the song welled out to 
 them. Its burden, mysteriously comprehended by 
 them to esoteric depths, was sorrow — ^the sorrow of 
 all the world, here completely expressed, transmuted 
 into so strange a beauty that the listener held his 
 breath. The deep sobs, shudderingly repeated, that 
 threw off the magic runs of crystal sound, pervaded 
 the atmosphere about them with a mystic spell, 
 evoked an immense pity in them. They could have 
 wept. Suddenly they were conscious of a perfidy 
 in this magically induced compassion — a danger, 
 common to both, implied in it, imminent. He flung 
 his arms about her to protect her, shielding her 
 from it. 
 
 " You are mine, dearest ! — mine ! — only mine ! " 
 
 His words went ringing through the stars, passed 
 out of hearing, but were not silenced. She felt kisses 
 of intense fervour upon her mouth — responded. 
 
 " I am ! " she cried. Her words also rolled away 
 endlessly, as though permuted into imperishable 
 brass. " I am yours alone ! " 
 
 She half- woke in the feeling of a near presence, then 
 sank again into a sleep that remembers not its dreams. 
 
 She awoke in the morning obsessed by the baffling 
 sense of an occurrence she could not recall. Then 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 133 
 
 the memory, the reahsation of her loss flooded in on 
 her — harshly predominant in those first empty 
 moments as yet unlinked to the distractions of the 
 day. She wept, uncontrollable tears. " Ronald ! 
 Ronald ! " she cried in a low voice, her face buried 
 in the soft pillow. Then she remembered. Her 
 tears were checked. The details of her dream opened 
 one by one, stirred in her a curious, subtle fear she 
 felt unworthy of her. The vividness of it woke an 
 atavistic emotion, the shrinking reaction of primitive 
 humanity from the influence of those dead to this 
 world. Yet a more recent growth in her tried to 
 glory in the contact — impelled by an obscure senti- 
 ment of duty. " I do love you, Ronald ! " she mur- 
 mured again to the pillow. " I am yours alone ! " 
 The saying of the words seemed to merge her dream- 
 life into unison with the actual. 
 
 There was much to do in the long, freshly-aerated 
 ward that morning. As one by one each bed had its 
 sheets turned back, exposing the gashed, perforated 
 or fractured bodies of men who winced with pain, 
 the crude other side of war was laid bare. Into 
 strong relief, too, was thrown the complementary 
 phase of the other side of the vast catastrophe where 
 the noblest are proudly conscious of the wounds they 
 inflict. With tender care, the utmost solicitude not 
 to cause one unnecessary pang of suffering, the khaki - 
 clad doctors, the grey-uniformed, white-coifed and 
 aproned nurses, laboured to save and heal. 
 
 Sister Braithwaite thrust herself utterly into her 
 daily task of dressing wounds, of soothing pain, of 
 bringing a cheerful smile on to the face of the sufferer. 
 
134 THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 So doing, she eluded for quite long periods the obses- 
 sion which haunted her. 
 
 Number Ten was once more the focus of interest 
 in the ward. His condition had grown worse during 
 the night. To-day he was in a dangerous fever. The 
 doctor was grave. Sister Braithwaite watched over 
 him with unremitting care, found herself passionately 
 fighting off death. In the early afternoon the crisis 
 passed. He woke from a quiet sleep, looked up to 
 the Sister standing by his bed. 
 
 " You have saved me. Sister," he said in a weak 
 voice. " I could feel it " 
 
 " Hush, Captain Lavering. Go to sleep. We are 
 all trying to get you well." 
 
 " It was you," he said faintly, as his eyes closed 
 once more. 
 
 The silence of the ward was suddenly broken by a 
 merry peal of bells floating in through the open 
 windows. In the little village church tucked away in 
 a near-by hollow of the moor a wedding was being 
 solemnised. Sudden tears, a strange emotion, surged 
 up in Sister Braithwaite. 
 
 A case that had made good progress was removed 
 from the ward, a newly-arrived, severely-wounded 
 man brought in. 
 
 " If only it were Ronald ! " The neat, prim 
 figure of the Sister, supervising the orderlies busy 
 lifting the casualty into the bed, gave no indication 
 of the desperate agonised prayer. 
 
 She dreamed. 
 
 " Mine at last, my beloved — really mine ! " 
 
THE OTHER SHDE 186 
 
 The familiar voice thrilled through her, very close, 
 overhead. 
 
 " Yours ! Always yours ! " she heard herself 
 murmur. 
 
 She took her head from the darkness that obscured 
 her vision — ^it was his coat against which she had been 
 nestling ; she saw the little white touzled-up hairs 
 of the rough tweed ere her gaze stretched to longer 
 focus. She looked to his face, met his vivid eyes — 
 looked round at her surroundings. 
 
 They were alone in the first-class compartment of 
 a railway train that rocked and roared. His lips were 
 pressed on hers. " The great day, dearest ! " he said. 
 Her mind leaped to the allusion. Their wedding- 
 day ! They had been married that morning — she 
 could hear still the joyous peal of bells — were going 
 away on their honeymoon. The tweed suit he wore 
 was quite new — something like the old. She was in 
 a travelling-dress that he had already admired. Of 
 course ! It all came back to her as if she had just 
 awakened from a little sleep. 
 
 The train rushed on. She lived through all the 
 cinematograph-like pictures of the journey. A halt 
 and descent — little anxieties about the luggage — 
 then — ^after an interlude which was vague — ^another 
 train, another long journey — ^all was a continuous 
 long experience. She thrilled at a surreptitious 
 squeeze of his hand — ah, yes, there were other people 
 in the carriage now — ^rounded her lips at him in a. 
 provoking similitude of a kiss, daringly profiting by 
 the inattention of their fellow-travellers. A yearning 
 for him — ^induced by the naughty little act — filled 
 
136 THE OTHER SffiE 
 
 her breast, persisted. There was bustle, confusion. 
 They were in a throng of travellers who hurried. 
 Hurry ! They must not lose the boat. It lay there 
 before them, only its upper works seen, its two great 
 funnels leaning backward, belching black smoke. 
 The black smoke spread over the sky. It was night. 
 They were on board the boat, cradled in an easy 
 motion, sensible of the throb of the engines. On 
 and on they journeyed, linked in a very close com- 
 munion of eyes that spoke, of hands that squeezed 
 each other. She tasted a thousand little kindnesses. 
 How good he was ! How loving ! 
 
 And still the journey went on. Yet more trains. 
 She must have slept. She woke to a great city, filled 
 with innumerable inhabitants, all very busy. They 
 spoke a strange language very rapidly to one another. 
 She could not understand a word. But he, Ronald, 
 understdbd — conversed with them in their foreign 
 tongue. How clever he was ! There was music 
 somewhere — from a lighted cafe that flooded a damp 
 street with radiance. 
 
 She was bewildered in a variety of new and strange 
 impressions, leaned on him, soul and body. He led 
 her, sure of himself. Her love for him seemed to 
 increase at this revelation of his unfailing self-reliance. 
 Yet she knew that she loved him with all her being, 
 had always loved him so. 
 
 " And how do you like Brussels, dearest ? " his 
 ringing voice asked. Brussels ? Of course ! As 
 though a veil had fallen from her eyes she saw that 
 they were in the middle of the Grand' Place, lights 
 playing, Rembrandtesque, on the carved stonework 
 
THE OTHER STOE 137 
 
 of the ancient buildings. She recognised it at once 
 — how accurate the picture postcards had been ! 
 Brussels — ^the honeymoon journey ! She thrilled 
 with happiness, leaning on his strong arm. 
 The dream continued . 
 
 All through the next day its vividness haunted 
 her. At times she had to will herself to live in the 
 actual world. She scarcely spoke. The Medical 
 Officer in charge of her ward stopped her, asked her 
 if she were all right, his eyes searching her face. He 
 sympathised with her in her loSs so kindly and gently 
 that she loved him for it. 
 
 Number Ten was still the great preoccupation. 
 He claimed incessant care. But he was in the faint 
 beginnings of good progress. Strangely, it seemed 
 that when she tended him there was a conflict in 
 some obscure part of her. There seemed to be an 
 inarticulate voice, immensely remote, vaguely mina- 
 tory, not explicit. Captain Lavering insisted that 
 she was his rescuer, his eyes more eloquent than his 
 words. It made her feel awkward, curiously shame- 
 faced. His reiteration threw her out of that smile- 
 armoured impersonal professional relation to the 
 patient which alone makes continuous hospital work 
 possible. She masked her face with a gentle severity. 
 When he slept she was unreasonably glad. But she 
 liked tending him. The contact with actual life, 
 pain-stricken though it was, obliterated to some 
 extent the haunting memory of that dream world from 
 which she shrank, vaguely frightened. 
 
188 THE OTHER Sn)E 
 
 She forced herself to Hve only in the long, quiet, 
 bright ward ; in the chattering society of the Sisters* 
 messroom when off duty. 
 
 Her dream linked itself onto its predecessor. The 
 honeymoon was finished. She looked back down a 
 long vista of travel, of happy days. She had really 
 lived through all those experiences. She picked them 
 one by one from her memory like rare pieces from a 
 jewel-case, contemplated them with a smile. Each 
 expanded into a picture. The day they had walked 
 together down the rugged path of the tiny valley 
 imprisoned in the wooded hills, a fierce little stream 
 outpacing them as it dashed against great boulders, 
 and had come upon a sunny meadow where children 
 garlanded with flowers laughed and danced in a ring ; 
 a wonderful blue lake on whose shores were yellow 
 houses with red roofs and ancient cypresses on a 
 greensward near the water's edge — ^the melancholy 
 reiterated note of a church bell beat like a pulse 
 through the scene ; an old, old town with gabled 
 houses leaning in close confidence, rich carvings — 
 the grotesque ; in all was a pervading peace, rich 
 quiet life that thrives sleepy with well-being from 
 year to year ; over all was the ecstasy of mutual love 
 through which they had beheld the world. 
 
 Another memory came to her — early morning in 
 the Alps, a sea of wild narcissi all about them and, 
 beyond, the great white peaks glittering in the sun 
 of a blue sky. They went on and on, up and up. The 
 flowers were left behind — and she remembered she 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 189 
 
 had regretted leaving them, had grudged the effort 
 to cHmb for the sake of cHmbing — but he had insisted. 
 They stood at last high up, dazzlingly white snowfields 
 stretching away on every side, a summer sun beating 
 hot upon them. The air was rarefied, induced in 
 them a subtle ecstasy as they stood marvelling at 
 the brilliant austere beauty of the great peaks lifting 
 themselves into the sky, their robes slipping from 
 their rocky shoulders in a miracle of purity. He 
 encircled her waist with his arm, spoke in the voice 
 that stirred mysterious depths in her. 
 
 " Dearest," he said. " Not a flower but snow is 
 the true emblem of love. White as the essential soul, 
 how soon on the lower levels it is defiled, disappears I 
 But on the heights it endures stainless for ever, no 
 matter how hot the kiss of the sun." 
 
 And she had kissed him, speechlessly. 
 
 But all this was past. She was at home now, wait- 
 ing for him to come back from his work. Their home, 
 the home they had always planned, was all around 
 her. The very pieces of furniture they had regarded 
 in shop windows with longing eyes, had calculated 
 the cost of, were there. That quaint old table in the 
 centre of the room, half covered with the embroidered 
 openwork white linen laid for tea — how covetously 
 they had once looked on it ! How depressed they 
 had been at the dealer's price ! But it was there, 
 after all. Ronald had bought it, he who never rested 
 until he attained his heart's desire. How purposeful 
 he was 1 How strong ! How loving-kind ! She 
 closed her eyes, leaned back in a swimming ecstasy of 
 love. 
 
140 THE OTHER Sn)E 
 
 There he was ! She heard his footstep at the other 
 side of the door. He entered, was radiant, enfolded 
 her in that wonderful embrace where she was a sur- 
 rendered thing. He had a little parcel, handed it to 
 her. Tremblingly she opened it, certain of delight. 
 It was a framed enlargement of a photograph they 
 had taken that morning in the high Alps. With a 
 little happy cry she gazed once more on the long 
 smooth slopes of snow, stretching up to the dark- 
 patched peaks. Once more his arm encircled her, his 
 deep voice spoke. 
 
 " So shall we live, darling, always — ever upon the 
 heights." 
 
 She lay awake in her bed, ere it was day, and under- 
 stood in a great tremulous awe. In her dreams she 
 and Ronald were living precisely the life they would 
 have lived had there been no war. The honeymoon 
 — ^their home — all would have been accomplished 
 ere this. Had there been no war ! Exactly as she 
 had dreamed they would have travelled together — 
 his arm would have enfolded her — ^in long, long hap- 
 piness they would have lived. She burst into a 
 passion of tears, stifled in the pillow. Then she 
 turned her head, wondering, feeling as if her heart 
 had stopped. Would this dream continue ? Was it 
 — ^in some mysterious way — real ? Her lips moved 
 in a prayer, but she scarcely knew what she 
 prayed. 
 
 She was glad to escape into the busy actual life of 
 the ward, into the light of day. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 141 
 
 From now onwards her life definitely assumed this 
 double phase. 
 
 In the hospital she was the Sister Braithwaite that 
 all had known, diligent, bravely smiling, conscientious 
 in her duty. Those about her remarked only that 
 there was sometimes a curious stillness in her mien, 
 spoke pityingly among themselves of the sad loss of 
 her soldier lover. But death in a hospital is no rare 
 catastrophe and none lingered on the topic. There 
 was much to do, a continual stream of new arrivals 
 from the distant conflict, the doubtful fate of many 
 of those already long suffering. There were deaths, 
 recoveries, operations of professional interest. 
 
 Number Ten went slowly but steadily towards 
 health. Sister Braithwaite deliberately avoided all 
 contact with him save the professional. When she 
 chatted with a patient in the ward it was not with 
 him. His gaze was reproachful, and she would not 
 see it. Sometimes when she approached him he 
 would, half -jokingly, reiterate that she had saved 
 him. She would not hear. A strange sense of in- 
 security disturbed her in his presence. She half 
 
 divined that he nursed a project . She fled the 
 
 glance of the steady, resolute eyes in the strong face. 
 When at last he had made such progress that he could 
 be removed to a convalescent ward she was glad at 
 his departure. 
 
 At night she passed into another world. There 
 was no war in that life — ^never had been war. From 
 dream to dream she lived through a continuous 
 existence — ^the wife of Ronald. It was all vividly 
 real. It was the life they would have led — ^it played 
 
142 THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 itself out now in what to her daytime consciousness 
 was a realm of shadows. Not always did she dream, 
 or rather not always did her consciousness register 
 the events through which she passed. But later 
 dreams had dream-memories in them and the record 
 had no gaps. Time passed in that dream-world 
 without relation to the terrestrial days. In one night 
 she frequently lived through long periods. He was 
 always kind to her, always loving. She, too, loved 
 him passionately, with all her soul. 
 
 But in the daytime her being shrank from that 
 shadow-life. She was afraid — mysteriously, primi- 
 tively afraid. She could not mourn as she would 
 have liked to mourn. Sometimes she asked herself 
 whether she was not ceasing to love her dead affianced. 
 She tried to evoke his image — and often, to her dis- 
 tress, succeeded not. The strongly masculine features 
 of Number Ten, Captain Lavering, rose before her 
 mental vision, would not be banished. Then she 
 despised herself bitterly. In remorse she willed 
 herself forward to the night, bade herself not shrink, 
 and when the hour came gave herself to the darkness 
 tremulously, like a slave of the harem who goes into 
 the chamber of her lord. The portal passed she was 
 happy, completely happy — as happy as she would 
 have been the wife of Ronald in the dainty little 
 home that never could be other than the home of 
 her dreams. With strange, almost terrifying, com- 
 pleteness the shadow-life evolved. The house she 
 lived in she knew in all its details, had its rooms that 
 she preferred, views from its windows that she loved 
 or veiled. The presence of her husband was a reality 
 
THE OTHER SffiE 143 
 
 that filled it. She knew his footsteps, heard his voice. 
 (It rang often in her ears when her eyes unclosed in 
 the little matchboarded cubicle suddenly unfamiliar.) 
 They had long, long conversations together — ^wonder- 
 ful little interludes where their always underlying 
 love blossomed into delicate flower. She saw his face 
 clearly, saw that it was changing slightly, growing 
 more set, less boyish. There were difficulties — ^the 
 difficulties of real life — ^to be encountered. An 
 anguished struggle with bills and finances that would 
 not meet wrung her soul all one night. She pledged 
 herself to such brave economies I But the difficulties 
 were overcome, the memory of them lost in the em- 
 brace of her lover. Rarely, rarely was she unhappy 
 until she woke. 
 
 And day by day, not keeping pace with her other 
 life, her life of work in the hospital went on. Week 
 linked into week, month into month. The great open 
 moors around her changed their hue, were often 
 shrouded in mist. In December the first frosts 
 glassed the pools. Many were the patients who had 
 come and gone. The little cemetery under the hill 
 was fuller. Other sufferers were more fortunate. 
 Captain Lavering was fully convalescent, nearing his 
 discharge. She saw him often at a distance, avoided 
 him when he tried to approach her. She could not 
 have explained why, even to herself. Somewhere 
 deep down in her, the virility of his aspect set a chord 
 vibrating. She was always extremely, almost pain- 
 fully, conscious of his propinquity. For many weeks 
 they had not exchanged a word. 
 
 There came a night wonderful above all others. 
 
144 THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 She thrilled with a strange new ecstasy, drawn from 
 deep springs. It was the quiet, speechless ecstasy of 
 some mysterious fulfilment. She was filled with a 
 great tenderness that welled up and overflowed like 
 a source. There was something warm against her 
 heart. She looked down and saw that it was a new- 
 born babe. She was in bed. Then, in a great surge 
 of deeply flowing joy, she understood. She was a 
 mother — the mother of Ronald's child ! She could 
 have cried for joy that lacked expression. Her 
 fingers stroked thin silky hair on a tiny head. 
 
 Suddenly she was aware that Ronald was looking 
 down on her. She yearned up to him, but as she did 
 so she was conscious that her allegiance was divided. 
 Not all of her, as heretofore, reached out to him un- 
 dividedly his. There was a dumb insistent claim at 
 her breast. She smiled to disguise it. 
 
 But it seemed that he understood. His face was 
 troubled, the vivid eyes reproachful. He leaned 
 over her. 
 
 " Dearest," he said. " I cannot share you. The 
 child must never be more than the symbol of our 
 love. You must be mine — always mine. Promise 
 me that you will always be mine alone ! " 
 
 His jealousy flattered her. A gush of affection for 
 the strong lover admitting her power, mingled 
 with the mother-craving for protection for self 
 and child, was a fresh impulse revivifying the old 
 allegiance : 
 
 " Always yours, dearest — always yours ! " 
 
 He looked at her searchingly, his head seeming like 
 a carven figure of destiny, strangely significant. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 145 
 
 " I could annihilate the thing that comes between 
 us," he said, and she was a little frightened at his 
 voice. It rolled away big, superhuman — she harked 
 back, in a flitting thought, to an earlier dream- 
 memory. 
 
 He turned to a picture on the wall, pointed to it. 
 It was the Alpine scene. 
 
 " You and I," he said. " Always together — alone 
 upon the heights." 
 
 " Yes ! Yes ! " she said, only half understanding. 
 " Always — always yours ! " 
 
 She woke with a start, her own voice ringing in her 
 ears. Night was still a blackness in the little cubicle. 
 She put out her hand, touched the matchboard wall 
 to assure herself of her surroundings. 
 
 When she woke again it was to look through the 
 window and see the world white with snow. She 
 remembered with some pleasure that she was off 
 duty, had the day to herself. She wanted to be alone. 
 Her head was a whirl of troubled thoughts. The 
 emotions of her dream were still in her blood. Her 
 arms felt vacant as though an infant had just been 
 taken from them. A new longing came up in her — 
 a craving for motherhood. She linked it to her dead 
 lover. " Oh, Ronald I " she murmured. " If only 
 
 we had been married before you went to the war " 
 
 she left the thought unfinished. The craving per- 
 sisted, apart from his memory. She ached for a real, 
 living affection in this world of men and women. 
 Strange thoughts haunted her while she dressed. 
 
 As soon as possible she escaped from the hospital, 
 went out upon the moor that stretched in suave 
 
146 THE OTHER STOE 
 
 contours of dazzling white. A pale blue sky sank 
 into its mists. A cold wind hurried over it, whirling 
 up little columns of dusty, frozen snow. She walked 
 far into its solitudes, she hardly knew whether to 
 escape from her thoughts or to be alone with 
 them. 
 
 At last she turned back. She had climbed out of 
 a little hollow, was descending a featureless slope 
 when suddenly she perceived the figure of a man, 
 dark against the snow. He walked towards her 
 quickly. Simultaneous with her recognition of him 
 was the flush of blood to her face, a peculiar nervous 
 thrill. It was Captain Lavering. She half hesitated. 
 Then she strode forward, an insidiously victorious 
 temptation masquerading as strong will. Why 
 should she not pass him ? It was absurd. He might 
 
 think She hoped that she was not blushing, 
 
 or that the keen wind which fluttered her veil would 
 be the self-evident excuse. 
 
 They met. He stopped, made a gesture of 
 salute. 
 
 " Good morning, Captain Lavering." She was 
 glad to hear her own voice, had been afraid that she 
 could not bring it to utterance. What was there so 
 troubling about this man ? She avoided his eyes. 
 " I'm pleased to see you walking about again." The 
 crisis was successfully surmounted. She made as if 
 to continue her way. 
 
 " I saw you in the distance. Sister," he said 
 bluntly. 
 
 She did not find the commonplace remark for 
 which she sought. He blocked her pathway. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 147 
 
 " I have been waiting to speak to you for a long 
 time, Sister," he continued, as though he knew there 
 was no necessity for a trite beginning. ' ' Ever since you 
 saved my Hfe. You did — ^we won't discuss that." 
 She stared at him, speechless. " But I have waited 
 until I was sure that I was quite well again. You 
 know what I am going to say. For a long time you 
 have felt what was in my mind. You must be my 
 wife." 
 
 He was strong and real — vividly actual. She felt 
 as she did sometimes when her eyes opened from 
 a dream into the solid surroundings of her cubicle. 
 He barred off the other world. 
 
 "No — no," she breathed, dodged past him, hurried 
 over the snow. 
 
 He was by her side, keeping pace easily with 
 her. 
 
 " You can't escape me like that," he said. There 
 was obvious brute masculinity in his tone. Though 
 she tried to resent it, it did not displease her, and she 
 was angry with herself that it did not. " Listen. 
 I am a plain man. There is no fancy romance about 
 me. I don't want illusions. But I love you." He 
 stated the fact with absolute decision. " I can offer 
 you a good position and all that, but I know that does 
 not affect the matter. The vital thing is that from 
 the moment we set eyes on each other something 
 
 happened " for the first time he faltered in his 
 
 tone. " We both knew it. There it is. I hate being 
 sentimental. But I want you — and I know that you 
 want me." 
 
 " No — ^no ! " she said again, almost running. A 
 
148 THE OTHER Sn)E 
 
 blind desire to escape, from herself as much as from 
 him, dominated her. " I — I can't." 
 
 " Can't ? Why not ? You are free. I know you 
 were engaged. But he is — gone. We live in a world 
 of flesh and blood. You can't exist on a memory. 
 Besides," the words came like a slave-driver's whip — 
 she almost obeyed it — " you never loved him as you 
 love me ! " 
 
 She revolted, stung to burning resentment against 
 herself equally as against this masterful, crude male. 
 She stopped and faced him. 
 
 " Captain Lavering, you talk like a sick man." 
 She triumphed in the steadiness of her words. " You 
 have insulted me in the most uncalled-for manner. 
 Let that be enough." 
 
 His eyes looked into hers, challenged her sin- 
 cerity, were assured of it. He went red, looked 
 awkward. 
 
 " Forgive me," he mumbled. 
 
 She went on without a word, ignored the fact that 
 he accompanied her. They breasted an upward 
 smooth slope of snow that stretched up to a crisp, 
 clear outline against the blue sky. He ventured a 
 sidelong glance at her, a little light of primitive 
 cunning in his eyes. 
 
 " Quite Alpine, isn't it ? " he said. 
 
 As intended — his tone implied a resumption of 
 ordinary commonplace relationship — ^the words took 
 her off her guard. But he was ignorant of their 
 esoteric significance. In a flash, in a deep convulsion 
 of the soul, she saw the Alpine picture, vivid with 
 symbolism, of her other life. " — On the heights ! " 
 
THE OTHER SIDE 14& 
 
 In the full poignancy of the emotion it unlocked — 
 her own vow of fidelity ringing in her ears from 
 another world — she found herself struggling in a 
 man's tight grasp, hot breath upon her face, lips 
 seeking her own. " You must ! You shall ! " he 
 muttered, straining forward to her. She stiffened, 
 fought in a frenzy. " Ronald ! Ronald ! " she cried. 
 
 An icy wind swept down the slope, smote upon 
 them like a breath from the grave, shudderingly cold. 
 Captain Lavering uttered a little cry, relaxed his 
 grip, and fell sideways upon the snow. 
 
 Sister Braithwaite stared at him in horror. A 
 great fear came upon her, an awe in the presence of 
 unearthly power. She knew ! Her soul slipped back 
 into its dream-state, confronted the visage of her 
 lover, stern as destiny. The eyes judged her, forgave. 
 Then, weeping hysterically, she ran towards the 
 hospital. It was not far distant. 
 
 They brought in the dead man. 
 
 " H'm,*' said the Medical Officer, looking at him. 
 
 " Cerebral haemorrhage. This intense cold I 
 
 was always rather afraid of a lesion. A nasty shock 
 for you, Sister. Well, well, another one finished — 
 very sad, very sad." 
 
 An orderly brought Sister Braithwaite her share 
 of the just arrived post. There was a letter from 
 Ronald's mother. It enclosed one from the War 
 Office. 
 
 " Dear Madam," it ran. "It is regretted that no 
 further details have come to hand regarding your 
 son. Officially he is still posted as ' missing, believed 
 killed.' " 
 
150 THE OTHER SIDE 
 
 Sister Braithwaite shut herself in her cubicle, 
 talked to the photograph with the vivid eyes, talked 
 to it as primitive woman talks to the lover who has 
 destroyed his rival. She reached out to the Other 
 Side. 
 
NA NOS ! 
 {A study of Serb infantry in battle, 1914) 
 
 There is no moon. In black darkness a long file of 
 men stumbles up a stony gully. Precipitous rock- 
 walls keep them to the bed of a vanished stream, 
 where they trip in succession over the same loose 
 boulders. Their curses are hushed instantly by 
 voices not less authoritative because they bark in 
 whispers. Wrapped in long sheepskin coats the 
 figures pass like ghosts of an antique time, whose 
 grimness is accentuated by the incongruity of modern 
 rifles with fixed bayonets that glint under the myriad 
 stars. Presently the head of the file halts in what 
 seems a black pit, the edge of which cuts sharply 
 against the star-powdered bluish darkness of the sky. 
 Those behind arrive continuously, collect in the 
 hollow, are formed into ranks by sergeants who bully 
 sotto voce like angry conspirators. The company 
 commander is crawling on hands and knees up the 
 wall of the hollow, which is not so precipitous as it 
 appears in the darkness. 
 
 The captain peers cautiously over the crest. He 
 sees only blackness which rises all around him from 
 an abyss that reflects no ray in its profundity, and 
 blots out the stars high in the sky with irregular 
 
 161 
 
152 NA NOS ! 
 
 cones and shapeless masses of inky night. From 
 those mountains a wind blows chilly on his face. He 
 fixes his gaze upon a point in the blackness far across 
 the gulf. The point is decided upon after careful 
 reference to a phosphorescent compass in his hand. 
 He stares at this blank darkness until it almost seems 
 that he must be staring against closed lids. 
 
 Suddenly in the gloom at which he strains his eyes, 
 he perceives a pin-point of light. It flickers for an 
 instant and then projects itself in a ray of intense 
 brilliance widening from the point of origin, right 
 across the gulf. It falls in a great oval of blinding 
 whiteness upon the hillside to his right. Its hard 
 white glare is painful in its brutality. Everything 
 outside the ray is swallowed in a blackness where 
 even the stars are lost. The white oval on the hillside 
 moves slowly. It brings into vivid relief a long line 
 of loosely piled stones behind which lie, in many 
 attitudes, the motionless bodies of men. Some, 
 which have fallen across the heap of stones, throw 
 grotesque shadows, intensely black. The white oval 
 stays its slow progress, vignettes them from the night. 
 In the centre of the picture one of these figures stirs, 
 raises itself upon one elbow and rubs its eyes stupidly 
 like a man wakened from sleep by the sudden glare. 
 
 Instantly a group of sharp reports, multiplied by 
 rapidly reiterated echoes, breaks from the distant 
 blackness. The figure sinks quickly, a dark hole 
 visible in the ghastly whiteness of its face. The oval 
 begins to move again, assuring the men who lurk far 
 back in the night that this uncompleted shelter- 
 trench is held only by the dead. 
 
NA NOS ! 153 
 
 Suddenly the light is cut off. The stars reappear 
 in a sky that seems strangely pallid. The mountain 
 masses silhouette themselves more definitely than 
 before against their tenebrous background, the out- 
 lines of the high summits, where some snow still lies, 
 picked out in a grey that has just the faintest tinge 
 of yellow. From the black gulf below eddies of mist 
 boil up like steam from a mighty cauldron, veiling 
 the shrinking stars. A wall of fog rolls along the 
 hillside, blots out the mountains and the sky. 
 
 The captain turns instantly and calls down an 
 order in a carefully restrained voice. The company 
 in the hollow springs up and over the crest with the 
 agility of born mountaineers. They follow their 
 captain at a quick pace into the bank of fog. Behind 
 them is a murmur of voices. The other companies of 
 the battalion are coming up, deploying rapidly into 
 line when they reach the crest. The first company 
 has halted for a moment to allow time for their 
 arrival. Seconds are precious. At any moment the 
 cloud may roll away, expose them to the glare of 
 hostile searchlights and a storm of bullets. In two 
 long lines the battalion moves briskly down the hill, 
 leaving the unfinished shelter -trench upon its right. 
 Behind, another battalion is coming up in support. 
 
 Some way down the slope the infantry breaks out 
 of the mist. They open their files and slacken pace, 
 dodging nimbly from one to another of the boulders 
 which glimmer in the twilight. Overhead the search- 
 lights move uneasily in long pale bands against the 
 paling sky and fall upon the fog-belt in white circles 
 as upon a magic-lantern screen. The infantry is not 
 
154 NA NOS ! 
 
 yet discovered. It works stealthily but quickly for- 
 ward, aiming at a lower ridge that rises before them. 
 They seem alone in the narrow mountain -valley that 
 begins to reveal itself in the dawn, but their officers 
 know that to right and left of them other battalions 
 are likewise creeping forward. They reach the ridge, 
 halt and lie down upon its slope, wisps and wreaths 
 of mist blowing over them. 
 
