LIFE IN A TANK

 [Illustration: A TANK ON ITS WAY INTO ACTION]

LIFE IN A TANK

_By_RICHARD HAIGH, M. C. CAPTAIN IN THE TANK CORPS

_With Illustrations_

[Illustration]

BOSTON AND NEW YORKHOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANYThe Riverside Press Cambridge

COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY RICHARD HAIGH

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

_Published June 1918_

Contents

I. The Meaning of the Tank Corps 1

II. First Days of Training 11

III. Later Days of Training 37

IV. Moving up the Line 49

V. Preparations for the Show 61

VI. The First Battle 76

VII. The Second Battle 90

VIII. Rest and Discipline 120

IX. A Philosophy of War 128

Illustrations

A Tank on its Way into Action _Frontispiece_ British Official Photograph

King George and Queen Mary inspecting a Tank on the British Front in France 8 British Official Photograph

A British Tank and its Crew in New York 20 Photograph by Underwood & Underwood

A Tank moving to the Attack down what was once a Main Street 56 British Official Photograph

A Tank going over a Trench on its Way into Action 72 British Official Photograph

A Tank halfway over the Top and awaiting the Order to Advance in the Battle of Menin Road 80 Photograph by Underwood & Underwood

A Tank bringing in a Captured German Gun under Protection of Camouflage 112 Photograph by Underwood & Underwood

A British Tank in the Liberty Loan Parade in New York 124 Photograph by Underwood & Underwood

LIFE IN A TANK

I

THE MEANING OF THE TANK CORPS

TANKS!

To the uninitiated--as were we in those days when we returned to theSomme, too late to see the tanks make their first dramaticentrance--the name conjures up a picture of an iron monster, breathingfire and exhaling bullets and shells, hurling itself against theenemy, unassailable by man and impervious to the most deadly enginesof war; sublime, indeed, in its expression of indomitable power andresolution. 

This picture was one of the two factors which attracted us toward theHeavy Branch Machine-Gun Corps--as the Tank Corps was known in thefirst year of its being. On the Somme we had seen a derelict tank, wrecked, despoiled of her guns, and forsaken in No Man's Land. We hadswarmed around and over her, wild with curiosity, much as theLilliputians must have swarmed around the prostrate Gulliver. Ourimagination was fired. 

The second factor was, frankly, that we were tired of going over thetop as infantrymen. The first time that a man goes into an attack, heas a rule enjoys it. He has no conception of its horrors, --no, nothorrors, for war possesses no horrors, --but, rather, he has noknowledge of the sudden realization of the sweetness of life thatcomes to a man when he is "up against it. " The first time, it is asplendid, ennobling novelty. And as for the "show" itself, in actualpractice it is more like a dream which only clarifies several dayslater, after it is all over. But to do the same thing a second andthird and fourth time, is to bring a man face to face with Death inits fullest and most realistic uncertainty. In soldier jargon he "getsmost awful wind up. " It is five minutes before "Zero Hour. " Allpreparations are complete. You are waiting for the signal to hop overthe parapet. Very probably the Boche knows that you are coming, andis already skimming the sandbags with his machine guns and knockinglittle pieces of earth and stone into your face. Extraordinary, howmaddening is the sting of these harmless little pebbles and bits ofdirt! The bullets ricochet away with a peculiar singing hiss, or crackoverhead when they go too high. The shells which burst on the otherside of the parapet shake the ground with a dull thud and crash. Thereare two minutes to wait before going over. Then is the time when a manfeels a sinking sensation in his stomach; when his hands tremble everso slightly, and when he offers up a pathetic little prayer to Godthat if he's a bit of a sportsman he may be spared from death, shouldhis getting through not violate the divine and fatalistic plans. Hehas that unpleasant lack of knowledge of what comes beyond. For afterall, with the most intense belief in the world, it is hard toreconcile the comforting feeling of what one knows with that terribledread of the unknown. 

