A SOLDIER'S SKETCHES UNDER FIRE

[Illustration: PRIVATE HAROLD HARVEY. _Frontispiece_]

A SOLDIER'S SKETCHES UNDER FIRE

By HAROLD HARVEY

[Illustration: SLM & Co. MDCCXCIV]

LONDON

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO. , LTD. 

FORENOTE

A title such as "A Soldier's Sketches Under Fire" indicates at once thenature, scope and limitations of this unpretentious volume of annotateddrawings to which it has been given. 

Faked pictures of the war are plentiful. Sketches taken on the spot theydepict, sometimes by a hand that had momentarily laid down a rifle totake them, and always by a draughtsman who drew in overt or covert perilof his life, gain in verisimilitude what they must lose in elaborationor embellishment; are the richer in their realism by reason of theabsence of the imaginary and the meretricious. 

All that Mr. Harold Harvey drew he saw; but he saw much that he couldnot draw. All sorts of exploits of which pictures that brilliantlymisrepresent them are easily concoctable were for him impossiblesubjects for illustration. As he puts it himself, very modestly:

 "There were many happenings--repulsions of sudden attacks, temporary retirements, charges, and things of that sort that would have made capital subjects, but of which my notebook holds no 'pictured presentment, ' because I was taking part in them. "

He also remarks:

 "Sketched in circumstances that certainly had their own disadvantages as well as their special advantages, I present these drawings only for what they are. "

Just because they are what they are they are of enduring interest andpermanent value. They have the vividness of the actual, the convincingtouch of the true. 

Mr. Harvey was among the very first to obey the call of "King andCountry, " tarrying only, I believe, to finish his afterwards popularposter of "A Pair of Silk Stockings" for the Criterion production. Tojoin the Colours as a private soldier, he left his colours as an artist, throwing up an established and hardly-won position in the world of hisprofession, into which--sent home shot and poisoned--he must now fighthis way back. His ante-war experiences of sojourn and travel in India, South and East Africa, South America, Egypt and the Mediterranean shouldagain stand him in good stead, for the more an artist has learned themore comprehensive his treasury of impressions and recollections; themore he has seen the more he can show. To Mr. Harvey's studies ofEgyptian life, character and customs was undoubtedly attributable thesuccess of his "Market Scene in Cairo, " exhibited in the Royal Academyof 1909. Purchased by a French connoisseur, this picture brought itspainter several special commissions. 

I venture to express the opinion that the simple, direct and soldierlystyle in which Mr. Harold Harvey has written the notes that accompanyhis illustrations will be appreciated. His reticence as regards his owndoings, the casual nature of his references--where they could not beavoided--to his personal share in great achievements, manifest a spiritof self-effacement that is characteristic of the men of the army inwhich he fought; men whose like the world has never known. 

ROBERT OVERTON. 

TO

=LADY ANGELA FORBES=

WHOSE WORK FOR SOLDIERS IN FRANCE AND AT HOME HAS BEEN AS UNTIRINGAS IT HAS BEEN UNOSTENTATIOUS. 

CONTENTS

FORENOTE

=ON THE WAY TO THE FRONT. =

Chapter

I. --FROM SOUTHAMPTON TO MALTA

II. --FROM MALTA TO MARSEILLES

III. --FROM MARSEILLES TO ARMENTIÈRES

=AT THE FRONT. =

Chapter

IV. --SOME SAMPLE EXCITEMENTS OF LIFE IN THE TRENCHES

V. --THE LIGHTER SIDE OF TRENCH LIFE

VI. --THE "MAKE" OF A BRITISH TRENCH

VII. --THE RUSE OF A GERMAN SNIPER

VIII. --THREE DEATH TRAPS

IX. --GERMAN BEASTS IN A FRENCH CONVENT

X. --ANOTHER SCENE OF BOCHE BRUTALITY

XI. --THE TRICK THAT DIDN'T TRICK US

XII. --THE BARRED ROAD TO CALAIS

SKETCHES

PRIVATE HAROLD HARVEY _Frontispiece_

ABOARD THE TRANSPORT

BIVOUAC AT MALTA

CASEMENT GARDENS, MALTA

SERGEANTS' MESS

ORDNANCE DEPARTMENT, MALTA

ON THE QUAYHEAD AT MARSEILLES

QUAYSIDE, MARSEILLES

FORTY PASSENGERS IN EACH CATTLE TRUCK

A WASH AND A WAIT

"DOOMSDAY BOOK": A FRENCH LESSON IN A CATTLE TRUCK

LADY ANGELA FORBES'S SOLDIERS' HOME AT ETAPLES

ROAD TO THE TRENCHES

MY SKETCH-BOOK

MAP: LA BASSÉE-ST. JULIEN

OUTSKIRTS OF A VILLAGE

MY FIRST SNIPING-PLACE

CAPTURED GERMAN TRENCH

THE WOODCUTTER'S HUT

TYPICAL FIGURES AND FIGURE-HEADS

"HAMMERSMITH BRIDGE"

"DIRTY DICK'S"

"ENTRENCHING" THE PIANO

"SEVENTY-FIVE HOTEL"

CHICKEN FARM

A FRENCH COMRADE-COMEDIAN

A TRENCH SNIPER, RESTING

A TRAVERSE

THE BIRTH-PLACE OF A SONG

TRENCH PERISCOPE IN USE

"THE WHITE FARM"

A GERMAN SNIPER'S NEST

"SUICIDE BRIDGE"

"SUICIDE SIGNAL BOX"

A GHASTLY PROMENADE

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

A VIOLATED CONVENT

WHERE GERMANS RAPED AND MURDERED

"THE BLACK HOLE"

THE BLACK TOWER

WHERE THE TRAP WAS SET

"GOLGOTHA"

PART I. 

ON THE WAY TO THE FRONT. 

A SOLDIER'S SKETCHES UNDER FIRE. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

ON THE WAY TO THE FRONT. 

CHAPTER I. 

FROM SOUTHAMPTON TO MALTA. 

[Illustration]

On the outbreak of the war I joined the Royal Fusiliers, uninfluenced bythe appeal of wall-posters or the blandishments of a recruitingsergeant. My former experience as a trooper in the HertfordshireYeomanry being accounted unto me for military righteousness, I sailedwith my regiment from Southampton on September 3rd, 1914. We thought wewere bound for France direct, and only discovered on the passage that wewere to be landed, first, at Malta. 

I think I know the reason why the short trip across Channel was avoided, but, as it behoves me to be very careful about what I say on certainpoints, I don't state it. 

I show the fore part of the boat, the bows being visible in thedistance. The doorways on the right are those of the horse boxes, specially erected on the deck. In fact, the whole liner, with the mostcreditable completeness and celerity, had been specially fitted up forthe use of the troops, still retaining its crew of Lascars, who did theswabbing down and rough work required. 

My sketch shows a crane bringing up bales of fodder for the horses fromthe hold, with two officers standing by to give orders. 

[Illustration: ABOARD THE TRANSPORT. ]

We experienced some exciting incidents on the way out; for instance, inthe Bay we ran into a fog, and the order was given for all to stand by. For the next two or three hours all were in doubt as to what mighthappen--of course there was fear of torpedoes. 

We heard in the distance several shots fired, presumably by thebattle-cruiser which was our escort. When the fog lifted, we could justsee the smoke lifting on the horizon of some enemy craft, which had beenchased off by our own warship. We again steamed ahead towards ourdestination and were soon sailing into smooth and calm waters, thetemperature becoming quite genial and warm as we approached the Straitsof Gibraltar. As we passed through the Straits the message was signalledthat those two notorious vessels, the "Goeben" and the "Breslau, " wereroaming loose in the Mediterranean. 

AT MALTA. 

On arrival at Malta, I and others were put through our firing course, and the regiment took over the charge of prisoners and interned Germans, of whom, together, there were on the island--so soon after the beginningof hostilities--no fewer than 8, 000. One of the first sketches I madewas of our Bivouac. 

[Illustration: BIVOUAC AT MALTA. ]

MALTA AND THE PIRATES. 

Malta, which has been called "the master key of the Mediterranean andthe Levant, " "the stepping-stone to Egypt and the Dardanelles, " and "theconnecting link between England and India, " is one of our Empire's mostvaluable possessions, and its physical formation has made it forgenerations past of great maritime value. The island is, in itself, arock, and all its earth and mould has been imported. In the days whenthere were no submarines or warships, it was the headquarters of piratesroaming at large in the Mediterranean. These pirate crews, aftercapturing their prey, used to bring their captures into one of theentrances of the island, now called the Grand Harbour. At the base ofthe harbour is the town of Valetta, which was catacombed in those earlytimes, and tunnels were made through the island rock. When pirates hadbrought a ship under cover of the natural harbour to these tunnels, theytook all the merchandise ashore and then broke up the vessel, so as toleave no trace of the incident. The crew were usually massacred to aman, and when chase was given, no trace whatever could be found ofeither the pirates or their captures, and later on their ill-gottengains would be shipped off from the other end of the tunnel in anotherpart of the island. 

