Chapter VI: Part 6

But a better yarn was the one a subaltern of the R.E. told me as I was jogging back to the trenches. This was about the sector next but one north of us. It seems a Boche 'plane was being chased by a British 'plane, and making heavy weather of it. The Englishman had perforated the other fellow's wings very badly, and partly knocked out his engine, too. Anyhow, the Boche 'plane was underdog, and descending rapidly midway between our front line and his own, right over the centre of No Man's Land. Naturally the men in the trenches on both sides were wildly excited about it. The story is they forgot everything else and were simply lining the parapets, yelling encouragement to their respective airmen as though they had front seats at Brooklands or the Naval and Military Tournament. Seeing this, a pawky old Scot--it was a Highland regiment on our side--slipped quietly down on the fire-step in the midst of the excitement, and began making accurate but leisurely target practice; carefully picking out Boches forty or fifty yards apart from each other, so as not to give the show away too soon. He did pretty well, but was bitterly disappointed when the Boche's Archibald forced our 'plane to rise, just as the Boche airman managed to jigger his machine somehow into his own support lines, and the spectators took cover.

"Och, no a'thegither sae badly, surr," says Scotty to his Platoon Commander. "Ah managed to get nine o' the feckless bodies; but Ah hopet for the roond dizen!"

Rather nice, wasn't it?

Those little shows of ours in Cut-Throat Alley were practically all bombing, you know; but we did rather well in the matter of prisoners taken in the craters, and of Boches otherwise accounted for. Our own casualties for the four days were two killed--both in my Platoon, and both men with wives at home, I grieve to say; thundering good chaps--and six wounded; two only slightly. We reckon to have got twenty or thirty Boches wounded, and at least ten killed; and there is no sort of reckoning needed about the eleven prisoners we certainly did take in the craters and sent blindfolded down to Headquarters. I believe this beats the record of the Company we relieved, which, of course, knew the place better; and our C.O. is pleased with us. I have to go now and tell off a small carrying party. Though feeling a bit shaky yesterday, I'm as right as right can be again now, so mind, you have no earthly reason to worry about your

"_Temporary Gentleman_."

P.S.--"The Peacemaker" has just got word from Battalion Headquarters itself that it's perfectly correct about the new front-line trench to be cut; and it is believed "A" Company is to have something to do with it. So that's real news; and we feel sure it means a push to come. Everybody very cock-a-hoop.

THE NEW FRONT LINE

A turn out, a turn in, and now we're out again, and barring three Field Service post cards, I believe all that time has gone without my writing to you. You must try to forgive me. I can assure you things have been happening. There hasn't been much idle time. When I last wrote we had only begun to talk about the new front trench, hadn't we? Things certainly have hummed since then.

The first move was a tour of inspection and survey of the proposed new line, by the O.C. of our Field Coy. of R.E., with some other officers. Somewhat to my surprise--I suppose he really ought not to expose himself to that extent--our C.O. accompanied this party. The next night, when the pegs were driven in, definitely marking the whole new line, the O.C.R.E. allowed me to go with him. The new line, as we marked it out, was 760 yards long; from down near The Gut right across to what used to be our centre, cutting off the whole big re-entrant and equalising the whole sector's distance from the Boche.

The next day our C.O. sent for O.C. Companies, and "the Peacemaker" took me along when he went, as I'd been over the ground, and he guessed the pow-wow would be about the new trench. The C.O. told us all about it, and what the ideas of the authorities were. He said it was the sort of job which might possibly prove costly in lives. But it had got to be done, and he was of opinion that if everyone concerned made up his mind never for a moment to relax the care and watchfulness he would use in the first half-hour, the job might be done with comparatively few casualties. He talked longer than he generally does, and I think he felt what he said a good deal. He said he never expected to have one moment's anxiety as to the bearing of any officer, N.C.O., or man of the Battalion in the face of danger. He knew very well we were all right on that score. But what he did want to impress upon us, as officers, was that our duty went a good deal beyond that.

"I know very well that none of you would ever show fear," he said; "and I think you are satisfied that your N.C.O.'s and men will never fail you in that respect. But, remember, your greatest asset is the confidence the men have in you. Never do anything to endanger that. If you use all the care and judgment you can, and if each one of your men understands exactly what the job before him is, and your influence is such as to prevent anyone from losing his head, no matter what happens, then the casualty list will be low. Every casualty you prevent on a job like this is as good as an enemy casualty gained. When we have to lose our men, let us lose them fighting, as they themselves would choose to go down if go down they must. But in this job of the new trench, we pit our wits and our coolness and discipline and efficiency against those of the Boche; and it's your job to see to it that the work is carried through at the minimum cost in man-power."