A man has no great and glorious ideas that nothing matters because heis ready to die for his country. He is, of course, ready to die forher. But he does not think about it. He lights a cigarette and triesto be nonchalant, for he knows that his men are watching him, and itis his duty to keep up a front for their sake. Probably, at the sametime, they are keeping up a front for him. Then the Sergeant Majorcomes along, cool and smiling, as if he were out for a stroll at home. Suddenly he is an immense comfort. One forgets that sinking feeling inthe stomach and thinks, "How easy and jolly he is! What a splendidfellow!" Immediately, one begins unconsciously to imitate him. Thenanother thinks the same thing about one, and begins to imitate too. Soit passes on, down the line. But there is nothing heroic or exaltingin going over the top. 

This, then, was our possible second reason for preferring to attackinside bullet-proof steel; not that death is less likely in a tank, but there seems to be a more sporting chance with a shell than with abullet. The enemy infantryman looks along his sight and he has you fora certainty, but the gunner cannot be so accurate and twenty yardsmay mean a world of difference. Above all, the new monster had ourimaginations in thrall. Here were novelty and wonderful developments. 

In the end of 1916, therefore, a certain number of officers and menreceived their orders to join the H. B. M. G. C. , and proceededsorrowfully and joyfully away from the trenches. Sorrowfully, becauseit is a poor thing to leave your men and your friends in danger, andget out of it yourself into something new and fresh; joyfully, becauseone is, after all, but human. 

About thirty miles behind the line some villages were set aside forthe housing and training of the new units. Each unit had a nucleus ofmen who had already served in tanks, with the new arrivals spreadaround to make up to strength. 

The new arrivals came from all branches of the Service; Infantry, Sappers, Gunners, Cavalry, and the Army Service Corps. Each man wasvery proud of his own Branch; and a wonderfully healthy rivalry andaffection sprang up between them. The gunner twitted the sapper, thecavalryman made jokes at the A. S. C. , and the infantryman groused atthe whole lot. But all knew at the bottom of their hearts, how each isessential to the other. 

It was to be expected when all these varied men came together, thatthe inculcating of a proper _esprit de corps_--the training of eachindividual in an entirely new science for the benefit of thewhole--would prove a very difficult and painstaking task. But thewonderful development, however, in a few months, of a large, heterogeneous collection of men into a solid, keen, self-sacrificingunit, was but another instance of the way in which war improves thecharacter and temperament of man. 

It was entirely new for men who were formerly in a regiment, full oftraditions, to find themselves in the Tank Corps. Here was a Corps, the functions of which resulted from an idea born of the exigencies ofthis science-demanding war. Unlike every other branch of the Service, it has no regimental history to direct it, no traditions upon which tobuild, and still more important from a practical point of view, noexperience from which to draw for guidance, either in training or inaction. In the Infantry, the attack has resulted from a steadydevelopment in ideas and tactics, with past wars to give a foundationand this present one to suggest changes and to bring about remediesfor the defects which crop up daily. With this new weapon, which waslaunched on the Somme on September 15, 1916, the tactics had to bedecided upon with no realistic experimentation as ground work; and, moreover, with the very difficult task of working in concert withother arms of the Service that had had two years of fighting, fromwhich to learn wisdom. 

With regard to discipline, too, --of all things the most important, forthe success of a battle has depended, does, and always will depend, upon the state of discipline of the troops engaged, --all old regimentshave their staff of regular instructors to drill and teach recruits. In them has grown up that certain feeling and loyalty which time andpast deeds have done so much to foster and cherish. Here were we, lacking traditions, history, and experience of any kind. 

It is easy to realize the responsibility that lay not only upon theChief of this new Corps, but upon each individual and lowest memberthereof. It was for us all to produce _esprit de corps_, and toproduce it quickly. It was necessary for us to develop a love of thework, not because we felt it was worth while, but because we knew thatsuccess or failure depended on each man's individual efforts. 

But, naturally, the real impetus came from the top, and no admirationor praise can be worthy of that small number of men in whose hands thereal destinies of this new formation lay; who were continuallydevising new schemes and ideas for binding the whole together, and forturning that whole into a highly efficient, up-to-date machine. 