Looking through between the trees in my sketch of the Casement Gardens, under the Barracks of Floriana, which stand on an eminence overlookingthe spot, a portion of the harbour is seen which commands the backmoorings, and the water where the P. & O. Liners lay up. Beyond thevessel drawn I indicate the island of Fort Manoel, which is an ancientfortress which possesses a very handsome gateway, which may have beenbuilt by the Romans. In fact, all over this island are remarkablerelics, some of them probably as old as those of Stonehenge, but how orby whom the original materials were brought there or the originalbuildings constructed is now left by historians to conjecture. 

[Illustration: CASEMENT GARDENS, MALTA. ]

Other public gardens are those of Biracca and Floriana. Publicestablishments include the biggest Fever Hospital in the world, theCastille Prison, and the Governor's Palace. 

SERGEANTS' MESS. 

[Illustration: SERGEANTS' MESS AT FLORIANA, MALTA. ]

The view of the site of the Sergeants' Mess at Floriana gives a goodidea of the massive style of architecture and the palatial design ofmany of the buildings. The big construction of the walls will be noted, and the height of the chimney. All the houses have flat roofs, and onthem people sleep at night because of the intense heat. From the roof ofthis house is obtained the best view of the island. Although Malta iscomposed entirely of rock, flowers grow profusely, and a variety ofcreeper, very similar to our own azalea, climbs up the front of theforts, requiring little or no root. A garden of this flower was attachedto the Sergeants' Mess house. 

FORTIFICATIONS. 

[Illustration: ORDNANCE DEPARTMENT, MALTA. ]

The ancient fortifications proved impregnable for ages, and are nowmodernised for the use of up-to-date artillery equipment. I show theexterior of the Army Ordnance Department, Fort Tigne, and on the extremeleft, on the other side of the harbour, a portion of Fort Manoel. 

THE MALTESE. 

The habits and manners of the Maltese have long been notorious for theirrude characteristics, probably attributable to the people's Moorishorigin, although the race has now blended with the smooth Italian. Throughout the Levant they have the bad name first deserved by theirrobberies and murders. British rule has effected great reforms, but itcannot change the leopard's spots. 

The experience of our boys in some of the outlying parts of the island, and even in many streets and cafés, was that these primitive people hadnot altogether lost their primitive instincts in the course of becomingcivilised. One of their customary tricks is to offer one of theirbangles, or some other souvenir, to get you to spend money in the cafésand dancing saloons, and he would be a clever man who ever succeeded inobtaining one of the souvenirs promised him from day to day. The womenof Malta certainly have strong claims to beauty, at any rate up to theage of sixteen, for they mature early. They have large and lustrousblack eyes, and are of a swarthy and somewhat Spanish type. They stillwear the traditional hood, a black scarf, called a "Faldetta, " thrownover the head and shoulders, and disposed in such a style as to exhibitthe countenance of the wearer in the most alluring form. Althoughpicturesque in the distance, they are very slovenly in their hair anddress on closer acquaintance, and generally exhibit the traces oftheir Oriental origin. They are great experts in the making of Malteselace, for which they have won a world-wide reputation, and their nativefiligree work is also very famous and very beautiful. Churches (whereweddings are celebrated in the evening) are very numerous, and priestsand friars are always to be seen in the streets. The boys of ourregiment said that Malta was chiefly notable for "yells, smells, andbells. "

We passed a very merry time here for nearly three weeks--such a time asmany were destined never to know again--and then were shipped toMarseilles, _en route_ for the trenches on the Western Front. 

In the "Main Guard" of the Governor's Palace at Valetta we left behindus a fresco memorial of our short sojourn on the island. For manygenerations it has been the custom of regiments stationed in Malta topaint or draw regimental crests, portraits (and caricatures), etc. , onthe interior walls of this "Main Guard, " and on its doors also. Wallsand doors, both are very full of these more or less artistic mementoes, but space was found which I was asked to cover with a black and whiteseries of cartoons of prominent members of our (the 2nd) Battalion R. F. 

CHAPTER II. 

FROM MALTA TO MARSEILLES. 

From the bows of our boat as she lay in harbour at Marseilles, I"spotted" three typical figures. The one holding the rope is a Frenchsailor, the one at the bottom of the picture is a French gendarme, andthe third is a Ghurka, one of our fine sturdy hillmen from India, whohad come out to France to stand by the Empire. 

Marseilles was a most wonderful sight at the time I was there, andalthough I had made many previous visits in normal times, when I hadgreatly admired its grand proportions, none of them had given me anyidea of what its appearance would be when it became the clearing stationin the time of such a great war, and one of the chief bases of all foodsupplies. Troops of all descriptions were working like ants by day andby night, unloading boats to the huge stores of all descriptions ofprovender, and loading the trains with all kinds of artillery, ammunition, Red Cross wagons, motors, horses, and all the paraphernaliaof modern warfare. 

The town is the third largest in France, and the chief Mediterraneanseaport. Its history teems with exciting incidents of plague, fire, sacking, siege, and hand-to-hand fighting, so it is quite in keepingthat it should take so important a part in the present conflict. It washere Monte Cristo was hurled from the Chateau d'If in the sack fromwhich he cut his escape. Francis the First besieged it in vain, and itprospered under King Rene. In the French Revolution it figured soconspicuously as to give the title to the national hymn of the French. 

THE STORY OF "THE MARSEILLAISE. "

Is it too late to tell again the story of the origin of "TheMarseillaise"?

[Illustration: ON THE QUAYHEAD AT MARSEILLES. ]

Its author and composer (or it might be more correct to say composer andauthor, for in this case music preceded words), Rouget de Lisle--a youngaristocrat and an artillery officer--had as a friend a citizen ofStrasbourg, to whose house, in the early days of the Revolution, he cameon a visit one evening. The tired guest was cordially welcomed by thecitizen and his wife and daughter. To celebrate the occasion his friendsent the daughter into the cellar to bring up wine. Exhausted as he was, de Lisle drank freely, and, sitting up late with his host, did nottrouble to go to bed. He had been amusing the family by playing some ofhis original compositions on the spinnet. When the host retired for thenight he left de Lisle asleep with his head resting on the instrument. In the early hours of the morning the young officer awoke, and runningthrough his head was a melody which, in his semi-drunken state theevening before, he had been attempting to extemporise. It seemed tohaunt him, and, piecing it together as it came back to his memory, heplayed it over. Then, feeling inspired, he immediately set words to it. When the family came down he played and sang it to them, and his hostwas so moved by it that he became quite excited and called in theneighbours. The instrument was wheeled out into the garden, and in theopen air young de Lisle sang the song that was to become the nationalair of his country to this local audience. The effect upon them was"terrific, " and from that moment the song became the rage. It seemed toembody the whole spirit of the Revolutionists, and spread like wildfirethroughout France. It was to this song that the unbridled spirits ofMarseilles marched to Paris, hence its name, "The Marseillaise. " Shortlyafter this, de Lisle received a letter from his mother, the Baroness, dated from her chateau, saying, "What is this dreadful song we hear?"Fearing that his own life might be in danger, he being an aristocrat anda suspect, he had before long to take flight across the mountains. As hewent from valley to crag, and crag to valley, he time after time heardthe populace singing his song, frequently having to hide behind rockslest they discovered him. It sounded to him like a requiem, for he knewthat many of his friends were being marched to the scaffold to his ownimpassioned strains. 

[Illustration: QUAYSIDE, MARSEILLES. ]

CHAPTER III. 

FROM MARSEILLES TO ARMENTIÈRES. 

The incidents of the railway journey from Marseilles to Etaples, _enroute_ to Armentières, told in detail, would fill a book. It was made inordinary cattle trucks, in which, packed forty to a truck, we spent fourdays and a half at one stretch. Yet was it a bright and merry trip, forour spirits were raised to the highest by the thought that we were goinginto action, and we were at all sorts of expedients to make ourselvescomfortable. For instance, before we started the Stationmaster's Officewas ransacked, and every available nail pulled out to make coat and hatpegs of in the cattle trucks. We had to sleep on the floor. Ourcorporal, who was an old soldier of many campaigns, of iron physiqueand a perfect Goliath, and the life and soul of our party, was so tiredwhen he got aboard the train, after strenuous efforts, that he fell deadasleep on the floor, and there was so little available space, and hismassive form took up so much of what there was, that no fewer than ninemen, as they became tired and dropped down from the walls of the truck, fell on him and went to sleep on the top of him. However, that corporalslept the sleep of the just for four or five hours, and even then didnot awaken until, the train halting and somebody mentioning wine, therewas a scuffle, and another man stepped on his head, whereupon he flunghim off and made a good first out of the train. 