He said other things, of course, but that was the gist of it, and I think we were all impressed. He's a martinet all right, is our C.O.; and, as you know, his tongue is a two-edged sword. He's as stern a man as I ever knew; but, by Gad! he's just, and, above and before all else, he is so emphatically a man.

Well, the upshot of our plans was that "A" Company was to provide the covering party and be responsible for the tactical aspect of the show, and "C" Company--all miners and farm workers--with one Platoon of "D," was to do the digging, for a start, anyhow. The R.E. were to run the wire entanglement right along the front of the new line, and this was to be the first operation. It was obvious that as much as possible must be done during the first night, since, once he had seen the job, as he would directly daylight came, the Boche might be relied on to make that line tolerably uncomfortable for anyone working near it without cover.

While we were out of trenches that week our fellows were pretty busy during the first half of each night carrying material up to the front line. There was a good number of miles of barbed wire to go up, with hundreds of iron screw standards for the wire, and hundreds more of stakes; a lot of material altogether, and I am bound to say I think the R.E. arranged it very well. They had all their material so put together and stowed up at the front as to make for the maximum of convenience and the minimum of delay when they came to handle it in the open and under fire--as men always must be when doing anything in No Man's Land.

Our men were bursting with swank over the Company's being chosen to act as covering party; delighted to think that what they regarded as the combatant side of the show was theirs. Indeed, I rather think a lot of 'em made up their minds that they were going to utilise the opportunity of having a couple of hundred men out close to the Boche trenches for a real strafe of the men in those trenches. "The Peacemaker" had to get 'em together and talk very seriously and straight about what our responsibilities were in this job. This was necessary to make the beggars realise that ours was a defensive and not an offensive stunt; in which success or failure depended mainly upon our ability to be perfectly silent.

"All the scrapping will come later," said "the Peacemaker." "We mustn't invite one single bullet while we've a couple of hundred men behind us using picks and shovels, and working against time to get cover. If Boches come along our line, it will be our job to strafe 'em with our naked fingers if we possibly can. The last thing we'll do will be to fire a shot. And the one thing that must not happen, not in any case at all--no, not if the whole Prussian Guard turns out--is for a single Boche in any circumstances whatever to get through our line."

And that was the basis on which we tackled the job. Of course, the O.C. knew better than to try to handle his Company as a Company on the night. Orders could only be given in whispers, you understand. As a matter of fact, in all such work, as in night attacks, one must be able to rely, not alone on Platoon Sergeants and senior N.C.O.'s, but on Corporals and Section Commanders. And if they have not been trained so that you can rely on their carrying out instructions exactly, one's chances of success are pretty small.

It was dark soon after five, and by a quarter to six we were moving out into the open. One and two Platoons went out down Stinking Sap, myself in command, and three and four Platoons went out from just a little way above Petticoat Lane. I led my lot and "the Peacemaker" led the other half-Company, the idea being that when he and I met we should know that we were in our right position, and could stay there. We moved with about three paces' interval between men, and kept three or four connecting files out on our inside flank and a couple on the outer flank; the business of the inside men being to steer us at an average distance of forty paces to the front of the foremost line of pegs, which was the line to be followed by the barbed-wire entanglements; the line of the new trench itself being well inside that again.

This meant that one flank of our line, just above Petticoat Lane, would rest within 150 yards of the Boche front trench, and the other flank about 225 yards. We had drilled the whole business very carefully into the men themselves, as well as the Section Commanders and Sergeants. We got out on our line without a sound; and then "the Peacemaker" made his way back to Stinking Sap to report to Captain ----, of the R.E., that we had taken on the duty of protection and were all ready for his men to go ahead. He marched his carriers out then, stringing them out along the whole line, and the whole of his Company set to work putting up the screen of wire entanglements behind our line.

This whole business has given me a lot of respect for the R.E.; a respect which, I think, is pretty generally felt throughout the Service. The way they planned and carried out that wiring job was fine. No talk and no finicking once they were in the open; every last peg and length of binding wire in its right place; sand-bags at hand to fold over anything that needed hammering; every man told off in advance, not just to make himself as generally useful as he could, but quite definitely to screw in standards, or drive in stakes, or fix pegs, or carry along the rolls of wire, or strain the stays, or lace in the loose stuff, as the case might be. Every man knew precisely what his particular part was, and went straight at it without a word to or from anyone.

Meanwhile, I was working carefully along from end to end of our line, checking up the intervals, altering a man's position where necessary, and making sure that all our men were properly in touch and keeping their right line, watching out well and making no sound. Nobody in our lot moved, except the officers. All the others lay perfectly still. We kept moving up and down in front the whole time, except when flares were up or machine-gun fire swept across our way, and then, of course, we dropped as flat as we could.