 The searchlights are extinguished — when, it is hard 
 to say. The sky is now a translucent ultramarine 
 where no stars are left, and against which the moun- 
 tain peaks stand out in vivid orange. White fog 
 patches wander over the dark lower faces of the hills. 
 The infantry creeps cautiously up to the summit of 
 its ridge and, like one man, peeps over. In front of 
 them is a mountain-wall that goes back at an angle, 
 leaving a great gap. Another ridge, parallel to their 
 own, starts from the mountain-side and drops away 
 to the left. Its foot is lost in a sea of fog. Between 
 them and that ridge the ground drops into a ravine 
 and then mounts in a smooth glacis to the further 
 crest. A little below its summit the loose boulders, 
 which are everywhere sown over the ground, are dis- 
 posed in a long regular grey line. The officers of the 
 battalion give the range to that line — 750 yards. 
 The infantrymen snuggle down behind boulders and 
 inequalities on the crest and adjust their sights. 
 There is a general loosening of sheepskin coats, a 
 tinkle of cartridge-clips laid in readiness, and then 
 the line lies still, waiting, its bayoneted rifles slid 
 back out of view. 
 
 Far back the infantry brigade commander is lying 
 
NA NOS ! 155 
 
 upon his stomach upon the height to the left of the 
 wrecked shelter-trench. The fog-belt has moved off. 
 He has a clear view from ridge to ridge. Suddenly 
 he takes his field-glasses from his eyes and picks up 
 a telephone receiver at the end of a long line trailing 
 over the ground. He speaks a few words into it, 
 replies shortly to mysterious enquiries that emanate 
 from the far distance, suggests a number of metres 
 in thousands. Almost immediately the shriek of a 
 shell passes overhead and the report of a cannon-shot 
 comes echoing along the valley, arrives in a succession 
 of distinct shocks to the ear. Ere the echoes have 
 died away another shell screams past, followed by its 
 series of reverberations. The infantry brigadier is 
 watching the distant ridge through his binoculars. 
 The line of boulders is faintly visible. The first shell 
 bursts above it and beyond ; the second bursts short. 
 The bracket is too wide. The brigadier speaks again 
 through the telephone. Another shell wakes weird 
 noises from the mountains as an accompaniment to 
 its own shriek. It bursts just in front of the line of 
 boulders above it. Through his glasses the brigadier 
 sees the splash of shrapnel bullets upon the rocks like 
 twinkles in quick whiffs of dust. He speaks two brief 
 words into the telephone. A flight of shells rushes 
 overhead like a covey of screaming spirits and with 
 an enormous roll of thunder arrives the roar of a 
 battery in rapid action. Its reverberations roll and 
 clash endlessly, surging from side to side of the 
 valley in confused waves of violent sound. The long 
 line of boulders is suddenly whelmed in a cloud of 
 dust that renews itself as fast as it drifts into the air. 
 
156 NA NOS 1 
 
 From one end of that cloud spurt tiny points of flame, 
 and shriek crosses shriek in the air above, whilst a 
 series of sharp crashes mingles with the continuous 
 roar. Quick puffs of white smoke appear in groups 
 against the blue sky. In the unfinished shelter- 
 trench spurts of dust leap up around the bodies of the 
 dead men who lie behind the boulders. A battery 
 of guns has been pushed up into the infantry line over 
 there on the hostile ridge and, unobservant of the 
 menace close at hand, is spending its fury upon the 
 trench that it wrecked overnight. 
 
 The firing line upon the intervening ridge lies quiet 
 in its concealment. Its officers have no wish to pro- 
 voke a rafale from a battery protected by tall stone 
 sangars. Intently they watch the sheets of dust that 
 spurt up high over the line of boulders like the beat 
 of a rough sea against a breakwater. They mark 
 where the long thin tongues of flame shoot out cease- 
 lessly in reply, spitting at a distant target far behind 
 them. They communicate these observations to the 
 battalion commander who is smoking a cigarette in 
 an attitude of ease a little way down the slope. A 
 man <3lose to him commences a series of quick, jerky 
 gesticulations with a pair of flags held stiffly at arm's 
 length. No flags wave in reply, but, far back, the 
 brigadier at the telephone speaks. A great shell 
 rushes overhead with the roar of an express train. 
 A moment later the officers upon the ridge see a 
 sudden eruption of flame and rocks in the centre of 
 the line of boulders. They send another message 
 down to the signaller. Another shell hurtles through 
 the air, another explosion shoots upward, this time 
 
NA NOS ! 157 
 
 nearer to the spitting guns. Where the fumes drift 
 off, great holes, in which there is a scurry of tiny- 
 figures, are visible in the shelter trench. Wide grins 
 open on the faces of the Serbian firing-line as they 
 draw their rifles close to them and finger the triggers. 
 They understand fully the value of artillery support. 
 Again and again the volcanic eruptions spout into 
 the air with an appalling detonation that breaks 
 heavily into the rolling echoes which fill the valley. 
 Two of them leap up suddenly from the very midst 
 of the dust -cloud where the battery is at work. There 
 is a fountain of flying rocks dark in the centre of the 
 flame, and in the colossal roar of the explosion a 
 brief, acute note of human agony comes like a high- 
 pitched discord mingled with a thunderous bass. 
 A moment later the line of guns is revealed, naked to 
 attack. A few men are seen darting with short move- 
 ments about them. Three out of the six eject a 
 tongue of flame at short intervals. While they fire, a 
 pale gleam flickers along the Serbian ridge as the 
 bayoneted rifles are thrust forward, and with a long 
 dry crackle a sheet of bullets leaps out at the wrecked 
 battery. The sun rises over a shoulder of the moun- 
 tains and a band of golden light spreads downwards, 
 illuminates the flying clouds of dust in which figures can 
 just be seen frantically endeavouring to turn the guns 
 in the new direction. They are picked off one by one 
 with deadly aim. Above the trench the shrapnel 
 bursts incessantly, a new shower starting ere its pre- 
 decessor has reached earth. 
 
 Along the Serbian ridge the sheepskin-clad figures 
 lie in snug safety and pull trigger with chuckles of 
 
158 NA NOS ! 
 
 satisfaction. There is no excitement, only a keen 
 savouring of primeval emotions that can now be 
 given rein. About them dance quick spurts of dust 
 and bright splashes of nickel appear upon the rocks. 
 An irregular rifle fire is coming from the hostile ridge. 
 One or two shells burst overhead and then the guns 
 fall silent, are forgotten. The company on the right 
 starts suddenly to its feet, dashes over the crest and 
 down the slope. The rifle fire from the other ridge 
 changes in character, welcomes them with rapid, 
 violent claps. A couple of machine-guns strike into the 
 din with a continued rapid and resonant hammering, 
 nerve-racking in its persistency. Men in the running 
 line throw up their arms or pitch forward here and there, 
 but the company is lost to sight almost immediately 
 on the rock-strewn hillside. The men dart forward 
 from boulder to boulder. Behind them on their left 
 other companies are descending in quick succession 
 towards the ravine. 
 
 At the other side of the ridge, in rear, the second 
 line of the battalion is coming up in support, and 
 behind them the other battalions of the brigade are 
 streaming forward, unhindered as yet by artillery 
 fire. It is a brief respite, however. In a moment 
 or two a distant, unseen battery has got their 
 range, flings shell after shell to burst over their 
 heads and fall in a spreading cone of bullets. The 
 brigade advances with quick onward dashes by 
 battalions that spring up, race a hundred yards and 
 disappear for a breathing space among the boulders. 
 Gradually they draw into the shelter of the inter- 
 vening ridge, and battalion after battalion tops it and 
 
NA NOS ! 159 
 
 moves down to the aid of those in front. A strong 
 firing-line remains on the crest, keeps up a steady- 
 stream of bullets against the long grey line still 
 whelmed in dust by an unceasing hail of shrapnel. 
 The brigadier ensconces himself in a rock shelter at 
 the end of this firing-line, the telephone receiver still 
 ready to his hand. 
 
 The first line of the attack has now reached the 
 ravine. The men seize hold of tiny shrubs that grow 
 out at overhanging angles and swing themselves 
 down, scrambling over loose stones and sliding sand. 
 A hail of bullets is beating upon them from the 
 trench above and from a line of supports that has 
 come into action higher still. The machine-guns 
 hammer with an appalling energy that knows not 
 fatigue. Where their aim is directed the sand spouts 
 up as though struck by an air-blast from a hose. In 
 that ravine the first line is more than decimated. 
 Men stumble and fall upon their own bayonets. 
 Corpses, hanging limply, weigh down the shrubs. 
 With fierce shouts the survivors scramble onward. 
 The second line has caught them up, is mingled with 
 them. The battle-madness seethes in every head ; 
 each bullet that strikes harmlessly upon the earth is 
 a shock of stimulation to already hyper-excited 
 nerves. They lose their identity, lose the instinct of 
 self-preservation in the flood of an older instinct 
 which blinds them to all but the hazards of the 
 ground, and sweeps them forward like demented 
 animals frantic to assuage a thirst that consumes 
 their tissues. A savage cry breaks automatically 
 from every throat ; the blood-congested brains, that 
 
160 NA NOS ! 
 
 permit the action of the muscles, unconscious of it. 
 They reach the bottom of the ravine, not very deep, 
 and clamber up in the comparative security of the 
 other side. 
 
 At the foot of the smooth slope which reaches to 
 the dust-whelmed boulder-line, their officers halt 
 them by orders, entreaties. The men lie down 
 and open a rapid, irregular fire against the trench. 
 More men arrive behind them, frenzied with excite- 
 ment. They attempt to rush upward, are pulled 
 back by officers, or are struck down quickly in the 
 rain of bullets from the trench. The rifle-fire up 
 there comes now in one long rolling crackle through 
 the cloud of dust that flurries in answer to the con- 
 tinuous crashing of the shrapnel. The fire of the 
 attack increases in sporadic bursts. 
 
 On the ridge behind, the brigadier speaks a few 
 brief words into the telephone. A minute later the 
 shrapnel ceases to burst over the trench. 
 
 In the disordered crowd of men that lies at the foot 
 of the slope is a commotion that defies the efforts 
 of the officers. In vain do they, knowing what is 
 about to occur, endeavour to form a regular line of 
 attack up the ravine, as, from those who are still 
 swarming down the other side, arises one hoarse, 
 savage cry that dominates the crash of rifle -volleys. 
 It is the battle-cry of a primitive people that spon- 
 taneously clutches its primitive weapon in this 
 awakening of its oldest instincts, this plunge into the 
 seon-old chaos where man thirsts for the blood of man. 
 " Na Nos ! Na Nos ! " comes the cry from a thousand 
 throats, reiterated endlessly by frenzied men whose 
 
NA NOS ! 161 
 
 faces are deathly white or inflamed with blood. " Na 
 Nos ! Na Nos ! " from parched mouths, from dry, 
 cracked lips the shout issues, overpowering the 
 orders of the officers. The bloodshot eyes that pro- 
 trude with wild hatred at the trench no longer see those 
 officers. It is a savage horde merely, in which the 
 modern military hierarchy is lost, obliterated by an 
 intensely individual lust to slay as their ancestors 
 slew. " Na Nos ! Na Nos ! " " With the knife ! 
 With the knife ! " What matters it that the knife is 
 at the end of a rifle ? It is still a knife, the primordial 
 weapon. With an angry roar, the mass, no longer to 
 be restrained, rushes madly up the slope. 
 
 With an answering crash the rifle -fire from the 
 trench leaps to a climax. The men up there are firing 
 for their lives. In the horde upon the slope is an 
 appalling massacre. Heedless of it, blind to it, the 
 mass surges upward, happily forgetful of the cart- 
 ridges in their own rifles, mindful only of the blade 
 that gleams at the muzzle. They see a line of faces, 
 white behind countless spurts of flame. With one 
 fierce roar they hurl themselves upon them. Men in 
 grey-blue spring up and dash away or turn and run 
 at them bayonet to bayonet. The attacking line 
 howls in the joy of butchery — " Na Nos ! " 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA I 
 
 The hot sun of a morning in early summer beat down 
 upon the narrow street of a Httle North ItaUan town. 
 Down the long, confined vista of colonnaded shop- 
 fronts, hung with striped awnings of warm hue, the 
 air quivered above the cobbles, troubled the view of 
 an arched, square-turreted gateway which barred 
 the street. The sky above was a long strip of in- 
 tense azure. Sharp to the left, near at hand, was 
 the roughly-paved piazza, white-fronted Venetian- 
 shuttered houses looking out to the large round basin, 
 the weather-worn Triton, of the fountain where the 
 pigeons, flashing in the sun, circled down to drink. 
 A group of girls, bare -armed, black-haired, skirts 
 turned up over vividly-coloured petticoats, water- 
 jars underneath the gush from the Triton's mouth, 
 or poised already upon the graceful head, stood laugh- 
 ing and chattering about the fountain. Their gaze 
 was unanimously turned towards the large building, 
 the words Palazzo Municipale over its arcaded front, 
 which occupied one side of the square. Carved on 
 that front, beneath the clock, defaced but not entirely 
 obliterated, might yet be made out the double -eagle 
 of Austria — a memento of a tyranny that had fled 
 before a passionate patriotism, to entrench itself, 
 not far distant, high on the crag and glacier of the 
 
 163 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 163 
 
 eagles' haunts, ready to swoop. But not to that 
 did the merry, whispering girls dart their flirtatious 
 glances. The two grey-uniformed Bersagliere 
 sentries, strutting up and down before the building, 
 superb under the drooping cocks' feathers of their 
 grey-covered tilted hats, were for once immune. A 
 handsome young officer, black-moustached, dark- 
 eyed, who stood, one foot upon the running-board 
 of a car that hummed ready to start, in conversation 
 with another officer, was the point of interest. Both 
 officers, clad in the grey field-service uniform, wore 
 upon their arm the brassard which indicated that 
 they were of the Staff. The officer on the point of 
 departure wore the badges of captain ; he who was 
 giving him his final instructions was a tenente colonello 
 (lieutenant -colonel ). 
 
 " You quite understand what the General wants, 
 don't you, Ricci ? " he said, using the familiar " /w," 
 universal between Italian officers. " As soon as 
 possible after the position is captured, a report on 
 its possibilities for field artillery if we can advance 
 to the covering ridge. The General thinks it will 
 command the valley road up from the railway. You 
 will see. Don't get buried under an avalanche ! " 
 
 " Very good, colonel. I quite understand." He 
 saluted — ^a quick movement of the hand horizontally 
 below the peak of the k^pi, palm downwards, as 
 though shading the sight, in the Italian fashion — ^and 
 jumped into the car. He pushed to one side a heavy 
 fur coat, settled himself. A moment later the car 
 was humming out of the square, spinning down the 
 long colonnaded street. 
 
164 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 In front of him loomed the heavy mediaeval gate- 
 way, square above its arch. Its ordinarily forbidding 
 gloomy aspect was lost in a generous decoration of 
 green boughs, a trophy of Italian flags, red, white and 
 green, above a white-crossed shield, a great inscrip- 
 tion — "Per la piu grande Italia ! " * The battle-cry 
 of Italy's greatest modern poet — ^the cry that had 
 rung beseeching, dominating, inspiring, through dithy- 
 ramb after dithyramb of the wonderful passionate 
 orations by which he had wakened the glowing soul 
 of the people into flame, was blazoned here as every- 
 where in Italy. Under that gateway thousands of 
 Italy's sons had marched to conflict with the Tedeschi, 
 to the redemption of their brethren ; thousands more 
 would march. And those to come would shout as 
 those who had gone had shouted : " Per la piil 
 grande Italia ! Evviva Italia ! " The captain, 
 glancing up at it ere the car shot under the dark arch, 
 carried the inscription marked upon his brain through 
 the obscurity. Familiar enough, he reperceived its 
 meaning with a thrill. What mattered the little 
 individual life he was hurrying to risk ? " Per la piii 
 grande Italia! " 
 
 The car sped along a road on the left side of a 
 pleasant valley. In front, immediately claiming the 
 eye, a range of Alpine peaks, dark rock-scars break- 
 ing their dazzling whiteness, exquisitely delicate and 
 fine-drawn as perceived through the warm atmosphere, 
 towered in lofty austerity into the rich unvarying blue 
 of the sky. The road, thick with dust, climbed to- 
 
 * " For Greater Italy ! " — the theme of d'Annunzio's discourses in 
 the doubtful days preceding Italy's intervention. 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 165 
 
 wards them in long loops and bold curves. Close 
 upon its left, dark woodland descended, masking ever 
 and anon the distant prospect behind a shoulder of 
 the hills. To the right, across the green valley where 
 the cattle stood hock-deep in flowers, village after 
 village — yellow-ochre and burnt -red, its slant-roofed 
 campanile high above the flat houses — clustered it- 
 self upon an eminence or nestled low down to the 
 valley stream. Viewing the scene of quiet bucolic 
 prosperity it was difficult to imagine that among the 
 silent peaks in the background lurked the terrors of 
 war ; men embattled for mutual destruction. 
 
 Along the road creaked and squealed clumsy 
 country-carts drawn by oxen with patient heads 
 bowed to the yoke. They hoofed the dust with the 
 unhurried motion of centuries of tradition in their 
 toil, careless of the goad of the barefooted contadina 
 crying them to hasten, to turn aside to allow passage 
 for impatiently hooting motor -lorries. In strange 
 contrast of locomotion, column after column of 
 lumbering mechanical transport rushed down from 
 the mountains in a smother of dust and petrol -fumes. 
 Column after column proceeding upward was over- 
 taken and passed by the captain's car. Ever in 
 front towered the range of glittering peaks, in un- 
 shakable, eternal calm. Yet from somewhere among 
 their solitudes came a distant, faint roar that was 
 not the roar of nature's thunder. 
 
 The road had climbed high. The valley was 
 narrower. The orchards sloping to its stream were 
 white with fruit-blossoms. The air was rarefied but 
 still hot under the direct rays of the sun. The dark 
 
166 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 woods of oak gave place to darker woods of pine. 
 The road swept round in sharp curves on low-para- 
 peted stone bridges above a rushing torrent. Bare 
 green slopes, strewn with grey boulders, opened 
 between the woods. The car overtook a long march- 
 ing column of Alpini crunching the dust under 
 heavily nailed boots, pack high upon the shoulders, 
 alpenstock as well as rifle, sweating profusely yet 
 pressing upwards with quick step, the eagle's feather 
 in their soft hats still jaunty. It was the rear battalion 
 of a brigade whose units were successively overtaken 
 and passed. 
 
 The road swung to the right round the head of the 
 valley which here commenced in a sheer drop. As 
 the car followed it there was a sudden spurt of flame, 
 a drifting tawny smoke, in the dark depths to the 
 right. A tremendous, shattering detonation that 
 re-echoed endlessly down the valley ceased at last, 
 leaving audible the eerie moaning of a great shell 
 speeding upwards over the mountains, already far 
 away. Another such flash and detonation followed 
 the first. Looking over the side of the car, the 
 captain perceived, deep down, the long barrel of a 
 monster gun nosing upwards, men tiny about it. A 
 second gun was depressed, a crane -slung shell hover- 
 ing near its breech. Once more there was a crash — 
 a series of distracted conflicting echoes that shattered 
 the Alpine silence as thick glass is starred and frac- 
 tured. In the sky above the valley an eagle beat the 
 air with heavy, violent wings, startled into a vertical 
 climb, and then glided swiftly with outstretched 
 pinions downwards to its crag. 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 167 
 
 The road still ascended, left the valley, climbed 
 tortuously a rocky spur, thinly grassed. The car 
 took the gradient slowly, noisily, on second speed. 
 In front, struggling on the brow of the spur, a column 
 of " caterpillar " tractors drawing the component 
 parts of a battery of heavy howitzers distributed on 
 trucks rattled and detonated like machine-guns in 
 full action. The battery personnel, harnessed to long 
 ropes, hauled and strained at the leading piece in an 
 effort to facilitate the passage of the steep crest. 
 Before the war the boldest artilleryman would have 
 scouted the possibility of such heavy ordnance at 
 this height among the mountains. But the battery 
 was only entering upon the area of its severest 
 toil. 
 
 On the crest of the spur the road turned to the left, 
 climbed at an easier angle. The view, hitherto much 
 masked by closely overhanging slopes, opened out. 
 To right and left the gaze plunged into blue depths, 
 fell on miniature woods and thin white strips that 
 were roads. Far away on either hand the mountain 
 ranges lifted themselves, superb, into the blue sky. 
 But directly in front the higher peaks were not seen. 
 A sheer wall of dark rock barred the view as effec- 
 tually as it seemed to bar further progress. 
 
 At the foot of the precipice was a stationary column 
 of motor-lorries, tiny by comparison with the tower- 
 ing mountain. The road went straight up to it. 
 The captain in the car bestirred himself, picked up 
 his heavy fur coat. Far away and high above was a 
 prolonged rumbling roar that seemed to re-echo 
 from invisible walls in the upper atmosphere. In- 
 
168 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA I 
 
 voluntarily the captain raised his eyes. The blue 
 sky was untroubled. 
 
 Upon the face of the rock — which leaned back less 
 precipitously than had appeared — swarmed hundreds 
 of grey-imiformed engineers. They were laying a 
 pathway of heavy timber, erecting huge sheers, 
 arranging a complicated tackle of thick rope and 
 large pulleys. Back along the road the first of the 
 heavy pieces for which this hoisting apparatus was 
 in preparation lumbered already into sight. 
 
 This tackle was not the only feature on the preci- 
 pice. A little further along, at the centre of the line 
 of lorries, a light cantilever steel standard was con- 
 nected by drooping wire ropes to the summit. Sus- 
 pended from those ropes by a running-gear of pulleys 
 a little car was gliding steadily upwards, another 
 coming down. It was the Teleferica — ^the famous 
 wire-rope railway, that, many times multiplied, made 
 modern war possible at these high altitudes. 
 
 Ammunition in boxes was being unloaded from the 
 lorries, stacked on the roadside near the Teleferica, 
 The downward -gliding car was seized by a group of 
 waiting men, steadied, stopped, quickly loaded with 
 the boxes. 
 
 The staff -captain's motor drew up. He descended, 
 walked towards the Teleferica, exchanged a salute 
 with the dapper little ammunition officer superin- 
 tending the work. 
 
 " Buon' giorno, signor capitano,'' said the little 
 lieutenant. " Are you going up to see the attack ? " 
 
 The captain nodded. 
 
 " Ah ! Some people have all the luck ! I never 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 169 
 
 see anything. My battery never has any casualties 
 — and here am I left supernumerary. I might as 
 well be mountaineering for my pleasure ! " He 
 drew a lugubrious grimace of comic, half-sincere 
 self-pity. 
 
 The captain struggled into his heavy fur coat, 
 apparently superfluous here in the fierce heat which 
 glowed from the rock in the noonday sun. 
 
 " A glass of wine before you ascend, capitano ! " 
 said the lieutenant. " Come, I will take no denial ! " 
 
 He led the way to a little wooden shack close under 
 the lee of the precipice. Within, the walls were 
 decorated with a number of scathingly satirical draw- 
 ings of the Tedeschi ; some extremely clever studies 
 of the mountains in their different aspects of light — 
 sunset and dawn, moonlight. The host, perceiving 
 the captain's glance, made a deprecatory gesture. 
 
 " What I am reduced to, signor capitano ! And 
 I might be blowing the Austrians out of their eyries ! '* 
 He was typical of that new Italy which, while it can- 
 not cease to be artistic, holds all of small account that 
 is not war against the Austrian. He filled the glasses, 
 raised his own, half turned to a portrait of Gabriele 
 d'Annunzio that shared with the King the honours 
 of the wall. " Per la piii grande Italia ! " 
 
 " Per la piu grande Italia ! " Both officers drank 
 the toast. " To-morrow morning she will be a little 
 greater if the fates are kind," added the captain. 
 
 A few minutes later he was lying full-length in a 
 narrow low-sided cage, suspended from a pulley on 
 a thick wire-rope, and being hauled up, with much 
 creaking and strident protest of the pulley-wheel and 
 
170 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 vicious jerking of the loose rope, to the summit of the 
 cliff. 
 
 There he was again in a scene of activity. Broad- 
 shouldered porters in frayed and much-worn Terri- 
 torial uniforms were bearing away the ammunition 
 boxes that had arrived at the summit, carrying them 
 towards the next station of the Telef erica. The captain 
 followed in their track. 
 
 The wire -rope railway ran in short sections from 
 station to station. The gaps between the sections — 
 stretches of comparatively level ground — were filled 
 by the sturdy Alpine porters or, in the case of longer 
 distances, by pack-mules. It was the line of com- 
 munications to the sector of the front immediately 
 ahead — a front that for the most part of 450 miles is 
 thrust out amid the eternal snows of lofty mountains, 
 along the edges of deep chasms, upon the knife- 
 ridges of aretes, across the Arctic desolation of glacier 
 and neve. Over it was transported food and ammuni- 
 tion, light guns, clothing, equipment, all the neces- 
 saries for an army in action. By it descended the 
 wounded and the sick, the unwanted stores. 
 
 Over section after section the staff -captain passed, 
 ascending higher and ever higher towards his goal. 
 About him rose the great peaks, their robes of snow 
 dazzling white under the sun, splendidly superior 
 to the ragged army of stunted pines that sought to 
 climb them, last lost sentinels straggling half sub- 
 merged in the snow. Up sheer rock-faces whence 
 birds of prey darted frightened from their nests, over 
 deep chasms where he looked down to a dark pro- 
 fundity of pines and rushing streams, over great 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 171 
 
 empty fields of snow far away beneath him on which 
 zigzagged long lines of tiny black figures insignificant 
 in the immensity, bearing burdens, upward and ever 
 upward to the regions where snow and ice reign in 
 eternal winter, the Teleferica bore him. And ever 
 between the stations there were throngs of busy men, 
 more and more thickly clad at each successive height, 
 who marched under heavy loads. 
 
 Always there was a thunder rolling among the 
 mountains. From apparently inaccessible crags dark 
 against the blue, from bare snow ridges, from bleak 
 white wastes where there seemed nothing to detain 
 the eye, spurted little darts of flame, drifted faint 
 smoke. Detonations came in sharp direct cracks, 
 fantastically re-echoed ; in a long rumbling angry 
 mutter from the more distant guns. From steep 
 mountain-sides, avalanches, loosened by the con- 
 cussions, rushed downwards in a white smoke of flying 
 snow, their thunders rivalling the persistent artillery. 
 
 The staff -captain dallied not. The bombardment 
 which was to prepare the way for the attack had 
 already commenced. He hurried over the inter- 
 vening spaces between the wire -rope stations, as- 
 cended higher and ever higher in the little dangling 
 cages. 
 
 It was afternoon when he reached the limit of the 
 Teleferica — a little snow-covered hut on a desolate 
 ledge. Here, sheeted down from the weather, stacks 
 of supplies awaited further transportation. It was 
 the depot of the quartermaster of the battalion hold- 
 ing the sector. An Alpino soldier, thickly clad, was 
 in waiting to act as guide. 
 
172 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 The staff-captain borrowed an alpenstock from the 
 quartermaster and set out. In front of him stretched 
 a great smooth slope of snow that ascended until, 
 high above him, it cut — in sharp contrast — across the 
 blue of the sky. Its whiteness was blinding — ^the 
 captain fitted on a pair of darkened spectacles. Far 
 across it, dark dots strung like beads on an invisible 
 thread, a company of soldiers was marching in a long 
 single file zigzagged over the snow, climbing to the 
 crest. Nearer at hand to the right, vivid spurts of 
 yellow flame shot out from mounds of snow aligned 
 at a little distance from each other. The detonations 
 of the battery came crisply to the ear, predominant 
 over the rumble and roll and confused echoes of the 
 general bombardment. 
 
 As the captain followed his guide up the vast empty 
 slope he heard a long plaintive whining in the air, 
 descending a scale of tones. It had not ceased when 
 over to his right a great fountain of snow leaped 
 skywards from the field — subsided leaving a smother 
 of dirty smoke. The whine finished in an ugly rush, 
 a muffled detonation. Another and another followed, 
 in each case the visible effects of the shell's explosion 
 preceding the noise of its arrival. The Austrian 
 batteries were replying. 
 
 The echoing thunder of the bombardment continued 
 all through the dreary fatiguing climb up the slope 
 of snow. The higher peaks began to throw long blue 
 shadows across its whiteness, their argent heads to 
 be suffused with gold. 
 
 The ridge to which they climbed was not, after all, 
 the summit. There was another, yet higher, whence 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 173 
 
 splintered crags serrated the sky. They reached it, 
 stood among rocky pinnacles. 
 
 " Attenzione, signor capitano ! " said the guide. 
 " It is dangerous to linger ! " 
 
 Followed by the captain he swung himself round 
 a jut of rock, dropped into a trench excavated deeply 
 in the snow. As they dropped a couple of ugly 
 " phutts ! " just above their heads explained the 
 warning. 
 
 The Alpino grinned. 
 
 " Tirolese ! " he said. " We could have gone round 
 by a safer way, signor capitano, but their snipers do 
 not often hit if one is quick." 
 
 The deep trench, in cold blue shadow through the 
 gilded surface of the snow, descended the ridge at a 
 gentle angle to the summit. It emerged into another 
 trench that ran roughly parallel to the ridge. This 
 was filled with soldiers who, well below the high 
 parapet, larked with one another, threw snowballs, 
 wrestled and laughed. They were keeping them- 
 selves warm during their enforced wait. Every one 
 of them was garbed in a thick white outer coat, with 
 a hood. This was the main trench ; these were the 
 men who presently were going to attack. 
 
 On steps cut in the parapet stood sentries, peering 
 towards the enemy. The captain ceded to an impulse 
 of curiosity, interrupted his hurried progress towards 
 the battalion advanced headquarters, mounted to 
 the side of one of these sentries, looked out. 
 
 About him was a sea of mountains, their lower 
 flanks in cold blue light, their snow-covered peaks 
 orange against the azure sky. Immediately in front 
 
174 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 of him were the nearly submerged stakes, the snow- 
 thickened upper wires, of wide entanglements. Be- 
 yond them stretched the confused, humped and 
 fractured white surface of a high glacier. On the 
 other side of it was again a snow ridge, and in front 
 of that ridge could be discerned a belt of wire entangle- 
 ments — ^the enemy's. In the midst of that entangle- 
 ment, and all up the snow to the ridge, leaped fountain 
 after fountain of white snow, momentarily brilliant 
 against the sky, falling back into a persistent cloud 
 of dark smoke. The noise of the explosions over- 
 whelmed the roar of the guns behind. The pre- 
 paratory bombardment was in full swing. 
 
 Warfare in the high Alps, with their difficult com- 
 munications, is necessarily carried on by compara- 
 tively small bodies of men. The vast masses of the 
 Western and Eastern fronts could not possibly be 
 maintained among the crags and glaciers of the 
 Italian frontier. Operations by single battalions 
 have all the importance of a divisional attack else- 
 where. In this case one battalion had been allotted 
 the task of storming and retaining the enemy's 
 position. 
 
 In the little low timber hut sunk beneath the 
 snow-level which was the battahon headquarters, 
 the captain found the colonel commanding the regi- 
 ment in conference with the local commander and 
 the company leaders. The atmosphere of the cramped 
 interior was thick with the exhalations of the half- 
 dozen men, warm with the heat of a petrol-stove. 
 Capitano Ricci saluted the colonel, was received 
 affably. A pair of keen eyes under level brows 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA I 175 
 
 appraised him, smiled upon him. For his benefit the 
 colonel recapitulated. 
 