[Illustration: FORTY PASSENGERS IN EACH CATTLE TRUCK. ]

We were regaled at each station by the populace, who brought us cakesand wine, small flags, toys, tin trumpets, oranges, and other fruits, and we parted with nearly all our buttons as souvenirs. 

TUB, TEA AND A HALT. 

At one stopping place a large leathern hose was depending from a watermain for giving the engine water, and somebody turning this on, we alltook shower baths under it, or plunged into the huge tub alongside, somebeing so keen on not missing their chance that they took their baths intheir clothes, tunics and all. Try to imagine our feelings after beingcooped up in the train for just on three days and nights and thengetting a wash or prehistoric bath!

We had a two hours' wait here, and the "dixies" (about a dozen in all)were filled with water, and a huge fire was lighted, and soon a "longfelt want" was satisfied in the form of tea. Though it was like Indianink, it went down with a rare relish (I think my little lot was the bestdrink of tea I ever enjoyed); but unfortunately there was no secondedition. 

[Illustration: A WASH AND A WAIT. ]

After our "tub" we made a line for the station, the train being so longthat only a portion of it was in it. We received a pleasant surprisein the form of a stall, where there were cakes, buns, bottles of redwine, fruit and many other luxuries. 

After we had cleared out the whole lot, the French people living in thetown came to the railings at the side of the station and bombarded uswith all kinds of food and dainties. Just as we were all thoroughlystretching our legs and enjoying ourselves, the order was given to boardtrain, so, with much cheering, singing and shouting, we resumed ourseats--or rather our "standing room only. "

"DOOMSDAY BOOK. "

[Illustration: "DOOMSDAY BOOK": A FRENCH LESSON IN A CATTLE TRUCK. ]

Our corporal (behold him with an open book of Family Bible dimensions)often busied himself with expounding his views on the French language, in which he was labouring to become proficient. His linguistic ambitionsdid not end at self-proficiency, for he was solicitous to instruct hisfellows, and we had quite a number of French lessons from him, althoughit must be admitted that they suffered many interruptions in good oldplain English from the Tommies, provoked by the jolting of the train. They nicknamed this huge French dictionary the "Doomsday Book, " becauseit was their doom to have its contents thrown at them every day. 

THE LAST STAGE. 

The weather set in very cold and snowy, and as the cracks in the bottomof the truck measured three inches in width, it can be guessed what adraught there was. But in spite of everything and the general discomfortof things, jam and biscuits were "lowered" in plenty. I amused the boysby making sketches on biscuits and throwing them out of the window atthe various stations we passed through to the crowds of Frenchcivilians, soldiers, and Red Cross nurses. Perhaps some of my comradeswill find some of these biscuit souvenirs at their homes--if they everget there--for not a few were kept to the end of the journey and postedto friends in England. 

We passed over several bridges which the Germans had destroyed, butwhich had been made temporarily good again by the French engineers. Overthese our train had to travel gingerly. As we neared the fighting zonethe booming of the guns could be heard, and a little further on thingsbecame more warlike. We noticed the devastated stations, villages, andlarge shell holes in the embankment of the line. 

All this seemed to bring to the surface our fighting spirits, and weonly wanted to be out and at the Huns. 

On arrival at Etaples, after a rest of two hours or so in the stationyard and street adjoining same, we marched in full pack and kit, including blankets and our waterproof sheets, to a fishing village, where we struck a camp and turned in for the night. We were under canvasfor four days--the only four days under canvas during the whole time Iwas in France. The Colonel gave orders that all the men's heads were tobe shaved, as we were proceeding to the trenches. 

LADY ANGELA FORBES'S SOLDIERS' HOME AT ETAPLES. 

[Illustration: LADY ANGELA FORBES'S SOLDIERS' HOME AT ETAPLES. ]

A never fading recollection of Etaples will be that of the kindness andhospitality we received at the hands of Lady Angela Forbes and the "verygallant gentlewomen" who assisted her in the management of her Soldiers'Home there. The warmest of welcomes and the best of cheer awaited everysoldier who crossed its threshold. Nothing that thoughtfulness couldsuggest and liberality could provide was lacking. Tact and anunderstanding sympathy characterised the administration of everydepartment. We left behind us blessings and thanks we could not expressin words. 

ON THE ROAD TO THE TRENCHES. 

We had a three days' march (most of the way on cobble stones) from campto Armentières, via Aire, Hazebruck and Bailleul, things getting hotterand hotter. In the course of the first day the enemy's aircraft droppedbombs on our route. We scattered in the hedges and ditches, lying flatand getting what cover we could. We had several men wounded by thesplinters of the bombs, but fortunately nothing serious occurred, andall went well that day. 

[Illustration: ROAD TO THE TRENCHES. ]

The third day we reached a village and were billeted in some barns. Wehad just "got down to it comfortable" when a shell took the roofs off, and a loud cheer went up as it was realised that the enemy had missedthe mark. They put about twelve of these huge shells in the place, butthey all went high. After three hours the order was given to creep outand get into some cottages further down the road. These cottages wereinhabited, and the terrified people made us welcome indeed--had not wecome to protect them from the Germans? We had a short rest here and thenhad to push on and make the most of the darkness. 

As the firing grew heavier we made a circular route over fields, etc. , to the trenches, for the rest of the way. The enemy made an attack onour second night in them--and their loss was pretty heavy. 

PART II. 

AT THE FRONT. 

CHAPTER IV. 

SOME SAMPLE EXCITEMENTS OF LIFE IN THE TRENCHES. 

[Illustration: MY SKETCH BOOK. ]

I don't think I'm a bit sentimental in the matter of souvenirs, andanyway I can't need anything to remind me of the unforgettable, but allthe same there's one souvenir of my experiences in the trenches and thefiring line that I shall never part with--and that's the little notebook(measuring 5-1/2 ins. By 3-1/2 ins. , bought in Armentières) which Icarried with me through everything, and in which are the originals ofthe sketches here collected, taken "under fire, " either literally or inthe sense that they were taken within the zone of fire. In the nature ofthings I might have been finished myself by shot or shell before Icould have finished any one of them. Sketched in circumstances thatcertainly had their own disadvantages as well as their specialadvantages, I present these drawings only for what they are. There weremany happenings--repulsions of sudden attacks, temporary retirements, charges, and things of that sort--that would have made capital subjects, but of which my notebook holds no "pictured presentment, " because I wastaking part in them. 

AT ARMENTIÈRES. 

[Illustration: Map: La Bassée-St. Julien]

We reached Armentières (relieving the Leinster Regiment and the 9thLancers in the first line trenches, distant from the first line Germantrenches 30 yards) at a critical time. 

The effort in progress was to straighten out our line so as to get itlevel with Ypres, and the whole position all around was a very perilousone. We were short of men--very short--and had practically no reserves. Almost every available man had to do the work and duty of three. For amonth or so almost all the heavy work fell upon the line regiments, wedoing the wiring, digging, and the usual work of the Royal Engineers, the number of these being relatively scanty indeed. 

There was also some shortage of shells and ammunition for guns andrifles, while of trench mortars a division had but few. We had to makeour own bombs out of jam tins. These were charged and stuck down, adetonator being inserted, and we crawled out with them at night andheaved them into the German trenches. We had to time each heave with themost extreme accuracy, for the fraction of a moment too late meant thebursting of the bomb in our hands. The game we played with the Huns(keeping up a continuous fire all night, for instance) was one of purebluff. They were massed in, we estimated, four army corps, and couldhave walked through us--if they had only known. 

As my illustrations do not follow all the movements of my detachment, Iwill say here that from Armentières we were shifted to Houplines, about4-1/2 to 5 miles north-east, where we made an advance of a hundred yardsor so to straighten up. From Houplines we were moved south to La Bassée, and from La Bassée to Neuve Chapelle (where our 3rd Battalion was almostwiped out in the indecisive victory that proved much and won little), and then back to Armentières, whence we were sent north to St. Eloi, after making a short advance in the vicinity of Messines. From St. Eloiwe were ordered to Hill 60, taking part in the now historic battlethere. After Hill 60, Ypres, where shrapnel and poison gas put an end tomy soldiering days--I am afraid for ever. 

To come back to our first arrival at Armentières, our position was intouch with a small village not marked on the map, in the direction ofHouplines. This village, which became almost wholly destroyed, hadbeen knocked about by the enemy fire, but the tall chimney of adistillery had been spared, no doubt because the Germans wanted itthemselves, intact. However much they wished, and often and hard as theytried, to take it--especially as from it could be conned not only ourlines but the lay of the surrounding country--they never did take it, and it never fell, though it was hit in two places and cracked. 

At 10. 30 one morning I crawled over the parapet--that is, thesandbags--of our trench to sketch the picture of which this distilleryshaft is the central feature. The trench also near the middle we had dugovernight for communication purposes. The enemy were to the left of thebuildings shown, and our own men were occupying the position to theright of the chimney at a range of 250 yards. 