But no machine-gun spoke on that sector, not once while the wire was going up. Before half-past seven "the Peacemaker" came along to me with orders to lead my men off to Stinking Sap. The wiring was finished. There had been a hundred and fifty men at it, and at that moment the last of 'em was entering Stinking Sap--casualties, nil.

"The Peacemaker" marched his half-Company round the end of the wire above Petticoat Lane, and I took mine round the end in front of Stinking Sap-head. Then we wheeled round to the rear of the new wire entanglement and marched out again, immediately in rear of it, till "the Peacemaker" and I met, as we had previously met in front. So we took up our second and final position and got down to it exactly as we had done in the first position.

When the O.C. reported that we were in position, "C" Company marched out, half from each end of the line, under their own officers, but with the O.C.R.E. in command, and his officers helping. They were at three yards' interval. There was a peg for every man, and the first operation was for each man to dig a hole in which he could take cover. It had all been thought out beforehand, and every man knew just what to do. Their instructions were to dig as hard as ever they knew how, but silently, till they got cover. All the sections were working against each other, and the O.C. Company was giving prizes for the first, second, and third sections, in order of priority, to get underground.

We couldn't see them, of course, and had all the occupation we cared for, thank you, in looking after our line. I was glad to find, too, that we could only hear them when we listened. They were wonderfully quiet. It's a wet clayey soil, and they had been carefully drilled never to let one tool touch another. I am told they went at it like tigers, and that the earth fairly flew from their shovels. In our line there wasn't a sound, and every man's eyes were glued on his front.

The evening had been amazingly quiet, nothing but desultory rifle fire, and unusually little of that. At a quarter to nine a Boche machine-gun dead opposite the centre of my half-Company began to traverse our line--his real objective, of course, being, not our line, but the line of trench, the old fire trench, in our rear. I know now that at that moment the slowest of "C's" diggers was underground. That burst of fire did not get a single man; not a scratch.

A fine rain, very chilling, began to fall, and got less fine as time went on. The wind rose a bit, too, and drove the rain in gusts in our faces. By good luck it was coming from the Boche trenches. At half-past ten they sent over ten or twelve whizz-bangs, all of which landed in rear of our old front line, except two that hit its parapet. Rifle fire was a little less desultory now, but nothing to write home about. They gave us an occasional belt or two from their machine-guns, but our men were lying flat, and the diggers were below ground, so there was nothing to worry about in that.

By half-past eleven I confess I was feeling deuced tired. One had been creeping up and down the line for over five hours, you know; but it wasn't that. One spends vitality; it somehow oozes out of you on such a job. I never wanted anything in my life so much as I wanted to get my half-Company through that job without casualties. And there was one thing I wanted even more than that--to make absolutely certain that no prowling Boche patrol got through my bit of the line.

Down on our flank at The Gut there were half a dozen little bombing shows between six and midnight, and one bigger scrap, when the Hun exploded a mine and made a good try to occupy its crater, but, as we learned next day, was hammered out of it after some pretty savage hand-to-hand work. Farther away on the other flank the Boche artillery was unusually busy, and, at intervals, sent over bursts of heavy stuff, the opening salvoes of which rather jangled one's nerves. You see, "A" Company could have been extinguished in a very few minutes had Boche known enough to go about it in the right way.

If only one enterprising Boche, working on his own--a sniper, anybody,--without getting through our line just gets near enough to make out that it is a line, and then gets back to his own trenches, our little game will be up, I thought. It wasn't restful. The men were getting pretty stiff, as you may guess, lying still in the wet hour after hour.

At half-past two "the Peacemaker" came along and whispered to me to take my men in: "Finished for to-night."

I wasn't sorry. I put my senior Sergeant on to lead, and myself brought up the rear. I was, of course, the last to get into Stinking Sap, and my Platoon Sergeant was waiting for me there to tell me that not one of our men had a scratch, nor yet a single man of "C" Company. One man of No. 3 Platoon, in "the Peacemaker's" half-Company, had a bullet through his shoulder; a Blighty, and no more. And that was our record.

But, look here, I absolutely must stop and censor some of the Platoon's letters before turning in. I'll write again as soon as ever I can and tell you the rest of it. But--a trench nearly 800 yards long, wire entanglements in front--casualties, one man wounded! Nobody felt much happier about it than your

"_Temporary Gentleman_."

A GREAT NIGHT'S WORK

In my last letter I think I told you all about our first night's work on the new trench; how it was cut, and the wire entanglements run out, between six in the evening and half-past two in the morning; and the casualty list just one man wounded! It may not seem much to you, but to us it seemed almost miraculous. I think the powers that be would have been quite pleased with us if we had managed it with, say, thirty or forty casualties.