 " The plan is briefly this. The artillery is cutting 
 the wire and shelling the trenches immediately in 
 front of us. The Austrians of course will assume that 
 we are going to attack there. They will keep strong 
 reserves at hand in the vicinity — ^as strong as they 
 can, for we know that there is no very large force 
 opposite. The artillery is making it difficult to bring 
 up the reserves from the rear. All their communica- 
 tions are under fire. Now, we hope that the enemy 
 will concentrate on the damaged trench in front of 
 us. The attack is being made by four companies. 
 One company will advance at 9 p.m., using every 
 precaution not to be seen, and will cross the glacier 
 at an angle to its right. It will fall upon the enemy's 
 trench here " — he indicated a spot on the left of the 
 enemy's position as marked on a plan spread over 
 the table. " It should effect a surprise as the enemy 
 will be far from expecting an attack on a part of the 
 line which has not been bombarded at all. Directly 
 that attack gets into the trench it will turn to the 
 left and continue to press on as hard as possible. If 
 it is progressing well it will send up a green rocket. 
 If it is in difficulties it will send up a red rocket. The 
 second company will advance to within about a 
 hundred metres of the trench that has been bom- 
 barded. There it will halt. If matters go as I expect 
 them to, the company on the right will send up a 
 green rocket. Then the Austrians, realising that 
 they have made a mistake, will rush up their men 
 from the damaged sector and put up a resistance. 
 
176 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 The green light will be followed by a red one which 
 will automatically indicate that the enemy's reserves 
 are engaged. Whenever that red light goes up, whether 
 preceded by a green one or not, the second company 
 will rush the trench in front of it. I hope that it will 
 find it thinly held. The third company will advance, 
 with every precaution, at 9.30 p.m. in support of the 
 second company. The fourth company I will retain 
 as general reserve under my command. The men 
 will be served with hot cocoa at 8.30 p.m. Is that 
 quite clear, gentlemen ? " 
 
 There was a general murmur of assent. The staff- 
 captain requested permission to advance with the 
 second company, the one that was attacking straight 
 ahead. He received it. 
 
 The conference was at an end. Officers went out 
 to give final instructions to their subalterns, came in 
 again, beating powdered snow from their huge fur 
 coats. One and all looked like Polar explorers. 
 
 Presently orderlies entered, put a steaming hot 
 meal upon the table. Crowded closely together in 
 the confined space, the officers ate — ^talking and 
 laughing in high confidence, though in all was the 
 tension which precedes the moment of action. Occa- 
 sionally during the meal they heard the dull thud of 
 an Austrian shell's arrival. They sat over coffee and 
 smoked. 
 
 At last the colonel looked at his watch, stood 
 up. 
 
 "It is time to go to your companies, gentlemen. 
 I rely upon all of you as upon myself. I have prom- 
 ised the general that the trench shall be taken — ^and 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 177 
 
 held. Per la piu grande Italia ! And good luck to all 
 of you!" 
 
 Some time later the staff-captain found himself by 
 the side of the company commander in the deep 
 trench hewn through the snow. It was night and in 
 the faint reflected radiance of the white walls he 
 could just dimly discern the figures of a long line of 
 men, all garbed in white like himself. Only when 
 their heads moved did they detach themselves from 
 their surroundings. Overhead, above the crisp line 
 of the parapet, the sky was a black background for 
 an immense multitude of strangely brilliant stars. 
 A wind raised little whirls of powdered snow upon 
 the lip of the parapet, blew down into the trench in 
 chill gusts that penetrated the clothing. Not a 
 sound broke the intense silence. It seemed almost 
 that one could hear the crackle of the sparkling vivid 
 stars. The artillery bombardment had long since 
 ceased. There was nothing to suggest that a death- 
 dealing enemy was hidden only eight hundred metres 
 away across the glacier. No sound came from the 
 company that had already advanced. Along the 
 trench was a murmur of conversation, stifled laughter. 
 The company commander stood gazing at the lumin- 
 ous dial of his watch. 
 
 9.15 ! He turned his head, gave a command in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Avanti ! " 
 
 It was repeated in a low murmur to right and left. 
 
 In an instant the company commander, the staff- 
 captain at his side, had sprung up on to the parapet. 
 A bitter wind smote upon them from the darkness, 
 
178 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 chilling to the bone. The commander glanced back, 
 saw his men like a line of ghosts faint in the dim light, 
 already over the parapet. Then the company com- 
 menced to thread its way through the openings 
 previously cut in their own wire. 
 
 Stealthily, with the utmost precautions to avoid 
 any unnecessary sound, the company stole across 
 the uneven, heaped and riven snow and ice of the 
 glacier. Under that black night of stars it stretched 
 away white to a near indistinctness. The black 
 masses of the mountains occulting the stars near the 
 horizon were too indefinite to indicate direction. 
 Compass in hand, the commander counted his paces 
 over the snow, his only means of judging distance. 
 For greater accuracy the staff -captain counted also. 
 They spoke not a word. From the obscurity came 
 the whispers of the men as they preserved a rough 
 alignment. 
 
 Sliding, stumbling over the inequalities of the 
 frozen surface, they pressed onwards. Somewhere 
 over to their right, higher on the glacier in front of 
 them, the other company was advancing also. There 
 was neither sound nor sign of it. In that dim desola- 
 tion the staff-captain might with difficulty see his 
 immediate companions. The remainder of the com- 
 pany was swallowed up, was noiseless. It seemed 
 that they were stumbling on alone — on and on, an 
 interminable distance — a few lost figures struggling 
 through an Arctic night. 
 
 Suddenly from the blackness straight ahead a beam 
 of intensely white light shot out horizontal with the 
 ground, sweeping it. At its first birth-splutter they 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 179 
 
 flung themselves upon the snow, lay motionless. The 
 searchlight — a wall of milky radiance to one side of 
 them, suffusing the snow with a pale reflection — 
 then, as it shone full on them, a lane of intolerable 
 light from a blindingly violent source, casting long 
 pitch-black shadows from every hump and hummock 
 of the ice — swept questingly over the glacier, rested 
 doubtfully here and there for a moment, passed on 
 again. The Austrians were on the alert. Cautiously, 
 still repeating to himself the number of paces they 
 had marched when they dropped, the staff-captain 
 glimpsed to right and left of him, looking for the 
 company. The nearer figures he saw, immobile, 
 their white humped backs looking like inequalities 
 of the snow. Those more distant were utterly indis- 
 tinguishable. The searchlight ceased abruptly. The 
 world was annihilated in a profound blackness where 
 the stars reigned alone. 
 
 The two officers rose to their feet, marched on- 
 ward, resumed their count of the paces. To right 
 and left of them rose ghostly figures, stumbling for- 
 ward. On and on they went, bruising themselves 
 on sudden obstacles in the black night, the dim uni- 
 form whiteness of the snow a bewilderment to the 
 vision. Far away in the mountains of the Austrian 
 position a livid flash leaped to the sky. The rever- 
 beration of a gun's discharge rolled heavily and 
 ominously to their ears, the long hurrying whine of 
 a shell approached them. There was an instant of 
 suspense. Were they after all discovered ? The 
 shell passed overhead to burst far behind, in- 
 audible. The trench in front was invisible in the 
 
180 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 darkness — ^not a flare, not a rifle -spurt marked its 
 position. 
 
 " Seven hundred ! " Both officers murmured the 
 number at the same moment. 
 
 '' Alt ! '* The whispered order was passed to right 
 and left. The Hne of ghostly figures sank down, was 
 merged in the ice and snow under the twinkling stars. 
 " Baionetf cann ! " There was a faint rustling, a 
 just audible click and clink of bayonets being fixed. 
 Then again silence. The company might have ceased 
 to exist. 
 
 The company commander and the staff-captain 
 gazed earnestly to their right front, towards the point 
 where the other company should be attacking. At 
 any moment now ! Their comrades had a quarter 
 of an hour's start, had a rather longer, more difficult 
 stretch to traverse. But they should have reached 
 their objective. At this moment stealthy white-clad 
 figures should be crawling among the stakes of the 
 entanglements, snipping at the wire. The two 
 officers stared in the fateful direction — in suspense 
 for the up-flung flare, the shouts and stabs of flame. 
 They stared at complete obscurity. 
 
 The searchlight on the trench in front leaped out 
 again to the night, its origin startlingly close. This 
 time as it swept over them, it illumined the short 
 heads of the stakes of the wire entanglement that cast 
 black shadows on the snow which all but submerged 
 them. They were very near. In the intense light 
 the white craters of the shellholes produced by the 
 afternoon's bombardment, hung with broken wire 
 from supports all askew, gleamed like craters of the 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 181 
 
 moon seen in uncanny proximity. Once more the 
 light swept the glacier, searched doubtfully and was 
 extinguished. 
 
 A sudden shot, off to the right front — a swift suc- 
 cession of loud reports — ^woke wild echoes from unseen 
 cliffs. High up on the glacier, to the left of the 
 Austrian position, flare after flare was flung into the 
 sky, eerily illuminant, plucking strange rock-forms 
 into grotesque relief. There was a fierce shout that 
 rolled in repeated reverberation, a wild tumult of 
 voices in a crisis of human lives, confused shots, 
 isolated and in irregular volleys, the dull thudding ex- 
 plosions of bombs. The first company was attacking. 
 
 The two officers lying in the snow gazed with fixed 
 intensity towards the distant fight whose tumult 
 swelled louder and louder with every moment. The 
 wild flares continued to soar into the night, but as 
 yet no rocket — neither red nor green — had leaped 
 up to tell them of its fortunes. The searchlight in 
 front shot out again, swept quickly from side to side. 
 It illumined only the apparently empty, tumbled 
 desolation of the glacier. But it continued to blaze 
 out into the night. Both officers cursed it under 
 their breath. From the trenches they had left, far 
 behind, rifle-shots rang out, the rapid hammering of 
 a machine-gun. The reserve company was indulging 
 in a little tricky target -practice at the searchlight. 
 It was successful. The beam of light vanished. 
 
 At the same moment a little spark of trailing fire 
 went rushing skywards from the tumult of the flank 
 attack. It was watched with suspended breath — 
 green or red ? The rocket burst into an effulgence 
 
182 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 of uncanny green light. The cheer which came from 
 under it was Hke a ghostly utterance of the cheer 
 repressed on the lips of the men lying prone and 
 motionless on the glacier. The colonel's forecast 
 was sound. 
 
 But now the uproar on the flank increased to a wild 
 intensity. Incessant were the sharp detonations of 
 the rifles, the dull thuds of the bombs, mingling with 
 a clamour of voices, shrieks and yells. No more flares 
 went up from the point of conflict, but from all along 
 the trench they soared into the air, symptomatic of 
 the nervousness of the unseen defenders. Machine- 
 guns began to rap out their streams of bullets in blind 
 hazard across the glacier. 
 
 The staff -captain pressed himself close to the snow, 
 Overhead cracked the rapid bullets of the Austrian 
 machine-guns. The wind that blew over the glacier, 
 ruffling the loose surface snow on to his face, was in- 
 tensely cold. He felt himself a heavy leaden thing, 
 frozen stiff. Over to his right front the savage 
 noises of the contest, weird and awe-inspiring on 
 this summit of the world that seemed so uncannily 
 near to the flashing stars, swelled hideously caco- 
 phonous. Livid bursts of flame flickered and were 
 reflected redly on snow surfaces, on black jagged 
 spires of rock. All along the trench the blindingly 
 white flares leaped upward, another soaring as its 
 predecessor circled down in a parabola that illumined 
 the unearthly confusion of the glacier surface. He 
 seemed a mortal for ever severed from his fellow -men, 
 set down in a world that was primitive Arctic chaos, 
 a paralysed spectator of a contest of fierce mountain 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 183 
 
 spirits fighting over spectral issues, remote from the 
 interests of humanity. A part of his mind harked 
 back to the warm summer, the green fields, the 
 somnolent little town of the valley he had left that 
 morning, and it seemed that those things belonged 
 to another existence. Yet all the time he gazed 
 fixedly to the point whence the next rocket should 
 shoot up. He awaited it as he would await the break- 
 ing of a spell. 
 
 At last ! The trailing spark of fire shot upwards, 
 burst into hanging globes of red light, the snow rosy 
 beneath them. On the instant the company was 
 erect, rushing forward. Leaping, soaring flares from 
 the trench revealed them — ^white moving figures 
 casting black shadows on the white glacier. Spurts of 
 livid flame, loud quick detonations darted from the 
 white ridge in front. " Avanti ! Avanti ! Italia ! 
 Italia ! " shouted the commander. " Italia ! Italia I 
 Savoia ! *' came the fierce antistrophe from the rush- 
 ing men flinging aside their alpenstocks, brandishing 
 their bayoneted rifles. 
 
 They were fighting their way through the deep 
 loose snow, the wreck of the wire entanglements. 
 The staff -captain floundered in a white shell -crater 
 pitilessly illumined by an overhanging flare. The 
 loose ends of the barbed wire tore at his clothes, 
 clutched round his legs like tentacles that would hold 
 him for death to strike. In front the spurts of flame 
 sprang from a wall of darkness above the white, high 
 up. Near him was the company commander, extri- 
 cating himself from the shell-hole, the last of the wire 
 safely passed. He had a sense of tensely struggling 
 
184 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 figures all around him. He, too, got clear of the wire. 
 He saw the company commander throw up his hands, 
 roll sideways over the snow, still shouting " Avanti ! 
 Avanti ! Italia ! " 
 
 He passed him, took up the cry : " Avanti ! 
 Avanti ! Italia ! La piio grande Italia ! " leading 
 the company that yelled behind him like a pack of 
 mountain wolves. He topped the snow parapet, saw 
 a fierce face glaring up at him in a strange light, a 
 rifle-barrel levelled. His revolver seemed to go off 
 of itself, a sharp autonomous detonation. The face 
 opened a black mouth, sank out of vision. 
 
 He sprang into the trench, shouting like a madman. 
 Behind him came the Italians, tumbling down in 
 fierce onslaught. One of them struck him violently 
 on the back as he slid down, knocked him face for- 
 ward into the snow. As he went he heard a sudden 
 heavy crash, saw a flare of lurid light. A bomb ! He 
 picked himself up, only half realising his escape, 
 fired at once into a dark body that wrestled with a 
 white-clad soldier. There was a confusion of blows, 
 of shots, of ear-splitting detonations — shouts, cries, 
 shrieks. At one moment he was in close contact with 
 a panting man, warm breath upon his face, eyes 
 flashing momentarily in the reflection of a rifle-shot, 
 looking into his — ^the next the man was gone, there 
 was space about him. The confusion cleared — ^there 
 were bodies underfoot — white -clad men about him 
 shouting unintelligibly. Further along the trench 
 another flare went up. 
 
 The staff-captain turned to his right along the 
 trench. 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 185 
 
 " Avanti ! Avanti ! A destra ! Italia ! Italia ! " 
 
 Behind him followed a rush of fiercely yelling 
 soldiery. 
 
 ''Italia! Italia!'' 
 
 They were held up by a traverse of snow-covered 
 rock. A shower of bombs came over it. From a 
 communication trench a mass of dark figures rushed 
 at them, shouting with guttural voices. There was 
 bitter conflict — an ebb and flow in the surge of men. 
 
 Then another fierce shout : " Italia ! Italia ! 
 Savoia .' " It was the third company flinging itself 
 in the trench to support the attack. 
 
 In the midst of the tumult could be distinguished 
 the scream of Italian shells passing overhead to burst 
 dully on the Austrian avenues of approach. 
 
 Suddenly the angry dominant note of the babel of 
 voices changed. Accents of supplication rang out 
 amid the jarring reports : " Kamerad ! Kamerad ! " 
 
 The staff-captain made his way along the deep 
 dark gully in the snow where motionless figures stood 
 with arms stretched up above their heads, rifles at 
 their feet. Ghostly white figures who had retained 
 their weapons joked at them in rough patois. He met 
 the commander of the company which had attacked 
 upon the flank. The trench was completely captured. 
 
 There followed a period of fierce toil in the trench. 
 Under the twinkling stars in the black sky, men 
 delved at the snow of the parados, cutting fire-steps, 
 building it up into a breastwork. Behind them little 
 parties of prisoners, stretcher-bearers and slightly 
 wounded men, stumbled across the broken surface 
 of the glacier. The toiling men gave no thought to 
 
186 PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 
 
 them as they laboured to prepare for the storm which 
 would surely burst. 
 
 It came. An ugly hissing rush heralded the first 
 Austrian shell. It exploded with re-echoing violence 
 and a great fount of upflung snow right on the newly- 
 strengthened breastwork. Another and another 
 followed in a methodical bombardment directed by 
 calmly judicial gunners ensconced in little huts far 
 back in the mountains. Amid the nerve-harrying 
 rush of ever new arrivals, constant explosions, the 
 men toiled frenziedly. Reserves of ammunition were 
 brought up. Machine-guns were put in position. 
 Telephone wires were laid. The fourth company took 
 up a post on the glacier whence it could rush into the 
 trench in a counter-attack if needed. 
 
 Suddenly the bombardment ceased. The Alpini 
 crouched behind the parapet, fingering their rifles 
 with gloved hands, peered out into the indistinctness 
 of the snow. 
 
 There was a rush of dimly-seen figures from the 
 obscurity, a blaze of fire from the trench. Near the 
 staff -captain the colonel sat speaking into the mouth- 
 piece of a telephone. Rush after rush of hurrying 
 shells passed overhead. Out there on the slope where 
 an Austrian battalion was surging to the attack, 
 shrapnel after shrapnel lit fierce sudden flares in the 
 dark sky. There was again a tumult of voices, a re- 
 echoing chaos of men at strife. It persisted, swelled, 
 died down. 
 
 The silence of an Alpine night rested once more 
 over the battleground, was broken only by the roar 
 of a distant avalanche. 
 
PER LA PIU GRANDE ITALIA ! 187 
 
 In the twilight of approaching morn an officer made 
 his tour of the outposts on what had been Austria. 
 
 " Chi va IcL?'' rang the sharp challenge of a white - 
 garbed sentry almost indistinguishable against the 
 snow. 
 
 " Italia I " came the proud response. 
 
 The first rays of the sun gilded the surrounding 
 summits in the glory of a new dawn. 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 Hauptmann von Waldhofer, Batteriechef of the 
 — th Battery Fussartillerie, stood, helmeted and with 
 buttoned coat, hastily sipping a cup of steaming hot 
 coffee in his dug-out. The electric light, fed from the 
 power-station at Cambrai, miles back, illumined a 
 cosy little apartment. Portraits of the Kaiser and 
 Hindenburg looked stiffly from the matchboard 
 walls in the incongruous company of a medley of 
 coloured pages from Simplicissimus, Jugend, and, 
 quaintly enough, the Vie Parisienne. One side was 
 fully occupied by an enormous large-scale map of 
 the Somme area, divided into numbered squares, 
 heavily scored with blue pencil here and there, across 
 which ran a great curve of red lines massed in intri- 
 cate pattern — ^the enemy trenches, and radiating 
 pin-supported coloured threads from a point sHghtly 
 E.S.E. of Flers fanwise far across the opposing line. 
 The battery-made bed, wiremesh stretched over a 
 wooden frame, sloping slightly from the head down- 
 wards towards the foot, on which lay blankets in the 
 disarray of recent use, bulked largely in the apart- 
 ment. But there was still room for a little table, on 
 which books and writing material were neatly 
 arranged, and two comfortable plush-covered arm- 
 chairs, besides the camp washstand in which the 
 
 188 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 189 
 
 water yet steamed. A carpet, mudstained but thick 
 and soft to the tread, covered the floor. In the 
 corner remote from the bed was a stove whose long 
 pipe bent at right angles below the roof and followed 
 it until it ascended the steep stairway at the entrance. 
 The deliberate comfort of the dug-out indicated long 
 residence and the expectation of an indefinite stay. 
 Only the pick and shovel in readiness by the door 
 gave a hint of possible cataclysm. 
 
 An orderly stood stiffly at attention while his 
 master finished his coffee. The captain put down the 
 cup. 
 
 " What time is it ? '* he asked sharply. 
 
 " A quarter to seven,* Herr Hauptmann." 
 
 " What sort of morning ? " 
 
 " Clear, Herr Hauptmann, but very cold.'* 
 
 " Any aeroplanes ? " 
 
 " None over the battery, Herr Hauptmann." 
 
 The captain gave a final glance at himself in the 
 French wall -mirror which hung over the table, 
 touched lightly with his finger-tips the black and 
 white ribbon of the Iron Cross upon his breast, as 
 though flickering away a speck of dust, and turned 
 to go. As he went the hanging calendar caught his 
 eye. He tore off the top leaf. The date revealed was 
 September 15th, 1916. 
 
 He climbed, with the heavy step of an oldish man, 
 the narrow steep thirty-tread stairway, and emerged 
 into the blue sky of a clear dawn. Around him was 
 bare rolling downlike country. About half a mile 
 
 * 6.45 German Summer Time, 5.45 English Summer Time, 4.45 
 reenwjcb Time. The Summer Time wa§ used in all the Armies, 
 
190 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 directly in front of him the village of Flers huddled 
 itself among thin trees, its skeletal roofs silhouetted 
 against the blue. Between him and it, but close at 
 hand in a slight depression of the ground, the four 
 105* mm. guns of his battery stood spaced and 
 silent under veils of a gauzelike material tufted with 
 green and brown that blended well with the terrain. 
 Inconspicuous even to a side view, thus covered they 
 were invisible from above. Near them were stacks 
 of ammunition also shrouded. Save for a sentry 
 the guns were deserted. The personnel of the 
 battery was lined up in two queues, where the 
 smoke of a couple of field kitchens betokened 
 breakfast. 
 
 The battery dug-outs were excavated in the breast 
 of a slight swelling of the downs, their exits looking 
 N.W., on the flank of the gun positions. The battery 
 commander stood for a moment surveying his little 
 community banded for the service of the four veiled 
 idols lying unhuman and aloof from the domestic 
 needs of men. Then, following his morning habit, he 
 turned and chmbed the little rise of ground. On his 
 accustomed view-point he stopped and gazed west- 
 ward. Before him, clear in the cold early light, the 
 undulating downs gathered themselves into a long, 
 fairly regular ridge, some two miles distant at the 
 summit. A maze of communication and support 
 trenches, just visible, criss-crossed their white lines in 
 the chalk of the hither slope. On the skyline of the 
 ridge directly west a large clump of bare, shell- 
 sharpened tree-stumps broke its emptiness. It was 
 * The well-known 4-2" gun. 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 191 
 
 the Bois de Foureaux.* Further south a similar 
 group of stumps spiked up into the sky — ^the Bois de 
 Delville.* That clean-swept landscape mounting to 
 the desolate skyline was the great dominant fact in 
 his existence. Ever concrete in his mind, it claimed 
 his first waking vision even as the weather horizon 
 claims the first heed of the sailor, or Vesuvius the 
 morning glance of the Neapolitan. This morning it 
 lay cloudless — save for the towering smoke of an 
 occasional shell -burst in the vicinity of the Bois de 
 Foureaux — ^and strangely quiet. The whole wide 
 stretch would have seemed untenanted by man had 
 it not been for the occasional primrose twinkle of a 
 field-gun*s flash. The reports of such guns came in 
 isolated slams at varying intervals. To his right an 
 English shell hurried with a long-drawn whine to 
 burst heavily in Flers. Far back several enemy 
 aeroplanes, tiny specks in the cold blue sky yellowing 
 to the dawn, were dodging like midges among a 
 smother of little brown shell puffs. From overhead 
 came the drone of a German machine. But, by con- 
 trast with the frequent uproar which welled out of this 
 region to translate itself into long thick smoke along 
 the ridge, the scene was curiously clear and silent. 
 
 Satisfied with his scrutiny, the Captain turned and 
 descended again to the battery position. He passed 
 along the line of dug-outs in the flank of the rise until 
 he reached one whose entrance bore the notice 
 " Fernsprecher und Befehls Unterstand "f neatly 
 
 * Known to the British Army as High Wood and Devil's Wood 
 respectively, 
 t Telephone and Command Dug-out. 
 
192 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 painted on a board. The Oberfeldwebel standing at 
 the doorway sprang to a precise, heel-clicking salute. 
 The officer acknowledged it curtly and dived into the 
 dug-out. 
 
 Here yellow electric light replaced the cool grey 
 dawn and tobacco smoke floated in long wreaths 
 about the bulb. A young lieutenant, seated at the 
 telephone instrument on the table, took the pipe out 
 of his mouth and rose smartly as his superior 
 entered. 
 
 " Gk)od morning, Eberstein," said the captain. 
 " Anything fresh ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Herr Hauptmann," replied the lieu- 
 tenant respectfully. 
 
 " Nothing of this rumoured attack ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 The captain seated himself heavily at the table 
 and the lieutenant was at liberty to resume his 
 chair. 
 
 " And that frightful bombardment all last night, 
 Eberstein, what do you make of it ?" he asked as he 
 lit himself a cigarette. 
 
 The mouth under the fair moustache of the young 
 lieutenant twisted into a contemptuous smile. 
 
 " Bah ! the Englanders want to make us nervous 
 or to persuade themselves that their wonderful ' great 
 push ' is not played out." 
 
 The captain blew out a long puff of smoke and 
 nodded his head in dubious thought. 
 
 " And you think it is ? " 
 
 Von Waldhofer, a man of somewhat deliberate 
 mental processes, was never unwiUing to discuss 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 193 
 
 general topics with his subordinate. Eberstein's 
 cheering, if crude, optimism was a welcome stimulus 
 to him. 
 
 " Of course it is," said the lieutenant. " Since the 
 first rush they have been practically fought to a 
 standstill. Here it is two and a half months since the 
 offensive began and where are they ? Now in one 
 week on the Donajetz we " 
 
 '* Yes, I know, Eberstein," his superior interrupted 
 him. " You did wonders. But it is the Somme and 
 not the Donajetz that interests us now." He removed 
 his helmet and passed his hand wearily over a high 
 semi -bald brow. " I wish I could be as certain as you. 
 These Englanders do not know when they are 
 
 beaten " He stopped, then broke out again with 
 
 the over -emphasis of a man wearied with long brood- 
 ing over a problem. " The colonel was so positive 
 last night ! And he had just come from the General 
 Staff. At dawn, he said, we might expect it. I can't 
 make it out. All night that frightful bombardment, 
 obviously preparation. Then this quiet ! I feel 
 something is coming." He shook his head. " We 
 are much too near in this position." 
 
 " If they come, so much the better I " cried Eber- 
 stein. " We will annihilate them. But I do not for 
 a moment believe " 
 
 He was stopped by a heavy distant roar that com- 
 menced with the suddenness of a thunderclap and 
 continued in one never-ending roll. 
 
 " There we are ! " exclaimed von Waldhofer. He 
 looked at his watch. It marked 7 o'clock precisely.* 
 
 * 6 a m. English summer time. 
 
194 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 A moment later the telephone bell rang in an 
 excavated offshoot of the main dug-out. The orderly 
 on duty there answered the call. " Message from the 
 observation officer ! " he announced in a loud voice. 
 Eberstein picked up the receiver lying on the table 
 in front of him. 
 
 " Yes ? '' 
 
 " Intense artillery fire all calibres upon entire 
 sector. Whole front being heavily bombarded. 
 Infantry attack expected momentarily.'* 
 
 Eberstein repeated the message, and ere he had 
 finished the battery commander had sprung to the 
 door of the dug-out, shouting his orders. He heard 
 them megaphoned on by the sergeant-major above. 
 Out there in the first rays of the sun the four squat 
 idols had shaken aside their veils, lay surrounded by 
 tensely waiting acolytes. The moment for their 
 dread speech was at hand. 
 
 In the electric-lit dug-out the two officers sat 
 silently listening to the distant storm. It rolled in 
 one unnerving continuous thunder. Not their duty 
 was it to reply. They were detailed for barrage upon 
 a particular sector. But near at hand the heavy 
 detonations of guns told off for counter -battery work 
 followed one another ever more quickly. Near at 
 hand, too, came the long whine and crash of the 
 English counter -battery shells hurled in reply. 
 
 Again the bell rang and again the telephone orderly 
 called out. " Speak to battalion commander,* 
 please ! " 
 
 * German Heavy Artillery is organised in "Bataillons" of four 
 t^atteries. 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 195 
 
 This time von Waldhofer picked up the receiver 
 himself. 
 
 " J a, ja ! We are all ready ! " he said. " Yes. 
 It is coming this time. No. No fm-ther message. 
 Oh, yes, we are in communication. No ? Have you 
 heard anything definite ? No. I wonder if there's 
 any truth in it ? Good-bye." He put dowTi the 
 receiver and turned to Eberstein, stopping for a 
 moment to listen to the roll of the hostile bombard- 
 ment. 
 
 " That old story again !* You remember we heard 
 it before the first of July ? Some wonderful invention 
 the Englanders are supposed to have for annihilating 
 us all. I wonder if there's anything in it ? " 
 
 The lieutenant laug'hed mockingly. 
 
 " The Englanders invent anything ? Not they ! 
 Besides, I don't believe in the possibility of any new 
 invention that can revolutionise war. Just think I 
 Here have all the nations of the world been fighting 
 for two years, and what new inventions have we 
 seen ? None ! There have been perfections and the 
 rediscovery of old methods — ^that's all. What is the 
 Zeppelin but a perfected Montgolfier ? It is neither 
 the first nor the only dirigible even ! Poison gas and 
 liquid fire — ^what are they but the stinkpots and 
 Greek fire of the middle ages, rediscovered and 
 brought up to date ? There is nothing, can be nothing 
 really new ! " 
 
 * The Germans had apparently heard rumours of the coming of 
 the "Tanks." It was asserted in the Army on the 16th September, 
 that a motor-cycUst carrying a definite warning had been killed by 
 one of our shells in the early morning of the 15th, on his way from 
 H. Q. to the front line. 
 
196 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 Von Waldhofer shook his head. 
 
 " You are very positive in all your ideas, Eberstein. 
 I don't know. The English do get hold of new things 
 sometimes — it is true that generally they leave it to 
 us to make use of them. But these rumours are so 
 persistent ! They are vague, I admit. Yet where 
 there is so much smoke there is generally a fire. We 
 are very close here. Just listen to that bombard- 
 ment ! " 
 
 For a moment or two both officers sat silent again, 
 listening to the roll of awful menace. Then von 
 Waldhofer shouted an order to the telephonist. 
 
 " Get through to the observation officer ! " 
 
 Almost immediately the orderly called out : 
 
 " Speaking, Herr Hauptmann ! " 
 
 Von Waldhofer picked up the receiver. 
 
 " What is happening ? " 
 
 " The bombardment is continuing," came the reply. 
 " Much damage is being done to the trenches. Some 
 sectors are almost obliterated. My wire has already 
 been cut twice." 
 
 " No infantry attack ? " 
 
 " Not yet. This is evidently preparatory." 
 
 " Keep me informed," said von Waldhofer, and 
 put down the receiver. He turned to Eberstein. 
 " Well, we shall soon see." 
 
 " There will be nothing," repHed the Heutenant 
 with his contemptuous laugh. " I should Hke to bet 
 on it. If there were a patent way of breaking down 
 trench lines, it would not be the Englanders who 
 invented it. It would be we Germans ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " said von Waldhofer. " Listen ! " 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 197 
 
 The roll of the hostile artillery ceased as though 
 controlled by a single volition, remained silent for a 
 few seconds and then, with one thunder-surge of 
 sound, recommenced. 
 