[Illustration: OUTSKIRTS OF A VILLAGE. ]

Our boys in the trenches could never understand a bright light which indaytime issued from the garden adjoining the farm-buildings on theBritish side. But one day a spy, who did work disguised as a farmhand, was discovered. He used a tin bowl as a reflector to send the enemysignals. The rascal was duly attended to. 

FETCHING WATER. 

[Illustration: MY FIRST SNIPING PLACE. ]

Here is a little view of the outskirts of the same village, made a fewdays later, when I was told off with two others to go to the house onthe right of the sketch to get water from the pump, exposed to theenemy's fire. While pencilling the sketch I saw the wide gap made in thetree's branches, as shown by a shell passing through it, which burst onthe road some fifteen yards away from us. This was an indication theenemy had spotted figures moving in the direction of the house. However, having got the water, we all reached "home" safely, though we ran afurther risk in rummaging in the orchard, where we found some bedsof lettuces, of which welcome vegetables we brought back with us enoughto supply the whole section. 

The house on the left of the shelled tree was the position from which Iand two others were ordered to snipe. We climbed the ricketty buildingand fired from the eaves and from the cover of the chimney. The buildingwas in a state of almost total ruin, but we took our places on theshaken beams and considered we made a quite successful bag, for we couldguarantee that at least five or six occupants of the enemy's trencheswould give us no more trouble. This in the course of one morning. Finally the enemy saw us and we had to vacate our position, as both thebuilding and the barricade across the road were being rapidly hit. 

CAPTURE OF A GERMAN TRENCH. 

[Illustration: CAPTURED GERMAN TRENCH. ]

Without their coveted observation post the German gunners got the rangeof the town beyond the village so completely that one day they poured acontinuous stream of shells over our heads from 4. 30 in the morningtill mid-day. It was, I remember, at day-break next morning that undercover of our own artillery, we made an advance and took the trench heredepicted just as it was left by the turned-out. So hurried was theirexit when faced by British bayonets that they left behind them in thetrench quite a number of articles most useful to us--such as saws, sniper's rifles mounted on tripod stands, haversacks, and a quantity ofother equipment, also a very fine selection of cigars, which came asquite a godsend to us. Personally, I clicked on a pair of German jackboots, which, as the weather was wet and the ground soft and muddy, asusual, came in very handy. I also came across a forage cap and a pocketknife, and picked up a photograph--that of a typical Fraulein, probablythe sweetheart of Heinrich, Fritz or Karl. 

A NIGHT RELIEF. 

Duty in the trenches and rest and sleep in our billets in their rearalternated with something like regularity, but it was a regularityalways liable to interruptions, such as were necessitated by notinfrequent exigencies. 

For instance, we had just got back to the latter one night, at exactly10. 30, after seven consecutive days in the trenches of our most advancedposition, and were thinking that now we should get a few hours' quietrepose--subject, of course, to the disturbance of shelling--when asudden order was given to fall in. We turned out, were numbered, "rightturned, " and marched off, singing and whistling merrily. Afterproceeding in this fashion for half a mile, word was passed down to formIndian file, seven paces apart. We moved thus for about a quarter of amile, and then word was again passed down--"no smoking, whistling, ortalking. " The night was pitch dark, foggy, and a drizzle was beating inour faces. 

We were now within range of the enemy's rifle fire and heard spentbullets as they pinged and spluttered into the mud. We crossed a railwayline, and marched or crawled the best way we could along the ditchparallel with it--truth to tell, cursing and swearing. We passed an oldsignal station, now just a pile of bricks, with one side wall stillerect and one glass window intact. We had come to know well that walland that window and the strewn bricks around, for we had passed the spotso often in our little excursions from trench to billet and billet totrench. A little further along the whistle of the bullets grew louderand more continuous--their sound something like the sound of softnotes whistled by a boy. Machine guns--"motor bikes" in ournomenclature--rattled our left and right, our position being that ofthe far apex of a triangle, exposed to inflated fire all the way up. 

Arriving within a few yards of the opening of the trench we were tooccupy in relief of the North Staffords, the first section of whom weremoving along the ditch, a star shell burst above as the searchlight wasturned on, and every man stood stock still till all was dark again. 

Between men of the incoming and outgoing battalions such casualgreetings were exchanged as: "Wot's it like up here, matie?"; "'Ow areyer goin', son?"; "Yer want to keep your 'ead well down in thispart--it's a bit 'ot"; "So long, sonnie. " Sprawling, ducking and diving, we got in, and "safe" behind the sandbags. Just as my chum and I hadentered the dug-out, and were preparing to make ourselves comfortable, as our turn for sentry-go would not be for two hours, the sergeantshoved his head in and shouted that we were wanted for a ration party. 

RATION PARTIES. 

A ration party consists of fourteen men--fewer sometimes, but fourteenif possible, as the proper full complement. The small carts in use aregenerally of rude and primitive construction. As everybody knows by now, rations comprise bully beef Spratt's biscuits--very large and ratherhard--loaves of bread packed in sacks, bacon, jam, marmalade, Maconochies in tins, and, when possible, kegs of water. Let not the rumbe forgotten. No soldier is more grateful for anything than for histablespoonful of rum at half-past six in the evening and half-past fourin the morning. His "tot" has saved many a man from a chill, and kepthim going during long and dreary hours of wet and press. As to bread, bythe bye, it is highly probable that one small loaf, about half the sizeof an ordinary loaf, will be divided between seven men. With the goodthings already enumerated, a plentiful supply of charcoal and coke isusually to be expected. The horse transports with these provisions neverget nearer than, at the closest, say half-a-mile of the front trenchitself, when the men in charge dump their loads down and get away backto their stores and billets as quickly as possible. There is a lot torisk, for as a rule the enemy have the road well set, and the shellingis often very severe. 

It is the duty of a ration party to bring up the loads from where theyhave been left. On regaining the opening to the trench, they take therations to the quartermaster-sergeant's hut or dug-out. The sergeants ofeach platoon come to this hut or dug-out, and to them the things aredelivered in quantities proportionate with the number of men in thesection each represents. The sergeants then send along two men to carrythe whacks to the respective traverses in the trench. This goes on nightafter night. So on the occasion I am recalling we were very late--andthe distance we had to go was as much as a mile and three-quarters. 

This ration carrying, the final stage of ration transport, is an evenmore dangerous and risky job than the preceding stage, and, as usual, snipers got busy on us, hitting three men, though none was killed. Therattle of bullets from machine guns on the ricketty sides of the oldcart added to the programme of the night's entertainment, and there werefrequent intervals, not for refreshments, but for getting flat andwaiting. 

GATHERING IN OUR FIREWOOD. 

Chopping up firewood was regarded not so much as work as it was regardedas one of our recreations in the trenches--of which I shall have alittle to say presently. But it often happened that there was norecreation, but only the excitement of danger in the night-time job ofbringing in the firewood for day-time chopping. It would happen that aman had spotted in some shelled house or fallen farm-building a beam, plank, door, or something else wooden and burnable, that he couldn'tcarry without assistance, or that he couldn't stop to bring away at thetime. It must be fetched, for fire we must have. It might be only a fewscore yards away measured by distance, but an hour measured bytime--"thou art so near and yet so far" sort of thing. Fetchers mightget hit at any moment, and had to creep and wriggle very cautiously overopen ground all the way. By some strange twist of mental association, whenever I was a fetcher in these circumstances I found myself mentallyquoting Longfellow's line in "Hiawatha"--"He is gathering in hisfirewood"!

[Illustration: THE WOODCUTTER'S HUT. ]

Our champion at the game was a Private Hyatt--quite a youngster, butof fine physique and fearless daring. His dug-out was called "TheWoodcutter's Hut. " He made a regular hobby of wood-getting. He was anexpert, a specialist. On certain occasions he even went out after woodin the daylight, slithering along on all fours towards his objective, and would be fired at until recalled by one of his own officers. On oneoccasion when he had crawled out and into a building to collect wood, ashe crawled back through the doorway we saw little clouds of dust risingfrom the brick-work surrounding him, which showed that the enemy'ssnipers had spotted him, and we shouted to him from the trench to "keepdown. " He took refuge behind the wall of the doorway, and lay therethree-quarters of an hour, and then returned, bringing with him the muchprized plank of which he had gone in search, and which, when chopped up, supplied our section with sufficient firewood for a whole day and night. In the sketch it will be observed he is reading a letter. This he hadreceived just after the above incident, and sat down on his valise quiteunaware that I was sketching him. Later on I gave him a copy of thesketch, and he enclosed it in his affectionate reply to his folk athome. 