Two and a half hours or so later, round about five o'clock, although you would have thought we should all be pretty tired, as no doubt we were (though not so tired, I fancy, as we mostly felt at midnight), everyone was interested in turning out for the morning Stand-to. We were all anxious to watch Mr. Boche's first glimpse of our night's work; not that we could see the expression on the faces of the Germans or hear their comments; but we could imagine a good deal of it, and wanted to see just what happened, anyhow.

A few sentry groups had been posted along the new line when we came in from it at half-past two; but these were withdrawn at the first glimmerings of coming dawn, since we could watch the front as closely from the original fire-trench, and it was possible, of course, that Fritz might just plaster the new line with shrap. and whizzes and so on as soon as he clapped eyes on it.

I was watching before the first greying of the dawn, from a sniper's post pretty close to the Boche line down near the beginning of Petticoat Lane. The first thing I made out in the Boche line, when the light was still only very faint, was the head of a sentry raised well above the parapet level, as he stared out at the nearest bit of our new wire. I turned half round and grabbed a rifle from a man in the trench, but the Boche had disappeared when I looked round again. Then the idea struck me, "Perhaps he'll bring an officer to look; a sergeant, anyhow." So I drew a very careful bead on that spot, and got my rifle comfortably settled on a mud rest.

Sure enough, in a couple of minutes that sentry's head bobbed up again in the same spot. I held my fire, waiting, on the officer theory. And, next moment, another head rose beside the sentry's, and came up a good deal less cautiously. I won't swear to its being an officer because I couldn't see well enough for that. But I think it very likely was. Anyhow, I had him most perfectly covered when I fired, and they both disappeared the instant I had fired, and never showed up again, so I am certain I got the second one. He was visible down to about his third tunic button, you see, and with a resting rifle, I don't think I could miss at that range. It wasn't more than 120, if that; sights at zero, of course.

It really was rather thrilling, you know, that Stand-to. We had all our machine-guns ready, and traversed Fritz's parapet very thoroughly. Upon my word, in the fluster of that first daylight minute or two, with the new wire under his nose, I believe Fritz thought we were going to make a dawn attack. I never saw so many Boches expose themselves. As a rule, they are a good deal better than we are in the matter of keeping out of sight; they take far fewer chances. But they didn't seem able to help looking this time, and our sniper did pretty well. So did the machine-guns, I think; I don't see how they could have helped it.

Then Boche got his machine-guns to work, and poured thousands of rounds all along our front--a regular machine-gun bombardment, for which he got precisely nothing at all, none of our people being exposed. But can't you imagine the excitement in the Boche line? The evening before they had seen our line exactly as usual. In the night they had apparently heard and suspected nothing. And now, with the first morning light, they saw a line of brand-new wire entanglement and a new trench line, that must have looked most amazingly close to them, and actually was in parts an advance of 400 yards from the old line. And then the length of it, you know--just on 800 yards. It certainly must have startled 'em.

We quite thought they'd start lambasting Old Harry out of the new line at any moment; but they didn't. I guess they had sense enough to conclude that we had nobody out there. But during the forenoon Master Boche registered on the new line at several points; about twenty rounds of whizzes and H. E., just to encourage us with regard to our work for that night, I suppose. And beyond that he didn't go--dignified silence, you know. But I bet he was pretty mad to think of all he'd missed during the night. In the afternoon Fritz sent a couple of 'planes up, I dare say with cameras, to get a record of the new line. But our Archibalds in the rear made it so hot for them I don't think they can have got any snap-shots.

When "A" Company filed out at six o'clock that night to take up protective duty along the new wire, as before, while the new trench was proceeded with, I think we might have been excused for feeling a bit creepy. I can't say how the men felt, but I confess I had made up my mind that my own chances of getting back were tolerably thin. One must move about a good bit to do one's job properly, and keep touch with a hundred men strung out over 300 yards of ground in pitch darkness. As a matter of fact, it was barely dark when we filed out. We daren't leave it a minute later, in case a strong Boche patrol should have worked inside our line, and been waiting for the working party when it came out with bombs. We simply had to be beforehand with 'em; and there was no getting away from the fact that the Boche had had all day in which to study this new line of ours and make his plans. I say I don't know how our men were feeling. I do know they were cracking little jokes themselves about it before we left the sap.

"This way for motor ambulances!" "Change here for Blighty and the Rest Cure!" "Where'll you have yours, matey?" I heard plenty of remarks like that as I worked my way down Stinking Sap to get to the head of my lot before we moved out.

"You'll be all right," said one of mine to a "C" Company man as he entered the sap. "Mister blooming Fritz can't get at you with 'A' Company out in front, you take it from me. We'll twist his tail properly if he does come." The "C" men were for digging again, you know.

It's impossible for an officer to feel shaky, however slight his experience, when he has men like ours to work with.