 " The barrage has lifted ! " cried von Waldhofer. 
 He raised his voice to be heard by the Oberfeldwebel 
 who waited megaphone in hand, his legs visible half- 
 way down the dug-out steps. " All ready, sergeant- 
 major ? " 
 
 " All ready, Herr Hauptmann," replied the tran- 
 quil voice of the N.C.O. 
 
 The telephone bell rang again in the dug-out. 
 
 " Message from observation officer ! " proclaimed 
 the orderly. 
 
 Von Waldhofer snatched up the instrument. 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " Barrage ! " 
 
 " Fire ! " shouted von Waldhofer to the Oberfeld- 
 webel. 
 
 Eberstein looked at his watch. The hour was 
 7.20. 
 
 As though the commanding officer had pressed an 
 electric firing-button, the four heavy crashes of his 
 guns followed, merging into each other, renewed in a 
 never-ending chain of detonations as fast as the crews 
 could load, relay and fire. A constant stream of 
 4.2'' shells was rushing from the battery to fall in a 
 narrow area at the predetermined range. But loud 
 as were the violent concussions of the guns close at 
 hand, they were but one element in the chaos of 
 frenzied sound that had leaped from the whole 
 countryside at the moment of their first report. 
 
198 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 Every German battery was firing at its maximum 
 intensity. On the background of the dull continuance 
 of the English guns danced the rapid reports of the 
 quick-firers at full pressure of urgency, and surged 
 ponderously the gruff double-roar of the howitzers, 
 and the sharper, louder crash of the heavies, 
 blended without a moment's interval into one un- 
 ceasing peal. The rifle -fire from the trenches was 
 inaudible, swallowed up. 
 
 Von Waldhofer sat with one telephone receiver 
 pressed to his ear. Eberstein picked up the other. 
 They heard the observation officer's voice, faintly. 
 
 " What ? " shouted von Waldhofer into the instru- 
 ment. 
 
 " Something is coming — something strange — I can- 
 not see well, there is so much smoke — something — 
 slow and crawling — a machine — firing — more — 
 schreckliche ! " The voice ceased abruptly. 
 
 Von Waldhofer and his lieutenant looked at one 
 another. 
 
 " The wire has gone ! " cried Eberstein. He had 
 to shout to be heard in the din. 
 
 " Let us hope it is only that," replied his chief. 
 Both strove deliberately to ignore the fear in the 
 forefront of their minds. Von Waldhofer shouted 
 loudly into the telephone : " Kurt ! Kurt ! Are 
 you there ? " 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 Outside the dug-out the battery was still firing 
 furiously, would continue to do so until it received 
 fresh orders. The general uproar had abated not at 
 all, had if anything intensified. Into the welter of 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 199 
 
 sound came a familiar, heart -stopping, hissing rush 
 followed by a loud crash. Another and another and 
 another swooped down on the heels of the first. An 
 English 60 pr. battery was searching for their position. 
 But the two officers, fascinated by the mysterious 
 distant menace that was crawling into their world, 
 did not hear and gave no thought to the shells. Once 
 more von Waldhofer shouted into the telephone 
 " Kurt ! Kurt ! " Still there came no answer. The 
 eyes of the two men met. 
 
 " What can it be ? " demanded Eber stein im- 
 patiently. "Is he dreaming ? " 
 
 ' Perhaps the wire has been cut close here," said 
 his chief, resolute like a good soldier to allow no 
 disturbing speculations in this battle crisis. He 
 shouted an order to the Oberfeldwebel. 
 
 The telephone bell rang sharply. 
 
 " Order from the battahon commander," an- 
 nounced the telephonist. 
 
 Von Waldhofer was already listening. 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " Feindliche Panzerkraftwagen* ubersteigen die 
 Schiitzengrdben Punkt C 32 d 4.1. Sofort Feuer 
 dagegen mil oiler Kraft eroffnen .' " (" Enemy 
 armoured motor-cars are crossing the trenches at 
 point C 32 d 4.1. Open heaviest possible fire upon 
 them immediately ! ") ^-^^ 
 
 The battery commander sprang to a little table, 
 outspread with a large-scale map upon which lay 
 
 * Panzerkraftwagen, lit. "armoured power wagons," was and is the 
 official German designation of the "Tanks." The word is also 
 applied to armoured cars. 
 
200 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 protractor and dividers. A second or two of hasty 
 calculation and he shouted his orders to the Oberfeld- 
 webel. 
 
 " Cease fire ! All guns 20 degrees more right ! 
 With percussion ! Left half at 3150 metres ! Right 
 half at 3100 metres ! Forty rounds battery fire ! " 
 
 He heard them repeated in stentorian tones 
 through the Oberfeldwebel's megaphone. The rapid 
 detonations of the guns ceased. There was a pause, 
 a few seconds only. Then the voice of the sergeant- 
 major announced. 
 
 " All ready ! " 
 
 " Fire ! " 
 
 Again the fury of the guns burst forth. 
 
 "" Panzerkraftwagen!'' said Eberstein. "But 
 surely armoured cars cannot cross wire entangle- 
 ments and trenches ! There is a mistake somewhere." 
 
 " There is no mistake that something has gone 
 wrong and that we are without observation," re- 
 turned von Waldhofer irritably, indisposed to 
 abstract argument just then. The orderly had once 
 more failed to elicit any response from the observa- 
 tion officer. " Take a couple of men and a new in- 
 strument, follow the wire along as far as possible, 
 get into a good position for observing, and open up 
 communication with the battery. No, wait a 
 moment ! " The telephone bell was ringing again. 
 
 " Message from battalion commander," said the 
 orderly. 
 
 " Yes ? " von Waldhofer spoke into the instru- 
 ment. " I am firing on them now. No. I am with- 
 out observation. Five minutes ago. Really ? What 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 201 
 
 are they ? Not ordinary cars ? Something quite 
 new ? Herr Gott, this is serious ! Yes. Yes. I 
 quite understand. I am not to retreat while I have 
 ammunition. Good. You may rely on us. We shall 
 stand to the last man. Fiir Gott und Kaiser ! Lebe- 
 wohl ! " He put down the receiver and stood for a 
 moment in deep thought, his hand pressed to his high 
 bald brow. Then he shook himself alert. He turned 
 to Eberstein. " Hurry ! " he said irritably. " Every- 
 thing is at stake ! '* The lieutenant sprang up the 
 stairway and vanished. 
 
 Von Waldhofer put on his helmet and gave a last 
 order to the telephonist before he followed his sub- 
 altern. 
 
 " Ring up Captain Pforzheim. Tell him to send up 
 every available round as quickly as possible. Ur- 
 gently required ! '* 
 
 Then he also ran up the narrow stairway into the 
 bright morning light. 
 
 " Two telephonists, all necessary instruments, 
 with me into flank observing station at once ! " he 
 shouted to the sergeant-major. 
 
 He went swiftly towards the battery. The last 
 gun had just finished its allotted ten rounds. They 
 lay now in their wide-spaced row, smoke upcurling 
 from their muzzles. Their attendant crews stood, 
 coatless, mopping the sweat on their brows. Far and 
 near the thunderous uproar of the battle swelled ; 
 it seemed louder than ever now that he had come from 
 the dug-out into the open air. The English batteries 
 had lengthened their range. As he walked he glanced 
 at Flers. It was whelmed in fumes. Explosion upon 
 
202 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 explosion leaped up among the huddled houses in the 
 trees, fragments, timbers, earth-clods momentarily 
 poised upon a dome of dark smoke. White shrapnel 
 puffs sprang incessantly into existence above the 
 roofs. He heard the hissing rush of an approaching 
 shell without faltering in his pace, so preoccupied 
 was he with the urgency of the moment. He saw the 
 quick upspout of smoke ; the heavy metallic crash 
 came to his ears. He noted only that it was well be- 
 hind the battery. His eyes were fixed on the officer 
 with the guns. 
 
 " Oberleutnant Schwarz ! " he called, stopping 
 suddenly some twenty yards from the battery. 
 
 The long-coated, helmeted lieutenant stiffened as 
 though galvanised, walked smartly up to him, 
 saluted, and waited rigidly for his orders. Ober- 
 leutnant Schwarz, a young freckled-face fellow, set 
 the pattern for discipline in that battery. The com- 
 mander noted the punctilious attitude without his 
 wonted inward smile. The occasion had found the 
 man. 
 
 " Schwarz, communication with the forward officer 
 is interrupted. Eberstein has gone to re-establish it 
 if possible. I am going into the flank observing 
 station. Orders will come from there. Put the 
 Einjahriger into the telephone dug-out. The situation 
 is critical. Something has gone wrong. A new kind 
 of armoured car has broken through the trench -line. 
 They must be stopped at all costs. The orders from 
 the battalion commander are formal. The battery 
 will not retire while it has ammunition. I have 
 ordered up every available round. The battery will 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 208 
 
 maintain its position, whatever happens, while it has 
 a man and a shell. Is that clear ? " 
 
 Oberleutnant Schwarz saluted in precise parade- 
 ground fashion. 
 
 " Quite, Herr Hauptmann," he replied unemotion- 
 ally. 
 
 "If I become a casualty the command devolves 
 upon you," continued von Waldhofer. " Remember 
 these armoured cars are your target, wherever they 
 can be fired on. Use direct laying if you get the oppor- 
 tunity." A flight of shells burst in a succession of 
 heavy crashes on the swelling ground to his right. 
 He glanced at them. " Keep a couple of groundmen 
 going over the wire to the flank observing station. 
 Here, two of you ! " he shouted suddenly to some 
 mounted N.C.O.'s who at that moment trotted up to 
 the battery with a string of ammunition limbers. 
 Upon his sign one of them dismounted. The captain 
 swung himself into the vacated saddle. Oberleutnant 
 Schwarz saluted once more. Accompanied by the 
 other N.C.O. the battery commander set off at a hard 
 gallop, up the rising ground into the welter of dark 
 smoke from the just -burst shells. 
 
 The flank observing station was a splinter -proof 
 dug-out on a little knoll some 500 yards away to the 
 left flank of the battery. It had been constructed in 
 prevision of the unexpected. Von Waldhofer spurred 
 towards it now at the top pace of his horse. Despite 
 many shell-bursts, on the ground and in the air, he 
 reached it safely. Leaping to earth, he threw the 
 reins to his follower and sent both horses back. Then 
 he dived into the dug-out. 
 
204 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 Both telephonists were there awaiting him. The 
 large-scale map was pinned out on a board, instru- 
 ments upon it. The range-finder stood by the obser- 
 vation-slit. One of the orderlies was testing the 
 telephone communication to the battery. Von 
 Waldhofer pulled his glasses out of their case, 
 pressed himself against the observation-slit and 
 looked out. 
 
 Directly in front of him the bare ground with many 
 minor undulations rose steadily to the shattered 
 silhouette of the Bois de Foureaux on the skyline. 
 But no longer was the view clear as when he last had 
 gazed on it. Over all lay a haze which the early 
 morning sun was powerless to penetrate. In the fore- 
 ground and wide to right and left in the middle dis- 
 tance spurted and twinkled the primrose flashes of 
 the guns, more rapidly multiplied than any eye could 
 count. On the ridge the smoke lay thick, bellying 
 in dark masses over the tree-stumps of the wood, 
 poised on the horizon in tall, heavy-headed columns 
 like elm trees in full foliage. In the air long bands 
 of white shrapnel smoke reached out and clung to 
 each other in a lazy drift, while among them the 
 large dead-black bursts of heavy high - explosive 
 shrapnel appeared suddenly, darted a head from the 
 round nucleus and then unfolded themselves slowly 
 and snakily earthward. Between him and the ridge 
 the whole wide amphitheatre was being thickly sown 
 with English shells. Near and far the smoke-columns 
 shot incessantly into the air. Over the road from 
 Flers to the Bois de Delville, which crossed his view at 
 right angles, the white shrapnel puffs clustered in 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 205 
 
 ever-renewed groups. Over all, English aeroplanes 
 in scores flitted to and fro, daringly low yet apparently 
 unchallenged. No longer did this arena appear un- 
 tenanted. In every part there was movement and 
 confusion of Lilliputian figures. Far away three tiny 
 ammunition wagons raced towards a battery. Closer 
 at hand, grey-clad infantry dashed in sections along 
 the shell -swept road from Flers. They tugged low 
 bomb-carts on long hand-ropes. He knew, sub- 
 consciously, that they were going to reinforce the 
 great trench-line that stretched east and west from 
 Martinpuich to Lesboeufs. Further afield other 
 bands of grey midgets, scarcely visible, were rushing 
 forward. Everywhere from the rim of battle- pressure 
 grey figures were filtering in ragged streams down to- 
 wards the lower ground. A long way off, on that rim, 
 his glasses revealed a nodal point of confusion. He 
 focussed on it. There were tiny grey figures grouped, 
 in quick movement to and fro. Little smoke-dots 
 were all round them. Then the confusion cleared. 
 He saw darker figures, running forward, the twinkle 
 of sun on a distant bayonet. For a moment he held 
 them under view anxiously. Then with an impatient 
 movement he swept his glasses round. Not there was 
 the target that he sought. 
 
 Suddenly he arrested his sweep. To his left, much 
 closer to him than he had been looking, a field battery 
 topped a little rise, retiring at full gallop among a 
 welter of shell-smoke. It passed down below his 
 vision. His glasses remained steadily focussed on 
 the rise over which it had come, fascinated by the 
 abnormality, expectant of the cause. 
 
206 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 It appeared. Slightly to the right of the course of 
 the retreating battery, something emerged over the 
 crest — something slow, ponderous, shapeless — draw- 
 ing itself up. The silhouette of a gun projecting from 
 its flank barred the sky. Swiftly he replaced his 
 glasses by the range-finder. As he twisted the thumb- 
 screws that brought the inverted vision into juxtapo- 
 sition with the normal, he saw a group of grey soldiers 
 surround the monster, hurl little puffs of smoke at it. 
 He saw the gun slue, spit, saw soldiers who waved 
 white rags tripping over those already fallen. The 
 double visions met, he read the range. The thing 
 drew itself up, turned slightly, creeping on its belly, 
 snout in the air, like an uncouth saurian from the 
 prehistoric slime. It was moving more quickly than 
 he at first realised. In another instant he had taken 
 the angle to the aiming post, plotted another, and was 
 shouting orders to the telephonist. 
 
 " All guns 28*3 degrees left ! Right half-section 
 No. 1 gun 980 metres. No. 2 gun 960 metres ! With 
 percussion ! one round ! Fire ! " 
 
 Through the range-finder he saw the burst of the 
 two shells at the same moment that the detonations 
 of the guns came to his ears. One fell full in the 
 midst of the group of grey soldiery, whelmed them in 
 black smoke. The other burst beyond. The thing 
 paused not nor hurried. At an even pace it drew its 
 low bulk along, dipped now for the descent. 
 
 " Right half-section 970 metres ! Left half-section 
 960 metres ! With percussion ! Twenty rounds 
 battery fire ! Fire ! " 
 
 Spout upon spout of black smoke heralded the 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 207 
 
 rapid explosions of the guns. The monster was 
 blotted out. Feeling like one engaged in a struggle 
 with a creature born not in our time and space, of 
 another world, von Waldhofer prayed for a direct hit. 
 The smoke cleared. He looked for what should be its 
 ripped and stationary bulk. It was not there. Only 
 the grey bodies of the dead lay under the drifting 
 fumes. The thing had passed onward, dipped into 
 the hollow, out of sight. 
 
 He was suddenly aware that the enemy shell -fire, 
 always heavy, had increased in intensity. The smoke- 
 spouts shot up more numerously, grouped them- 
 selves more densely. Gradually they extended to 
 new areas, abandoned those already covered. He 
 realised in a flash that the monster was moving be- 
 hind its special barrage, aeroplane directed from 
 above. He shouted fresh orders, altering the range. 
 Blindly he hurled his shells into the hollow behind 
 the screen of smoke. 
 
 If only he had direct observation ! He shouted to 
 the telephonist. 
 
 " Ask if communication has been made with 
 Leutnant Eberstein ? " 
 
 The reply came : " Nothing has been heard of 
 Leutnant Eberstein. Six men have just been killed 
 in the battery." 
 
 Von Waldhofer's exclamation expressed annoyance 
 rather than grief at the loss of his subordinate. He 
 turned again to look through the observation slit. 
 There was a blinding crash 
 
 When he came to, he found himself gazing at the 
 blue sky. The deep breath he drew half-choked him 
 
208 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN I 
 
 with the fumes of burnt explosive. Shaking in every 
 Hmb he struggled to his feet. Before him lay his two 
 orderlies, dead. The dug-out was wrecked and roofless. 
 The telephone instrument was strewn in fragments 
 on the floor. He himself was unwounded. 
 
 He listened, with a sudden anxiety, for the detona- 
 tions of his guns. The general uproar had diminished 
 not at all, but the familiar crashes were wanting in 
 the din. How long had he lain there ? A wild fear 
 seized him. Scrambling out of the ruined dug-out he 
 ran breathlessly towards the battery. 
 
 The enemy fire was as intense as ever. The air 
 was filled with the whine and scream of arriving 
 shells and the heavy crashes of their explosion. From 
 somewhere behind came the rattle of rifles and 
 machine-guns and the dull thud of bombs. Grey- 
 clad men in swarms were running across the open 
 ground athwart his path. He heard them shouting, 
 saw officers gesticulating, realised as in a dream that 
 they were running from the battle. But their fear 
 touched him not. He was enveloped in concern for 
 his beloved battery. 
 
 He arrived on the lip of the depression where it lay. 
 In a surge of joy he saw the four guns lying in the 
 familiar places, saw them strangely naked, their 
 protective veils ripped and hurled aside, saw barely 
 sufficient crews standing at their posts, saw the posi- 
 tion gashed with shell-holes and littered with prone 
 grey bodies, shattered limbers and dead horses. Even 
 as he looked a salvo of shrapnel burst with deafening 
 cracks above them, and white fleecy clouds floated 
 over the battery. On the near flank, in the position 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 209 
 
 of command, stood Oberleutnant Schwarz, rigid and 
 precise as on the parade-ground. 
 
 Von Waldhofer ran down the slope towards him. 
 
 " Schwarz ! Schwarz ! " he called. 
 
 The Oberleutnant advanced to meet him, and, 
 looking calmly at his chief as though his smoke- 
 blackened face and torn clothing were in no way out 
 of the normal, saluted with perfect gravity. 
 
 " What has been happening ? " 
 
 " We have been under heavy fire, Herr Haupt- 
 mann. All the wires are cut in many places. The 
 telephone dug-out has been blown in. We are abso- 
 lutely without communications. The battery has 
 fired whenever there was a chance of a target. Your 
 orders have been obeyed. The battery has stood its 
 ground. We have only three rounds per gun left. 
 I am waiting now for an opportunity to fire." 
 
 Listening to the cool report of his subordinate, von 
 Waldhofer recovered his soldierly poise. 
 
 " Excellent. You have done well, Schwarz. And 
 the casualties ? '* 
 
 " I regret are heavy." He waved a gloved hand 
 towards the bare dozen standing by the guns. " All 
 that are left." 
 
 There was the loud, hissing, nerve-paralysing rush 
 of a shell at arrival. Simultaneously with the shatter- 
 ing crash that leaped from the fountain of black 
 smoke, Oberleutnant Schwarz put his hand to his 
 breast, performed a sharp half -turn and fell — dead. 
 
 The reverberation yet rang when a second rush and 
 crash followed the first. A third and fourth shook 
 the air almost too quickly for distinction. The 
 
210 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 battery commander's brain worked with the timeless 
 speed of a great crisis or a dream. In an incomput- 
 able fraction of a second he saw the heavy barrage 
 which preceded the slowly crawling monster, was 
 conscious of an aeroplane overhead, saw his oppor- 
 tunity and his plan. He ran towards the guns, shout- 
 ing : " Lie down ! Lie down ! " The crews obeyed. 
 Standing among the strewn corpses the guns seemed 
 manned only by the dead. He flung himself prone 
 on the flank of the battery. 
 
 Shell after shell swooped and burst on the stretch 
 of ground in front of him. Fed by the constantly 
 spouting black geysers, an ever -thickening dark mist 
 drifted across, blotted out the distance. Through it 
 he saw the freshly thrown edges, brown and white, of 
 unfamiliar shell-craters pocking the undulating 
 ground. The worn, smooth greensward that he had 
 known was being churned into loose clay and chalk, 
 mingled haphazard in their fall from the fierce upward 
 gush. The reiterated crash upon crash of near 
 explosions all but obliterated the far-flung din of the 
 general battle, but through them he caught waves of 
 an appalling uproar welling out of Flers. Slowly, 
 riving, crashing, upspouting its black fountains of 
 smoke and earth, the barrage marched onward, pass- 
 ing across the battery front. Now ? Through the 
 mist he saw the directing aeroplane sweep down in 
 front of him, absurdly low, rattling its machine-gun. 
 A group of grey figures sprang up beneath it, both 
 arms high above the head, tumbling among the 
 shell-holes as they ran. A temptation flitted across 
 his mind. One round gun-fire and that aeroplane 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 211 
 
 was blown to fragments. His lips tightened. He did 
 not move. The battery seemed abandoned by all its 
 dead. 
 
 Age-long seconds passed as he watched, peering 
 through the thinning mist. Save for one little group 
 of hasty, self-obliterating men, his immediate front 
 was a deserted waste of churned earth, sloping gently 
 upwards away from him. Once, over the low near 
 skyline seen from his prone position, he thought he 
 saw the spurt of a bomb. But he could not be sure. 
 And a bomb did not necessarily betoken the presence 
 of the— Thing. Yes ! What was that ? 
 
 Something was lifting itself, slowly and with jerks, 
 beyond that near skyline. Ponderously, with the 
 efforts of a limbless living thing, it drew its bulk up, 
 seemed to stop — ^nosing the air with its blind snout. 
 Now ? Not yet ! He had only one chance — cer- 
 tainty. The monster moved on again, downward 
 now, lurching and wallowing among the shell-holes 
 like a ship in a heavy sea. He saw the gun swinging 
 in the side -turret as it rolled, the bright -splashed 
 colouring of its flank. It was passing diagonally 
 across his front. It must climb to escape. Now ! 
 
 He sprang to his feet, shouting with all his 
 lungs. 
 
 " To the guns ! " The crews leaped up, resusci- 
 tated. " Point blank ! At the devil ! With percus- 
 sion ! All guns ! Fire 1 " 
 
 But quick as he and his men had been, the monster 
 was quicker. At his first movement, with a mighty 
 jerk it had slued itself nose-on to the battery. Ere a 
 hand could clutch a firing lever, a storm of small 
 
212 PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 
 
 violently exploding shells burst right in among the 
 guns, a hail of whip-cracking machine-gun bullets 
 smote on men and metal. Von Waldhofer looked 
 towards the monster lurching heavily towards him, 
 keyed to a frenzy of suspense. To his horror he 
 heard — not four — but one detonation. The Thing 
 dipped. He saw the shell burst — over ! He glanced 
 towards the guns in speechless agony. The last 
 gimner was in the act of falling lifeless across the 
 trail. 
 
 High -nosed, seeming to smell its enemies rather 
 than see them, like an uncouth blind monster of the 
 rudimentary past, the Thing crept on, its speed as 
 surprising as a reptile's. Viciously, with unallayed 
 suspicions, it spat its missiles at the dead battery. 
 Von Waldhofer stood alone, erect, praying that one 
 might strike him. 
 
 Suddenly its fire ceased. He heard the loud clatter 
 of its machinery as it approached, saw the rolling 
 bands on which it moved. He felt that it was coming 
 to mark its triumph over his beloved guns, felt its 
 disdain for him their helpless master. An insane 
 hatred for it gushed up in him, swept away his con- 
 scious self. He whipped out his pistol, ran like a 
 madman towards it. He fired again and again, 
 desperately seeking the eye, the brain, like a hunter 
 at bay with a crocodile. But eyeless, featureless, the 
 great snout slanted upwards above him, impenetrable 
 steel plates, on which his bullets flattened. 
 
 Blindly the Thing rolled on, ponderous, invulner- 
 able. It bulked huge above him. He heard a shriek. 
 It was his own. 
 
PANZERKRAFTWAGEN ! 213 
 
 In the bright sunshine of a September morning 
 the strange new monsters crawled over that bare 
 countryside racked with noise and tortured with the 
 leaping, eddying smoke of countless explosions. Be- 
 hind them crowds of khaki -clad men, hatted with in- 
 verted bowls like Samurai, followed cheering and 
 laughing like boys behind a circus-car. They waved 
 newspaper posters, obtained Heaven knows whence, 
 that proclaimed in fat bold type : " Great British 
 Victory ! " 
 
NACH VERDUN! 
 
 In the long luxuriously furnished saloon car of the 
 special train an officer clad in the field-service uniform 
 of a South-Eastern Power sat in conversation with a 
 colonel of the German General Staff. The deference 
 shown to him made it immediately obvious that he 
 was a distinguished personage representing a neutral 
 whose friendliness was important. His dark, clever 
 eyes rested thoughtfully upon the groups of officers 
 with whom the car was overcrowded. All round was 
 a buzz of talk, of suppressed excitement. The air 
 was thick with cigar smoke. 
 
 " Ja, Excellenz,'" said the German colonel, podgy 
 little fingers drumming the table between them. 
 " The secret is out. You have rightly guessed our 
 objective." His eyes were those of a rather clumsy 
 and not too scrupulous diplomat. His smile was 
 deliberate flattery. " Allow me to congratulate you 
 upon your good fortune. You will see the machinery 
 of our Kriegswirtschaftlichkeit,*'* he throated the 
 word impressively, " at the moment when it works 
 at its highest power to shape for Germany her final 
 victory." 
 
 The distinguished neutral smiled also, perfectly 
 courteous. He spoke with a faint Austrian accent. 
 
 * War economy. 
 214 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 215 
 
 " I can understand your desire for the final," he 
 undefined the word ever so Hghtly, " victory, Herr 
 Oberst." 
 
 The German stared at him, suspicious of the 
 nimbler brain. 
 
 " Who would not desire it, Excellenz ? This 
 awful slaughter," he waved a deprecating hand. 
 "It is terrible that our adversaries do not recognise 
 they are already beaten." 
 
 The neutral nodded. 
 
 " Bar-le-Duc and the Upper Marne, I suppose — 
 Paris ! " 
 
 The German colonel's eyes went dead. 
 
 " Excellenz, I believe the supreme command 
 reserves to itself the honour of enlightening you on 
 its plans." 
 
 The conversation languished. The train rolled 
 on, heavily comfortable. The staff officers talked 
 earnestly among themselves, the word " Majestat " 
 oft repeated. Orderlies, garbed as soldiers but 
 obviously royal Kammerdiener, stole noiselessly in 
 and out of the car, went frequently into the car be- 
 yond. On those occasions the distinguished neutral 
 had a glimpse of a world-familiar figure, upturned 
 moustaches on a tired face, a uniform of grey hung 
 with many decorations. 
 
 The train rolled into a station, stopped. The blare 
 of a military band started on the precise instant of 
 its arrival. The platform was thronged with officers, 
 bright with the red of the General Staff. 
 
 The distinguished neutral took little interest in 
 the ceremony outside. He busied himself with 
 
216 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 collecting the small articles of his kit. Through the 
 large windows he glimpsed the salutes of the rigidly- 
 erect officers. Above the noise of the band he heard 
 the repeated ^^ Hoch ! Hoch ! Hoch ! '* of soldiers 
 who cheered as they drilled, exactly synchronous. 
 
 He stepped on to the platform, followed by the 
 Colonel appointed to be his conductor. " Majestat " 
 had already departed. Officers were thronging to 
 the exit, laughing and talking, much excited, reveal- 
 ing, despite the grey and red of the staff uniform, the 
 essential childishness of the crowd-mind. " Nach 
 Verdun! " said one of them, very close to the dis- 
 tinguished neutral, nudging another in the ribs. 
 " Nach Verdun ! " He repeated the just given watch- 
 word of victory as a schoolboy repeats the latest 
 smart expression. The officers around him laughed. 
 The crowd buzzed with high spirits. 
 
 Outside the station the roadway was choked with 
 waiting motor-cars, lined with soldiers readjusting 
 their helmets after tumultuous " Hochs ! " Some 
 cars — ^those containing the highest personages — had 
 already departed. One after the other those remain- 
 ing were filled, swerved out and sped away. The dis- 
 tinguished neutral and his companion found a vehicle 
 reserved for them. The colonel led him to it with an 
 air that suggested : " See how the smallest details 
 are thought out ! " They, too, sped away through 
 the walls of infantry. 
 
 Behind the soldiers were a few listless French in- 
 habitants ; from the windows of that French town 
 hung German flags, but no French faces looked out. 
 The shops were open but their owners stood not at 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 217 
 
 the doors. The neutral noted these things. The 
 complete apathy of the population was in contrast 
 to stories his companion had related in the train. In 
 many of the side-streets long convoys of ammunition 
 and ration wagons were halted to allow them passage. 
 On one of those foremost wagons was scrawled in big 
 chalk letters : " Nach Verdun ! " 
 
 " Nach Verdun ! " that was the Leitmotiv under- 
 lying all the intense military activity that filled the 
 town and, as they shot out beyond the houses, the 
 countryside also. Every road was choked with 
 columns of marching infantry, with endless trains of 
 wagons, of limbers, of ambulances. Even cavalry 
 was in evidence, riding with tall lances and saddle- 
 hung rifles on wretched-looking horses. " Nach 
 Verdun ! " The German colonel, though he warily 
 gave no information, could talk of nothing else. 
 Under that grey February sky pulsed and boomed 
 the distant detonations of artillery. The neutral 
 listened to it with a professional ear, was puzzled. 
 It was persistent enough, but it was certainly not the 
 prolonged roar of a preparatory bombardment. 
 
 The car s^vung into the drive of a park. A tunnel 
 of winter-stripped trees, brown above, green streak- 
 ing the bark, and then a large chateau drew itself 
 across the vista. Thither the other cars had pre- 
 ceded them. They stood now ranked in a mass. 
 There was a throng of officers round the great doors, 
 the buzz awakened by the recent passage of the All- 
 Highest. The neutral was shown to his room, the 
 German colonel volubly regretting that exigencies 
 of space forced him to share it. 
 
218 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 Some hours later the neutral was ushered into a 
 vast, lofty apartment whose tapestried walls were 
 almost completely rehung with the huge maps 
 pinned upon them. On easels stood other maps, 
 strange diagrams in curves and slants of red, green 
 and black ink. On a large table was a horizontal 
 relief model of hills and woods, a river with tributary 
 streams, a splash of red in the valley, thin lines of 
 red converging upon it, passing through, opening out 
 again. On all these maps, on the splash of red in the 
 rehef model, the name " Verdun " was repeated 
 again and again. 
 
 All these things the neutral officer noticed with 
 the corner of his eye — ^the large writing-tables behind 
 which sat officers of high rank, other officers grouped 
 in a corner. His direct gaze was held by the figure he 
 saluted. Spare, of medium height, in the grey field- 
 service uniform of a general, gold cord looping across 
 his right breast, a star upon the left above the Iron 
 Cross, gilt epaulettes, gilt leaves upon the red gorgets of 
 his collar, the would-be conqueror of the world stood 
 stiffly erect, graciously acknowledged his salute. The 
 brushed-up moustache was still dark, though the short 
 hair on the head was grey, almost white. The face was 
 deeply furrowed with endless anxieties, but the blue 
 eyes — ^pouched though were their under lids — gleamed 
 with excitement. He spoke in a jerky but distinct 
 manner that betrayed a temperament of long ill- 
 controlled impulses. 
 