"STAND TO. "

The most anxious time a soldier can know is the time, be it long orshort, that follows the command to stand to. Many a time we had to standto the whole night--the entire battalion, from evening twilight till thefull dawn of day--as an attack was expected. Everyone was at his firingposition, with bayonet fixed and his rifle loaded--and in tip-topworking condition, the daily rifle inspection having taken place atdusk. Sometimes our artillery would presently open fire for the enemy'sfirst line, perhaps for five or six minutes--it might be more, it mightbe less. Then a wait of six or seven minutes, when the enemy returnedthe fire, and we all got well down. It was as well to keep as hard upagainst the parapet as possible, and to keep out of all dug-outs, forinto them the forward impetus of bursting shrapnel was likely to throw alot of splinters. Again silence, comrades and pals passing a few remarksin anticipation of what everybody knew was coming. The officers with uswere one with us, and at their words, "Well, come on, lads, " there wasnever a laggard in getting "over the tops" (in our own phraseology). Assoon as we put our hands on the sandbags to clamber over the top of theparapet a hailstorm of bullets pelted us. It is impossible--at allevents for me--to describe a charge. Speaking for myself, always mybrain seemed to snap. It was simply a rush in a mad line--or as much ofa line as could be kept--towards the enemy's barbed wire entanglements, which our guns had blown to smithereens in preparation for the assault. We scrambled on to their parapet, each getting at the first man hecould touch. When we had taken their position (we didn't always) wemight have to wait some time till our artillery had shelled the secondline, but there was a lot of work to be done at once. The parapet had tobe reversed. 

After an attack there was generally a roll call--from which there weremany absentees. 

More trying--more wearing and tearing to the nerves--than anythingthat in my experience ever followed it was the stand to itself. Themoments, minutes, even hours, that followed that old familiar order, "stand to, " were the worst I ever went through. As every eventide comeson I still feel just a little--just a very little--of what I felt then. Even now: and I fear me I always shall till death bids me stand to. 

I see I have written so much with only one illustration, that perhaps itwon't be amiss if I place here a few typical heads and a couple oftypical full figures, the original sketches of which I pencilled inspare places in my notebook at odd times. If they be really typical theyneed no labelling. 

[Illustration: TYPICAL FIGURES AND FIGURE-HEADS. ]

CHAPTER V. 

THE LIGHTER SIDE OF TRENCH LIFE. 

That there was (and is) a lighter side, a social side, of trench life, as of the life generally of a soldier on active service, even in thiswar, merely incidental remarks of mine such as could not be omitted fromany true and fair description of that life must furnish abundantevidence; but this lighter side was, in my experience, so very real andso pronounced that to illustrate a few set observations thereon I take afew sketches from my notebook out of the order in which I find them init. 

SING-SONGS. 

Our concert parties were "immense, " and there was no forced gaiety inour enjoyment of them. Some of the best sing-songs were in "LeicesterLounge, " named after the luxurious resort (which it didn't resemble)hard by the Empire Theatre. The reflection occurs to me for the firsttime that only men with whom high spirits were rampant would or couldhave been so fond of inventing such nicknames as--in mood joviallyironic--we coined for all sorts of places, persons and things. "Leicester Lounge" was a dug-out adjacent to "Hammersmith Bridge, " andthe surroundings of "Hammersmith Bridge, " there being nothing inconnection with them to suggest--save by absence--either a garden or acity, were "the Garden City. "

[Illustration: "HAMMERSMITH BRIDGE. "]

It was the biggest, roomiest, and most palatial dug-out we had. The topwas just a small roof-garden, carefully planted and laid out. It hadstatuary, too, in groups. The statues were fashioned in clay by amateurhands, and the artistic effects were original and novel, to say theleast. It was also the safest place, this "Lounge, " because it was sunkfour feet below the level of the trench itself. It accommodated twelveeasily. Impromptu concerts were frequent here; our far-famed mouth-organband performed at such intervals as our own military duties and theenemy's cascades of shells permitted. It was here the names ofneighbouring streams and nullahs were chosen from which we drew ourdaily beverage of "Adam's Ale" (untaxed, and rather thick), such as theportentous "Cæsar's Well. " In another spacious dug-out we had our "TimesBook Club. " This "eligible tenement" had the special distinction of astove and chimney (purloined from a ruined farm)--that is, it had achimney till the enemy spotted and so riddled it that it collapsed. Ithad a glass window (fixed in clay), statuary (modelled in clay), decorations (log-cabin order), one chair (also purloined, back brokenoff), one table (very treacherous); and I mustn't forget the president'sbell (tobacco tin shell, and a cartridge for a clapper). It was lit bymany candles, and as the fee for membership was a book or magazine fromhome, it served a good purpose. 

"DIRTY DICK'S". 

[Illustration: "DIRTY DICK'S". ]

After a time the sing-songs in a trench some little distance away from"Leicester Lounge" knocked spots off all the others anywhere, thanks tothe acquisition of a piano for them--probably the only instrument of itskind which has ever been in the British trenches at the front. It camefrom "Dirty Dick's. " The picture of "Dirty Dick's" gives a rough idea ofthe devastation of war. The portion of a building to the right was allthat remained of what, but a few weeks before, had been a handsome andprosperous hotel, and the wall with window and door spaces left, shownto the left, had been the residence of a prominent citizen. All that wasleft of the hotel was a shaky wall, though the sign-board remained, having escaped the enemy's fire. 

We were placed in the trench shown in the foreground, and the Germanswere also entrenched in the space seen in the distance between theruins. When we first took up our position the hotel was intact exceptthat the roof had been destroyed. The wall towards our trench wasstanding, and when it fell the bricks came tumbling over us, and thedust of the red masonry turned us into copper-coloured men. But prior tothis three "Jocks" and three of our own regiment crawled out of thetrench and into the house, and we spotted a piano on the ground floor. The temptation was too great; we decided to remove it. The operationtook us two and a half hours' hard struggle. Eventually we got theinstrument into our trench, somewhat battered about and minus one leg, but still answering to the keyboard. Unfortunately two of the party werewounded in doing this, but they didn't mind. Night after night we hadsing-songs accompanied on the piano in proper style, and used to giveforth with the full strength of our lungs--

 "The Germans are coming-- Hurrah! Hurrah!"

The "harmony" of this stunt used to be wafted on the silent night air tothe German trenches, and we soon saw how it upset Fritz and Karl. Theygot so annoyed that they trained their artillery in the direction ofthe sounds, and used to shell us all along the line in the hope ofsilencing our concerts. However, they could never quite locate the exactspot in which the instrument was temporarily placed. 

[Illustration: "ENTRENCHING" THE PIANO. ]

One night, while one of our concerts was at its height, the officerseven joining in, the order came to advance. So we had to bid a hastyfarewell to our much-prized "Johanna, " which had given us so muchpleasure. 

"SEVENTY-FIVE HOTEL. "

[Illustration: SEVENTY-FIVE HOTEL. ]

Now I think of it, there was another ex-"pub" where we touched lucky inthe matter of finding things--though they didn't include a piano. Thiswas "Seventy-five Hotel. " We called it that because the enemy firedseventy-five shells into it in seventy-five minutes on one memorableoccasion, and then only killed one man. The building, which had been thescene of fierce fighting even before our battalion arrived on the sceneof action, still bore the sign "Estaminet, " and so we could safelyconclude that it had been the village "pub, " or wine lodge. There were afew bottles of wine still in the cellar, which the Germans must haveoverlooked when they were in possession, or had not time to take away. We found many articles, some useful, some otherwise; amongst them alarge warming-pan, which caused amusement. The article we put to thebest use was the dinner bell. This was turned to great account. In frontof the estaminet was our "listening post, " where we kept watch and guardat night. Well, by aid of the dinner bell we installed our own brand oftelephone system. This was to connect the bell by string to the wristsof those out on the watch. Whenever they saw anyone approaching or anyother indication of possible danger they gently pulled the string, thebell tinkled, it was heard by our companions in the trench, word waspassed along, and everyone prepared for emergencies. 

"CHICKEN FARM. "

[Illustration: "CHICKEN FARM. "]

Here something really like a little bit of sport came in our way. Whenwe arrived there the farm was deserted, its lawful owners having foundthe situation too hot for them. Cows roamed about at random, and so didpigs. But after we had dug ourselves in and made our position secure, the chickens were what interested us most. There were two hundred andfifty of these at the least, and they used to parade on the strip ofground shown in the picture and the bolder spirits peep over the edge ofour trench. Catching them was good sport, but eating them was somethingfiner. What a nice change from bully beef and biscuit! Cooking not quitea la Carlton or Ritz, but more on prehistoric principles. So many fowlswere caught, killed and plucked for cooking and eating that the wet mudwas completely covered with feathers, and resembled a feather bank. Asfor ourselves, the feathers, sticking to the wet mud on our uniforms andequipments, turned us into Zulus, wild men of the woods, or ChippewayIndians. The enemy presumably did fairly well also with a poultry farmin the distance. They appeared to have a portable kitchen. We oftenwatched the funnel moving about their trench. One day a line wasstretched from this funnel to a pole and German officers' uniforms werehung out on the line to dry over the stove. It made us a lovely target. Shooting at officers' uniforms was a pleasant diversion, and they hadbeen well pierced with bullets before they were taken in. 