It wasn't exactly a proper trench that "C" Company went to work in that night. There were bits that were almost finished; and then, again, there were other lengths where it was only a chain of holes, linked together by bits a yard or two long, in which the surface had been shifted, just to mark out the trace of the new line. But every man was able to get into cover right away, even in the worst bits, because of these holes, and then, being in a hole, his job was to cut his way along into the next hole just as quick as his strength would allow him. The trench was cut narrow, you know; not a quarter the width of the old trenches we have occupied. This doesn't make for comfort in getting to and fro; but it does give far safer cover from every kind of projectile, and especially from the deadly shrap. and the slippy whizz.

While "C" slogged away at making connection right through, we lay out by the wire, as we had done the night before, and I crept up and down our line. There was no rain, and the night was so quiet that we could hear every little move among the diggers much more plainly than on the night before. I wondered if the Boches could hear it. They sent us little bursts of machine-gun fire now and again, such as they send throughout every night; and there was the normal amount of rifle fire and the normal number of flares and different kinds of lights going up from the enemy lines. Our men all lay as still as mutton, and when the lights rose near our way, or the M.G. fire came, I naturally kept very still.

Once I distinctly made out a figure moving very slowly and cautiously outside the wire. I should like to have fired, and, better still, to have been able to get quickly and silently through the wire and on to that moving figure, getting to grips, as we did with that German sniper not long since, without a sound. But there was no opening in the wire near; and with regard to firing, my orders were not to draw fire by expending a single round unnecessarily, and to fire only in defence. What I did was to get the O.C.'s permission shortly afterwards to take three men and patrol beyond the front of the wire. But we found nothing. No doubt I had seen one member of a Boche observation patrol on the prowl to find out what we were doing; and if only I could have got him it would have been excellent. From that time on we kept a continuous patrol going in front of the wire.

Then came a salvo of four whizz-bangs, all landing fairly near the new trench; three in rear of it, and one most infernally close in front of us. I suppose we all told ourselves the ball was just about to begin. But nothing happened for over an hour. Then came nine shells in quick succession, one of which, on my left, robbed my half-Company of four men, one killed and three wounded. The rest accomplished nothing. Then silence again, followed by occasional bursts of M.G. and the usual sort of rifle fire. Corporal Lane, of No. 2 Platoon, stopped a M.G. bullet with his left shoulder, I regret to say, and one man in the trench--"C" Company--was killed by a bullet through the head.

With every little burst of fire, one braced oneself for the big strafe that we naturally felt must come. It seemed the Boche was playing with us as a cat plays with a mouse. "I wonder what devilry he's got up his sleeve?" We probably all asked ourselves that question fifty times.

At two o'clock there wasn't a break anywhere in the new line. It was a connected trench throughout, and nowhere less than six feet deep, with two communicating trenches leading back to our original front line. At three o'clock the word came along that the working party had been withdrawn, and that I was to take my men in. As before, we left a few sentry groups, to be relieved at dawn by fresh sentries, since the new line was now to be guarded by day and manned by night.

And that was the end of it. I got my men safely in. Half an hour later the Boche sent over another ten or dozen shells on the new line, and once again before dawn he did the same, with the usual periodical bursts of M.G. fire and dropping rifle fire during the rest of the time. And nothing more. Wasn't it extraordinary, when he had had a whole day to think about it, and must have known we should be at work there that night? Possibly, however, in his crafty way, he assumed we should not go near the new line that second night for fear of strafing, and held his hand for that reason. And, possibly, our General assumed he'd think that, and acted accordingly. But there it is. We got our work done at next to no cost.

I was going to tell you about the rumours as to our push to straighten out the line, but my time's up. That will have to wait for my next letter. We are having an easy time now, but there were no free minutes last week. You'll hear again soon, from your

"_Temporary Gentleman_."

THE COMING PUSH

You are quite right in saying that I don't feel much interest in political affairs at home these days. The fact is, we do not often see the newspapers, and when we see them there isn't much time for really reading them or giving much consideration to what they say. The war news is interesting, of course; but all this endless talky-talky business, why, I can hardly tell you how queerly it strikes us out here. You see, we are very close to concrete realities all the time, and to us it seems the talky-talky people are most amazingly remote from realities of any kind. They seem to us to be very much interested in shadows, notions, fads, fancies, and considerations of interests which we think were washed out of existence at the very beginning of the war. They even seem able to strive mightily and quarrel virulently over the discussion of the principles and abstractions involved in things they propose to do when the war is over!