 " Guten Abend, Hen General ! Welcome to Ger- 
 many's greatest hour I You shall see our sun mount 
 triumphantly to its zenith, breaking through the dark 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 219 
 
 clouds of foes who cluster over against us in vain ! " 
 The tone was that of a rhetoric practised until it has 
 become a habit. The right hand gesticulated with 
 quick motions, the left arm was conspicuously still. 
 *' General ! " he turned to one of the officers sitting 
 at the tables, "be so good as to explain everything 
 to our friend here." 
 
 It was to be clearly understood that the All- 
 Highest was flatteringly gracious. 
 
 The neutral officer bowed, expressed his thanks 
 courteously, ventured a request : " That I may be 
 allowed to admire your War-Machine in all its work, 
 Ma jest at — go where I will." 
 
 " By all means. General. We have nothing to hide. 
 You will find much to interest you, much to relate 
 to our well-wishers in your country. General ! see 
 that a pass is given to our friend that will give him 
 the fullest freedom." The All-Highest answered the 
 neutral's salute in a manner that terminated the 
 conversation. 
 
 Seated at the huge, carved writing-table with the 
 officer to whom he had been addressed, the neutral 
 found himself looking at a pair of keen grey eyes that 
 peered through pince-nez under bushy white eyebrows. 
 The German spread out maps, indicated positions. 
 He drew notice to the fact that all roads squeezed 
 through a bottle-neck over the river at Verdun, 
 spread out in a fan on the east bank to a 
 long line of positions that climbed from the river 
 over the Heights of the Meuse and fell into the 
 plain of the Woevre across which they bent south- 
 ward. 
 
220 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 " Die Sache ist dusserst einfach / "* he said with the 
 air of a man explaining a chess-problem. " The 
 French have three divisions of Territorials in front 
 of us to hold the entire sector. That force is not 
 strong enough to defend it and certainly too weak 
 to have kept the trench-systems in good repair. In 
 fact we know that they have been allowed to fall into 
 ruin.! We have fifteen divisions in front line, fifteen 
 divisions in reserve. We do not intend to fling those 
 divisions away. No. Step by step our artillery will 
 blast a passage for them — see, here are our artillery 
 positions," he showed concentric lines one within the 
 other on the map, round the doomed sector. "It is 
 the greatest artillery concentration the world has 
 ever seen. Even our concentration on the Donajetz 
 last year is surpassed. We shall obliterate the posi- 
 tions in front of us — other batteries will drench the 
 only avenues of supplies with shells, they must all go 
 through the town — our infantry will merely march 
 into the devastated position, wait for the clearance 
 of the next step. I may tell you that the French have 
 only one small branch railway line which is safe 
 from our fire. We have built fourteen new lines, 
 besides those already existing. In the great problem 
 of supply we have an overwhelming superiority. We 
 believe we have the advantage of surprise. Certainly 
 the French have no concentration within easy reach. 
 In four days we shall be in Verdun. The Western 
 Front will have been broken." 
 
 " In four days ? " The neutral officer looked at 
 
 * " The thing is absolutely simple ! " 
 
 t Vide Mr. John Buchan's History of the War, Vol. XIII. 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 221 
 
 the map as a chess-player looks at the board. " And 
 — if I might ask the question — supposing you do not 
 take Verdun in four days ? There is said to be an 
 enormous Allied force somewhere in France." 
 
 " We have yet another day," said the German a 
 little wearily, as though resenting the effort to explain 
 the unnecessary. " We have five clear days before 
 any reinforcements can be brought up against us — 
 all the chances have been calculated, you see. If we 
 are not in Verdun by the evening of the fifth day — 
 well, the battle will continue. But, I repeat, we 
 shall be in Verdun within four days. The thing is 
 certain ! " 
 
 " Of course it is, General," said another voice 
 above their heads. Both officers looked up, rose to 
 their feet. " In four days we shall be in Verdun. In 
 a fortnight — Paris ! " 
 
 The speaker was a youngish man, with a long nose 
 in a long face, somewhat bald upon the brow, a clipped 
 moustache above a long thin mouth. There was 
 something in his manner which suggested not too 
 reputable finance doubled with Monte Carlo and the 
 coulisses. He repeated, smacking his hand familiarly 
 upon the back of the distinguished neutral : " In a 
 fortnight — Paris ! " He named the famous city 
 with a smack of the lips. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Highness," said the German 
 general, his professional manner replaced by the 
 obsequiousness of the courtier. " The army led by 
 Your Highness cannot fail to conquer." 
 
 " Verdun — Paris ! This time it will not fail, 
 General." He walked across the room, smacking 
 
222 NACH VERDUN I 
 
 a riding-switch on his tall, patent-leather hussar 
 boots, and chanting : " Nach Verdun ! Nach Verdun 
 —Paris / "* 
 
 The morning of the 21st February, 1916, opened 
 damp and bleak. Over the heavy clay fields of the 
 Woevre plain the mist hung persistently, enclosing 
 all vision in a few hundred yards. Through the 
 obscurity the poplars lining the roads loomed up 
 like ghosts, dripping moisture from each bare twig. 
 In the copses and the larger stretch of woodland 
 known as the Foret de Spincourt the conglobulated 
 mist fell like rain. From either of the high knolls 
 known as the Twins of Ornes, just south-west of the 
 Foret de Spincourt, the wooded slopes of the Heights 
 of the Meuse — Merbebois and the Bois de Wavrille 
 — ^rose dark and indefinite, discernible only when a 
 little puff of the raw east wind, coming up the valley 
 of the Orne, broke a rift in the fog. 
 
 The neutral and the German Oberst who was his 
 inseparable companion stood on the more southerly 
 of the twin heights. About them was a group of 
 artillery officers. In their immediate front was the 
 deep dug-out, sod-roofed, where telephonists sat 
 and waited. It was an artillery observation post. 
 The light was yet dim though the wet fog was white. 
 It had been quite dark when the two spectators had 
 made their way over roads deep in mud to this posi- 
 tion of vantage. 
 
 * ** Nach " means " to, towards,"and also " after."—" To Verdun ! 
 A/te7' Verdun — Paris ! " 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 223 
 
 The journey had been long, for their car had had to 
 squeeze, lurching and slithering, past endless columns 
 of infantry plodding over the atrocious roads. In the 
 darkness those thousands of men had been scarcely 
 more visible than phantoms who sang continuously 
 as they marched, chorusing to the tune set by picked 
 singers at the head of each company. Those who were 
 merely the chorus broke off frequently to shout 
 witticisms at the labouring motor-car. In high 
 spirits, they wagered that they would be the first, 
 after all, to arrive in Verdun. 
 
 On the hill-top of the Twin of Ornes, where the 
 officers clustered, was tense expectation. The fog 
 did not lift. Only at rare intervals was there a faint 
 glimpse of the wooded heights towards which all 
 gazed with thrilling foreknowledge. As yet all was 
 a quiet broken only by an occasional isolated detona- 
 tion that rolled heavily down the Orne valley. It 
 echoed in a dull repercussion from the mist -filled 
 woods upon the great scarp that was the far-flung 
 rampart of the doomed city. An officer looked at his 
 watch. The example was infectious. The seconds, 
 the minutes passed slowly. It was like waiting for 
 the curtain to go up. The watches marked 8.13 
 (German time)— 8.14— 8.15 ! 
 
 There was one simultaneous vast roar that leaped 
 from an arc stretching from far in the north-west and 
 passing round behind them to the south. It did not 
 cease. Minute after minute it continued, unabated, 
 prolonged. In the first sudden shock it appeared 
 one colossal bellow of sound, evenly maintained. 
 But as the ear became accustomed to it, instinctively 
 
224 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 analysed it, it was possible to distinguish spasms 
 of even fiercer sound than the general welter : the 
 ponderous concussion of especially heavy ordnance ; 
 the frenzied hammering of the quickfiring field-guns. 
 The sense of hearing was overwrought, but the view 
 changed not. The mist still hung over the landscape, 
 was a curtain before the straining eye. Only down 
 below them to the right a howitzer battery, adven- 
 turously pushed forward, rent the fog with stabs of 
 orange-red flame. 
 
 It seemed, in the overpowering blast of the German 
 guns, that the French artillery was making no general 
 reply. From time to time a shell came whining over 
 towards them, finished in an ugly rush and a crash 
 somewhere upon the knoll. They scarcely noticed 
 these occasional djinns of death, so ineffective were 
 they by contrast to the whirlwind of destruction that 
 swept the other way. The habituated ear could now 
 pick out the rumbling tramcar-like progress of the 
 heavy shells overhead, the fierce rushing drone of the 
 missiles from lighter guns, mingling interwoven with 
 the uninterrupted sheet of sound. 
 
 What was happening over there among the dank, 
 wooded hills ? Nothing could be seen, but the ex- 
 perienced imagination sketched, conscious that it fell 
 below the reality, fearful havoc distant in the fog. 
 Trees suddenly blasted, toppling ; parapets leaping 
 into the air — horrors among the spout of earth that 
 had been a sheltered dug-out ; trenches whose walls 
 fell in ; men who cowered, fear-paralysed, in a 
 shambles ; overhead a ceaseless cracking that rained 
 down death ; shock upon shock ; chaos — such 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 225 
 
 flitted through the minds of those who strained their 
 eyes at the fog. An artillery observation officer 
 turned to the neutral. 
 
 " Five hours of this, Excellenz," he said with a 
 smile, " and then, the first step to Verdun ! " 
 
 The Oberst expatiated on the wonderful German 
 system for supplying all these batteries indefinitely 
 at this intensity of fire. " Who can resist us ? " was 
 the implied corollary to his dissertation. The neutral 
 was duly impressed, his dark clever eyes serious. 
 
 The bombardment continued, became monotonous. 
 The fog thinned somewhat but permitted no clear 
 vision. The batteries were firing by the map, accord- 
 ing to a prearranged programme. The Oberst sug- 
 gested to his distinguished guest that further stay 
 was useless. 
 
 " I would like to see your guns at work, Herr 
 Oberst," said the neutral, and the colonel saw him- 
 self forced to put aside his hopes of returning to 
 Corps Headquarters for Mittagessen. He speculated 
 on the Divisional Messes in their vicinity as he re- 
 plied : 
 
 " By all means, Excellenz." 
 
 They scrambled down the rough path of the knoll, 
 through a thin growth of birch, passed into the 
 denser mist below. 
 
 They found themselves suddenly among long 
 ranks of resting infantry squatting and lying in close 
 proximity to their piled arms. The feld-grau uni- 
 forms merged, were lost in the fog, but there was an 
 indefinable suggestion of the presence of many 
 thousands. The Oberst and his guest might walk 
 
226 NACH VERDUN I 
 
 where they would, the shadowy grey forms still 
 loomed up out of the mist. All were cheerful and 
 confident. The officers in little groups smiling as 
 they conversed, bent over a map. The men grinning. 
 They were waiting for the guns to level the path 
 for their " promenade." 
 
 At last the ranks of infantry ceased. They came 
 upon a field battery that was firing furiously. The 
 guns were in the open, their upturned caissons — lid 
 upright to form a shield, exposing the pigeon-holed 
 bases of the cartridges — close against the left wheel. 
 Grouped behind each were the busy gunners, in rapid 
 movement of arms and torso, crouching, labouring 
 with swift concentrated intensity as they passed the 
 long, gleaming projectile from hand to hand, thrust 
 it into the breech, closed and fired. Behind them 
 was a heap of brass cartridge-cases, the flat com- 
 partmented baskets that had held three rounds. 
 The watching officers, helmeted, in long closely- 
 buttoned coats, stood behind their sections. The 
 battery hurled out its stream of death in absolute 
 immunity. No enemy shell came to seek it. The 
 fog veiled its target. 
 
 Beyond that battery was another, in the open like 
 the first, almost wheel to wheel with it. And beyond 
 that, another and yet others, an endless chain of 
 them, all scorning concealment, all firing as fast as 
 sweating, straining men could load and pull the 
 lever. From behind came the prolonged, heavy, 
 linked detonations of yet other batteries of more 
 weighty metal. Overhead the rumble and rush of 
 hurrying shells was as the sound of heavy traffic. 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 227 
 
 The neutral and his guide turned eastwards to- 
 wards the zone of the great howitzers. Once more 
 they were entangled in waiting masses of grey-clad 
 infantry. The mist had thinned, permitted quite 
 long vistas. Everywhere there was infantry, batta- 
 lion upon battalion, regiment on regiment, brigade 
 after brigade. The time had passed — by the neutral, 
 at least, almost unnoticed, so much was there for his 
 brain to register — it was now almost noon. The 
 infantry was standing to its ranks, forming into 
 column of route, marching forward with songs and 
 shouts, their spiked helmets decorated with sprigs of 
 fir. " Vorwdrts ! " came the sharp, barking commands 
 of the officers. " Nach Verdun ! " shouted the excited 
 men, drunk with the prospect of superbly easy victory. 
 
 And ever the indefatigable batteries hammered 
 and crashed, spewing forth death in volumes that the 
 men they served might live. From behind every 
 hedge, every hillock ; in long lines across the open — 
 so many that they could afford to neglect the enemy's 
 reply ; their tongues of flame shot out, flickered 
 indefinitely repeated into the distance. Their in- 
 finitely reiterated detonations smote splittingly upon 
 the ear, were gathered into one overpowering roar. 
 
 The dark mass of the Foret de Spincourt was riven 
 by red flame that lit and was gone momentarily in 
 every part of its recesses. As the two officers ap- 
 proached it, they saw a faint film of smoke hanging 
 over the tree-tops, saw the quick flashes gleaming 
 through the undergrowth of the verge. They entered 
 its obscurity. The air choked one with the fumes 
 of burnt explosive, beat against the face in gusts with 
 
228 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 the disturbance of the multiplied discharges. The 
 wood was a nest of howitzer batteries. On platforms 
 of concrete and timber the monsters squatted, bowed 
 their head to receive yet another shell, raised it again 
 with slow, determined movement, the great round 
 jaws gaping upward to the sky, belched with a sudden 
 eructation of vivid flame, a tremendous shock of 
 which the stunning noise was only part. The spec- 
 tator behind the gun, looking upward, saw a black 
 object speeding high into the air, rapidly diminishing, 
 the while a rain of twigs pattered down upon his face. 
 As the barrel was lowered again, the breech opened, 
 slow curling tongues of flame licked round the muzzle. 
 Behind each weapon were great stacks of shells. 
 Hurrying men, two at a time, a tray supported on 
 two short poles between them, carried more food to 
 the iron monster, fed its fuming breech for yet another 
 roar. 
 
 Further within the wood were still greater monsters, 
 so huge that their aliment was trundled to them on 
 light rails, swung into their maw by overhanging 
 cranes. The earth shook, the trees rocked, with the 
 vehemence of their discharge. 
 
 " Frau Bertha has a most persuasive voice, nicht 
 wahr? " said the Oberst to his guest. The neutral 
 agreed as courteously as was possible in this chaos 
 of bludgeoning noise. His dark eyes rested a little 
 contemptuously on the dapper, somewhat podgy 
 colonel whose soul, even in this crisis of nations, was 
 still essentially the soul of a commercial traveller. 
 The order to Krupp's was not yet given. 
 
 It was one o'clock — noon to the anxious French 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 229 
 
 general far over there in the terrible distance. As 
 suddenly as it had commenced, the vast bombard- 
 ment ceased. There was an uncanny silence. All 
 knew its significance. The German infantry was 
 advancing to the assault. With what resistance 
 would it be met ? Every ear was at strain — machine- 
 guns ? There was no sound. Suddenly the bom- 
 bardment opened again, as violent as before. The 
 (German guns were putting a screen of death behind 
 the doomed positions, barring off all help. Far away 
 huge shells were crashing down from a curve that 
 was four miles high at its zenith, making an inferno 
 of a once quiet cathedral town, wrecking the bridges 
 across a flooded river, blocking every avenue of 
 supply to the defenders agonising on the plateau. 
 
 That night in the Army Headquarters was a night 
 of jubilation. Courtier soldiers — ^who none the less 
 laboured into the small hours at the intricate calcula- 
 tions and orders that would improve the victory on 
 the morrow — ^glanced at a youngish, very exalted 
 personage and murmured platitudes about the par- 
 donable intoxication of success. An even more 
 exalted personage strode from general to general in 
 the great tapestried, map-hung apartment and gave 
 instructions that were received as the inspiration of 
 genius and then merged, lost sight of, nullified in the 
 mass of orders that emanated from those fiercely 
 toiling brains. 
 
 The distinguished guest sat at the table with the 
 keen-eyed, white-browed general, had everything 
 patiently explained to him. 
 
 " All has gone exactly according to schedule," said 
 
230 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 the German. " The first Hne positions are ours. 
 There has been a counter-attack in the Bois de 
 Caures, but we have stemmed it. Elsewhere there 
 has been no serious opposition. The first day has 
 been a brilHant success. We have pierced the line 
 where we intended to pierce it. If the French maintain 
 their flank positions their disaster is certain. The 
 battle will be developed to-morrow. We shall drive 
 right through to the Ornes-Louvemont road. The 
 French defence is dead, was annihilated by our bom- 
 bardment. To-morrow disintegration will set in and 
 our progress will be rapid. On the third day we shall 
 take Fort Douaumont — ^the key to Verdun." 
 
 " And on the fourth day ? " queried the neutral, 
 his dark eyes gazing at the map in front of him. 
 
 " We shall be in Verdun ! " said the German. 
 
 " Verdun ! Verdun ! Nach Verdun — Paris ! " 
 chanted an unsteady voice across the room, finished 
 in a suspicious resemblance to a hiccup. There was 
 a moment of tense, awkward silence in the great 
 apartment, and then a buzz of low voices earnestly 
 discussing technicalities. 
 
 Day followed day, surcharged with fateful issues. 
 Men who flung themselves down, utterly wearied, 
 to snatch a brief sleep, woke from it with an oppres- 
 sion of the breast, a tremor of the nerves. Their 
 fiercely excited brains begrudged an instant's uncon- 
 sciousness where every minute was a vehicle of 
 destiny, once ahead never to be overtaken. Strenu- 
 ously, night and day, laboured the Staffs in the Army 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 231 
 
 Headquarters, in the Corps, Divisions, Artillery- 
 Groups — desperately, for after the second day they 
 were behind their time-table. On that second day 
 the French defence they had fondly thought anni- 
 hilated woke to sternly resisting life. There had 
 been terrific fighting on the whole front from Brabant 
 to Ornes. Once more a frightful bombardment had 
 opened with the dawn. Once more the German 
 infantry had advanced in masses. They found the 
 trenches in front of them weakly held, had occupied 
 them. But en route a storm of shells had rained down 
 on the swarming colunms, had strewn the ground 
 with dead and dying. Further advance was barred 
 by sheets of rifle-fire, torrents of machine-gun bullets. 
 There were ugly rumours as to losses. The day's 
 objective had not been reached. Counter-attacks 
 had flung the grey infantry out of positions already 
 conquered. 
 
 During the black night of the 22nd-23rd, while the 
 gun-teams of the German batteries strained and 
 stumbled forward over a shell -torn ground to new 
 positions, the French left flank had fallen back from 
 Brabant. The German guns hurled an avalanche of 
 projectiles blindly upon the new lines of defence, more 
 or less at hazard since no longer did they have them 
 accurately marked upon the map. Once more the 
 grey masses swept forward, once more the hail of 
 shells beat them down. The end of that day saw the 
 centre pushed in with wild confusion, but the French 
 resistance still alive, determined to perish rather than 
 break. Once more the objective had not been 
 attained. Douaumont was not even menaced. The 
 
232 NACH^VERDUN ! 
 
 time-table was hopelessly out. That night the 
 French fell back on both flanks, withdrew from 
 Ornes. 
 
 The fourth day dawned — ^the appointed day for 
 final victory — and still the struggle continued, fiercer 
 than ever. Slowly, slowly, the German infantry 
 pressed forward, leaving behind them a sea of help- 
 less bodies; — a grey carpet as perceived from a distance. 
 The artillery fire swelled and mounted in paroxysms 
 of incredible violence, the German guns hammering 
 in savage persistence, the French batteries lurking 
 for their target, overwhelming it in a deluge. On 
 and on pressed the grey infantry, thrust dangerously 
 as night fell straight at the heart, towards Fort Douau- 
 mont. A fierce conflict — body to body, rifles that 
 flashed in the face of the victim, bayonets perforce 
 shortened for the thrust, griping fingers clutching at 
 the throat as men wrestled and swayed — raved and 
 roared in an indescribable tumult upon the Ornes- 
 Louvemont road. The defenders had made a supreme 
 rally. The Germans fought like men who grasp at 
 victory, maddened that it is withheld. The French 
 fought like heroes, desperately outnumbered, who 
 know their duty is to die. When night fell the defence 
 was still intact, but the French had withdrawn to 
 their last line, covering Douaumont. 
 
 " We have still one more day," said the German 
 general to the distinguished neutral that night in 
 the great map-hung apartment. " We allowed that 
 margin of time. To-morrow will see our greatest 
 effort, Douaumont in our hands, Verdun untenable." 
 The dark eyes of the neutral read a certain nervous- 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 233 
 
 ness in the German's face, despite the confident 
 tone. 
 
 " It has proved rather more difficult than you 
 expected ? " 
 
 " The French field-guns have been terrible — 
 
 terrible," replied the German. " Without them " 
 
 He waved an expressive hand. " But to-morrow we 
 shall deliver the coup de grace. We have not boasted 
 idly, Excellenz." His eyes looked searchingly 
 through their pince-nez on the calmly interested face 
 of the neutral. " When Germany threatens she 
 performs." 
 
 On the morning of the 25th the German guns 
 roared over white fields of snow, through veils of the 
 softly falling flakes that fluttered inexhaustibly from 
 the leaden sky. Their thunder swelled louder and 
 ever louder as the batteries which had changed 
 position, consequently upon the French withdrawal 
 during the night, got to work, searching for their 
 target, more or less accurately finding it despite the 
 difficulty of observation. Not a minute was to be lost. 
 The anxious (German staff knew that the reinforce- 
 ments of their foes must be hurrying — hurrying. 
 Some perhaps had already arrived. If night fell 
 without definite victory, the morrow would surely 
 see fresh masses against them, reinvigorating the 
 defence. Victory to-day — complete victory — 
 Douaumont captured, the pursuit pressed into the 
 streets of Verdun — meant victory indeed. Mighty 
 therefore was the effort. By noon every German 
 battery was firing at its maximum. Under the leaden 
 sky, over the white ground, in the still cold of a bitter 
 
234 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 frost, their thunder swelled and crashed, roaring in 
 a never-ending frenzy. Eighteen German divisions 
 were massed to break down all opposition. Already 
 they had attacked — again and again. Again and 
 again, the rapid detonations of the French guns had 
 leaped into the din, smiting desperately, frantically, 
 to stay them. Over there, in the mist-hung gullies of 
 the plateau, on its bare open spaces between the 
 woods, the snow had ceased to be white — save 
 where it fell freshly upon the huddled bodies of the 
 fallen. 
 
 In the afternoon the weather cleared somewhat. 
 More distant views were possible. On the higher of 
 the Twins of Ornes, the knolls just south-west of the 
 Foret de Spincourt, stood the figure who more than 
 any other individual would have to dare the answer 
 for all the agony rolled out there before him, for all 
 the agony that no eye could measure, spread over 
 continents, crying to strange stars. Spiked helmet 
 on his head, long grey cavalry-cloak wrapped about 
 him, his field-glasses held to his eyes by the right hand 
 only, he gazed upon the now distant conflict. At his 
 side stood a younger figure, his face masked also by 
 binoculars. Behind them was a group of dignitaries, 
 generals of high position, the distinguished neutral 
 and the Oberst who never quitted him. All gazed 
 to the wooded scarp of the Heights of the Meuse, 
 their glasses pointing south -south -west. 
 
 The great masses of woodland rose dark from the 
 snow of the plain a long stretch of undulating, climb- 
 ing tree-tops. Beyond them the bare bulk of the 
 plateau humped itself yet higher, dirty grey against 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 235 
 
 the sky. It rose to a culminating knoll — ^Douaumont ! 
 All that bare plateau was whelmed in a drifting reek, 
 but the highest point was like a volcano in eruption. 
 Great founts of smoke shot up from it incessantly, 
 spread in the air in heavy plumes that overhung. It 
 was the objective of the 3rd Corps (Brandenburgers), 
 attacking under the eye of the Kaiser so particularly 
 their chief. Their orders were that Douaumont was 
 to be taken at all costs. On the Twin of Ornes 
 operators from Army Headquarters had taken over 
 the telephone dug-out. Behind them the line was 
 clear to Berlin — ^waiting — ^waiting for the trumphant 
 announcement that should thrill the world. 
 
 Somewhat impatiently the neutral scanned the 
 lofty distances where the great drama was being 
 enacted. Innumerable puffs of bursting shells indi- 
 cated the conflict but gave no hint of its varying 
 fortunes. The professional instinct was strong within 
 him, the report to his Government an ideal to which 
 it strove. To perfect that report he must see the fight 
 at closer quarters, must describe the effects of the 
 French fire as a complement to the already written 
 minute on the German batteries. His keen eye 
 picked out a position of vantage on the Heights. Then 
 he waited for an opportunity, alert for the moment 
 when the eye of majesty should rest itself from the 
 distant view, should fall upon him. The opportunity 
 occurred. The glance of the All-Highest swept over 
 him, preoccupied. The neutral stepped forward, 
 saluted, indicated the far-off point. 
 
 " Ich bitte um Erlaubnis, Majestdt,"* he said. 
 • *' I beg permission, Your Majesty." 
 
^36 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 A frowning glance rested upon him for an instant, 
 intolerant of aught save the mighty contest whose 
 issue was the fate of nations. 
 
 " GestatteW* was the curt, indifferent reply. 
 
 The German Oberst, standing behind the neutral, 
 changed colour. He had no option but to accompany 
 this damnable foreigner in his mad adventure into 
 unnecessary danger. He, too, saluted " Majestat," 
 followed the neutral to the spot where a number of 
 orderlies stood at the heads of saddled horses. They 
 had been sent forward in case the dignitaries should 
 require them. 
 
 In a few moments the two officers, followed by 
 mounted attendants, were slithering down the snowy 
 side of the knoll, were cantering across the valley 
 towards Ornes. 
 
 High above them towered the dark Bois de la 
 Chaume as they threaded the debris -covered street 
 of the wrecked village. It was packed with Branden- 
 burger infantry waiting to advance. They followed 
 the road southward, at the foot of the hills, towards 
 Bezonvaux. Everywhere the infantry stood thick, 
 waiting. The cannonade mounted to a frightful 
 intensity, appalling even the ears now habituated to 
 it, bewildering the senses, troubling the sight. French 
 shells came whining, screaming, rushing, to burst 
 with loud crashes in the woodland rising on their 
 right hand, on the road and the fields through which 
 it passed. Domes of dark smoke leaped upward from 
 the earth, preceding the stunning, metallic detona- 
 tion. White shrapnel puffs clustered thickly above 
 
 * "Granted." 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 287 
 
 the trees. Bezonvaux was a ruin. They turned off 
 from it to the right, up a rough track that chmbed 
 into the woods. The snow on the track had been 
 trampled into a dirty slush. All about them lay 
 bodies, grey and blue ; weapons pell-mell as they had 
 fallen from a suddenly opened grasp. Their horses 
 shuddered, whinnied, jerked nervous ears, moved 
 disconcertingly sideways from red stains soaking 
 deep into the snow. 
 
 Just under the edge of the plateau the neutral 
 stopped, dismounted, threw his reins to an orderly. 
 The Oberst followed his example. His face was 
 blotchy white, he trembled in every limb. 
 
 " We shall see nothing, Excellenz — ^absolutely 
 nothing," he asseverated appealingly. 
 
 " We can at least try," replied his guest. " Some- 
 thing is happening over there." 
 
 Above them, some distance ahead, was a tremen- 
 dous uproar, a chaos of violent thudding slams, 
 splitting crashes, a faint troublous murmur of human 
 voices. Behind them, up the rough track, a column 
 of infantry was advancing, overtaking them. They 
 ascended with a steady progress, splashing through 
 the slush ; officers waving swords, shouting ; rank 
 upon rank of tense faces that had lost their humanity 
 in the tremulous brute ; glazed staring eyes under 
 the spiked helmets ; singing, singing Hke drugged, 
 doomed gladiators marching to the arena. They 
 passed upward. 
 
 The neutral, to whom his conductor had nerve- 
 lessly surrendered the initiative, led the way. They 
 left their horses behind them, struck off at a tangent 
 
288 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 to the right, through the woods, climbing always. 
 They emerged upon the plateau, in a clearing. Across 
 the open space, from a whelm of smoke and noise in 
 the distance, groups of grey men were running swiftly 
 towards them, shouting inarticulately. Along the 
 edge of the woods was a line of pickets. Their 
 weapons rose to the shoulder. Sternly, every fugitive 
 but those wounded was driven again into the fight. 
 Those who hesitated, screaming under the menace 
 of the rifle, dropped shot. 
 
 The neutral hurried along the verge of the wood, 
 scanning every tall tree carefully, expectantly. 
 " Ah ! " He had found what he sought. Against 
 the green bark of a lofty beech dangled a rope ladder. 
 It was an abandoned French artillery observation 
 post. He scrambled up the ladder, followed by the 
 trembling, shivering Oberst. High up among the 
 topmost branches was a little platform. 
 
 The neutral settled himself, adjusted his binoculars, 
 pushed aside the twigs. He looked out over an un- 
 dulating terrain, dark with woods that ceased 
 raggedly in deep indentations short of a bare hog's 
 back that gathered itself into a hump. That bare 
 ground was smothered in a turmoil of smoke that 
 fumed to the grey sky, far to right and left. But 
 through it, in chance rifts, his glasses revealed a 
 dark mass upon the highest point. A reek of white 
 smoke drifted away from it as from burning buildings, 
 mingling with the darker clouds of incessant explo- 
 sions. He had a glimpse of a rounded cupola. It 
 was Douaumont ! 
 
 The snow on the open space between the fort and 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 239 
 
 the woods was grey. It was moving with crawling 
 life like the festering of a stagnant pool. Over it 
 burst occasional puffs of shrapnel. 
 
 " Ah ! " The cry was involuntary from both the 
 watching men. From the woods emerged masses of 
 running tiny grey figures, running, running towards 
 the fort. The open space was covered with them. 
 A moment of tense expectation when the heart 
 seemed to stop — ^and then, as by a terrible magic, 
 great fountains of dark smoke and darker objects 
 leaped up among those running figures, countless 
 explosions. A canopy of vicious little shrapnel bursts 
 in thousands spread itself over them. Under it 
 men sprawled in great patches, seemed to be fight- 
 ing the air ere they tumbled and fell. A horrid 
 screaming came faint through the uproar. More 
 masses rushed out, were beaten down. There was a 
 running to and fro of men bewildered — a. headlong 
 flight. 
 