A FRENCH COMEDIAN. 

Later on, and farther on--after our capture of a position I shallshortly have occasion to describe--we made the acquaintance of a French"born comedian, " who was a tower of strength at our entertainments, andwho in various other ways was a cause of constant amusement. He had beenleft behind by his regiment, and we found him hanging around the place. It had been his home, and it seemed that the magnet of life-longassociations held him to it. He was very useful in taking us round tocottages which, to our surprise, we found to be still inhabited, and ingiving us the tip where to find cheap, if very thin, beer and otherrefreshments. He was particularly proud of his German jack-boots--madefor legs very much bigger than his own. When we had concerts he usedto give us clever imitations of the late Harry Fragson in his"Margarita" and other varieties, to the accompaniment of the mouth-organband. He used to say: "Ze Engleesh soldier--très bon--ze Frenchsoldier--bon--mais ze Allemand--no bon!" On one occasion he told us:"Après la guerre, ze Engleesh soldier beaucoup admirers--ladees! ZeFrench soldier admirers, too. Ze Allemand--non!"

[Illustration: A FRENCH COMRADE-COMEDIAN. ]

He got hold of peasants to wash our clothes for us and introduced us toa little mill-race, which we reached through a thicket which concealedus, and the spectacle of our men stripping and diving into the stream incold weather amused him hugely. He jumped about in his big boots, exclaiming: "Vat your vife say if she see you in ze water? Vat she sayif she see you ici?" The English replied, in the best French at theircommand, "beaucoup lavé--très bon, " at which our comical comrade-at-armslaughed more heartily than ever. When his regiment found out where hewas a guard was sent up, and he was obliged to remain in charge of it, to his great regret, when we moved on. He wished us "bonne chance, "assuring us that it was his one desire after the war to get toAngleterre, where he had never been; but now that he knew the English hemust visit us to make our further acquaintance. So much for our comicalFrench friend, ever so amusing and ever so polite. 

We found fun in all sorts of things, made fun of all sorts of things. That we could do so and did do so may appear strange--it seems strangesometimes to me now. But 'twas a merciful thing that we were able to. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE "MAKE" OF A BRITISH TRENCH. 

The four following sketches will, I hope, give a fairly clear andaccurate idea of the construction of a British trench. The first depictsone of my comrades (who was also a brother-artist by profession, and abrother-sniper) sitting reading, during a surcease of the firing, on thefiring platform in a trench corner. It will be noticed that he wears hissleeping cap. Very close and handy are his tall jack-boots--soserviceable in wet weather and heavy mud. My artist-friend, I shouldlike to remark, was considered among snipers a great shot, and there isno doubt that he often did deadly work with his rifle. 

[Illustration: A TRENCH SNIPER RESTING. ]

After the trench has been dug out the sandbags are placed along the topso as to form what is called a "parapet. " Then the trench is dug deeperstill and the firing platform is put in. Next the vertical struts ofwood are put in position with wiring in between to hold back the mud, and in places where it is possible blocks fill in gaps to strengthen thestructure. Finally the bed of the trench is boarded over with long heavyplanks, some of which require two men to carry them; these are veryoften placed on bricks or blocks of wood to give air spaces underneathto keep them dry as far as possible. The trench is now completed as faras its construction is concerned, but it is left to be "furnished" withany supplies that happen to be handy. One of the first essentials isnaturally the fireplace. This, as in the present instance, is very oftenan old tin pail with a few holes knocked in it, somewhat similar to theone used by Mr. Wilkie Bard in his famous sketch, "The Night Watchman. "The fuel consists of charcoal, wood and coke, to get which fully lit itis usual to swing the receptacle round and round so as to create adraught and start the contents thoroughly on the go. There is a greatdanger attending this, for if the Germans catch a glimpse of thebrazier being whirled in the air they immediately locate the whirler andbegin firing in his direction. 

The black patch in the centre of the picture represents the snipingplace, which is a thick piece of iron let into the parapet with a holebored through it large enough to take the muzzle of the rifle. It alsoallows enough space for the sniper to see through, and, with the aid ofthe periscope, held usually by a comrade at his side, he is able to getthe sight for his firing. 

A TRAVERSE. 

[Illustration: A TRAVERSE. ]

Here is a "traverse" in a trench. The sergeant is reading the orders ofthe day to one of his men. This was a very damp corner--on the top ofthe dug-out to the left tunics were hanging to dry in the early morningair. The soldier still has on his sleeping cap (like the figure in thelast picture); his mess-tin is by his side, and his rifle, encased in awaterproof cover. He is sitting on the firing platform, and the depth ofthe trench is noticeable, showing how low the men are in the ground. Thesandbags shown it took us four hours one night to place in position. Asfast as we put them up they were shot down again by the enemy's maximfire. We were all so tired and sleepy that, working on automatically, wehardly knew whether we were putting the mud in the sandbags or outsidethem. 

It was not only the dampness and the incessant maxim fire we had tocontend with here, but an army of insects, which jumped about us inbattalions, and saw to it we were never lonely. A Cockney member of ourcompany, after catching a particularly active jumper, called out: "Nowthen, you blighter, where is your respirator?"

The enemy were only thirty yards away, and we could often hear themshouting at us and would answer back. Many of our men were hit bysnipers, while the shelling was often terrific, but we stuck on, aswe were holding a part of an important military position. I remember howon an occasion when the shelling was very heavy one man engaged himselfin making soup as coolly as if nothing was happening until the earthknocked up by the shells began to drop into the mess-tin, when he gaveus his opinion of the Boches in his own forcible vernacular. We oftenlaid for hours at the bottom of the trench--flat on the ground in thewater and mud to escape the shells. 

THE BIRTH-PLACE OF A SONG. 

[Illustration: THE BIRTH-PLACE OF A SONG. ]

The third bit of trench of this chapter has a claim to fame as thebirth-place of a song. The song was one which only British soldierscould have concocted, and none but British soldiers would have sung. Ithad no known author and no known composer. It sort of "growed, " likeTopsy. If it had had a title given to it I suppose it would have beencalled "I want to go home, " for that was its dirge-like refrain, alwayssung very cheerfully indeed, or with mock earnestness. Time and again Iheard its chorus taken up with terrific gusto from end to end of thistrench, and the whole extraordinary composition spread to other trencheslike a contagion. Its popularity was instant and enduring--and asunaccountable as the popularity of many other popular songs. I think Iquote the inspired words of the chorus correctly:--

 "I want to go home, I want to go home-- Tho' the Jack Johnsons and shrapnel May whistle and roar, I don't want to go in the trenches no more; I want to be Where the Alleymonds can't catch me: Oh my! I don't want to die-- I want--to go home. "

Three rifles are deposited on the steps of the fireplace--the usualposition for rifles when not in hand, dropped inside canvas bags, bayonets protruding--kept well greased, to prevent them from gettingrusty. 

TRENCH PERISCOPE. 

[Illustration: TRENCH PERISCOPE IN USE. ]

The uses of a trench periscope are so well known that they need not bedescribed. The feature of my last sketch of a trench from the inside isthat it shows one in actual employment. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE RUSE OF A GERMAN SNIPER. 

Snipers on both sides exhibited the most extraordinary artfulness, cunning and ingenuity in the discovery, adaptation and invention of"cover. " The great desideratum, of course, was to hide where we couldsee without being seen, to shoot from where there was least danger ofbeing shot. 

I helped to track and put an end at Houplines to one German sniper whohad resorted to a ruse that I really think deserves the dignity of ashort chapter all to itself. The story is tellable in a few words, andmay be introduced by this drawing of "The White Farm, " sochristened because of the whiteness of the walls of its house; although, as will be noticed, there was little of this or anything else leftupstanding when I drew my sketch. 

[Illustration: "THE WHITE FARM. "]

The position shown is the entrance to the trench at this point, and theshovels, barrels, pails and water trough are all such implements as hadbeen used in making and draining the cutting. 

The cart shown is the "ration cart" used at night for bringingprovisions from the Transport Corps wagon. It was usual for the rationparties (as elsewhere) to go out every night after dusk. These were evenmore than ordinarily dangerous excursions, as the enemy trenchescommanded the road, we having captured the position from them shortlybefore. Hence sniping was continuous, and the cart was often hit and ourmen killed or wounded. We therefore took observations. 

THE SNIPER WHO LIVED IN A TREE. 

[Illustration: A GERMAN SNIPER'S NEST]

In course of time we came to notice that the most dangerous part of theroad lay between a willow tree-stump and the White Farm. Our men wereshot here nightly in getting back to the trenches. A party was formed tomake a tour of the field in which the tree-trunk stood. The first thingwe noticed was that after we entered this enclosure the shots were lessnumerous. We split up in open order and approached the willow, takingcare to drop to the ground on our hands and knees. As we neared thetree, lo and behold! a shot rang out from it and only just missed thecorporal. He jumped up at once and we all followed suit. All dashed onfor the tree. What did we find? It was nothing but a purposely hollowedtrunk used as a shielded nest for a German sniper, the inside beingfitted with a shelf to rest his arm on as he coolly picked off our menthrough a hole. He endeavoured to make his escape in the darkness, butwe brought him down. He had evidently been using this sniping place forweeks, though this was the first time we had located him. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THREE DEATH TRAPS. 

