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The Battalion was taking its rest as well as it could on the pavement of
the street, so as to be ready to move at a minute's notice. The
Subaltern found his Major, and reported that he had failed to find his
Platoon. The Major was too sleepy to be annoyed. "I expect they'll turn
up," he said. "We got some food in that house there; I should go and see
if there is any left, if I were you."

Followed a couple of hours or so of interrupted sleep, disturbed by the
cold. Then came dawn, and with it the shells whizzing and bursting over
the town.

The retreat of the Brigade had been cut off by the breaking of the canal
bridge the previous evening, so the Battalion had to retire to the east,
and not to the west. As the Subaltern marched along he reflected with
grim amusement on the ease with which the most confirmed Sybarite can
get accustomed to hardships. At home, if he did anything early on an
empty stomach, he very soon felt faint and tired. Now, this was taken as
a matter of course; one was only too glad to restore the circulation to
the limbs, cramped with the cold and damp of dawn.

An hour or so later they ran into a French Battalion, apparently
preparing to occupy an outpost position along the bank of the road. This
was a cheering sight. Tommy, who had expected to fight mixed up in some
weird way with "le petit Piou-Piou," had not yet seen a Frenchman in
action. In a vague way he fancied that "the Frenchies" had "let him
down." He knew nothing of the battles of Charleroi and Namur, nor of the
defence of Verdun, and the French were getting dreadfully unpopular with
him. Things were thrown at any one who ventured to sing the
"Marseillaise."

"Oh, '_ere_ they are; so they '_ave_ come. Well, that's somethink."

The "Marseillaise" broke out once again.

"Look 'ere, Bill, there's too much of this ruddy 'Marslasie' abaht this
'ere show."

"'Ow d'you mean, Sam?"

"Why, it's all 'March on, March on.' I'm ruddy sick of it!"




CHAPTER VII

VENEROLLES


At this point the Battalion turned in a south-westerly direction,
passing through a village in which the French and English Headquarters
were quartered in "estaminets" on either side of the road. No doubt both
were prosecuting their work equally successfully, but the Subaltern
could not help remarking the quietness of the one, and the excitement,
volubility, and apparent confusion of the other. Still, he thought,
different people have different ways of doing things.

Apparently to compensate for having no breakfast, the Battalion was
halted in an orchard. The men filled their haversacks with apples and
pears, and consumed scarcely ripe plums with an avidity that made the
Officers fear that at least half of the Battalion would be in the grip
of colic before the night.

Because it was a cloudy day, or perhaps because one reaches a second
heat in physical and mental fatigue, the Subaltern did not feel so bad
that day. The men, too, recovered their spirits. He began to think it
was good to march on an empty stomach. The sight of French cavalry with
their holland-covered helmets and curved sabres, suggested ample
support. This would mean at least a rest before the next fight, he told
himself.

These "dragons" seemed exceedingly intelligent and superior men. They
were quite preoccupied, like men who are going to do something. There
was none of that inane shouting "A bas les Bosches." Later on, some
transport columns were passed, and the men descended from their wagons
and distributed bread to the English.

All day long the sound of guns rolled along to the right. The sound
seemed to move parallel to them, otherwise the day's march was
uneventful. At about half-past five in the evening the Battalion
suddenly struck the "route nationale," along which they had advanced
north of Etreux. There had been a feeling, once again, that the enemy
had been successfully shaken off by the rapidity of the retreat.

Once again came disillusionment, for here were the Guards' Brigade
entrenching themselves for the night. Apparently there had been very
severe fighting around Etreux, which had resulted in a check to the
enemy, for the moment, at any rate. The Regiment, however, passed
through Etreux, and was eventually ordered to occupy a defensive
position around the village of Venerolles. Darkness fell so suddenly
that the Company Commanders had the greatest difficulty in selecting
good positions. Eventually the Subaltern's Platoon was placed astride a
sunken lane, along the edge of an orchard. The position was a happy
one, and since the hedge that stretched along its front was thick and
about ten feet high, it seemed safe from surprise.

It was now quite dark, and the men had not had a meal since the few
biscuits which had been given out in the early morning. At last,
however, the Regimental Transport was heard creaking up the small lane
which led to the position. Then the trouble began. The road was dark,
deeply rutted and narrow, and crossed by a little stream. A nervous
horse took fright at the running water, dashed up one of the banks, and
firmly embedded the water-cart, which he was pulling, in the other, thus
effectively blocking the way.

When the Subaltern, having seen everything safe for the night, was
returning to report to the Major, he found something akin to confusion
in the Transport. Horses were neighing, backing, plunging, making things
worse, as only horses can. If the Regiment had been attacked that night,
and forced to retire, the way was so completely obstructed that it would
probably have been annihilated, as the Transport did not get safely away
until just before dawn.

He had had no proper food or drink for twenty-four hours, so one can
easily imagine how pleased he was to see the Major and the Captain
seated around a table in a little hovel of a cottage, just about to
demolish some tea and bread and marmalade.

The air was charged with electricity caused by four men nervously
awaiting the boiling of the kettle, and trying to conceal their
impatience.

"Poor old ---- must have lost himself," said the Major, referring to the
Senior Subaltern, "or he'd be here by now; he has a wonderful nose for
food."

However, half-way through the meal he came in, admitting that he had
lost himself, and wandered into another Regiment's lines.

After the meal they returned to their Platoons, and spent the usual
miserable night in their usual miserable way, cramped by the usual
miserable damp. Next morning the Regiment was moved further out, to the
top of the ridge, to protect the retreat of the remaining two Brigades
and their Transport Columns. Luckily the enemy was not in sufficient
force to drive this covering party in.

When the Division had got clear away, the Brigade resumed the column of
route formation, and the retreat was continued. Once again during the
morning a German Taube flew overhead. A violent fusillade broke out from
the road, from which the aeroplane suffered less than the men, as they
were in too close formation to fire properly. A vast quantity of
ammunition was wasted, and the position and strength of the column was
thus demonstrated to the airman. It was decided in future to hide as
completely as possible, whenever an enemy aeroplane hove in sight, and
not on any account to fire at it.

Later on a German patrol menaced the column, but, having forced it to
deploy in some measure, withdrew. The rest of the march passed
uneventfully, but the country became less flat than hitherto--an
addition to their trials!

He tried his French on the Battalion's interpreter, who in peace time
had been an Avocat in Paris, and who told him many things of the French
Army. He spoke of its dauntless patriotism, its passionate longing for
revenge, fostered for many long years of national subservience; the
determination to avenge the humiliations of Delcasse, of Agadir, of the
Coronation at Versailles. As vivacious and eloquent as only one of his
nation and calling can be, he praised the confidence of the French Army
and its "Generalissime." He repeated the great names of the army--De
Castlenau, Percin, Sarrail, and many more unknown to the Subaltern. He
spoke with deep feeling. A spark of the fire that, in her hours of need,
never fails his country, had descended upon him, and, in the eyes of the
stolid British soldiers around, transformed him.




CHAPTER VIII

ST. QUENTIN AND LA FERE


In the afternoon a large town was reached, probably St. Quentin, through
which long trains of Motor Transport were rumbling. A halt was made some
miles to the south of this town. While they were taking their evening
meal the ever-pursuing sound of artillery fire was heard from over the
ridge. Two of the companies were hastily fallen in, and marched away to
this scene of activities, to undergo probably yet another rear-guard
action. The remaining companies were then set to dig themselves in,
astride the road.

As you have seen from these rough descriptions of the first three days
of the battle in Belgium, the most that is seen of the enemy is but a
passing glimpse. If the Higher Command decide that to give battle in any
determined measure would be to expose their force to unnecessary chances
of defeat, and to endanger the ultimate success of the campaign, it is
very unlikely that the infantry soldier will see his enemy at a distance
of less than five or six hundred yards. There is always the danger, if
the enemy are allowed to come to close quarters, that the defenders will
find themselves so pinned to their ground that it is impossible to
extricate themselves from their position without losses of greater
magnitude than would be warranted by the success obtained. So far this
Division, at any rate, had succeeded in their mission of delaying the
enemy by forcing him to deploy, at the same time taking the greatest
care to refuse open battle.

Most of the younger Subalterns had very primitive ideas on the general
strategy of the campaign. There would be a wait, they thought, as the
English Army would probably be used as general reserve; then there would
be "the devil of a battle," ending in Victory or Defeat, and followed by
a glorious life (or death), and that would be the end of the matter. It
would be over by Christmas, "easy." The actual course of events was very
different. The English had encountered the enemy in the first onslaught
of battle, and there had been neither Victory nor Defeat--nothing but
retreat, retreat, retreat, over twenty miles a day, in the blazing heat
of sunny France, with the fear of capture for those who lagged
behind....

The fighting was not like those battles on Laffans Plain, where you
fought quickly and decisively, and where, "win, draw, or lose," you were
home in time for tea. You were told all about it beforehand by the
Colonel, or Brigadier, and sometimes the "show" approached interest.
Here everything was different. This was the real thing. Yet there seemed
less reality in it than in the mock battles of Aldershot, with their
mock situations, tired charges and rattling bolts. Here you knew
nothing, you were barely told where to move. There were none of those
charming little papers headed: "_General Idea, White Army moving on_,
etc...." and: "_Special Idea, the nth Infantry Brigade, commanded by_,
etc. etc...." The "General Idea" of this campaign remained absolute
darkness; and already pessimists began to fear that Christmas would not
see them back at home.

As far as eagerness to meet the enemy was concerned the "morale" was as
high as ever, but nevertheless the temper of the troops was beginning to
be badly shaken. They did not understand the necessity for retreat; for
not a word had been whispered of other set-backs. They had a ridiculous,
but nevertheless firmly lodged, impression that this prolonged retreat
was just another of those needless "fatigues" to which they were so
often put, and vaguely they resented it, distrusted the necessity for
it. Mr. Thomas Atkins found it difficult to believe in the existence of
Germans whom he could not see. In a word, he was beginning to be "fed
up"; especially the reservists, oldish men who had been called from
their homes, bundled once more into uniforms, hurried to a foreign land
of which they knew nothing, and pushed into a battle which showed great
promise of becoming a "debacle."

But you must not blame the men for this. You must remember that they had
left England before the spirit of patriotism had been re-kindled. They
felt, and before reams of paper had been scattered broadcast to prove
the contrary the feeling was very prevalent, that great diplomatic
blunders must have been made for the situation to have reached such an
impasse. Germany had been out for war before: witness Agadir and similar
disturbances in the diplomatic world which occurred with almost
monotonous regularity every August. Previously war had simply been
denied to Germany. Why not once again? And so on, and so forth. Probably
they did not really believe or mean half they said. They were thirsty,
hungry, and very, very tired.

The soldier at Malplaquet shook the powder from his wig, and grumbled as
only a soldier and a Britain can.

His descendant at Mons did just the same thing. And after he had got his
"grouse" off his chest, fought all the better for it.

Although an alarming rumour reached them that the enemy, crowded into
motor buses, had already reached St. Quentin, nothing disturbed their
rest during the night, and by dawn the column was swinging along the
road to La Fere. The men were always depressed and weary in the early
morning. Their spirits never began to rise until eight or nine o'clock.
Then songs would break out. "Who were you with last night?" "Hold your
hand out, naughty boy!" and the inevitable "Tipperary," were the
favourites. They would often whistle the "Marseillaise." A certain
"swing" entered into the marching; there was less changing step, less
shuffling. Even their weary faces brightened. Jokes became positively
prolific, and the wit of the barrack-room, considered as wit, is far
funnier than the humour of the Mess. Perhaps it is founded on a deeper
knowledge of life.

Towards midday, almost imperceptibly, the gist of the songs changed to
the sentimental, and before very long the heat and fatigue gradually
overcame the men, and songs ceased altogether. As a general rule, after
two o'clock the mental attitude of the troops might be described as
black, distinctly black.

The rumour ran down the column that La Fere was to be the termination of
that day's march, and as La Fere was only a matter of ten miles away, it
was felt that at last an "easy" day had arrived. The road led through
very pleasant places along a river valley, the opposite slope of which
was wooded. That morning, too, there was no suspicion of artillery fire.
It seemed that, for the moment at any rate, they had escaped the
inconvenience of battle. Somebody said that La Fere was fortified.
Behind its works they would doubtless stand, rest, and then perhaps
fight. (Even yet they had not learnt the futility of speculation.)

Those ten miles were long ones. It almost seemed to their tantalised
nerves that La Fere was not a town, but a mirage. And so it was, or at
least their thoughts of rest and water and food remained "in nebulis."

Outside the town was a road-crossing. One way led to the main street of
the town, and the other way to the south. To the consternation and
amazement of everybody, the khaki ribbon crept, not towards the houses,
but seemed for a dreadful moment to hesitate, to wobble, then turned its
head slowly and irrevocably away from the town. The men swore. They felt
that they were a scale on the skin of a long, sombre, khaki serpent,
whose head had acted contrary to the wishes of its belly. And the body
of the serpent quivered with indignation. The Subaltern himself felt
that he had been cheated, lured on by false pretences, and generally
treated shamefully. He knew perfectly well that these ideas were
groundless and absurd. He knew that the halt at La Fere was only rumour;
he knew long marches were the only thing to save them, but in spite of
this knowledge he was angry, enraged. The blood flew still more to his
burning cheeks, his teeth snapped together. If he could, he would have
flown to the head of the column, drawn his revolver, and emptied it in
the face of that General. He positively enjoyed picturing the results of
such a crime. He chortled over the idea of the plump figure falling from
the comfortable saddle to the hard, hot road. He imagined the neat red
cap lying in the grey dust. And his boots, he knew what they would be
like--glossy mahogany! Why should any one have shining boots, when his
own were dull and bursting? Why should any one be clean and shaven when
his own face was smeared with dirt and stubble? He exulted inwardly at
the thought of the death and mutilation of some one who had never done
him the slightest harm, and whose efficiency had probably saved his
life.

Such is human nature!




CHAPTER IX

SIR JOHN FRENCH


A few miles south of La Fere, the Brigade was halted in an orchard for
its midday rest. Taking from his pockets the various parts of his safety
razor, the Subaltern screwed them together, and with the help of a bit
of soap, from which the biscuit crumbs and chocolate dust of his
haversack had first to be carefully scraped, he shaved. As he was
returning, lovingly fingering his once more smooth cheeks, he saw three
large Daimler limousines draw up opposite the lines, and recognised them
immediately as the authorised pattern of car for the use of the higher
British Generals in the field.

An Officer hurriedly got out, and held open the door with great
deference, while a second alighted. The Subaltern easily recognised
both. The first was the Chief of the General Staff--Sir Archibald
Murray. He was a figure of middle height, with a slight stoop, and slow
movements. His face was kindly, mobile--not at all the conventional
military face. The mouth was tight shut, as if to suppress all the
little humours and witticisms that teemed in the quick blue eyes.

The other figure, short and dapper in build, quick and nervous in
motion, need not be described. The blue eyes, the pink skin and white
hair of the Field-Marshal Commanding-in-Chief are known wherever our
language is spoken.

Two of the Colonels came forward and saluted as only a senior officer
can. A private salutes like a machine; a subaltern is awkward, but a
senior officer manages somehow to insinuate into this simple movement
deference and admiration, backed, as it were, with determination and
self-reliance.

It is as if he were to say: "I have the greatest esteem for you as a
great man. I admire your brain and breeding, and will execute your
commands with the precision and promptitude that they deserve. But in a
lesser sort of way I am just the same, a great man; do not forget it!"

And in response the salute of the great man seems to say: "I heartily
appreciate the deference which you have shown me, and honour it the more
as it comes from such a man as you." Like the bow of a Versailles
courtier, it has its finer points, and is not to be learnt either soon
or easily.

The men were called round without any formality, and Sir John French
began immediately to address them. It was not the first time that the
Subaltern had heard him speak. As Chief of the Imperial General Staff,
he used to inspect and address the Cadets of the Royal Military College,
Sandhurst, at the end of each term. And he did it well. The Subaltern
remembered the sight of the long parade--"three sides of a square" the
formation was called--and the Generals with the skirts of their "frock"
coats and the feathers in their hats blowing in the wind. But in spite
of the absence of red coats, and the stiffness of parade, this was a
more moving harangue than any he had heard on the parade ground at
Sandhurst.

The Field-Marshal said that the greatest battle that had ever been
fought was just over. It had rolled with the fury of a cyclone from
Belfort to Mons. Nearly two million men had been engaged, and the
British Army had emerged from the contest covered with glory, having for
three days maintained an unbroken front in the face of an overwhelming
superiority in numbers. Never had he been more proud to be a British
soldier than he was that day. The Regiment had added yet another branch
to its laurel wreath. It had more than sustained its ancient traditions
for endurance and courage. He was proud of it.

The enemy had been nearly five to one, and yet had been unable to
inflict defeat upon them. If they had been "broken," the whole of the
French left would have assuredly perished. Thanks to their endurance and
obedience in the face of great provocation and privation, the Allied
armies were now free from the dangers that had threatened them. No one
knew better than he did that they would continue to be as brave, as
reliable, and as soldierly in the future, as they had been in the past,
until final victory had been fully accomplished!....

How they cheered him as he made his way to his car!

At first the Tommies had not realised what was happening. There had been
disturbing cries of "What's all this abart?" "Oo's the 'ole bloke?" But
they had soon ceased, and in a few seconds the men were crowding round
with eager faces, hanging on the words of their leader. He commiserated
with them upon their losses; he understood what they had been through.
In a word, he appreciated them, and in the Army appreciation is a "rare
and refreshing fruit." Although they would have died rather than own it,
there was a feeling of tears behind the eyes of a good many of those
tough old warriors. The personality of the Field-Marshal, and his
heartening words, had brightened many a grim face, and lightened many a
heavy load.




CHAPTER X

A PAUSE, AND MORE MARCHING


A village called Amigny was reached at about six o'clock in the evening,
and here the Battalion, in its usual evening state of prostration, was
billeted.

The Company settled down in the chief "estaminet" of the place. The
decision was a faulty one. The old woman who was hostess gave way to
hysterics at the thought of having to provide for five large, hungry and
nervous officers. She was a horrid old woman--mean, dirty, and if the
Captain's word could be taken as strict truth, immoral. Still, a roof to
cover their heads was an unusual blessing, and it was not long before
they were all sound asleep.

Next morning there was no parade in the grey of dawn. As the first
chilly beam of light crept into the room the Subaltern turned in his
sleep, and smiled at the complete luxury of prolonged rest. They did not
get up till eight, and having dressed, washed, and even shaved, they had
what the "hostess" called breakfast. And still nothing happened, no
breathless orderly delivered the usual order. What had happened?

The Senior Subaltern, who was suspected of leanings towards matrimony,
began to write a letter.

The Captain, who was energetic, began to play billiards on the miniature
pocketless table. Later on the Colonel came in. It was not an official
visit, only to warn them to be ready to move at any moment. Having
thanked the old woman, he left in a singularly peaceful frame of mind.

At half-past twelve they moved on to a small hill just outside the
village, which they proceeded to put into a state of defence. They heard
that afternoon of a large counter-attack launched in the neighbourhood
of Guise, which had been successful in temporarily relieving the
pressure on the British Front. Here it was that they first heard rumours
of the affair off Heligoland, which had become inflated into a
tremendous victory for the British Fleet. Apparently half the German
Fleet had been sent to the bottom of the sea, and you can imagine the
state of enthusiasm that was caused by this news. They felt that, no
matter what might happen to them on the battlefields of France, their
homes at any rate were freed from the menace of the German. To add to
their jubilation, instead of having to spend the night in the trenches
they had dug, they were marched back, for some inexplicable reason, to
their billets in the village.

Next morning they paraded as soon as it was light, and the retreat was
continued throughout the day.

There was a very marked change in the country. The open cornfields were
replaced by woods of such a dense nature that any operations would have
been impossible. Curious as it may seem, the Subaltern had in some way
been upset by the previous day's break in the usual marching routine.
The heat seemed more intense than ever; his haversack and equipment more
cumbersome. But the roads were now avenues, and the overhanging branches
provided very welcome shade.

They emerged from the woods, once more to strike out in the glaring
sunlight. Soon a hill was seen in the distance, surmounted by a quaint
and squat tower, very reminiscent of Windsor. The houses which clustered
beneath it formed the little town of Coucy-le-Chateau. They camped out
in an open field beneath the hill, and by stripping a couple of
haystacks made themselves fairly comfortable. They must have very
effectually shaken off the enemy, for the General did not think it
necessary to put out outposts.

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