 The storm of fire did not cease. It rolled over the 
 plateau towards the woods, remorselessly following 
 the fugitives. Louder and louder, nearer and nearer, 
 the crashes, the fountains, the puffs — ^the great 
 mingled reek of the inferno — ^rolled towards the two 
 men in the observation post. 
 
 The Oberst clutched the neutral's arm. 
 
 " Excellenz ! " he shouted stammeringly. " We 
 must go. I insist. I have superior authority — 
 written authority — ^my discretion — I insist ! " he 
 almost screamed. His hand groped for a scrap of 
 paper which he waved. " Arrest ! " he cried like a 
 maniac. " Arrest if you do not come ! " 
 
240 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 The storm of French shells was a very near menace. 
 The neutral acquiesced with a shrug of his shoulders. 
 Nimbly they descended the ladder. 
 
 On the ground they found themselves among a 
 swarm of slightly wounded, terror-stricken men. 
 One of them, a tall, bearded Brandenburger, his 
 clothes torn to rags, was shrieking and laughing 
 in a manner horrible to hear. His comrades drew 
 away from him as he clutched at them. He was 
 insane. 
 
 " Only I am left ! " he cried. " Only I ! They are 
 all dead — dead — out there. They were meant to be 
 dead. They were dead men before we attacked — all 
 dead men running on — I could see it in their faces — 
 only I was alive ! And now they are still crawling — 
 crawling — dead men ! " His tone emphasised the 
 horror of his words, struck a chill. A sentry lowered 
 his rifle, irresolutely. 
 
 The maniac turned, waved a hand to the westward. 
 The sun, on the point of setting, showed itself in a rift 
 of the threatening snow clouds, sank, a great ball of 
 glowing fire, over the rim of the plateau. Its last 
 rays were lurid on the face of the madman, as he 
 stood, arm outstretched, his eyes flaming, his tangled 
 beard falling upon his rags, like some antique prophet 
 of the wilderness. 
 
 "Woe! woe!" he shrieked. '' Nach Verdun! 
 Nach Verdun — Verdunkelung ! *'* He finished in a 
 scream of maniac laughter, glorying in the crazy 
 assonance of the words. " Nach Verdun — Verdun- 
 kelung ! " 
 
 * "To Verdun! ^/5«r Verdun— Eclipse." 
 
NACH VERDUN ! 241 
 
 The neutral and the Oberst hurried through the 
 woods to their horses. 
 
 A rapid ride with the German always in front, and 
 once more they ascended the Twin of Ornes. As they 
 arrived at the summit they found themselves among 
 wildly cheering men. " Douaumont ! Douaumont is 
 taken ! " Far away to the south-south-west, rocket 
 after rocket shot up into the darkening sky. Already 
 the great news had gone — electrical — ^to Berlin. 
 
 The crowd of dignitaries descended the steep path 
 in the gloom to where the motor-cars were ranked in 
 waiting. Along the road passed streams of wounded 
 who could walk, phantoms half-distinguished in the 
 dim light. Joyous were the voices of the War-Lords. 
 One, a famihar tone, chanted : " Naxih Verdun ! 
 Nach Verdun — Paris .' "* 
 
 Out of the darkness came a screamed reply, a 
 burst of insane laughter. 
 
 " Nach Verdun — Verdunkelung ! Nach Verdun — 
 Verdunkelung ! " 
 
 It was the voice of the crazed Brandenburger. 
 There was a scuffle, the sovmd of a man hurried away, 
 resisting. 
 
 All through that dark journey as the car bimiped 
 and lurched over the atrocious roads, the words 
 beat in a refrain through the mind of the neutral. 
 " Nach Verdun — Verdunkelung ! " He wondered. 
 Eclipse ? Was it the sim of Germany that set on 
 the French position ? The Oberst was loquaciously 
 cheerful. 
 
 That night, in the great map-hung apartment, the 
 
 * " To Verdun ! After Verdun— Paris ! » 
 
242 NACH VERDUN ! 
 
 War-Lords received the news that their further 
 advance was barred. 
 
 Next morning a furious counter-attack surrounded 
 a handful of defenders in the fort for which they had 
 paid so much. The French reinforcements had 
 arrived. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISEE 
 
 (an idyll between the trenches, 1914) 
 
 (Note. — This story is founded upon an actual occurrence narrated by 
 Paul Grabein, •' Im Auto durch Feindesland," Berlin, 1916.) 
 
 The sun set while a regiment of Zouaves was march- 
 ing across the plateau. The after -glow yet illumined 
 the sky when its leading files turned obliquely off to 
 the right along a rough track that presently dropped 
 abruptly into a deep ravine, sculped by one of the 
 streamlet tributaries of the Oise. Bare for a little 
 way below the lip, save for some scattered juniper 
 bushes stiffly perpendicular from the close-cropped 
 slope, the sides of the ravine were dark with a dense 
 growth of tree and thorn. The road plunged into it. 
 Down and down went the road in a gloomy tunnel 
 of arching boughs that scarce left an interstice for 
 the twilight sky. It reached the floor of the little 
 valley, followed it to the right in a more gentle 
 descent. On its left a brook fell swiftly through a 
 plantation of silver birch in a channel that brimmed 
 to the long, rank, water-flattened grass and anon 
 plashed over boulders in a miniature cascade. Save 
 for the steady tramp of the marching troops and the 
 occasional squawk of a frightened jay, there was no 
 sound in the valley. 
 
 2A3 
 
244 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 Mounted upon a magnificent black horse, the 
 colonel rode at the head of the column. Seen in 
 profile, his face was remarkable — virile, powerful, 
 and intellectual. When it turned to full face it fas- 
 cinated. Not the steel-grey eyes looked for under 
 those level brows, but a pair of full brown orbs, 
 romantic as those of an Arab, met the gaze. He 
 raised his hand as the column approached a pair of 
 high ornamental iron gates, set in a frame of lofty 
 arched stone and surmounted by a carved escutcheon, 
 on the left side of the road. " Halt ! " 
 
 Behind him there was a clatter of accoutrements 
 as the long column broke its ranks, settled itself in 
 seated groups, with piled arms, by the roadside. In 
 front, the advance-guard, receiving the order from 
 the connecting files, halted also. The colonel walked 
 his horse to the gates. The padlocked chain that 
 had held them closed hung broken from one of the 
 wrought -iron scrolls. The gates had evidently been 
 forced. He pressed his horse's flank against one of 
 them, slipped through the opening, and set off at a 
 trot down a long avenue of ancient poplars. His 
 capitaine-adjutant, cantering up from the leading 
 company, followed the wave of his hand. 
 
 Beyond the clearing of lawn and Cupid-crowned 
 fountain into which he emerged, lay a long white 
 stone mansion, picturesque but not remarkable in 
 its seventeenth-century architecture. Every window 
 was shuttered. Throwing the reins to his companion, 
 he dismounted and, with the stiff gait from long hours 
 in the saddle, ascended the broad curving steps to 
 the main entrance. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 245 
 
 Only at his second summons on the loud, harshly- 
 clanging bell was there any answering sign of life. 
 One of the great doors opened slightly until checked 
 by a chain, and a woman's voice asked : " Who is 
 it?" 
 
 " French officers, madame. Is the patronne at 
 home ? " 
 
 " I cannot see you," said the voice, evading the 
 question. 
 
 The colonel placed himself so as to be visible 
 through the narrow aperture. " Attendez ! " said 
 the voice. The door closed again. 
 
 A minute or two of waiting in the chill, misty air 
 and once more the door opened, this time fully. 
 " Entrez, monsieur ! " said the voice. 
 
 He found himself in a large lofty hall, dimly illu- 
 mined by the candle held by a little bent old woman. 
 " Par ici, monsieur ! " she said. 
 
 She led him through salon after salon. In the 
 flickering light he could only just discern that they 
 were richly furnished. At last she stopped and 
 tapped at a closed door. 
 
 He was admitted into an apartment of costly and 
 tasteful comfort, lit with warm soft radiance from a 
 shaded pedestal lamp. Pine logs were burning on 
 the hearth of a high stone fireplace. To one side 
 stood a grand piano. A great dog, stretched before 
 the hearth, growled surlily. These were salient details 
 he was scarcely conscious of noting. His eyes were 
 held by the woman who rose from an arm-chair by 
 the fire. 
 
 Tall, gowned simply in a long robe of soft pale 
 
246 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 green, the lamplight shimmered on the waved masses 
 of her auburn hair as she moved. Not vulgarly 
 beautiful — ^the mouth was large, though well -cut — 
 an oval ivory-white face looked into his. No longer 
 very young — she was at least thirty — her instantly 
 felt charm came accentuated by a hint of incomplete 
 maturity. Those quiet eyes could still look at life 
 with a questioning scrutiny, receptive of the new 
 experience. They met his now and a personality 
 leaped into them, communed with him ere yet a 
 word had been uttered. Outwardly, only, they were 
 still strangers. He noticed that she wore no jewellery 
 as he bowed courteously, fez in hand. 
 
 " Madame, I am the colonel of the — ^th Regiment 
 of Zouaves. A necessity, that must be disagreeable 
 to you, forces me to ask your hospitality for my 
 officers and men." 
 
 " For to-night only ? " Her voice was singularly 
 deep and rich. 
 
 " Perhaps for several, madame.'* 
 
 " You are many ? " 
 
 " Eleven hundred men and twenty officers.'* 
 
 " A strong battalion ! " 
 
 " Three battalions, madame," he corrected gently. 
 
 The expression of the eyes, which had never left 
 his, changed slightly. The wordless, languageless 
 message they were exchanging with his own was in- 
 terrupted. " Ah," she said in a voice of sympathy. 
 " You come from the battle ? From the Marne ? " 
 
 " Yes, madame. We were on the Ourcq. Since 
 then, on the Aisne." 
 
 Her face lit up. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 247 
 
 " But certainly ! Who would refuse anything to 
 the brave men who have saved France ! You will 
 excuse the coolness of your reception, Monsieur le 
 colonel ? We have had other guests — ^less welcome." 
 The colonel thought of the broken chain on the gate. 
 " Marie ! " This to the old woman who stood by the 
 door, shading the candle in her hand, incongruous in 
 this luxurious apartment. " Place the large dining- 
 room at the disposition of messieurs les officiers. The 
 kitchen also.*' She turned again to the colonel. " I 
 can offer only ten bedrooms to your officers, Monsieur 
 le colonel, but doubtless they can arrange themselves. 
 The stables are large, there are three barns and a dis- 
 used mill, and there is a loft at the top of the house. 
 I hope you will find room for all your men. There is 
 plenty of straw in the barns. They may use it freely. 
 Please consider the house entirely at your disposition." 
 And all this time the eyes were talking wordlessly. 
 And his, although he knew it not, were replying. 
 
 " You are too kind, madame ! " 
 
 " It is a happy privilege. Monsieur le colonel ! " 
 
 His business was finished, yet he felt curiously un- 
 willing to go, much though awaited him to do. His 
 apology seemed addressed as much to his own hidden 
 inner self as to her. 
 
 " Mille remerciments, madame ! You will excuse 
 me if I withdraw ? My men are very tired. Once 
 more, a thousand thanks, madame ? " 
 
 She answered his unuttered question, a smile 
 lighting up eyes and face. 
 
 " — La comtesse de Beaupr6 et Lysboisee," 
 
 He bowed. 
 
248 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 " Le colonel Victor de Montevrault." 
 
 She held out a slender hand. Involuntarily, almost, 
 he touched it with his lips as he took it in his own. 
 She did not stir. He did not see her face. 
 
 " Au re voir, madame, et tous mes remerciments ! " 
 
 " Au re voir, monsieur," she answered in her rich, 
 deep voice. 
 
 He felt her eyes upon him as he turned to follow 
 Marie, candle in hand, once more through the series 
 of dark apartments. 
 
 A little later and the chateau and its precincts 
 were thronged with the soldiers of the three war- 
 worn battalions as they installed themselves for the 
 night. From the great yard between the stables and 
 the barns came the glow of cooking fires. 
 
 But not for all was the hour of rest arrived. In a 
 little room of the chateau the colonel, with his three 
 chefs de hataillon of whom one only was a major, was 
 poring over a large - scale map and indicating the 
 positions for the lines of sentries, outposts and 
 grand' gardes. Up the opposite side of the ravine to 
 that which they had ascended, well in advance across 
 the high open ground, and down the valley road he 
 posted them. On the three battalion commanders 
 the greatest vigilance was enjoined. Ahead of them 
 there should be French cavalry, but those were the 
 days of flux and reflux in the meeting tides of war, 
 and all things were possible. 
 
 Later still, the colonel sat at the head of the long 
 lamp-lit table in the great dining-room. From the 
 walls dim portraits in lustreless frames looked down 
 upon the backs of the loudly chattering Frenchmen 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOlSfiE 249 
 
 in the exotic, Oriental uniforms. There was little or 
 no talk of the bitter, terrible but finally victorious 
 days through which they — ^it seemed to each of them 
 miraculously — had Hved. Animated discussion of 
 the future was the rule — a future confidently re- 
 garded through the glow of the so recently victorious 
 past. Bold strategic plans were elaborated, illus- 
 trated with cruet and table-knives. There was much 
 talk of envelopment, of a rapid dash on Le Cateau, 
 Valenciennes and Mons that should hurl the Boche, 
 deprived of his communications, into the tangled 
 thicket of the Ardennes, if indeed he escaped at all. 
 The colonel took no part in these arguments. He sat 
 silently sipping the wine which a generous hostess 
 had caused to be placed in ample quantity upon the 
 table. His large brown eyes were soft, the muscles 
 of his face relaxed. It is possible that he thought of 
 something quite other than war. 
 
 One of the soldier orderlies flitting behind the 
 chairs touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Pardon, mon colonel, but the domestic wishes to 
 speak to you." 
 
 He turned in his chair to see the ancient Marie at 
 the door. 
 
 " Madame presents her compliments, m'sieu le 
 colonel, and would be honoured if you would take 
 your coffee with her." 
 
 The colonel rose in his chair. 
 
 " Bonsoir et bonne nuit, messieurs ! " 
 
 " Bonsoir, mon colonel," was reiterated from the 
 score of upturned faces. " Bonne nuit." 
 
 Li her cosy warm salon the chatelaine sat by the 
 
250 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 fire, a glow softly playing over her features. At her 
 side, on a little table, a silver coffee-service steamed. 
 As the colonel entered she looked up to greet him 
 with a smile, indicating the corresponding arm-chair 
 on the other side of the hearth. The large dog at her 
 feet raised his head, wagged his tail in friendly 
 welcome. 
 
 In a few moments they were conversing with the 
 ease of those who have known each other for long 
 years. Wartime, and particularly the kaleidoscopic 
 wartime of those early days, is a great ripener of 
 acquaintance. None might venture to forecast the 
 circumstances of the morrow, to predict continued 
 life for self or other. The actual moment must be 
 snatched. The colonel with his quiet assured poise, 
 his alert intelligence ; the countess, polished grande 
 dame and yet something more, a being of exquisite 
 intuitions, would have set, naturally, to partners 
 whatever the circumstances of their meeting. Each 
 of the pair offered interest to the other. He, soldierly, 
 his massive intellectual head on the broad shoulders, 
 the glowing soft eyes so strangely set in the cold face, 
 the Oriental Zouave uniform emphasising their hint 
 of romance, claimed the eye not less than her slender 
 figure, gowned with the refinement of a consummate 
 civilisation, her supple yet strong carriage of the 
 auburn glory that crowned the pale oval face, the 
 flowing, delicate curve from rounded chin to the 
 gently mobile breast. Her eloquent eyes were long- 
 lashed, downcast towards the fire. He was asking 
 the reason of her stay here in the danger zone. She 
 turned them upon him. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 251 
 
 " This is my own house — my family's house — ^the 
 chateau of Lysboisee. Since my husband's death 
 three years ago I have always inhabited it for a great 
 part of the year. I have always loved it. I was a 
 child in this dark ravine, among the birches of the 
 water-meadows. My own life — ^that I have never 
 shared with anyone — is here. I am of the country. 
 All the peasant people know me, love me. And when 
 the war came I felt that I must be among them, that 
 I could not leave my house, my own dear house, alone, 
 unprotected against anything that might happen. 
 So I hurried here at a time when everybody was 
 hurrying the other way. But the servants had gone. 
 Only old Marie remained, and she and I have lived 
 here all these black weeks, only Roland," she patted 
 the dog's head smilingly, " to watch over us. We 
 have had many visits from the German cavalry, but 
 no violence. They saw, perhaps, that I was not 
 afraid. Now the people are beginning to creep back 
 to their homes." 
 
 He nodded his head sympathetically, described 
 how the peasants of the Aisne valley crept back to 
 their farms, continued their field-tasks close behind 
 the trenches, apparently indifferent to the shrapnel 
 and the marmites. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, gazing thoughtfully into 
 the fire, " amidst so much death the flame of life 
 burns ever higher, will not, must not be extin- 
 guished." 
 
 There was a little pause, during which the colonel 
 sipped his coffee. Lightly, with the smile of a prima 
 ballerina pirouetting away from a serious posture 
 
252 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 into which she would have you believe she fell un- 
 wittingly, the countess commenced to talk of Paris 
 of the days before the war. With a young enthusiasm 
 she spoke of her morning rides in the Bois, of res- 
 taurants and dinner-parties — mentioning a name here 
 and there that might lead to the discovery of a mutual 
 acquaintance, of concerts and the play. The colonel 
 listened, speaking little, seeing her — ^though she did 
 not so much as hint at them — circled by a crowd of 
 admirers. 
 
 " And madame," she said innocently, " does she 
 inhabit Paris ? " 
 
 " Madame ? " He was obviously at a loss. 
 
 " You are not married, then ? " 
 
 " No, madame.'* 
 
 " But," she persisted gently, " you have doubtless 
 
 friends in Paris ? A man such as you " she 
 
 stopped, smiling. " I am indiscreet." 
 
 " Madame," he replied in a quiet voice, " I have 
 been in Africa for more than twenty years. The 
 Paris I knew exists no more." 
 
 She turned her gaze full on him. The freshness 
 of the man appeared suddenly to her. An involuntary 
 little blush suffused her face. She covered it by a 
 slight withdrawal from the fire. 
 
 " Tell me about Africa," she commanded. 
 
 He spoke at first depreciatingly of the country, 
 the grave of so many of France's best, so remote 
 from all that to a Frenchman makes life worth while. 
 Then as he warmed to his description she saw that 
 he loved that parched land of immense distances 
 where the pitiless sun consumes the human soul or 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 253 
 
 heats it to an intense unworldly fervour. He told of 
 interminable marches over the glowing sands, of for- 
 gotten skirmishes where a wound was worse than 
 death, of fierce razzias, of lonely outpost nights in 
 the desert underneath a miracle of stars, where under 
 the naked presence of the infinite one watched, finger 
 on trigger, for the gleam of a creeping burnous. She 
 found herself seeking to detect a deliberate elimina- 
 tion of the feminine in his reminiscences. With sure 
 instinct she felt there was a woman somewhere in 
 the background. How far back ? 
 
 " You have suffered much," she said, her deep 
 rich voice all sympathy. 
 
 " Who has not suffered who lives ? " he replied. 
 
 There was again a pause, where the breathing of 
 the couched dog was the only sound. 
 
 " Will you not play something ? " he asked, sud- 
 denly, looking at the piano. " My opportunities 
 have been few " 
 
 She rose, went to the piano, and seated herself 
 without a word. She played, not with the brilliance 
 of the showy amateur nor with the hard precision 
 of the professional, but as though the notes on which 
 her light fingers fell re-echoed an intimate music of 
 the soul. Through the grave breath-restrained 
 emotion of a Chopin Nocturne she led him, then, 
 with an enigmatic inconsequence, into the flitting, 
 dainty. Harlequin and Columbine passion of a 
 Chaminade that left a question poised, smilingly. A 
 moment's interval, and with a deep contralto voice 
 she commenced to sing a chanson of old France, that 
 followed, simply, exquisite quiet notes, compact of 
 
254. THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 love and the tragedy of love, poignantly eloquent in 
 their unadorned statement of the theme. He went 
 across to the piano, stood over her. She felt his 
 presence very close. A thrill passed into her 
 voice, magical. She finished and stood up with a 
 sudden movement. His glowing eyes were full with 
 tears. 
 
 " Bonsoir, monsieur," she said abruptly, stretch- 
 ing out her hand. The voice was not her own. 
 
 He took her hand in his, held it tightly. His 
 breath came in deep halations from a heaving 
 chest. 
 
 " Madame," he said in a low intense voice, " you 
 are divine ! " 
 
 She strove to release her hand. 
 " Voyons ! " she said plaintively, almost tearfully, 
 averting her face. " We met only to-day." 
 " And to-morrow ? — Who knows ? " 
 " No ! no ! no ! " she cried and tore away her 
 hand from his. " Bonsoir, monsieur ! " She ran 
 across the room like a startled fawn, bowed herself 
 against the stone fireplace, her face hidden. He saw 
 her shoulders heave. 
 
 He followed her, stood irresolute. She turned on 
 him suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, isn't there enough suffering in the world," 
 
 she cried, " without ? " 
 
 " Without love ? " He advanced with outstretched 
 arms, laid his hands upon her shoulders. She stiffened, 
 fending him off. " Without love ? If to love is to 
 suffer," he said in a voice deeply harmonious, " to 
 love is also to live. And I have waited so long to 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 255 
 
 live ! Have waited for you, my twin soul ! We met 
 only to-day ? What if we have only to-day to 
 live ? " 
 
 She leaned back, away from him, yet held in his 
 grasp. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ! I mustn't listen ! " Her bosom 
 filled. Her eyes closed. She crumpled suddenly in 
 his arms. 
 
 The next morning, mounted upon a fine-bred 
 chestnut mare, a zealous Zouave at the bridle, she 
 waited in the great courtyard behind the chateau. 
 She had offered her knowledge of the locality to the 
 colonel and gladly he had accepted it. He came 
 towards her now on his noble black horse, bending 
 down in grave talk with the chef de bataillon walking 
 by his stirrup. She acknowledged his salutation, 
 and a moment later they were riding out of the great 
 gate together. 
 
 The ravine of Lysboisee lifted its towering further 
 wall of dark undergrowth immediately behind the 
 chateau. A narrow path, frequently stepped, zig- 
 zagging through the hanger in steep gradients, made 
 the ascent of the sheer acclivity possible. Side by 
 side they walked their horses up, bending often in 
 the saddle to escape the low overhanging branches. 
 They rode in silence, each in their own thoughts. She 
 glanced sideways at her companion. It was the face 
 of a soldier, not of a lover. Obviously he pondered 
 8ome problem. She sighed. This undisturbed soli- 
 tude, the screen of thick woodland arching over them, 
 on the two pacing animals that nosed each other 
 
256 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 amicably, awoke primitive instincts in her. But she 
 kept silence, made no movement. 
 
 At last, as though summoned by her thought, he 
 turned his head towards her. 
 
 " You have received bad news, mon ami ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Orders that throw a heavy responsibility upon 
 me," he answered. 
 
 Again they relapsed into silence. The ascent 
 continued. Only a few yards short of the summit 
 did the undergrowth cease. 
 
 For a dozen paces the path ran over bare close- 
 cropped grass, then, sunk in a rough cutting, sur- 
 mounted the crest. 
 
 A little beyond, on the open down, the grand'garde 
 — a weak company of Zouaves — ^was digging ener- 
 getically at shelter -trenches. The colonel spoke with 
 the officer, rode on. 
 
 " Would you please take me to the highest point, 
 ch^re amie ? " he asked. The countess bowed her 
 head, without a word. A touch of the spiu-, and he 
 followed her at an easy, touch-controlled canter, his 
 horse eager to get abreast the mare. At last she 
 reined up, met his eyes with a smile. 
 
 They stood upon a knoll in the downs, wide-spaced 
 horizon all round. Far to the south and east were 
 the dark masses of the Foret de Laigue. From beyond 
 them came a heavy distant roll of artillery. The 
 colonel listened, searching the panorama with nar- 
 rowed eyes. At his request she pointed out localities 
 and the direction of localities. He turned to look 
 backward, saw the lips of the ravine widening out 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 257 
 
 to the south-east until the slopes fell into another 
 valley. His face hardened. 
 
 " Let us go back, chere amie," he said. " As 
 quickly as possible." 
 
 At a swift, swinging gallop — the skirts of her 
 amazon fluttering in the wind — they hastened back 
 to the grand'garde. The officer came up. The colonel 
 took out his note-book. 
 
 " Have you any spades or farm implements, 
 madame ? " he asked. 
 
 He nodded to her affirmation, writing the while in 
 his note-book. He tore out the page, folded it, gave it 
 to the officer. "To be delivered to the Commandant 
 Legros at the Chateau. Without delay." 
 
 Then he turned his horse and, followed by his 
 companion, rode slowly along the lip of the ravine. 
 She searched his features, anxiously. 
 
 He stopped in a depression of the down, out of 
 sight of the grand'garde. He turned to her, and her 
 heart fluttered at the tenderness of his face. 
 
 " Pauline," he said gravely, laying his hand upon 
 her arm, " you must not stay here. Listen ! The 
 regiment on our left extends to the head of the ravine. 
 The orders I received this morning left me to choose 
 on which side of the ravine I should place my trenches. 
 We advance no further. We are only a screen, but 
 the screen must be maintained, must not be risked. 
 I am obliged to choose the other side of the ravine. 
 We shall almost certainly be attacked. I do not 
 know when — ^nothing is known. But you would be 
 in danger. You must leave this afternoon, go right 
 back — to Amiens, Paris." 
 
258 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 She checked an impulse to quick speech, smiled at 
 him. 
 
 " Mon ami, I was almost unjust to you " 
 
 " You will go ? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " No, cher ami, I remain with you." 
 
 " But if we are attacked and have to retire to the 
 other side of the ravine ? You cannot remain in the 
 trenches." 
 
 " No. I should remain in my house until you 
 advance again." She turned an appealing, coquettish 
 glance upon him. " Should I be something to fight 
 for ? " She checked his protestations. " No, cher 
 ami, I know all your arguments. They are useless. 
 What did you say last night ? — What if we have only 
 to-day to live ? " Her voice sank, her eyes dropped. 
 " Cher ami, I want not a moment that your duty 
 claims, — ^but those others, those precious little instants, 
 can you not accept me in them ? So little time is 
 ours, cher ! " 
 
 The horses had drawn close together. He put his 
 right arm round her waist. She leaned back, face 
 upturned. Their eyes met in a long deep look. 
 Their mouths approached, were one. The flame of 
 life burned high in them. Their horses' ears quivered 
 to a louder roar of the distant guns. 
 
 Slowly they rode home together, by an easier, more 
 roundabout path she showed him. 
 
 All that day those of the regiment not required 
 for outposts laboured hard at the new entrenchments 
 on the high, western edge of the ravine — a, long, long 
 line of delving men. Ranges were marked out ; 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISlfiE 259 
 
 reserves of ammunition, food and water carried up. 
 The energising source of all this activity, the colonel, 
 laboured also, without haste and without rest. His 
 brain worked quickly, coolly, definite in its decisions. 
 She, his companion, unobtrusively at hand when 
 required for information or material of defence, 
 vanished unnoticed when her presence might become 
 importunate. She quenched her personality, trans- 
 fused, she felt, her life-force into him as he worked, 
 an emotionless intellect. With his chefs -de -bataillon 
 he elaborated plans of defence ; nothing was left to 
 chance ; nothing could be misunderstood. Person- 
 ally he supervised, corrected, the siting of the trenches, 
 the emplacements of the mitrailleuses. In the after- 
 noon he rode over to the colonel of the adjoining 
 regiment, concerted arrangements. Fom the general 
 de brigade he obtained the promise of a battery in 
 support on the morrow. 
 
 But he was uneasy. Patrols sent out had failed 
 to get into touch with the covering cavalry. The 
 distant artillery roll was nearer. There had been one 
 inexplicable burst of fire some miles away to the 
 right. As night fell he ordered the new trenches to 
 be manned with the bulk of his force, leaving out- 
 posts and grand'garde on the plateau above the ravine 
 and down the valley. One company only he retained 
 near the chateau. 
 
 That evening he sat again in the salon of 
 his hostess. All was quiet. The dog snored in 
 front of the hearth. At his request the countess 
 seated herself at the piano, played dreamily with 
 bowed head. The soft harmonies that awoke 
 
260 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 under her fingers seemed only to make the silence 
 musical. 
 
 Suddenly a shot re-echoed loud along the valley ; 
 another and another followed. There was a burst of 
 rapid, irregular fire, indefinitely prolonged. The 
 colonel rushed to a window, flung it open, listened. 
 The outposts down the valley were being driven in. 
 
 His companion had risen, stood by the piano with 
 tense features. There was a loud hurried knock on 
 the door. She ran to open it. A Zouave entered, 
 breathing heavily from swift exertion. Saluting, he 
 handed a message to the colonel. It was from the 
 commander of the grand'garde on the edge of the 
 ravine above. He reported that his advanced posts 
 were in contact with the enemy, were retiring. For 
 one moment the colonel stood by the window, listen- 
 ing to the rapid clatter of the rifles, deciding which 
 was the heavier attack. 
 
 He wrote an order to the officer above. The mes- 
 senger disappeared. The countess was holding out 
 his fez and his revolver. One wild embrace and he 
 sprang out of the room, dashed through the adjoining 
 salons, out into the night. 
 
 In the courtyard he found the reserve company 
 assembled, awaiting his orders. He gave them, 
 quickly, succinctly. The company fell into fours, 
 doubled out of the courtyard into the darkness to 
 form a screen across the valley behind which the 
 men above could seek safety. From the widening 
 ravine the rifle fixe swelled in intensity, was a con- 
 tinuous loud re-echoing clatter. Above, sharp definite 
 reports rang out, were rapidly multiplied. It was 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 261 
 
 the grand'garde — feu a volonU. He glanced to the 
 other wall of the ravine and smiled in a grim satisfac- 
 tion. His orders were being obeyed. The long line 
 of trenches he knew to be there lay in silence and 
 darkness. 
 
 Above him there was one fierce paroxysm of fire 
 and then the reports diminished, sprang from lower 
 levels. He saw quick flashes of hght among the trees. 
 Wounded men limped and hobbled past him in the 
 darkness. The outpost was retiring into the valley. 
 A bullet cracked close to him. He turned, suddenly 
 conscious of companionship. The countess was 
 standing at his side, her pale dress luminous in the 
 night. The dog growled angrily in front of her. 
 
 " Pauline ! " His voice was almost a shriek of 
 alarm for her. " Pauline ! For the love of God, come 
 with me — ^now — ^there is yet time ! I cannot leave 
 you ! " 
 
 She grasped his hand, as a friend would. 
 
 " No, cher — I stay — as a pledge for your vic- 
 torious retiun ! " 
 
 The last men of the outpost were running past 
 them. Overhead the bullets cracked viciously, 
 phutting against the walls. 
 
 " I implore you ! There may be heavy fighting ! " 
 
 "No, mon ami. I stay." Her voice was quite 
 decided. " I have cellars." She pressed his hand, 
 then, with a quick movement, flung herself into his 
 arms, was one with him for a brief second. He un- 
 loosed her embrace. 
 
 " Go, then," he said, his voice trembling. " Quickly. 
 God be with you ! " 
 
262 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 " And with you, my beloved ! Take the dog with 
 you — he will tell me where you are.'* She bent down 
 to the animal, whispered to him, pointed to the 
 colonel. Heavy volleys crashed out of the trees above. 
 She sprang back into the house. 
 