I suppose it may be said, without exaggeration, that we were in a deathtrap all the time, but I have sketches to show of three particular and"extra special" sort of death traps. The first is of:--

SUICIDE BRIDGE. 

[Illustration: "SUICIDE BRIDGE. "]

This bridge, made by the British, was called "Suicide Bridge, " becauseit was, and was at, such a specially dangerous spot. The Britishtrenches were in the foreground and beyond the bridge. We held thesetrenches for fourteen days against the enemy's attacks. The gap was ninefeet deep at this corner, and the black hole on the left faintly showinga fireplace was our kitchen, scarred by bullet marks made by snipers. 

The place was infested with rats. Great water-rats were continuallygetting at our food and cheese in the dug-outs. In one "rat hunt" wekilled eighteen of these rodents in one morning. The stream itselfsupplied us with drinking water, but one day our men began to fall ill. The doctor analysed the water and discovered that the dastardly Huns hadpoisoned the stream higher up, where it ran through their lines. Wewarned the rest of the battalion by the field telephone wires and savedthem all from being poisoned. 

An exasperating though _not_ murderous "kultur" trick was to send usinsulting messages down the stream enclosed in bottles, calling us"dirty dogs, " "English swine, " etc. , etc. 

The final furious attempt of the Germans to dislodge us began in thedaylight. Their snipers advanced first in an open field beyond the treesand took cover in a wagon, which we located by the ridge of flame. 

At night they advanced in great masses for hand-to-hand fights, whichtook place in the stream. The carnage was terrible. The poisoningtricks had worked our fellows up to a high pitch, and they fought withreckless bravery. We managed to explode a mine and caught theirreserves. Then their artillery opened on the stream and we rushed out tomeet them. They didn't get "Suicide Bridge" from us, but the losses wereheavy on both sides and the stream itself was red with blood. 

SUICIDE SIGNAL BOX. 

[Illustration: "SUICIDE SIGNAL BOX. "]

The sketch of "Suicide Signal Box" takes us to a spot on the railwayline close to the scene of one of the biggest battles of the war. Itschief feature is the dug-out actually under the line itself. Of coursethe line was not being used across the top of the dug-out. As a matterof fact, at this time a railway truck was run up to the edge nightlypropelled by forty of our men, bringing filled sandbags for making abarricade across the line, thus affording the relieving party cover whengetting out of trench. The position was known to us as "Suicide SignalBox, " because it was so dangerous as to be almost suicidal to crossthe line, as was necessary to reach the road only five yards beyond. Theruined building is the signal box itself, protected by the line ofsandbags in front of telegraph poles and shelled trees. 

A most curious fact about this place was that, though it was beingcontinually shelled by the enemy and their maxim guns were trained dayand night on this very important position to catch troops coming up asrelieving parties, it was a wonderful place in which to hear the birdssing. The larks trilled at every dawn to herald the coming day, andnever seemed in the least disturbed by the roar of artillery. In theleft-hand corner of the sketch will be noticed the firing platform, overwhich is the "funk hole, " so called from its being the refuge to run towhen the shells arrive. The soldier buries his head like theostrich--only he beats the ostrich by getting his shoulders in aswell--and then feels fairly secure. 

A MILE-AND-A-HALF OF HELL. 

[Illustration: A GHASTLY PROMENADE. ]

I show a little bit of a ghastly promenade near Messines, some six milesfrom Armentières. The road of which the bit in the foreground leads towhat remains of a very handsome gateway to a park is a mile-and-a-halfin length, and had to be traversed by our men in order to get to theBritish position, which was placed beyond the left corner of the picture(where the broken tree slants). Relieving parties had to cover the wholeof this distance exposed to the enemy's enfilading fire from two sidesof the triangle right up to the apex. The apex was a British trench inthe most advanced position we could possibly hold. Our determination tothrow back the enemy made it absolutely necessary to hold it. The roadwas covered by the Germans' maxim guns from three points, both down eachside and from the centre between the pillars of the gateway. Our methodof advance was in Indian file at several paces apart, and instructionswere given that whenever the maxims fired upon us we were to dropflat on the ground immediately, and when the searchlight was turned uponus (which it frequently was with blinding force) we were to stand stockstill in whatever position we were, the reason being that even with suchpowerful searchlights as are used by the enemy, which have a perfectrange of five miles, it is easier for them to distinguish a movingobject than a stationary one. It was almost unendurable to have ourrifles in our hands--the barrels frequently hit by the enemy'sbullets--and to have to stand still unable to use them--by order; but ofcourse it would have been fatal to have opened fire. We should all havebeen annihilated. 

THE HOLE IN THE WALL. 

[Illustration: THE HOLE IN THE WALL. ]

As a pictorial sequel to "Suicide Bridge" and my little account of thegreat fight there, hand to hand in the darkness, the next illustrationwill not be out of place. The barricade across the road, at the entranceto a village, marks the spot to which we advanced from the stream afterthat struggle in it. The clean hole in a remaining wall of the almostdemolished house on the left had been cut by a shell. The house in ruinson the right had been a mansion, and pictures and furniture were strewnabout--some of which we used in the trenches. A case of wine had beenleft behind unbroached. A cat left behind, that refused to quit, bore acharmed life--never was hit--and often ran about on the parapet. Theparapet barricade of sandbags was called "The High Jump, " because we hadto mount it and get over it each night and jump for our lives, to takeup our positions by our advanced listening and observation post. It wasabsolutely fatal for anyone to show himself on the road in the daytime. Many a time we should have liked to have stretched our legs, but darednot. But after the fourth day we did actually get on the road, as theenemy shifted their position, and the relief was wonderful. It had beena speculation whether we or the Germans would get on the road, and afterdislodging them we managed it. Our men ran about, some skipping witha piece of wire, others rolling on the ground, in their enjoyment ofnewly-found freedom, occasional spent bullets reaching us from a greatdistance. The position was always referred to as "Hole in the Wall. "

CHAPTER IX. 

GERMAN BEASTS IN A FRENCH CONVENT. 

It is fitting that my sketch of a French Convent, as the abode of holywomen whose innocent lives were dedicated and devoted to the service ofthe Prince of Peace, should stand by itself, apart from any drawingssuggesting less faintly the devilry of war. The nunnery had been in thepossession of the Germans for some short time before we arrived on thescene, and bore traces of their customary depredations and violations. The stories related by the nuns themselves were not of a description tobear retailing in the public Press. I would to God that they could betold to every coward of a shirker at home, to every skunk of a"conscientious objector, " to every rat of a "stop-the-war""pacificist. " They would stir to boiling indignation the dregs of theirmanhood--if they have any dregs. They would make them sick--even them;and I should like them all to be sick--sick unto death. There are notmany of them, all told, but they are noisy as well as noisome. The goodsisters hailed the British as deliverers, and gave us a welcome I canneither describe nor forget. 

[Illustration: A VIOLATED CONVENT. ]

The enemy had abstained from destroying the building, probably from asubtle motive. They had retired to a wood in the rear. We made a sharpattack upon them to the right of this wood the next day; caught them atnight completely unawares, and, after a very stiff fight, routed them, and they left 150 dead on the ground. 

There was a pond in the Convent grounds, and while getting water for ourtransport teams we came across some tin cases hidden away by theenemy--a great find, for on getting them out we found they containedmany thousands of rounds of the enemy's ammunition. It was perfectlydry, as the cases were watertight; so we made a big haul of most usefulsupplies. 

CHAPTER X. 

ANOTHER SCENE OF BOCHE BRUTALITY. 

The accompanying sketch is of the Market Square of Armentières, thebuilding shown in the centre being the Town Hall. The cobble stones ofthe roadway and the lattice-shuttered windows are of the style which haslasted for generations. This quaint and picturesque town was devastatedand almost totally destroyed; in fact, the bit of it I show was the onlyportion the enemy left uninjured. We captured the place, taking fourmachine guns, several horses, a quantity of equipment and ammunition. Two of the machine guns were mounted in the clock tower, a positioncommanding the range of the street. It is revolting to recall thestories we were told here, and carefully verified, of the shamelessatrocities of the Huns. The populace were still in occupation of thebuildings when we were driving the Germans back from the barricades. Ofcourse they were greatly terrified, and we did our best to pacify themand soothe their nerves as we came in contact with them. How differentwas the treatment they received from the enemy. Take the house on theleft of the picture. Here Germans walked their horses through the doorshown, along the passage into the yard in the rear, as a mere piece ofbravado--an incident scarcely worth mentioning in view of the crimesthey proceeded to commit. The householder, with his wife and twodaughters, was sitting eating his dinner when the party arrived. The cowardly brutes shot this man on sight--in full view of hisfamily--carried his body out and later on buried it in the chicken run. Meanwhile, they came back and ate the dinner. The various members of thefamily were tied up to beds and subjected to the grossest of infamiesand greatest of cruelties. 