 [Illustration: KING GEORGE AND QUEEN MARY INSPECTING A TANK ON THE BRITISH FRONT IN FRANCE]

"How did the tank happen to be invented?" is a common question. Theanswer is that in past wars experience has made it an axiom that thedefenders suffer more casualties than the attacking forces. From thefirst days of 1914, however, this condition was reversed, and wholewaves of attacking troops were mown down by two or three machine guns, each manned, possibly, by not more than three men. There may be in acertain sector, before an attack, an enormous preliminary bombardmentwhich is destined to knock out guns, observation posts, dumps, men, and above all, machine-gun emplacements. Nevertheless, it has beenfound in actual practice that despite the most careful observation andequally careful study of aeroplane photographs, there are, as a rule, just one or two machine guns which, either through bad luck or throughprecautions on the part of the enemy, have escaped destruction. Theseare the guns which inflict the damage when the infantrymen go over andwhich may hold up a whole attack. 

It was thought, therefore, that a machine might be devised which wouldcross shell-craters, wire and trenches, and be at the same timeimpervious to bullets, and which would contain a certain number ofguns to be used for knocking out such machine guns as were still inuse, or to lay low the enemy infantry. With this idea, a group of men, in the end of 1915, devised the present type of heavy armoured car. Inorder to keep the whole plan as secret as possible, about twenty-fivesquare miles of ground in Great Britain were set aside and surroundedwith armed guards. There, through all the spring and early summer of1916, the work was carried on, without the slightest hint of itsexistence reaching the outside world. Then, one night, the tanks wereloaded up and shipped over to France, to make that first sensationalappearance on the Somme, with the success which warranted theirfurther production on a larger and more ambitious scale. 

II

FIRST DAYS OF TRAINING

We were at a rest camp on the Somme when the chit first came roundregarding the joining of the H. B. M. G. C. The Colonel came up to us oneday with some papers in his hand. 

"Does anybody want to join this?" he asked. 

We all crowded around to find out what "this" might be. 

"Tanks!" some one cried. Some were facetious; others indifferent; afew mildly interested. But no one seemed very keen about it, especially as the tanks in those days had a reputation for ratherheavy casualties. Only Talbot, remembering the derelict and theinterest she had inspired, said, with a laugh, --

"I rather think I'll put my name down, sir. Nothing will come of it, but one might just as well try. " And taking one of the papers hefilled it in, while the others stood around making all the remarksappropriate to such an occasion. 

Two or three weeks went by and Talbot had forgotten all about it, inthe more absorbing events which crowded months into days on the Somme. 

One day the Adjutant came up to him and, smiling, put out his hand. 

"Well, good-bye, Talbot. Good luck. "

When a man puts out his hand and says "Good-bye, " you naturally takethe proffered hand and say "Good-bye, " too. Talbot found himselfsaying "Good-bye" before he realized what he was doing. Then helaughed. 

"Now that I've said 'Good-bye, ' where am I going?" he asked. 

"To the Tanks, " the Adjutant replied. 

So he was really to go; really to leave behind his battalion, hisfriends, his men, and his servant. For a moment the Somme and the campseemed the most desirable places on earth. He thought he must havebeen a fool the day he signed that paper signifying his desire to joinanother Corps. But it was done now. There were his orders in theColonel's hand. 

"When do I start, sir? And where do I go?" he asked. 

"You're to leave immediately for B----, wherever that is. Take yourhorse as far as the railhead and get a train for B----, where the TankHeadquarters are. Good-bye, Talbot; I'm sorry to lose you. " A silenthandshake, and they parted. 

Talbot's kit was packed and sent off on the transport. A few minuteslater he was shaking hands all round. His spirits were rising at thethought of this new adventure, but it was a wrench, leaving hisregiment. It was, in a way, he thought, as if he were turning his backon an old friend. The face of Dobbin, his groom, as he brought thehorses round was not conducive to cheer. He must get the business overand be off. So he mounted and rode off through a gray, murky drizzle, to the railhead about eight miles away. There came the parting withDobbin and with his pony. Horses mean as much as men sometimes, andhis had worked so nobly with him through the mud on the Somme. Hewondered if there would be any one in the new place who would be sofaithful to him as Polly. Finally, there was Dobbin riding away, backto M----, with the horse, and its empty saddle, trotting along besidehim. It was simply rotten leaving them all!