 The dog at his heels, the colonel raced after the 
 last of his men. They turned to spit livid spurts of 
 flame at the dark wall of the ravine. In a few 
 moments they were clambering up a steep path 
 through the wood on the other side. 
 
 Half an hour later the Germans felt the long line 
 of trenches on the lip of the ravine, attacked, and 
 were heavily repulsed. 
 
 At dawn the colonel reconnoitred the situation 
 from his position on the height. In front of him the 
 enemy, abandoning the valley in which lay so many 
 of his dead, had entrenched himself along the oppo- 
 site edge of the ravine. Vicious little bursts of rifle 
 fire at scattered parties or individuals who hazarded 
 themselves for a moment out of cover betokened the 
 vigilance of both sides, and on both sides the many 
 spadefuls of earth tossed in the air showed that the 
 work of strengthening the positions was proceeding 
 feverishly. So far no artillery had entered into the 
 fray, but at any moment the first shell from one 
 party or the other might come whining across the 
 gulf. To the right of the Zouaves another battalion 
 had established contact, was maintaining itself. To 
 the left, at the head of the ravine, where they joined 
 with the next regiment, a fierce fight was proceeding 
 — attack and counter-attack which finally left the 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 263 
 
 positions unchanged. Far to right and left the crackle 
 of rifle fire swelled and continued. Mingled with it 
 came the rapid detonations of field-guns, their reports 
 ever nearer. The battle was developing all along the 
 line. The colonel received positive orders to main- 
 tain himself at all costs, to risk nothing. Upon the 
 maintenance of this thin screen depended the safety 
 of two armies, forming and in motion, perhaps the 
 fate of France. 
 
 Through his glasses the colonel gazed into the depths 
 of the ravine, where the white stone chateau glinted 
 through the dark, thickly surrounding trees. A wisp 
 of smoke ascended from one of the chinaneys and he 
 had to be content with that assurance that all was 
 well. A patrol sent out in the first light had failed 
 to reach it. All access to the chateau was commanded 
 by spurs from the other side of the ravine. But 
 apparently it was unoccupied by the enemy. He 
 thought suddenly of the dog, wondered what had 
 happened to it. In the stress of the night attack he 
 had lost sight of it, forgotten it. Even as he searched 
 his memory it came bounding along the trench 
 towards him, nosed against his leg. There was some- 
 thing fastened to its collar, a letter. 
 
 As he read it, all the passion of his ascetic, sun- 
 parched years, awakened by the exquisite charm of 
 that slender pale woman lonely there below him, 
 surged up in him, overmastering, obliterating all 
 else. The eloquent eyes under the auburn hair were 
 vivid to him, spoke to his deepest soul. Her letter 
 was a prose lyric of passion wherein all emotions — 
 longing, tenderness, anxiety, surrender, pride in her 
 
264 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 lover, even a flash of the doubt born of swiftly-given 
 love — contended. It was revelatory of her inmost 
 self as her speech had never been. She, it seemed, 
 had also waited — waited. Some of the phrases in it 
 — " The burning sacrament of your kiss " — " linked 
 in an instant for eternity " — branded themselves 
 upon his brain. In a whirl of cerebral excitement 
 he tore out a page from his note -book, dashed off a 
 letter not less ardent, not less than hers the ecstasy 
 of a soul that lives at last in the consuming fire of 
 love. 
 
 He attached it to the dog's collar, pointed away. 
 The animal sprang over the low parapet, disappeared 
 in the undergrowth below. 
 
 An artillery officer came up, reported himself as 
 the observer of the newly arrived battery. He 
 evinced much professional interest in the chateau, 
 seemed eager to make it the target for his guns. 
 The colonel explained the situation. 
 
 All through the multitudinous tasks and responsi- 
 bilities of the day his soul yearned out to the lonely 
 woman below. To have risked his life in an en- 
 deavour to see her would have been more than a joy, 
 it would have been the satisfaction of a need of his 
 being — but his life was pledged to France. To him 
 his duty was a religion with which his love did not 
 conflict, nay both, upon the summit of his life, 
 blended and were one. Yet tempted, he found him- 
 self speculating upon the possibility of creeping down 
 at nightfall. 
 
 But night saw the intense glare of three German 
 searchlights shoot out of the darkness. A storm of 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISl^E 265 
 
 shrapnel burst fiercely over the trenches of the 
 Zouaves. A wild attack of shadowy forms surging 
 up out of the undergrowi:h beat against the parapet, 
 ebbed back in an inferno of noise from the long line 
 of countless stabs of flame, was hurled into the 
 ravine under the reiterated crashes, the sudden livid 
 flares of shrapnel from the battery behind. 
 
 Down below, at the highest window of the chateau, 
 the countess stood looking out into the night, her 
 lover's letter pressed close against her bosom. High 
 above her flickered and spurted the endless rifle 
 flashes from his trenches, paling the stars above the 
 dark hill. The noise of the conflict, the shouts and 
 cries amid the re-echoing din, was a tribute to his 
 power. She gloried in it, exulted when the attack 
 subsided, withdrew in a clamour of voices past the 
 chateau to the hill behind. 
 
 Descending, she wrote yet another letter to him — 
 a proud paean of love triumphant. Then suddenly 
 she flung herself, face downward, arms outstretched, 
 across the table in a passion of irrepressible tears. 
 She lay thus a long time, until the heaving of her 
 body ceased and she slept, her cheek upon the 
 letter. 
 
 The morning was yet young when she despatched 
 the dog once more upon his mission to her lover. 
 Save for an occasional shot, the opposing trenches 
 were quiet. Stretcher parties were at work in the 
 valley. Waited upon by the ancient Marie — eloquent 
 in her protestations of terror during the night — she 
 breakfasted, counting the minutes until the retm-n of 
 her messenger. Roland arrived, pleased with himself. 
 
266 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 as his energetic tail testified. Once more with swell- 
 ing breast and radiant face she read her lover's letter, 
 passionate as the first. In a postscript, it begged her 
 to give no information that might imperil her. 
 
 During the day the battle woke again between the 
 trenches at the head of the ravine, continued in fierce 
 spasms hour after hour. In the afternoon she wrote 
 another letter, despatched it and received an answer. 
 She was strangely, exaltedly happy. He was holding 
 firm. No one came to the chateau. At night she 
 again posted herself at the window to watch the 
 flashes from his trenches. 
 
 The third day dawned. She wrote, assuring him 
 of her safety — of much else. The reply duly arrived. 
 A false peace brooded over the little valley. Ceding 
 to an impulse, she went out, tried to get a clearer 
 view of his position, to see — she would not admit to 
 herself her absurd hope. Then, regretting her im- 
 prudence, she returned hurriedly. 
 
 The grey of afternoon already filled the valley when 
 a loud, imperative knocking upon the great door re- 
 echoed through the house. The countess stood as if 
 turned to stone ; her heart seemed to stop. So soon ! 
 The threat to her exalted, impassioned life of the 
 past days paralysed her. She could vnth. difficulty 
 cry to Marie to admit. 
 
 A German officer entered, a group of soldiers 
 behind him. He saluted with stiff ceremony. 
 
 " Madame, I regret you must leave this house at 
 once ! " His French was painfully correct. 
 
 She faced him, tense. 
 
 " And if I refuse ? '' 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 2.67 
 
 " Then, madame, you leave me no alternative but 
 to arrest you as a suspect." 
 
 She cried an inarticulate protest. The dog, hitherto 
 standing by her side as though straining at a leash, 
 sprang forward with an angry growl. 
 
 The German regarded the menace coolly, without 
 moving a muscle. 
 
 " Schones Tier ! " he murmured. Then, turning 
 to his men, he ordered : " Secure it, one of you I " 
 
 Thunderously growling, with a puzzled look at his 
 mistress standing Hke a statue, the dog suffered a 
 cord to be slipped through its collar. The blood 
 surged into the countess's face. 
 
 " Monsieur 1 " The sense of outrage choked her. 
 
 " Madame," he interrupted calmly, " I need 
 scarcely remind you that time presses. You will not, 
 I am sure, constrain us to violence." 
 
 She met his eyes, was confronted with inexorable 
 necessity. Her hands twitched. 
 
 " You will at least allow me a little time to collect 
 a few clothes and valuables ? " 
 
 " A little time, madame." 
 
 She ran from the room, hearing as a last sound the 
 dog choking as it struggled on the leash. In the hall 
 was Marie, haggard, her old body shaking with ex- 
 citement. She clutched at her mistress's arm. 
 
 " Madame ! what is happening ? " She lapsed 
 into patois under the stress. 
 
 The countess replied also, without noticing it, in 
 the language of her childhood. 
 
 " I am arrested. They are letting me fetch some 
 clothes." 
 
268 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 The servant suppressed a cry. " Madame ! " 
 The old hands trembled upon her. " The colonel ! — 
 a note to him — he will come — give it to me ! " 
 
 " But Marie " They looked deep down into 
 
 each other's soul. With a sudden movement of 
 decision the countess ran into an adjoining room, 
 scribbled " They are taking me. P." on a piece of 
 paper, thrust it into the old woman's hand. " You 
 are sure, Marie ? " she asked wildly, seeking condona- 
 tion for herself. 
 
 " Ch^re dame ! " was the brief, eloquent reply. 
 The old woman disappeared. 
 
 The countess ran upstairs to her bedroom, the one 
 word " Delay ! — delay ! — delay ! — delay ! " beating 
 in her brain. 
 
 Down in the salon the officer gave a few curt com- 
 mands to his men, ordered the dog to be taken into 
 the yard. Left alone, he strolled round the room 
 examining the pictures, the bibelots, opening the 
 drawers of the secretaire. The minutes passed. The 
 house was in deep silence. He began to get impatient, 
 
 to wonder if some trick But he was sure of the 
 
 vigilance of his men. A quarter of an hour had elapsed 
 when he heard a sharp little burst of fire from the 
 German trenches above. It was not answered. The 
 valley resumed its unwonted quiet. Exasperated at 
 the delay he began to pace up and down the room, 
 looked at his watch, gave his prisoner yet another 
 five minutes. 
 
 Suddenly his >eye was caught by a little piece of 
 folded paper on the floor under the piano. He picked 
 it up, opened it. It was a letter that had evidently 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 269 
 
 fallen from the countess's dress when she ran from 
 the room. He read it through, a gleam in his eyes. 
 " So ! meine Grafin ! " he murmured, and smiled. 
 
 The colonel's passionate outpouring awoke no 
 sympathetic thrill of romance in his breast. The tip 
 of a pink tongue protruding under his fair moustache, 
 his clever blue eyes alight, he turned it over, pondering 
 the signature. From many indications he deduced 
 that the writer was in the trenches on the other side 
 of the ravine, was of commanding rank. Even as he 
 considered it there was a knock at the door. 
 
 " Herein ! " A (German soldier entered and saluted. 
 He brought a message from the trenches above. It 
 explained the little burst of fire, warned him. The 
 officer stood for a moment in thought, then his face 
 lit up with a malicious pleasure. The clever blue 
 eyes saw a sequence of events — ^the messenger from 
 the countess, whose sudden scramble over the oppos- 
 ing parapet had drawn the German fire, imploring 
 rescue of the distressed ; a French commander, in- 
 toxicated with love for a beautiful woman, catching 
 fire at the news, issuing wild orders, seeing only his 
 mistress in imminent danger ; a reckless avalanche 
 of French soldiery sweeping down the sides of the 
 
 ravine in a blind quixotic chivalry. He saw 
 
 " Famos ! " he ejaculated, and laughed softly to him- 
 self. He wrote out an answering message, a long one, 
 and handed it to the orderly. 
 
 When the countess returned to the room, garbed 
 for departure, she found him seated at the piano, 
 playing gently with a sentimental touch. He rose at 
 her entrance, performed a polite bow. 
 
270 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 " Madame, you appear to have a very interesting 
 house,'* he said in his stiff French; "would you do 
 me the honour of escorting me over it ? " 
 
 The countess stared at him, dumbfounded. Were 
 her prayers miraculously answered ? Delay ! — delay ! 
 — delay ! 
 
 " If you wish, monsieur," she answered in a calm, 
 controlled voice. Following the twin thought in her 
 brain, her eyes searched the carpet. 
 
 He noticed the glance, drew the letter from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " I think you dropped this, madame,'* he said, 
 handing it to her. 
 
 She took it from him. Had he read it ? The 
 blonde face that met her questioning gaze was im- 
 passive under its smiling courtesy. 
 
 For an instant they confronted each other. With 
 a cynical sense of superiority, pleasant to himself, he 
 read her delight at his unexpected request, carefully 
 though she tried to disguise it, read her quickly 
 banished doubt that he had penetrated her scheme, 
 was counter -plotting. He could almost phrase her 
 thankful prayer to God — begging for a continuance 
 of the miracle — ^that the barbarian had thus delivered 
 himself into the strong hands of her lover. He would 
 surely come ! Both as they stood thus silent were 
 calculating the necessary minutes — but his calculation 
 was a double one. With the politest of bows, he 
 opened the door for her. 
 
 Together they went through salon after salon, 
 candlelit since he refused to have the shutters opened. 
 In contrast with his previous manner, he displayed 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 271 
 
 not the least haste. Leisurely he lingered over each 
 piece, discussed it, appraised it with real connois- 
 seurship as though he were merely a cultured guest. 
 She loitered willingly, her brain on fire, every sense 
 at strain. The precious moments were accumulating. 
 She found new treasures for his admiration, racked 
 her memory for rare objects that might hold him 
 yet a little longer. He handled them, was enthusiastic, 
 with calm audacity regretted this terrible war which 
 imperilled so many beautiful things. Not once did 
 he depart from his attitude of studied politeness. 
 And while he spoke she was listening — listening — for 
 the sudden shout, the quick close detonations, which 
 should announce her deliverance. 
 
 At any moment now ! She glanced for the bar- 
 barian's weapon, her heart praying for his safety. 
 Out there beyond the shuttered windows he was 
 coming in might at the head of his men. She seemed 
 to see him — running towards her, past the Cupid- 
 crowned fountain. She exulted in the crass absence 
 of suspicion in the hatefully calm enemy at her side. 
 
 Out there in the twilight the precincts of the 
 chateau were being lined with grey-clad soldiers, 
 settling themselves in hidden firing positions. The 
 officer saw them, with experienced second-sight. He 
 smiled, blandly. His prisoner loitered, desperately 
 prolonging his happy preoccupation. 
 
 When they returned to the salon it was to find 
 another German officer waiting. Unseen by her, 
 they exchanged a significant look. 
 
 There was a sharp, hissing, ugly rush in the air and 
 a loud crash in the courtyard. 
 
272 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 By a fortunate chance the colonel was near when 
 the panting Marie scrambled over the parapet to the 
 accompaniment of a dozen rifle bullets. On the point 
 of collapse, the old woman sank into his arms, stam- 
 mered confused unintelligible words, gave him the 
 scrap of paper. Consigning her to the care of an 
 orderly, he read the message, then raised his head, 
 his fingers crushing the paper. He stood motionless, 
 in intense thought. Slowly his eyes turned, fell upon 
 the old woman shaking more with fright from the 
 narrowly escaped bullets than from her exertions. 
 Then his gaze lifted, fixed itself with frowning con- 
 centration upon the clay wall of the trench. He saw 
 only with an inner vision. Around him no one spoke. 
 His jaw set hard. 
 
 He raised himself upon the fire-step, gazed over 
 the parapet through his glasses. The opposing lip of 
 the ravine, bare of undergrowth a few yards from the 
 top, lay silent, seemingly deserted. He called up an 
 officer, handed him his glasses, indicated a point, 
 ordered an unceasing watch upon it. Then he sent 
 orderlies for his chefs-de-bataillon and the artillery 
 observation officer in all haste. 
 
 They came. The battalion commanders received 
 definite instructions and departed. The artillery 
 officer remained with him. The ancient Marie sat 
 upon the fire-step of the trench, trembling but re- 
 covering. She watched the saviour of her mistress 
 with fascinated eyes. 
 
 The trench began to fill with soldiers. They crouched 
 in their firing positions, their heads kept carefully below 
 the parapet. Here and there little groups were busy 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 273 
 
 about the machine-guns, fitted the long comb-like 
 strips of cartridges, huddled ready to hoist the 
 weapon into action. The watching officer called, 
 without moving his head. 
 
 " Infantry are slipping into the ravine, mon 
 colonel ! " 
 
 The colonel, stem, impassive, ordered him to 
 report when the movement ceased. 
 
 The long trench filled with crouching riflemen lay 
 in a hush of intense expectancy. There was scarce a 
 movement save the quick, involuntary jerks of nerves 
 at strain. The old woman's eyes began to wander, 
 puzzled, seeking comprehension. The wild rush for- 
 ward she had imagined, would it never come ? She 
 waited, breathless, for the inspiring command of the 
 colonel that should wake the tumultuous Hurrah ! 
 The watching officer reported : 
 
 " Movement has ceased, mon colonel. About two 
 hundred men." 
 
 The colonel drew his watch from his pocket, 
 glanced at the dial. Beyond that he made no move- 
 ment. The old woman's eyes were fixed upon him. 
 Suddenly she noticed that he wore neither sword nor 
 revolver. In a flash she understood. She sprang 
 up like a madwoman, crying at the top of her 
 voice. 
 
 " Soldiers ! To the rescue ! The Boches are taking 
 away my mistress ! Now ! Save her ! Your colonel 
 — her lover — abandons her ! Abandons her ! 
 Cowards ! Cowards ! Do you want an old woman 
 to show you the way ? " 
 
 She leaped in a frenzy upon the fire-step, tearing 
 
274 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 aside the soldiers to make way for her with cat-like 
 hands. There was a stir along the trench. The 
 soldiers knew her, knew her mistress, their generous 
 hostess. There was a murmur. The colonel stood 
 like a statue carved in stone. His face was that of an 
 ascetic at the supreme moment. In his eyes was the 
 glow of a mystic who beholds a vision. 
 
 He turned to the old woman. 
 
 " Be quiet ! " he commanded. His eyes rather 
 than his voice quelled her. She sank in a passion of 
 hysterical weeping to the floor of the trench. He 
 glanced at his watch again, replaced it, waited. 
 Age-long minutes passed. He turned to the artillery 
 officer. 
 
 " Now ! " he said. " But be careful ! As near to 
 the chateau as possible without touching it." 
 
 The officer shouted an order to the waiting tele- 
 phonist. Overhead there was the rush of a shell, 
 from far behind the sharp crack of a gun. Leisurely 
 — one — ^two — ^three — four — ^the battery fired. The 
 observation officer looked over the parapet. The 
 colonel mounted by his side, watched also. 
 
 One — ^two — ^three — four — ^the battery fired again, 
 repeated itself once more. Down there among the 
 trees was a faint drifting smoke. 
 
 The colonel counted the minutes as the well -placed 
 shells dropped around the chateau of his dreams. 
 He saw, where none other saw, the sudden alarm 
 below ; the prisoner hurriedly evacuated from her 
 home, dragged scrambling up through the dark trees 
 into safety on the other side. One — ^two — three — 
 four. She should be out of harm's way. 
 
THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 275 
 
 He turned his face to the trench, shouted an order. 
 As he turned his gaze again swiftly towards the enemy 
 he had a gHmpse of something upon the bare Up of 
 the ravine — something white, quickly moving. He 
 had miscalculated ! In a sudden agony, he shrieked 
 rather than shouted a countermanding order. Too 
 late ! His voice was drowned in one long smashing 
 detonation of a thousand rifles in an irregular volley 
 from the trench. From the battery behind came the 
 rapid, multiplied hammer-slams of the guns firing at 
 their maximum speed. 
 
 He had a ghostly vision of an anguished woman's 
 face, denying love. 
 
 The ravine was lashed by a tornado of shell and 
 bullets. Caught in its depths, unseen yet precisely 
 imagined from above, men were clambering in an 
 agony of desperation to escape from the death that 
 crashed unceasingly overhead and hailed about them. 
 The white shrapnel puffs were countless against the 
 dark background of the trees. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour the fierce fire continued, 
 was answered in bitter anger from the opposing 
 trenches. Then on both sides it died away. The 
 dead in the valley lay in quiet. 
 
 The colonel, his face rigid, turned to walk along the 
 trench. Suddenly a dog trailing a cord leaped over 
 the parapet, dashed at him in a frenzy of joy. Then, 
 perceiving the old woman, it jumped at her, nosed 
 around her with vigorously wagging tail. "^ ' ' "^ 
 
 The old woman shrieked. The colonel looked. 
 There was blood upon the dog's coat. The old woman 
 drew herself up, held the colonel's eyes. " Mur- 
 
276 THE CHATELAINE OF LYSBOISfiE 
 
 derer ! " she cried with the intensity of a curse, and 
 fainted. 
 
 The colonel strode on. 
 
 On a bitter day in December, three months later, 
 the colonel returned from his morning tour of the 
 trenches for which he was responsible. They were 
 trenches in another landscape, far from those whose 
 memory lay like a sear across his soul. At the en- 
 trance to the sandbagged, wrecked farmhouse which 
 served him as a home the soldier -cowrner was in the 
 act of extracting letters from his wallet. The colonel 
 took the bundle destined for him. At the sight of 
 the topmost envelope he stopped as though he had 
 seen a ghost. With trembling fingers he tore it open, 
 read : 
 
 " My hero ! I understood ! I understood ! Oh, 
 didn't you know I understood ? How grand you 
 are — more than a man ! All these weary months of 
 imprisonment, trial, release and travel, I have been 
 hungering to tell you this. Home once more, France 
 is more than ever France to me since you ennobled 
 me in sacrifice. Beloved ! " 
 
 The colonel hurried into his quarters to read the 
 letter in solitude. None might see his face. 
 
THEY COME BACK 
 
 Whittingham Street, N., had benefited by the war. 
 The long vista of its windows flush with the pave- 
 ment was decent with curtains of a cleanness un- 
 wonted before the cataclysm. There were strange 
 dots of reflected sunlight from brass door-handles 
 and knockers that were polished. These things were 
 symbols of the newly realised importance of Whit- 
 tingham Street's inhabitants in the scheme of society, 
 an importance which, swiftly translated into self- 
 esteem, expressed itself with a uniformity natural to 
 life in a mean street. That house was poor indeed 
 which did not possess its gramophone. The women- 
 folk were curiously predominant to those who remem- 
 bered the old-time loimgers at the corner " pubs," 
 and that womenfolk, disdainful of the feathers 
 of the long ago, was arrayed in startlingly smart, 
 well-emphasized, cheap copies of the latest fashions, 
 oddly incongruous with the tall, smoke-vomiting 
 chimneys of Messrs. Hathaway's great factory which 
 closed the vista of the street. The sparseness of the 
 men, immediately remarked, received a solemn 
 significance from the flag-hung shrine on the wall of 
 the Council School. The children who played in front 
 of it — paper helmet, tin-can drum and wooden sword — 
 were vividly cognizant that this was a time of War. 
 
 277 
 
2*^8 THEY COME BACK 
 
 It was evening, and from the great gates of Messrs. 
 Hathaway's factory poured a ceaseless stream of 
 women. But not this evening did that stream flow 
 down the street with its usual swift and iminter- 
 rupted course. There were checks in it — obstacles 
 of groups that talked excitedly and forgot to progress 
 — ^while others in eager haste eddied round them. 
 On the high wall by the gate, a bill-poster was cover- 
 ing a "War Savings" placard with another of different 
 meaning. A black cloud of smoke drifted away 
 from the tall chimneys and was not reinforced 
 other than by faint and lessening wisps. 
 
 A young woman, one of those whose urgent haste 
 trifled not with talk, hurried down the street, stopped 
 before one of the neatest house-fronts, tremblingly 
 thrust a key into the latch, opened and ran breath- 
 lessly upstairs. 
 
 A grey-haired old woman rose from a wooden chair 
 by the side of a cradle in a clean and modestly 
 furnished room. At the entrance of her daughter-in- 
 law she laid a finger on her lips and looked warningly 
 to the infant. Then remarking an obvious distress, 
 she changed colour. 
 
 " What's the matter, Ann ? " she whispered, 
 shaking with a sudden alarm. She had to steady 
 herself by the support of the table. " Not — Jim ? " 
 
 The young woman shook her head, controlled her 
 panting breath. 
 
 " Hathaway's ! '* she brought out. " Closing 
 down ! " 
 
 The elder stared speechlessly for a moment, then 
 seated herself with that blank mute resignation of 
 
THEY COME BACK 279 
 
 the aged poor, long disillusioned of any title to good 
 fortune. The fingers of her unshapely hands twined 
 and untwined themselves tensely in her lap. 
 
 " Don't you hear, mother ? " said the young 
 woman irritably. " Hathaway 's are closing down ! " 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " the old woman raised a face that 
 was strained with imminent tears. " I knew it 'ud 
 never last — I knew it 'ud never last ! " 
 
 " What we shall do, 'Eaven knows ! " said Ann, 
 viciously accenting the sole possible foimt of know- 
 ledge. " They're all closing down — ^all of 'em, all 
 round I " Her gesture, as she unpinned her hat and 
 put it, with an excess of energy, on the table, testified 
 to the completeness of the closed horizon. She stood 
 looking at the sleeping child, her brows bent, her 
 mouth troubled. Then suddenly she flimg herself on 
 her knees and buried her head in the old woman's 
 lap, shaking with sobs. 
 
 " Oh, I did so want to keep it nice for Jim when 'e 
 comes back ! I did ! I did ! All we've got together. 
 And now it'll all go — bit by bit ! And I've worked 
 so 'ard — so very 'ard ! An' 'e'll never see, never 
 know 'ow nice it was ! Oh — ^mother ! " She could 
 utter no more words, only inarticulate sounds. 
 
 The old woman soothed her, stroking her hair. 
 
 " There, dear ! there, dear ! Don't take on ! 
 It'll all come right. I can go out again an' do a bit 
 of cleanin'. I daresay Mrs. Smith'll take me on 
 again. I ain't done no work for a long while — sitting 
 'ere eatin' your bread — I've 'ad a nice rest, I 'ave — 
 I'm quite strong again now. We'll both get somethin', 
 you see, dear ! " 
 
280 THEY COME BACK 
 
 The young woman raised herself. 
 
 " No ! — ^No ! — ^No ! — You shan't work any more ! " 
 She turned her head wearily. " I can't make it out. 
 What's happening? Why are they all shutting 
 down like this ? " 
 
 The old woman looked at her stupidly. The 
 remote causes which made or unmade her unimport- 
 ant existence were beyond her comprehension. 
 
 " What's that ? " cried Ann, jumping to her feet. 
 " Whafs 'e calling ? " 
 
 The raucous shout of a newsvendor floated up from 
 the street. Ann listened for a moment — and then, 
 after a hurried search for a halfpenny in her purse, 
 dashed out of the door and down the stairs. 
 
 She reappeared after a bare minute, brandishing 
 the newspaper, wild-eyed, panting. 
 
 " Mother ! Mother ! " She could not wait to 
 enter the door before commencing her news. "It's 
 Peace ! Peace ! " She struggled with the unfolded 
 paper, crushed it together again, searching eagerly 
 for the magic headlines. " Here it is ! Listen ! " 
 The old woman, equally all trembling eagerness, was 
 standing at her side, pawing vaguely at the arm 
 which held the newspaper. Ann read out the great 
 news. " ' The wild rumours current during the past 
 few days have received a startling confirmation. It is 
 announced that an armistice has been signed on all the 
 fronts. This undoubtedly means a general Peace. 
 The end of the war has come.' Mother ! it's all over ! 
 it's all over — and Jim'll be coming back ! Oh, I 
 can't 'ardly believe it ! Ifs all over ! Oh, thank 
 God— thank God ! " 
 
THEY COME BACK 281 
 
 " All over ! My Jim ! Safe and sound ! Oh," the 
 old woman commenced that sniffling weep common 
 to the aged and the young. " I can't 'elp it, Ann — 
 I can't 'elp it ! — I must cry ! " 
 
 Ann dashed down the newspaper and flung her 
 arms roimd the old woman in a close embrace. 
 " Mother ! Mother ! I never was so " — and here 
 a sob checked her speech also — " so 'appy in my 
 life ! '* Face against face, the tears of the two women 
 mingled — tears not of grief but of emotion for which 
 there was no expression. Somewhere down the street 
 church bells were ringing in joyous peal on peal. It 
 might have been merely a coincidence of practice, 
 but to the two women whose simple souls beat close 
 together, in a swoon of intense feeling that obliterated 
 the sharp outlines of environment, this happy rioting 
 of the bells seemed a holy blessing on the moment. 
 
 " Oh, Ann dear, Ann dear," said the old woman, 
 looking up. " What a thanksgiving it'll be for all 
 the poor anxious women ! " 
 
 " Oh, we're very lucky — we're very lucky. Jim'll 
 be coming back. Think of it, mother ! " 
 
 They kissed one another as if each were kissing the 
 man who would come back as son and husband. 
 
 " We've got to keep it for 'im," said Ann. " All 
 the little 'ome. An' 'e'll soon be back to work for us 
 an' the baby, an' we shan't never be parted any more ! 
 Oh, mother, think of the poor women who won't 'ave 
 no one to come back to 'em ! When they see 
 'em marching by ! Oh — ^we're lucky, we're very 
 lucky ! " 
 
 The old woman stood staring out of the window in 
 
282 THEY COME BACK 
 
 vague thought, her eye caught by the vivid red of 
 the flags on the War Shrine. 
 
 *' It'll be a different world, Ann, when they all 
 come back," she said. " Them what 'ave been left 
 be'ind all through will find lots missing what they 
 look for. And them what come back won't come 
 back the same. It'll never be the same again, any 
 of it ; let's 'ope it'll be better." 
 
 They were coming back. The Mother- City of the 
 Empire woke, silent of traffic, decked for a day that 
 knew no sufficient parallel, the day when the thou- 
 sands of her sons — those who had gone in their ones 
 and twos, their single battalions — should march back 
 from vast adventure in the full majesty of their cor- 
 porate soldier-life. The London Divisions were 
 coming back from the War, were marching for the 
 last time at full strength. And the London streets 
 were tunnels of gay flags, walled with black masses 
 of citizens kept clear from the sanded roadways. 
 From every steeple the bells tossed out their exuber- 
 ant rejoicing. In every breast of the millions there 
 congregated was a surge of emotion that exhaled in 
 one sustained murmur of the gladness for which there 
 are no words but which fills the eyes and chokes the 
 throat. 
 
 They were coming ! The thrilling blare of instru- 
 ments of brass ; the heart -stirring tap and roll and 
 beat of the drums ; the intoxicating rhythmic swing- 
 ing lilt and crash ; the brave gay rims of melody, 
 sublimely simple, that bring the tears ; the sohd, 
 
THEY COME BACK 283 
 
 even tramp of thousands who march as one — and the 
 leading files were passing in a storm of cheers, a 
 madness of waving hands. For the last time they 
 passed shoulder to shoulder in the familiar ranks, 
 marching as they had marched for all the years of exile, 
 marching as they had marched down the fatal roads 
 to Loos and Gk)mmecourt, Guillemont and all those 
 rubble heaps where the bravest and the dearest of 
 the greatest city of the world died for the fragment 
 of a village and for England. Rifles at the slope, 
 bare bayonets asserting the ancient privileges that 
 they had won, O so dearly, the right to flaunt, the 
 heavy weather-stained pack on the stiu-dy shoulders, 
 the steel helmets awry with the tilt of long-familiar 
 use, the brown strong faces gleaming with their 
 smiles — so they marched, not any more under the 
 thunder of the guns, but in a frenzy of voices where 
 the madly rioting bells were lost. 
 