M-m-m-m-m-m! Seems to us the thing is to get it over, and in the right way. No, we are not much interested in the political situation. The tangible actualities of the situation out here seem to us very pressing; pressing enough to demand all the energies and all the attention; every atom of the strength of all the people of the British race; without any wastage over more remote things, abstractions, things _ante_ and _post bellum_. Here in France I can assure you men, women, and children are all alike in that they have no life outside the war. Every thought, every act, everything is in and for the war. The realities are very close here.

One thing in that last letter of yours especially pleases me. "We have now got to the point in England at which all the people of both sexes who are worth their salt are busy at war work of one kind or another."

That's excellent. Well, now rope in the ones who are not "worth their salt." You'll find they're all right, once they're roped in. I don't believe in this idea of some people not being worth their salt; not in England, anyhow. The stock is too good. You know the type of hoodlum who, with licks of hair plastered over his forehead, seems to spend his days leaning against a lamp-post. The fellow I mean has a perfectly beastly habit of spitting over everything in sight; when riding on top of a 'bus, for instance. Despised by decent men, he's a real terror to decent women. Same type, I suppose, as the Apache of Paris. Every big city breeds 'em.

Well, all I want to tell you about this gentleman is, never to run away with the notion that he can't be worth his salt. All he needs is to be taught the meaning of authority. It's only a matter of months; even weeks. With my own eyes I have watched the process at work. Nobody will ever again be able to delude me about it. In a country like ours there are no people "not worth their salt." The worst type of man we've got only needs a few months in a Battalion like ours, during the training period, to learn the meaning of authority, and, by means of discipline, to have his latent manhood developed. It's there all right. Only he'll never develop it of his own accord. Authority must be brought to bear. The Army method is the quickest and best. In a few months it makes these fellows men, and thundering good men at that. Worth their salt! They're worth their weight in--well, to take something real and good, say in 'baccy and cartridges--real men and real fighters.

Out here in billets, we get a deal more information about things generally than ever reaches us in the line. All the rumours come our way, and among 'em, here and there, I dare say, hints of the truth. We know that out there in the new trench we cut no dug-outs are being made. There's no evidence of any intention to inhabit that new front line. It is just fully manned by night and held by a few sentry groups in the day. (It's a deuce of a job getting along it by night when it's full of men. Being kept so narrow, for safety's sake, there are not many places where you can pass men, so you have to get along somehow over their heads or between their legs. Oh, it's great going on a wet night!) And this, in our eyes, is proof positive of the truth of the rumour which says we are to use it almost immediately as a jumping-off place, in a push designed to strengthen and straighten our front line by cutting off that diabolical corner of the Boche line opposite The Gut; to wash out The Gut, in fact, altogether, putting it behind our front line, with all its blood-soaked craters.

I don't think I ought to write much about it, though I suppose the Censor won't mind so long as I mention no places or names to indicate the part of the front we're on. But, in effect, if we can take several hundred yards of Boche trenches here, the gain to us, apart altogether from strategic considerations, will be equivalent to at least a mile. It's much more than just that, really, because it means getting a very advantageous and commanding position in exchange for a very exposed and deadly one, depriving Boche of a great advantage and gaining a great advantage for ourselves. Even the lesser of the two possible schemes, concerning less than 200 yards of Boche front, would give us all that. But the general opinion seems to be that we are to tackle the larger scheme, involving the seizure of a good mile or more of Boche front. We all think we know, and we none of us know anything, really.

But I must clear out. We have a new issue of improved gas-helmets, and I've got to see to dishing 'em out. Then every man will have two anti-gas helmets and one pair of anti-lachrymatory gas goggles. We are also renewing our emergency, or "iron," ration--and that all looks like a push, and is therefore exhilarating.

* * * * *

_Later._

Great and glorious news! The push is a fact. I mustn't say which day, and, just in case this letter fell into wrong hands, I think I'll hold it back, and not post just yet. The main thing is we are to push; and we are jolly well going to wipe out that Boche corner. It is the lesser of the two schemes--a local affair pure and simple, so I suppose you'll learn next to nothing about it from dispatches. You know our British way in the matter of official dispatches. The British have no shop window at all. One ought to be glad of it, I suppose. Ours is the safer, better, more dignified way, no doubt, and certainly never raises hopes doomed to possible disappointment. At the back of my mind I approve it all right. (Which should be comforting to the G.O.C. in C.) But, as touching ourselves, one cannot help wishing the dispatches would give you news of our show. Of course they won't.

"The night was quiet on the remainder of the Front." "Some elements of trenches changed hands in the neighbourhood of ----, the advantage being with us." That's the sort of thing. At least, I hope it'll read that way. It will, if "A" Company can make it so.