[Illustration: WHERE GERMANS RAPED AND MURDERED. ]

I repeat that we verified the stories of these horrors, as we hadverified elsewhere other such stories before, and as we verifiedelsewhere other such stories afterwards. 

Naturally, our men fought their hardest, and by four o'clock in theafternoon of the day we advanced we drove the Boches at the point of thebayonet. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE TRICK THAT DIDN'T TRICK US. 

[Illustration: "THE BLACK HOLE. "]

Returning to the "group system, " the three following sketches injuxtaposition relate to one and the same happening--our taking of adistillery (on the outskirts of Armentières) of which the Germans hadbeen in possession for about three weeks, and within the boundaries ofwhich they set a big trap that didn't catch us. The air was poisonedwith the stench of dead animals as we arrived within smell of the blockof buildings I show first--and, with thoughts in the minds of some of usof what we had read of the ill-savour of the Black Hole of Calcutta, "the Black Hole" was an ejaculation before it was a designation. Theenemy occupied the portion of yard shown in the foreground and usedthe front of the buildings and the gateway for cover. The Britishadvanced to a position within twenty yards of the gateway in front ofit, and, after several nights' work, erected a barricade of twigs, grass, and earth, rapidly collected and thrown into place. By one oftheir clever tricks the Germans had made the buildings look as thoughentirely deserted. They had been careful not to shell them when theytook them from the French, and it was their intention to draw us oninto the yard unsuspectingly and so get us at their mercy. For thesurrounding buildings contained machine guns, though we did not thenknow the fact, and so quiet was everything that I was able to make mysketches undisturbed. The yard could have accommodated quite 3, 000 ofour men, who, if the enemy had had their way, would have been riddledwith shot. However, we naturally proceeded with military caution. Scoutsadvanced first, and were somewhat deceived because the Germans hadartfully left a caretaker and his wife in the building seen adjoiningthe central arch. These people, doubtless under orders, passed out milkthrough the window to the scouts at night to give the idea that thebuildings were still peacefully occupied, though, as a matter of fact, they contained, not only the enemy soldiers, but their machine guns aswell. Really we might have been drawn into the trap but for one luckyincident. The enemy were foolish enough to do some secret signallingwith a light at night from the tower above the gateway. This wasimmediately observed by the scouts, and the game was up. 

"JAM-TIN ARTILLERY PARTY. "

When the scouts gave the warning that the enemy were in the buildings, volunteers were called for to make up a bombing party to blow up thetower where the signalling had been observed. We had no idea how manyGermans the tower contained, but later found traces of only one. Therewere evidences that he had been there for some time, and he had storesof milk and food for a longer stay; they were not wasted, but he hadno part in their consumption. The volunteers were known as the "Jam-tinArtillery Party, " from the fact that their bombs were made of jam-tinsfilled with gun-cotton, cordite, etc. The party had to do all the"sticky work, " and this was a very sticky job. The plan was to lay atrail with a fuse to bombs, which we placed under the floor at the topof the stairs leading to the upper storey of this old and disusedgateway. We crept up these stairs silently for three nights runningbefore we were successful. One hitch and the whole show would have beengiven away. However, we managed to place the bombs, light the fuse, blowup the floor, and blow off the top of the tower as well, the Germansignaller being blown up with it. Then we waited. Still the enemy showedno sign of moving, and word was sent back to our artillery to shell thebuilding, which it did to great effect. We were then ordered to advancewith fixed bayonets, in platoons, to take various buildings. The placewhen we captured it was found to be fitted up like a fortress inside, with machine guns trained on the yard to mow our men down as they camethrough the gate, if the enemy's plan had succeeded; but it entirelyfailed. We found but little resistance. Inside were a number of deadGermans killed by our artillery fire, a very scientific signallingapparatus, and a complete telephone system to the army corps which wasintended to have wiped us out. It was solely due to our scouts and the"Jam-tin Artillery Party" that we were not all killed. 

[Illustration: THE BLACK TOWER. ]

The sketch entitled "The Black Tower" exhibits the other side of thegateway, and shows the road with the caretaker's house, and ourbarricades to the right. 

DILAPIDATED QUARTERS. 

[Illustration: WHERE THE TRAP WAS SET. ]

The part of the distillery buildings standing in its yard interior, where we blew up the tower and the spy, and into which the enemy hadhoped to entice us to our destruction, was very old, very dirty, andvery dilapidated--in fact, had apparently not been used for years. Wehad to sleep in it for several nights, and made the acquaintance ofthousands of rats and other pests. There was only one staircase, bywhich some hundreds of troops had to find access and egress. A curiousfact was that the fumes of the spirit had eaten so into the woodwork, which was generally worm-eaten and rotten, that to strike a light nearit was to incur the danger of igniting it and burning the building down. But our boys found a walled-in yard in the background covered by atarred roof which had no windows, and this they converted into asmoke-room. Roominess and a covering offered a welcome change from themud, dirt, and rain of the trenches, and Tommy's spirits kept up, inspite of all shortcomings. Our musical evenings continued as before, andwe thoroughly enjoyed being able to stretch our legs. In fact, we hadbecome quite reconciled as well as quite used to our surroundings by thetime we were called away. Afterwards we looked back with pleasure toour stay in the distillery, for we were much worse off in the next placeat which we were stationed. We were moved from here into one of the mostdangerous positions in the line at Ypres. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE BARRED ROAD TO CALAIS. 

Almost on the last page of my Sketch Book I come on the last sketch Itook "under fire. "

"GOLGOTHA. "

It shows the most advanced positions taken by the British in the courseof one of the biggest battles of the war--at St. Julien. The trench, which was a very rough one, was originally dug by the Germans andcaptured by our forces in our advance. The fighting was so intense atthis spot that the casualties went far into five figures on both sides, the losses of the enemy being admittedly much higher than our own. Appropriately enough was it called "Golgotha. "

[Illustration: "GOLGOTHA. "]

To the left of the picture will be seen the remains of a building whichwas all that was left of what once was a magnificent chateau. Theavenue of trees outlined the road to this chateau. Several trees, itwill be noticed, had been either cut in two or broken off by the enemy'sshelling; by-and-by there was not one left standing. On the right of thepicture the ruined building was what was left of a large farm which hada moat around it. The ruined walls of the farm were found very usefulcover for our men to take whilst sniping the enemy, and by the road, ata much lower level, ran the stream which fed the lake in the grounds ofthe chateau. The elevation of the road giving us fair protection fromthe enemy's shots, we were able, by stringing a number of boardstogether and making rafts, to indulge in bathing; until the water becameso dirty from the earth dislodged from its banks by the shells that itwas repugnant for us to indulge in ablutions in it any longer--none ofus having been ordered mud bath treatment by the medical officer. 

 * * * * *

On the third day of the second grand attempt of the Germans to breakthrough to the road to Calais I was bowled over by shrapnel and poisongas. Gas in cylinders and gas in all manner of shells was used againstus--and our regiment had no respirators then. 

Before I dropped I had the satisfaction of knowing that the RoyalFusiliers, supported by the Hampshires and the Durhams, had taken fivelines of the enemy's trenches in counter-attack; and afterwards I hadthe satisfaction of learning in hospital that the German casualties forthe day amounted to 60, 000 against British casualties of 20, 000. Minewas one of about 500 gas cases--perhaps more. 

IN HOSPITAL. 

My hospital itinerary was from the field to the dressing station atBailleul, thence to Boulogne; from Boulogne to Rouen, and from Rouen toSouthampton and Brighton. 

I like to remember that the day on which I finished my little bit forthe Empire--or rather the day on which it was finished for me--was an"Empire Day": Monday, May 24th, 1915--a day on which Britons of everyclime salute the symbol of their unity and the pledge of their emergencefrom every peril; that dear flag under which I did what I could. 

 "Good banner! scarred by hurtling war, But never in dishonour furled; And destined still to shine, a star Above an awed and wondering world. "

 * * * * *

_Having read "A Soldier's Sketches under Fire, " the reader should followwith a very entertaining volume, entitled_--

 With Cavalry in 1915. 

 The British Trooper in the Trench Line. Through the Second Battle of Ypres. 

 By FREDERIC COLEMAN. 

 Author of "From Mons to Ypres with French, " of which it is a continuation. 

 Crown 8vo. Fully Illustrated. 

 6/- net. 

 PIKE'S FINE ART PRESS, LIMITED, _Printers_, 47 & 48, GLOSTER ROAD, BRIGHTON.