 Battalion by battalion — all the glorious names, 
 London's own — ^the London Scottish, first in the fray 
 in the long ago, the Queen's Westminsters, the Ken- 
 singtons, the London Rifle Brigade, the H.A.C., the 
 numberless battalions of the London Regiment — ^they 
 came, each with its aura of the deathless dead. They 
 came from the interminable purgatory of the endless 
 trenches, terminated at last, from the unimaginable 
 inferno of Hill 60, from the hopeless dying of May 
 the Ninth, from the fierce hopes, the bitter strife of 
 Loos, from the massacre of Gk)mmecourt and the 
 bloody fights of Guillemont, of Vimy Ridge, of 
 Messines, of a thousand places that were humble and 
 are henceforth names of splendom*. Miraculously 
 
284 THEY COME BACK 
 
 strong, happy, pregnant with vivid life they emerged 
 from that distant whelm of peril. And the eyes that 
 had looked so long at death in the bare fields pocked 
 hideously with the disease of war, looked up now at 
 the ranked tall buildings, so familiar and yet so 
 strange, so impressively permanent after timeless 
 aeons of destruction. Behind those windows — could 
 it be ? — they had sat at desk through months and 
 years. Between them and that past was a curtain 
 of fire, of emotions that had transformed, of the in- 
 tensity of life which has persisted in the face of death. 
 And rank by rank, battalion after battalion, swinging 
 with powerful stride, they marched back into the 
 past that had seemed for ever gone. 
 
 And those who watched the level ranks flowing in 
 their endless stream, cheering with throats now in- 
 capable of aught but the inarticulate cry, perceiving 
 them mistily through a blur of tears, saw more than 
 the men who marched, treading once again the 
 asphalt of the London streets. They saw the ghosts 
 of ranks, doubling — more than doubling — ^the ranks 
 of living men, the ghosts of those who had looked as 
 these looked, brown-faced, strong-limbed, the in- 
 carnation of living will, and were now no more than 
 the wind blowing over the desolate countrysides 
 where they had ceased to be. Yet were they present, 
 the men who had died that England might live. The 
 stir of their souls was in the skirling pipes, the wail 
 and feverish beat of the fifes and drums, the madden- 
 ing purposeful blare and thud of the brass bands. 
 They looked out of the eyes of those who marched — 
 the soul unconquerable, the living spirit of the English 
 
THEY COME BACK 285 
 
 r.ice. And a divine afflatus swept over the waving, 
 cheering crowds, swept them to a wilder intoxication. 
 One, whose faculty of speech was not yet over- 
 whelmed, cried : " Three cheers for the boys who are 
 
 left behind ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! " and could not 
 
 finish. And a woman who stood, tensely pallid, 
 staring at the so-familiar badges of the troops 
 who passed, stared at utter strangeness, and fell as 
 dead. 
 
 The next battalion followed on, singing, carrying 
 on a tune caught up far back along the route, the 
 farewell song of Kitchener's Army of 1915, sung now 
 as an instinctive antistrophe to that old chorale when 
 they had marched to war : 
 
 ''Keep the home fires burning', 
 While your hearts are yearning', 
 Though your lads are far away, they dream of home, 
 There's a silver lining 
 Through the dark cloud shining. 
 Turn your dark clouds inside out 
 Till the boys come home." 
 
 They passed in a roar of voices that drowned the 
 band. 
 
 So the long, long columns of the London Divisions 
 tramped through the heart of the Mother-City, under 
 the fluttering of countless flags, under the surge and 
 resui'ge of joy-bells from every steeple, under great 
 banners that proclaimed the gratitude of the city. 
 Rank after rank they lifted their eyes to the laurel- 
 green inscription that spanned the street at Temple 
 Bar : " Shall We Forget ? — ^Never ! " 
 
 Rank by rank they passed under the promise — 
 the thousands of men welded in the fires of war to 
 
286 THEY COME BACK 
 
 a wondrous miracle of collective soul — ^passed onward 
 for the last time as one living unit, ere they should 
 lay down their arms, fall out — and disperse, in- 
 dividuals that were fragments of a sacred memory, 
 the shreds of a battle-flag distributed. 
 
 Sir Thomas Jackson Hathaway, Kt., Alderman of 
 the City of London, looked along the mascuhne faces, 
 spaced with the interstices of the departed ladies, 
 of the little dinner-party of intimate friends, and then 
 again to the brown keen visage of his son. He pushed 
 along the decanter — ^he was old-fashioned and made 
 a virtue of it — " Fill up, Harry, my boy — I've been 
 looking after the cellar while you've been away — 
 there's more of it." He laughed a little at the mirth 
 of his implied suggestion that there might possibly 
 be a shortage in the cellars of Sir Thomas Hathaway. 
 And his guests laughed a little in courtesy. 
 
 " We've kept the flag flying here also, my boy,** 
 said the big, heavily jovial host, puffing hugely at 
 his cigar and then taking it from his mouth to ex- 
 amine it with a superfluously critical eye. " You'll 
 find things as well — better, than when you left. You 
 don't mind, gentlemen, this little talk of shop ? 
 After all, we're all friends together, and most of us 
 have some small interest in the little business, ha ! 
 ha ! " The guests were, in fact, Sir Thomas Hath- 
 away's co-directors in the large enterprises he con- 
 trolled. He continued : " Better I may say, for we 
 have been very conservative — ^we've looked to the 
 younger generation away fighting our battles for us 
 
THEY COME BACK 287 
 
 — ^and we've built up a reserve fund that a few years 
 ago we shouldn't have dreamed of. You've come 
 back to a first-class concern, Harry, my boy. Here's 
 to it ! " He raised and drained his glass, setting a 
 followed example to his guests. 
 
 Captain Hathaway had been toying with a match 
 on the tablecloth. He looked up — quiet and thought- 
 ful, his face clean-cut and aristocratic by contrast 
 with the heavy opulence of his sire. 
 
 " You don't anticipate Labour trouble, then, 
 father ? " 
 
 Sir Thomas Hathaway laughed, a guffaw, and 
 crashed his hand on the table. 
 
 " Labour troubles, my boy ! You need have no 
 fear on that score. We're going to teach Labour a 
 lesson. We haven't built up our reserve for nothing. 
 — not only ourselves, but all the houses in the trade. 
 For long enough we've been dictated to by Labour 
 — and now, by God, we're going to crush it ! Do you 
 know what's coming, my boy ? Have you thought 
 about it ? There's going to be the biggest flood of 
 Labour chucked on the market that the world has 
 ever known. All of 'em fightin' — fightin for jobs ! 
 And the trade, Harry, my boy, is going to lock out I 
 We're closed down now, and we shan't open again 
 till our own good time. How long d'you think the 
 Union funds'll last ? We'll bust 'em — bust 'em for 
 ever and a day. And when we open our shops again 
 to Labour — it'll be on our own terms ! Here, fill up, 
 gentlemen, I can vouch for this wine — cost me a sinful 
 price it did. We'll bust 'em, my lad, so that never 
 again in our time shall we hear a word of Labour 
 
288 X THEY COME BACK 
 
 trouble." He gulped the glassful of his sinfully costly 
 wine. 
 
 Captain Hathaway glanced round the table at the 
 somewhat flushed, semi -senile features of his father's 
 guests and partners. They were one and all nodding 
 their heads in varying emphasis of approbation. He 
 got up. 
 
 " Well, father, I don't think we'll discuss it now. 
 Suppose we join the ladies ? " 
 
 In the high drawing-room, softly lit with diffused 
 radiance from the ceiling, draped with precious 
 modern hangings that were genuine and spaced out 
 with expensive antique paintings that were not, 
 furnished with the luxury of a wealth too utterly 
 complete in its overwhelming newness to allow imagin- 
 ation its leap across an artistic restraint, the ladies 
 purred, or cooed in careful falsetto, as they awaited 
 the entrance of the males. At a grand piano, slightly 
 removed, a young woman with a delicately refined face 
 played softly to herself — in a quiet ecstasy of gladness 
 for which this was the only satisfying expression. 
 
 Captain Hathaway, entering with his father's 
 guests, came straight across to her, and she looked 
 up, smiling, into her husband's face as though he had 
 come in response to a murmured summoning spell. 
 She ceased and leaned back her head against him as 
 he stood close behind her. 
 
 " Oh, Harry," she said, " it's so lovely to have you 
 again — for always, always ! " Her eyes half closed 
 and her bosom heaved as she drank in an intoxicating 
 realization of his definite return, sketched to herself 
 a delicious little swoon. 
 
THEY COME BACK 289 
 
 " My dear ! " he murmured. " It's good ! Home 
 — home for always with my beloved ! " 
 
 She clutched at his hand, and for a moment, while 
 the loud-voiced crowd vanished, they were secret 
 lovers, snatched up to dizzy heights, intensely 
 thrilling with an exquisite community, eyes looking 
 into eyes and seeing more than human brain can 
 translate of transcendent vision. She released him and 
 bowed forward suddenly with a little gulp, striking, 
 with trembling hands, vague chords on the piano. 
 
 " Now, Ethel, my dear," came the crass boom of 
 her father-in-law's voice, " when you've finished your 
 spooning, let's have something jolly. What about 
 that bit out of ' Not a Word to the Wife ! ' Tra-la- 
 la-la-la ! " He sketched a hideous caricature of 
 blatant banality. " We're all jolly to-night — none of 
 your mooning sentiment, but jolly. Eh, ladies and 
 gentlemen ? — properly jolly for Harry's first night 
 back." 
 
 Ethel got up from the piano, coupling an allegation 
 of another's superior capacity with an invitation to 
 perform, an invitation smirkingly accepted. 
 
 The slangy crash and bang alternating with hyper- 
 emphasized sentimentality of the current time was a 
 cover under which Ethel Hathaway retreated to 
 happy intimacy with her husband. Not for long was 
 she allowed it. The very-consciously best-looking of 
 the co-directors' wives sidled up and subsided into 
 the adjacent chair. She yearned up into Captain 
 Hathaway's face, while she cooed deprecation of her 
 intrusion to his wife. 
 
 " But I do so want to hear how Captain Hathaway 
 
290 THEY COME BACK 
 
 earned his Military Cross ! Of course, I read all about 
 it in the papers — but then — ^they're so bald, aren't 
 they ? One misses, what shall I say ? — the human 
 touch of heroism." 
 
 Mrs. Hathaway caught her husband's eye and for- 
 bade the instant flight. 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Jameson all about it, Harry," she com- 
 manded coolly. There was something in the tone 
 which rendered Mrs. Jameson's extorted confidence 
 quite worthless. 
 
 "There's little to tell," said Captain Hathaway. 
 " The fellow who really earned anything there was to 
 get — ^and, I'm glad to say, got the D.C.M. — ^was one 
 of my men, a chap named Jim Swain. He used to 
 be in our employment, Ethel, by the way. It was a 
 pretty tight corner and I got practically left alone — 
 all the other fellows knocked out — and this chap 
 Swain came up with a bag of bombs — ^jolly plucky 
 thing, for there didn't seem a dog's chance — and we 
 chucked the bombs at the Hun till he didn't dare 
 raise his head. After a bit, some of another company 
 came up and we consolidated that bit of trench. 
 That's all there was to it." 
 
 " Oh, how splendid ! " Mrs. Jameson enthused 
 vaguely. " Leadership is everything, isn't it ? " 
 
 " When you've got something to lead, Mrs. 
 Jameson. One couldn't have better stuff than my 
 men — ^they're magnificent. They're the nation — and 
 now they're coming back they've got to be treated 
 like the men they are and not like soulless machinery." 
 He wound up on a note of fierce protest against some- 
 thing not obvious to his hearers. 
 
THEY COME BACK 291 
 
 " Now, Harry," said his wife, " don't inflict your 
 theories on Mrs. Jameson. We both of us positively 
 refuse to be sympathetic with the working class, 
 don't we, Mrs. Jameson ? " She laughed lightly. 
 " The working class is just as selfish as any other." 
 
 A wave of collective chatter from an approaching 
 group engulfed this conversation. 
 
 Late that night Sir Thomas Hathaway sat alone 
 with his son. 
 
 " Now, Harry, my lad," he said. " You're going to 
 take Ethel away for a three months' holiday. You've 
 jolly well earned it, both of you. And, when you 
 come back, you'll be head of Hathaway and Company. 
 I've done my bit and I'm going to rest. My interest in 
 the business is now being transferred into your name. 
 That's my little present to you, my boy, by way of 
 showing that I'm proud of you. And I know that 
 you'll keep up the fine old traditions of the house, 
 eh?" 
 
 The curtains had disappeared from the windows 
 of Whittingham Street. The brass of the doors had 
 lost its polish, The women who had tripped along in 
 an earnest display of finery were replaced by blowsy 
 unkempt females who stood at the doors and gossiped. 
 Once more the corners emphasized by the sordid 
 public-houses were the idling-ground of groups of 
 men, more numerous, shabbier even than of old. 
 But these men had not the shiftless look of their pre- 
 decessors. In their faces, thin and white, was a hard- 
 ness which was odd in an urban population. In the 
 
292 THEY COME BACK 
 
 eyes which followed the progress of a stranger up 
 the street was a dangerous glare. The flags of the 
 War Shrine had disappeared ; its gilt -inscribed panel 
 was dingy and splashed with mud. At the far end 
 of the street the great chimneys of Hathaway's works 
 stuck up, clean of smoke, into a clear sky. The 
 massive entrance gates were a closed wall across the 
 vista. 
 
 In the little room to which Jim Swain had returned 
 — after the days unnumbered of life in the open 
 trenches, wet dykes in the winter, and in summer 
 dusty sunken avenues where death struck suddenly 
 in the glare ; after the coimtless nights of clear stars 
 rising to a wondrous infinity of multitude and distance 
 above the dark bank of parapet — ^Ann bent over a 
 soap-box cradle where a child whimpered in faint 
 misery. The room was utterly bare of any furniture 
 save the poor substitutes of a number of packing- 
 cases of various sizes. The little home which Jim had 
 established, which Ann had worked so passionately 
 to improve, was a home no longer. It was merely a 
 squalid shelter for squalid human animals. 
 
 Ann, on her knees by the child, looked up to the 
 three figures in the centre of the room, her attention 
 suddenly challenged by the clash of angry voices. 
 
 A tall man, fierce, with a shock of untidy hair 
 falling on a narrow brow, a vivid red tie overwhelming 
 the soft collar which kept it in place, was pointing a 
 quivering finger at her husband's breast. 
 
 " You call yourself the leader of these men," he was 
 saying, in a rage of scorn, " and you flaunt that scrap 
 of coloured rag — ^you advertise your pride that you 
 
THEY COME BACK 298 
 
 helped the bourgeois to fight his war ! Take it off, 
 man — fling it down and trample on it ! The red on 
 it is the blood of your fellow- workers ! " 
 
 " Aye, that's just what it is, Laurence," said the 
 ex-soldier with equal anger. " And I am proud of it. 
 I'm proud that I did my bit for England — for Eng- 
 land's oiu-s, too, as well as the capitaHsts', and the 
 war was our war, the war of the crowd of us — ^and we 
 went out and risked our lives while you and your 
 cowardly kind stayed at home and helped the enemy 
 all you could. That's your patriotism ! And now to 
 hear you talk one would think England was an enemy 
 country ! I tell you it's our country as much as any- 
 body's and our war that we fought for it ! The red 
 on this medal ribbon is the red of the blood of the 
 chaps that died for it if you like — ^and I'm mighty 
 proud to wear it. And, by God, Laurence, while I'm 
 the leader of these poor chaps I won't have any 
 traitor talk — is that clear ? " 
 
 " Your country ! " the other laughed bitterly. 
 " What right have you got to a ha'porth of it ? — ^you, 
 who are being chucked out into the street — ^you, who 
 haven't even the right to demand work and earn 
 your bread ! Bah ! Militarism has rotted the soul 
 of you 1" 
 
 " It taught me to know a true man when I see him, 
 anyway, Laurence — ^and you're none o' that kind ! 
 You, poisoning the minds of starving men " 
 
 *' And who keeps 'em starving ? Who prevents 
 'em from helping themselves in the nearest baker's 
 shop " 
 
 " Now, lads — ^now, lads 1 " intervened the third 
 
294 THEY COME BACK 
 
 man, a thick-set fellow in black coat and turned -up 
 trousers over yellow boots. A smug self-confidence 
 was native to his podgy countenance, was the com- 
 plement of the cunning, scheming eyes. " There's 
 no use quarrelling. What we've got to do is to 'elp 
 each other — ^we working-men. The Union's bust^ 
 Jim, an' that's the fact of it — ^an' if Mr. Laurence's 
 organization 'ere can't give us a 'and — ^well, I don't 
 know what '11 happen. This last trick of 'Athaway's, 
 chucking the whole street out o' doors, fairly puts 
 the Hd on it ! " 
 
 There was silence in the room and Jim glanced 
 round at the haggard visage of his wife, bending, 
 with tears on her cheeks, over the whimpering child. 
 
 " Yes, look ! " said the tall man. " That's what 
 you fought for, my lad ! " 
 
 Jim did not reply. He pressed his hand to his brow 
 as though his brain reeled. The Trade Union leader 
 tried to profit by his silence. 
 
 " We're properly up against it — ^there's no dodging 
 it. Mind you, Jim, I think there's a lot of reason in 
 what Mr. Laurence says." 
 
 Ann stood up quickly and faced her husband. 
 
 " Jim ! " she said, and her voice was firm though 
 her chest heaved with weakness. " You'll do what's 
 right — ^whatever 'appens ! " 
 
 Laurence spoke again. 
 
 " We're perfectly ready to help — but this is the 
 last time of offering. You know the terms. You're 
 responsible for a good many hundreds of starving 
 families, Swain — ^they mayn't listen to you much 
 longer, don't forget " 
 
THEY COME BACK 295 
 
 He was interrupted by fierce shouts in the street 
 below, the reiterated blasts of a motor-horn, the 
 crash of broken glass, a whir of machinery and yet 
 fiercer shouts. All three rushed to the window. 
 Below them a motor-car was stationary in the midst 
 of a surging mob. The chauffeur lay senseless amid 
 the debris of a shattered wind-screen. In the rear 
 seat a youngish man was defending himself vigor- 
 ously against the rain of blows showered on him by 
 the mob which clambered on to the vehicle. 
 
 " My God ! Captain Hathaway ! " Even as 
 Jim shouted he had turned to dash down the 
 stairs. 
 
 He flung himself into the fierce mob as once before 
 he had rushed at the knot of (Germans with bombs 
 poised to throw, his captain an imminent victim. 
 Old instincts surged to supremacy — he fought his 
 way blindly to the car in a blur of blows. A second 
 later he had dragged a dazed man into the entrance 
 of the house, had slanmied the door. 
 
 " Come on, sir — come upstairs and sit down." Jim 
 forgot for the moment the wretched room to which 
 he invited him. He was living in a memory of the 
 trench days where he had sometimes dreamed that 
 his beloved captain might on some incredible occa- 
 sion sit at tea with them in a nice little home and tell 
 Ann that her husband had been a good soldier. 
 Half supporting him, he pushed him into the apart- 
 ment, pulled a box out for him to sit on. 
 
 " Here you are, sir. Take it easy for a minute. 
 You'll soon be all right.*' 
 
 Captain Hathaway put his hand to a damp fore- 
 
296 THEY COME BACK 
 
 head, looked stupidly at the blood on it, and then, 
 still dazed, stared at his rescuer. 
 
 " What ?— Swain ? " He smiled faintly. "For 
 the second time, eh ? '* 
 
 " Yes, sir — ^I'm glad to say ! " 
 
 The tall man picked up his soft hat, glaring from 
 Jim to the employer he had rescued. 
 
 " Come on, Bruxby," he said, in a voice quivering 
 with anger. " There's nothing more for us here — 
 the man's a d — d scab ! " 
 
 Jim listened to the heavy feet of the pair of them 
 tramping down the staircase. 
 
 Captain Hathaway looked around him, then took 
 a deep breath and stood up. 
 
 " I'm all right again now. It's all come back to 
 me. Swain," he put his hand on the man's shoulder, 
 " will you believe me when I say I quite understand 
 — ^and that's it a shame, a d — d shame ! I've been 
 away. I couldn't do anything till now." He looked 
 at the woman by the cradle, held out his hand. 
 " This is Mrs. Swain ? " She stood staring at him, 
 making no responsive movement. " Look here, I 
 want to help — here " — his hand dived into his pocket, 
 fished up a bundle of notes — " why, you're starving, 
 woman ! " He thrust them into her hand and she let 
 them fall on the floor. 
 
 " I want work, Captain Hathaway — ^not charity," 
 said Ann, shaking with temptation resisted. 
 
 The ex-officer turned to his man. 
 
 " Swain," he said. " I haven't been blind to all 
 this — but, believe me, I couldn't do anything till now. 
 I want to talk to you. Will you Hsten to me ? " 
 
THEY COME BACK 297 
 
 It was some time later when Captain Hathaway 
 (who had already seen his chauffeur into a police 
 ambulance while Jim harangued the crowd into 
 sullenness) drove his car down to the great gates of 
 Hathaway's works. Jim Swain, the men's leader, 
 sat by his side. 
 
 In the long boardroom, with its thick Turkey 
 carpet, its heavy mahogany furniture, its framed 
 photographs of former directors, the controllers of 
 Hathaway's and its linked houses sat already at the 
 council-table. The air was heavy with cigar smoke 
 when Captain Hathaway entered. 
 
 " Sorry I'm late, gentlemen — no, — a little accident 
 — I'm quite all right — ^nothing at all serious," so he 
 responded to the queries evoked by his cut forehead 
 as he sat down. 
 
 His father rose, pompous, full-cheeked, settling 
 his pince-nez with one hand, while he gathered 
 together a little sheaf of papers with the other. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " to-day I have to com- 
 municate to you officially what I think all of you 
 know privately — a communication whieh (hem !) 
 marks another epoch in the successful history of the 
 house of Hathaway. I have transferred to my son, 
 Captain Hathaway — ^who has not unsuccessfully 
 graduated in the stern business of war — (Hear, 
 hear !) — my controlling interest in all the enter- 
 prises of which hitherto I have been the head. I 
 propose — and I believe you will second me in this 
 — that Captain Hathaway be duly elected to the 
 board as managing director." (It would have been 
 
298 THEY COME BACK 
 
 difficult for the audience to have disputed this had 
 they wished. There was a unanimous " Hear, 
 hear!") Sir Thomas Hathaway passed a bulky 
 envelope across to his son. " Here, Harry, I give 
 you all the deeds of transfer, duly executed and 
 dated as from yesterday. You are now the head 
 of Hathaway and Company ! " There was a faint 
 sketch of a cheer from the fat old gentlemen round 
 the table. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," continued the retiring chief, 
 ' * before I sit down, I should like to give you some 
 account of my stewardship. I think we all of us 
 perceived in the circumstances of the present time 
 an opportunity to settle, once and for all, our score 
 with Labour. That opportunity has not been 
 neglected. All the factories controlled by us, in 
 agreement with the other houses in the trade — • 
 which have most loyally backed our action — have 
 been shut down. The date of their reopening has 
 not yet been decided upon, but I may tell you this, 
 gentlemen, the Trade Union with which we have 
 had so much trouble in the past is bankrupt. We 
 are entitled to industrial peace, on our own terms 
 — ^but the terms which we have offered, and which 
 were not ungenerous in the circumstances after safe- 
 guarding our interests, have been stubbornly re- 
 jected by the men's leader — ^the man Swain. This 
 left us no alternative but to put on the screw — ^and 
 we have replied by serving notices of ejection on all 
 those of our ex-employees who are behindhand in 
 their rent. I think you will agree with me that in 
 this we have the fullest justice on our side ! (Hear, 
 
THEY COME BACK 299 
 
 hear !) And now, gentlemen, I retire from my 
 managing directorship and make way for my son, 
 in the fullest confidence that he will maintain and 
 extend the great and honourable traditions of this 
 business." 
 
 Captain Hathaway stood up. His face was 
 strangely pale and set. 
 
 " Gentlemen, you have listened to my father's 
 remarks. They represent accurately the theory of 
 our past relationship between ourselves and our 
 employees. (Hear, hear !) But, gentlemen, I want to 
 bring home to you that it is a theory quite impossible 
 to maintain at the present day ! In accepting the 
 leadership of this house, I am fully conscious of my 
 responsibilities — ^responsibilities not only to you who 
 have financial interests in the business, but to those 
 who live by the employment we offer them and to 
 the State which makes it possible for them to work 
 and for ourselves to derive profit from that work. 
 From this day, gentlemen, and for so long as I am 
 head of this firm, our relations with our employees 
 are on a different basis. The factories will reopen 
 to-morrow — at the old Trade Union rates, excepting 
 where the new rates I have offered to the men are 
 more remunerative to them. The policy of the firm 
 is reversed ! " 
 
 Captain Hathaway, in all his experience of war, 
 had never felt the need of all his courage so much 
 as in making this announcement — ^which, to him- 
 self, sounded brutally bald. 
 
 One of the directors rose, banging nervously upon 
 the table with his fist, and shaking with rage. 
 
800 THEY COME BACK 
 
 "By God!'' he said, "I never thought Tom 
 Hatha way's boy would be a traitor ! " 
 
 Sir Thomas Hathaway half rose, and sat down 
 again — ^looking as though he were going to faint. 
 
 Another of the directors stood up. 
 
 " Has our new managing director any other harm- 
 less little proposals to make ? " he asked, in bitter 
 sarcasm. 
 
 " Yes," replied Captain Hathaway, " I propose 
 to take powers to create a new Deferred Stock which 
 will rank for dividend after the Ordinary Stock has 
 received eight per cent, but which will in all cir- 
 cumstances carry a right to vote on the board — and 
 this stock will be vested in the representatives of our 
 employees, chosen by them." 
 
 " It will never be agreed to by the men ! " cried 
 a voice. 
 
 " It is agreed to already by the men's representa- 
 tives," replied the new chief, feeling the coolness of 
 courage return to him as once when he had faced 
 the mob of Germans. 
 
 The wealthiest of the directors, a man associated 
 with other houses in the trade, rose in his turn. 
 
 " I warn you, Hathaway, that I shall dispose of 
 my interests in this business — ^and I'm going to fight 
 you to the last shilling ! You'll be broke in a year ! " 
 " All of us ! All of us ! " came a chorus of approval. 
 " We'll all fight ! This is sheer madness ! " 
 
 " Fight, if you will, gentlemen," said Hathaway 
 calmly. " It won't pay you. I haven't been idle 
 these three months. I may tell you that I have 
 contracts in my pocket that will keep us going for 
 
THEY COME BACK 801 
 
 many months to come — ^more than a year. The 
 whole world is shrieking for goods, and Germany is 
 supplying them — capturing your markets while you 
 commit suicide in trying to get the better of Labour. 
 In these last months I have established agents all 
 over the world — and I've got the orders ! I know 
 what the other houses have got — I know what's 
 open to you — you can*t fight us ! — but you'll be 
 taken over by the Government if your obstinacy 
 continues this unworthy industrial strife." 
 
 There was a silence of vague-headed, angry old 
 men who did not quite know what to say. 
 
 " And now, gentlemen," continued Hathaway. 
 " Let me plead for a better spirit. That great mass 
 of human beings you coldly call Labour fought for 
 England just as I fought for England, just as thou- 
 sands and thousands of our own class fought. We've 
 been together in the trenches year in year out and 
 we've learnt to know each other, not as hostile 
 abstractions, but as living men, — good men, the 
 most of us. We learnt all sorts of things we didn't 
 realize before the war, but most of all we learnt — 
 and when I say we, / mean your sons as well — ^that 
 we're all Englishmen and that we all have to play 
 the game and stick together — officer and man. 
 D'you think I who have watched over the comfort 
 of my men, taught them, led them into danger and 
 seen them unafraid, who have hungered with them, 
 thirsted with them, gloried in them for these last 
 long years — d'you think I can coldly condemn those 
 men and their wives and children to starvation 
 now ? D'you think I can treat them as an enemy ? 
 
302 THEY COME BACK 
 
 I can't. And the men who have been proud of us, 
 their officers, — d'you think they haven't learnt the 
 value of leadership ? They have — but not the 
 leadership of a slave-master. In the long bitter 
 years of strife those men have won for themselves 
 a freedom of soul which is the life-force of a free 
 Empire ! Class-hatred ! It has vanished as between 
 officer and man. We're all Englishmen together — ^and 
 we're going to work, share and share alike, in the 
 new England, that, share and share alike, we fought 
 for ! " He flung open the door behind him. " Here, 
 gentlemen, is Jim Swain, the leader of your work- 
 people in their time of trouble. He saved my 
 life twice — once in the trenches and got a D.C.M. 
 when he ought to have had the V.C. — and again 
 to-day when he set a seal of comradeship between 
 the managing director and the employees of Hatha- 
 way's. Together, he and I, and those we represent, 
 are going to make our patch of England worth the 
 lives that were spent to save it ! " 
 
 There was a hush in the room, and into that hush 
 came the strains of a military band playing a regi- 
 ment to the neighbouring railway station. It played 
 the familiar marching tune of the old days, and a 
 flaw of wind brought masculine voices in the uplift 
 of the chorus. 
 
 *' . . . There's a silver lining 
 Through the dark clouds shining, 
 Turn the dark cloud inside out, 
 For the boys are home ! " 
 
 " They're coming back ! " cried Captain Hatha- 
 way. " Coming back in their thousands and their 
 
THEY COME BACK 303 
 
 millions — officers and men — your sons at the head 
 of the men they have learned to love ! Comrades 
 that can never be estranged ! We're the new genera- 
 tion, gentlemen — ^the old order has gone — ^never to 
 return — ^we've come back, Swain and I, from the 
 "borders of death that has taught us how precious 
 life may be." 
 
 The heads, bald and florid, of that obese elder 
 generation turned in a community of curious interest, 
 to gaze at Swain — ^the man who had nerved his 
 fellows to withstand an economic pressure they had 
 thought irresistible and was now hailed as comrade 
 by their own young chief. 
 
 The ex-soldier took a step forward. 
 
 " I should just like to say this, sirs — ^we men know 
 what it is to have good officers — and we've never let 
 'em down. We've come back, officers and men, and 
 officers like Captain Hathaway will always find their 
 men work for them as they used to fight — for officers 
 like him make us feel the Old Country is worth 
 working for as it was worth fighting for. We've 
 learnt to play the game — ^and we'll play it so long 
 as we have fair play. The British soldier has learnt 
 to die rather than surrender — ^and the British soldier 
 is just the British working-man." 
 
PRINTED BY 
 WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD 
 PLYMOUTH, BNGLAKD 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS ! 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN ' 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 
 
 APR 11 ^934 
 
 
 rrn O 1 0'^fi 
 
 
 rhri *5 \\joO 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 jM&R 9.2 1940 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 APH a 1940 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 ''' JPT940 
 
 
 MAY 7 1944 
 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 LD 21-100m-7,'33 
 
4?>8507 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY