Gentlemen at arms

THE LIEUTENANT 13

He went through the second battle of Ypres, and when his company officer and all his fellow officers were knocked out he carried on with a handful of men in a hole about the size of a dewpond and saved the position. The next thing he knew was that his

THE TIDE OF BATTLE

"The Tide of Battle" is a story of the first battle of Ypres, and it is based on actual incidents.

THE OLD GUARD

THIS is a plain tale — the tale of a West- country regiment and how it carried on in the first three months of the war. It is the regiment with a hole in its soup-tureen, but I'll tell that story another day. They went into the first battle of Ypres with four companies; they came out of it at the end of twenty-one days with rather less than two. During those three weeks they never took their boots off, but one of their officers believes he once had a wash.

THE POWERS OF DARKNESS 315

deserve to be shot — not for cowardice, but for callous- ness. We're beginning to learn. So is the Army. Why do you suppose that we've been asked to supply a neurologist to every army corps at the front? Why, to give every poor devil who finds himself charged with desertion or cowardice a sporting chance. There is a certain G.O.C. I know — never mind his name — who, before he relinquished his command in the field, always made it a rule never to confirm a death sentence if the man's medical history- sheet recorded a wound. Why? Because he said a man was never the same afterward or, what amounts to the same thing, that you could never be sure he was. I take off my hat to him. In laying down that principle, he won an even greater military victory than in winning the first battle of Ypres. Ah! I've told you who he is now — but no matter.

PREFACE

These stories, with the exception of the two chapters entitled "The Husbandmen," are all based on the ex- periences of the writer when serving in France and else- where, or on those of fellow-officers with whom he has been brought into contact. The writer makes no claims — and possesses none — to be considered a writer of fiction. Several of these stories deal with the battle of Mons, the Marne, the Aisne, Ypres, and the Somme; in each of these cases an attempt has been made to describe things as they actually occurred, though the art of "camouflage" has been practised to the extent of disguising the names of the characters and units concerned. Other and more strategical pens have described these mighty battles viewed at leisure as examples of the art of war; the writer has limited himself to describing them as they presented themselves in glimpses to the eyes of men who, being engaged in fighting them, had no time to speculate about them. The particular phases recorded in these pages are here made public for the first time; some day they will doubtless receive more orderly treatment in the records of certain West-country regiments and the his- tory of two batteries of artillery. For the truth of the story called "No Man's Land" the author does not vouch; it is sufficient to say that it is based on a conversation with a fellow-officer one night in billets behind the lines. CENTURION.

THE OLD GUARD 157

after they had crossed the Aisne on pontoon rafts, they were undeceived.

THE OLD GUARD 157

The next five minutes gave him a glimpse of hell. The whole village was tumbling to pieces about him, and the streets were a shambles. He heard an order, "File out by companies! No doubling!" Each company waited its turn with stolid equani- mity. Later in the day on the hill above the village they got their own back. Yeoman was better at making history than at writing it; all he could ever tell you about the Battle of the Aisne was : " It wur where I got a punch in the back from a German gunner bloke dree mile away — hitting below the belt I calls it."

THE OLD GUARD 159

in a forest where they lived in wigwams made of faggots and waterproof sheets. When the shrapnel came whining overhead they made a bolt for their "splinter-proofs," and lay in the burrows for what seemed an interminable time, after which first one head would pop out and then another. The weather was dry, the soil gravel, and the bracken made good bedding; later on, in the wet clay of Flanders, they looked back to those days on the Aisne and idealized them as a blithe pastoral. Here Yeoman set snares and caught rabbits, which rather raised his reputa- tion in the battalion. They got to know the Ger- man ways pretty well — first a salvo, then a dead pause for five minutes by way of enticing the un- wary out of their holes, and then five or six salvoes again. This taught them another lesson, which is that there is such a thing as psychology in war or, as Yeoman put it, "There bain't no vlies on Vritz." One night when they were standing by for an attack, the French put up a "strafe" eight miles away at a place called Soissons, which they knew by its tall crag of a cathedral tower. There was the roar as of a thunderstorm in the air and the sky was one great conflagration so that you could read your watch by it and see the whites of the next man's eyes. At this stage they began to realize that the war was going to be rather a big thing, and that it might not be over by Christmas after all.

THE LIEUTENANT 13

He went through the second battle of Ypres, and when his company officer and all his fellow officers were knocked out he carried on with a handful of men in a hole about the size of a dewpond and saved the position. The next thing he knew was that his

THE TIDE OF BATTLE

"The Tide of Battle" is a story of the first battle of Ypres, and it is based on actual incidents.

THE OLD GUARD

THIS is a plain tale — the tale of a West- country regiment and how it carried on in the first three months of the war. It is the regiment with a hole in its soup-tureen, but I'll tell that story another day. They went into the first battle of Ypres with four companies; they came out of it at the end of twenty-one days with rather less than two. During those three weeks they never took their boots off, but one of their officers believes he once had a wash.

THE POWERS OF DARKNESS 315

deserve to be shot — not for cowardice, but for callous- ness. We're beginning to learn. So is the Army. Why do you suppose that we've been asked to supply a neurologist to every army corps at the front? Why, to give every poor devil who finds himself charged with desertion or cowardice a sporting chance. There is a certain G.O.C. I know — never mind his name — who, before he relinquished his command in the field, always made it a rule never to confirm a death sentence if the man's medical history- sheet recorded a wound. Why? Because he said a man was never the same afterward or, what amounts to the same thing, that you could never be sure he was. I take off my hat to him. In laying down that principle, he won an even greater military victory than in winning the first battle of Ypres. Ah! I've told you who he is now — but no matter.