I'm particularly glad we had that turn in Petticoat Lane, you know. Now that I think we shall never occupy it again as a front line--by the time you get this, please the pigs, it'll be well behind our front line, and we'll be snugly over the rise where the Boche now shelters--I don't mind admitting to you that it's a heart-breaking bit of line. There's no solid foothold anywhere in it, and there's next to no real cover. It's a vile bit of trench, which we never should have occupied if we'd had any choice in those early days when the Boche first dug himself in opposite, and the French, having no alternative, scratched in here. For our sins we know every inch of it now, and, thanks to good glasses and long hours of study, I think I know the opposite lines pretty well--the lines I hope we shall be in.

Our fellows are queer, you know. Perhaps I've told you. Any kind of suffering and hardship they have to endure they invariably chalk up to the account against Mr. Boche. There's a big black mark against him for our spell in Petticoat Lane, and, by Jupiter! he'll find he'll have to pay for every mortal thing our chaps suffered there; every spoiled or missed meal; even lost boots, sore feet, and all such details. Our chaps make jokes about these things, and, if they're bad enough, make believe they almost enjoy them while they last. But every bit of it goes down in the account against Fritz; and if "A" Company gets the chance to be after him, by Gad! he'll have to skip! He really will.

I'm not going to risk giving away military information by telling you any more now. It will all be over, and Cut-Throat Alley will be behind us when next I write. And, understand, you are not to worry in the least bit about me, because I promise you I'll get through. I should know if I were not going to; at least, I think I should. But I feel perfectly certain we shall bring this thing off all right anyhow; and so, even if I did chance to go down, you wouldn't grieve about that, would you? because you'd know that's the way any fellow would like to go down, with his Company bringing it off; and, mind you, a thing that's going to make a world of difference to all the hundreds of good chaps who will hold this sector of the front before the war's over.

We've got a mighty lot to wipe out in this little push. It isn't only such scraps of discomfort as we suffered, nor yet the few men we lost there. But, French and British, month in and month out, for many a long day and night, we've been using up good men and true in that bloody, shell-torn corner. Why, there's not a yard of its churned-up soil that French and English men haven't suffered on. We've all that to wipe out; all that, and a deal more that I can't tell you about. I'll only tell you that I mean to get through it all right. Every man in the Battalion means real business--just as much as any of the chaps who fought under Nelson and Wellington, believe me. So, whatever you do, be under no sort of anxiety about your

"_Temporary Gentleman_."

P.S.--Seeing that you and I, and all our lot, never have known anything about military matters before this war came, I think it may interest you, as it interests me, to know that I have never seen the Company as a whole jollier, or in higher spirits than it is with this job before it; and, do you know, I never felt happier myself, never. I feel this makes it worth while to be alive and fit; more worth while than it ever was in civil life before the war.

FRONT LINE TO HOSPITAL

Perhaps this address will be quite a shock to you if you know what it means. So I hasten to say that I am perfectly all right, really. "Clearing Station"--perhaps that won't have the ominous look to you that "Hospital" would, though it means the same thing. But the point is, I am all right. I told you I'd get through, and I have. The fact that I'm lying in bed here--in luxurious comfort--is only an incident. I am quite safe and perfectly all right.

They tell me here that directly an officer is wounded information to that effect is sent home to his people. Well, I hope you will get this word from me first, and accept my assurance that there's nothing to worry about. These good folk here will put me as right as ninepence in no time, and I hope very shortly to be back with the Company and in the new line.

It was shrapnel, you know, and got me in the left leg and a bit in the right arm just when I was most wanting the use of both of 'em. I hope they haven't told you I'm going to lose my leg or anything, because I'm not. The surgeon here--a first-rate chap and a splendid surgeon--has told me all about it, and my leg will very soon be as good as ever.

This is just a line to let you know I am perfectly all right. I'll write and tell you all about it to-morrow.

I wonder whether the dispatches will have told you anything. The push was splendid. We've got that corner, and The Gut is well behind our front line now.

* * * * *

My letter of yesterday will have assured you that I am all right; nothing at all to worry about. I meant to have written you fully to-day about the push. But we've been busy. The surgeon's been cleaning me up--getting rid of useless souvenirs, you know; and it seems I'm better keeping pretty still and quiet to-day. Shall be out and about all the quicker, you see. This is a perfectly heavenly place, where you don't hear a vestige of gun-fire, and everything is sweet and clean, quiet and easy; no responsibility, no anything but comfort and ease. What a luxurious loaf I'm having! I'll write to-morrow.

* * * * *

I'm going ahead like a house afire; but so confoundedly lazy, you'd hardly believe it. I suppose this pencil will be legible, though it hardly looks it to me. As I say, I'm too lazy for words; simply wallowing in comfort and cleanliness. Thought I would just pencil a line now, so that you would know I was perfectly all right and then I can write properly to-morrow.