PREFACE

These stories, with the exception of the two chapters entitled "The Husbandmen," are all based on the ex- periences of the writer when serving in France and else- where, or on those of fellow-officers with whom he has been brought into contact. The writer makes no claims — and possesses none — to be considered a writer of fiction. Several of these stories deal with the battle of Mons, the Marne, the Aisne, Ypres, and the Somme; in each of these cases an attempt has been made to describe things as they actually occurred, though the art of "camouflage" has been practised to the extent of disguising the names of the characters and units concerned. Other and more strategical pens have described these mighty battles viewed at leisure as examples of the art of war; the writer has limited himself to describing them as they presented themselves in glimpses to the eyes of men who, being engaged in fighting them, had no time to speculate about them. The particular phases recorded in these pages are here made public for the first time; some day they will doubtless receive more orderly treatment in the records of certain West-country regiments and the his- tory of two batteries of artillery. For the truth of the story called "No Man's Land" the author does not vouch; it is sufficient to say that it is based on a conversation with a fellow-officer one night in billets behind the lines. CENTURION.

THE OLD GUARD 157

after they had crossed the Aisne on pontoon rafts, they were undeceived.

THE OLD GUARD 157

The next five minutes gave him a glimpse of hell. The whole village was tumbling to pieces about him, and the streets were a shambles. He heard an order, "File out by companies! No doubling!" Each company waited its turn with stolid equani- mity. Later in the day on the hill above the village they got their own back. Yeoman was better at making history than at writing it; all he could ever tell you about the Battle of the Aisne was : " It wur where I got a punch in the back from a German gunner bloke dree mile away — hitting below the belt I calls it."

THE OLD GUARD 159

in a forest where they lived in wigwams made of faggots and waterproof sheets. When the shrapnel came whining overhead they made a bolt for their "splinter-proofs," and lay in the burrows for what seemed an interminable time, after which first one head would pop out and then another. The weather was dry, the soil gravel, and the bracken made good bedding; later on, in the wet clay of Flanders, they looked back to those days on the Aisne and idealized them as a blithe pastoral. Here Yeoman set snares and caught rabbits, which rather raised his reputa- tion in the battalion. They got to know the Ger- man ways pretty well — first a salvo, then a dead pause for five minutes by way of enticing the un- wary out of their holes, and then five or six salvoes again. This taught them another lesson, which is that there is such a thing as psychology in war or, as Yeoman put it, "There bain't no vlies on Vritz." One night when they were standing by for an attack, the French put up a "strafe" eight miles away at a place called Soissons, which they knew by its tall crag of a cathedral tower. There was the roar as of a thunderstorm in the air and the sky was one great conflagration so that you could read your watch by it and see the whites of the next man's eyes. At this stage they began to realize that the war was going to be rather a big thing, and that it might not be over by Christmas after all.

PREFACE

These stories, with the exception of the two chapters entitled "The Husbandmen," are all based on the ex- periences of the writer when serving in France and else- where, or on those of fellow-officers with whom he has been brought into contact. The writer makes no claims — and possesses none — to be considered a writer of fiction. Several of these stories deal with the battle of Mons, the Marne, the Aisne, Ypres, and the Somme; in each of these cases an attempt has been made to describe things as they actually occurred, though the art of "camouflage" has been practised to the extent of disguising the names of the characters and units concerned. Other and more strategical pens have described these mighty battles viewed at leisure as examples of the art of war; the writer has limited himself to describing them as they presented themselves in glimpses to the eyes of men who, being engaged in fighting them, had no time to speculate about them. The particular phases recorded in these pages are here made public for the first time; some day they will doubtless receive more orderly treatment in the records of certain West-country regiments and the his- tory of two batteries of artillery. For the truth of the story called "No Man's Land" the author does not vouch; it is sufficient to say that it is based on a conversation with a fellow-officer one night in billets behind the lines. CENTURION.

THE OLD GUARD 157

after they had crossed the Aisne on pontoon rafts, they were undeceived.

THE OLD GUARD 157

The next five minutes gave him a glimpse of hell. The whole village was tumbling to pieces about him, and the streets were a shambles. He heard an order, "File out by companies! No doubling!" Each company waited its turn with stolid equani- mity. Later in the day on the hill above the village they got their own back. Yeoman was better at making history than at writing it; all he could ever tell you about the Battle of the Aisne was : " It wur where I got a punch in the back from a German gunner bloke dree mile away — hitting below the belt I calls it."

THE OLD GUARD 159

in a forest where they lived in wigwams made of faggots and waterproof sheets. When the shrapnel came whining overhead they made a bolt for their "splinter-proofs," and lay in the burrows for what seemed an interminable time, after which first one head would pop out and then another. The weather was dry, the soil gravel, and the bracken made good bedding; later on, in the wet clay of Flanders, they looked back to those days on the Aisne and idealized them as a blithe pastoral. Here Yeoman set snares and caught rabbits, which rather raised his reputa- tion in the battalion. They got to know the Ger- man ways pretty well — first a salvo, then a dead pause for five minutes by way of enticing the un- wary out of their holes, and then five or six salvoes again. This taught them another lesson, which is that there is such a thing as psychology in war or, as Yeoman put it, "There bain't no vlies on Vritz." One night when they were standing by for an attack, the French put up a "strafe" eight miles away at a place called Soissons, which they knew by its tall crag of a cathedral tower. There was the roar as of a thunderstorm in the air and the sky was one great conflagration so that you could read your watch by it and see the whites of the next man's eyes. At this stage they began to realize that the war was going to be rather a big thing, and that it might not be over by Christmas after all.