* * * * *

Another lazy day. I really ought to be at work, you know, so well and fit I am. But I just laze in this delightful bed, and watch the busy orderlies and sisters flitting to and fro, as though I were in a dream and other folk had to do all the world's work. The good old "Peacemaker" has come in to see me, and is writing this for me; chiefly because of my laziness, and partly that I like to spare you the work of deciphering the hieroglyphics I make with my left hand. The right arm is pretty good, you know, but it seems I'll get it entirely sound again rather quicker by not using it just now; and it's rather jolly to have one's O.C. Company working for one in this way.

He says that while I was about it I was a duffer not to get a real Blighty, and so have a holiday and come and see you all. As a fact, I've no doubt he's profoundly grateful that he will not be robbed of my invaluable services for long. "A" Company was relieved last night by a Company of the ----; in our new trenches, you know; the trenches that used to belong to Mister Boche; so our fellows are having a bit of a rest, I'm glad to say. Not the luxurious rest I'm having, of course; but something to be going on with.

I meant to tell you a whole lot of things, but for the laziness that makes me so greedy for naps and dozes. Also, they say visitors have to leave now, and "the Peacemaker" has a good way to ride. I'll write properly to-morrow. Meantime "the Peacemaker" is good enough to say he will write you to-night particulars as to how I got my scratches; so I won't ask him to write any more now. He will carry this on himself when he gets back to-night--while I laze and sleep.

* * * * *

As promised, I am adding a few lines to this for our good friend. I have not yet told him, but as a fact I am the only unwounded officer in "A" Company at the moment, and we were relieved last night in order that we might reorganise. Lieutenant Morgan--"Taffy"--was killed, I grieve to say, in the beginning of the advance, and our casualties for the Company were thirty-two killed and seventy-eight wounded. It's a terrible price, of course, but you will understand that a big loss was inevitable in our Company, when I tell you that we not only led the advance, but led it from the notorious Petticoat Lane, where the front is extraordinarily difficult to cross. We were very proud to be chosen for the lead, and compared with the net gain for the line, our loss is small, really. Indeed, if the entire casualties in the whole advance are weighed up against the position won, I believe I am right in saying that the cost was remarkably low. The gain in the line is immense, and there is not the smallest chance of the Boches taking it back again. Although our bombardment knocked his trenches about pretty badly--they were very strong trenches indeed, to begin with, very strongly placed and favourably situated--since our occupation we have worked day and night to make of the corner practically a fortified position, and one from which we can punish the Boche pretty severely on both flanks. I think this gain will lead to other gains before long in this sector. Our information is that the Boche casualties were very heavy. However, I did not mean to run on like this with regard to the military aspect. It is our friend you will want to hear about.

Now, in the first place, I should like to be allowed to say what you perhaps have guessed: that he is a very fine and a very valuable officer. I am not a bad judge, not only because I command his Company, but because, unlike himself, I am not quite without military knowledge of the kind that came before the war, having a good many years behind me of service as a Volunteer, and then as a Territorial, down to within seven months of the beginning of the war when I joined this Service Battalion. And I have no hesitation in saying that our friend is a fine and valuable officer. I know that a big share of any credit due for the fine training and discipline of our Company--which is, I think, admitted to be the crack Company of the best Battalion in the Brigade--is due, not to me, but to the Commander of our No. 1 Platoon. It is a very great loss to me to have him laid aside now; but I am so thankful his life is spared that I have no regret to waste over his being wounded. But I do very sincerely hope that he will be able to return to us, to the reorganised "A" Company, for I have never met an officer I would sooner have beside me. The men of the Platoon, and, indeed, of the whole Company, are devoted to him; and I regard it as little short of marvellous that in so comparatively short a time a man who had never had even the slightest hint of military training should have been able to become, all round, so efficient, so well posted technically, and, above all, so confident and absolutely so successful a leader of men. For that has been his greatest asset: that his men will go anywhere with him, do anything for him, trust him without the slightest reserve or doubt.

You know more about his character than I do, but I venture to say that the character you know has been wonderfully developed by the war and by his military training. He may have been the most lovable of men before, but I cannot believe that he was anything like so strong a man or so able a man. Confidence, fearlessness, decisiveness--strength, in fact; these qualities, I am sure, have developed greatly in him since he joined. I sometimes think there is nothing more wonderful in all this wonderful period of the war than the amazing development it has brought in the thousands of young Englishmen who now are capable and efficient officers, loved and trusted by their men, and as able in every way as any officers the British Army ever had, although the great majority of them have no military tradition behind them, and before August, 1914, had no military training. That is wonderful, and I am convinced that no other race or nation in the wide world could have produced the same thing. The men, fine as they are, might have been produced elsewhere, or something like them. But this apparently inexhaustible supply of fine and efficient officers--no, I think not.