One has, however, little time for introspection in the Army, andespecially when one engages in a tilt with an R. T. O. The R. T. O. Hasbeen glorified by an imaginative soul with the title of "RoyalTransportation Officer. " As a matter of fact, the "R" does not standfor "royal, " but for "railway, " and the "T" is "transport, " nothing sograndiose as "transportation. " Now an R. T. O. 's job, though it may be asafe one, is not enviable. He is forced to combine the qualities ofbooking-clerk, station-master, goods-agent, information clerk, and dayand night watchman all into one. In consequence of this it isnecessary for the traveller's speech and attitude to be strictlysoothing and complimentary. Talbot's obsession at this moment was asto whether B---- was near or far back from the line. 

If he supposed that B---- was "near" the line, the R. T. O. Might tellhim--just to prove how kind Fate is--that it was a good many miles inthe rear. But no such luck. The R. T. O. Coldly informed Talbot that hehadn't the slightest idea where B---- was. He only knew that trainswent there. And, by the way, the trains didn't go there direct. Itwould be necessary for him to change at Boulogne. Talbot noticed thesesigns of thawing with delight. And to change at Boulogne! Life wasbrighter. 

Travelling in France in the northern area, at the present time, wouldseem to be a refutation of the truth that a straight line is theshortest distance between two points. For in order to arrive at one'sdestination, it is usually necessary to go about sixty miles out ofone's way, --hence the necessity for Talbot's going to Boulogne inorder to get a train running north. 

He arrived at Boulogne only to find that the train for B---- left inan hour. 

He strolled out into the streets. Boulogne had then become the Meccafor all those in search of gaiety. Here were civilized people onceagain. And a restaurant with linen and silver and shining glass, andthe best dinner he had ever eaten. 

When he had paid his bill and gone out, he stopped at the corner ofthe street just to look at the people passing by. A large part of themonotony of this war is occasioned, of course, by the fact that thesoldier sees nothing but the everlasting drab of uniforms. When a manis in the front line, or just behind, for weeks at a time he seesnothing but soldiers, soldiers, soldiers! Each man has the samecoloured uniform; each has the same pattern tunic, the same puttees. Each is covered with the same mud for days at a time. It is theoccasion for a thrill when a "Brass Hat" arrives, for he at least hasthe little brilliant red tabs on his tunic! A man sometimes findshimself envying the soldiers of the old days who could have occasionalglimpses of the dashing uniforms of their officers, and although a redcoat makes a target of a man, the colour is at least more cheerfulthan the eternal khaki. The old-time soldier had his red coat and hisbands, blaring encouragingly. The soldier of to-day has his drab andno music at all, unless he sings. And every man in an army is notgifted with a voice. 

So Talbot looked with joy on the charming dresses and still morecharming faces of the women and girls who passed him. Even the men intheir civilian clothes were good to look upon. 

Riding on French trains is very soothing unless one is in a hurry. Butunlike a man in civil life, the soldier has no interest in the speedof trains. The civilian takes it as a personal affront if his train isa few minutes late, or if it does not go as fast as he thinks itshould. But the soldier can afford to let the Government look aftersuch minor details. The train moved along at a leisurely pace throughthe lovely French countryside, making frequent friendly stops atwayside stations. On the platform at Étaples station was posted arhyme which read:--

 "A wise old owl lived in an oak, The more he saw, the less he spoke; The less he spoke, the more he heard; Soldiers should imitate that old bird. "

It was the first time that Talbot had seen this warlike ditty. Itsintention was to guard soldiers from saying too much in front ofstrangers. Talbot vowed, however, to apply its moral to himself at alltimes and under all conditions. 

From nine in the morning until half-past two in the afternoon theyrolled along, and had covered by this time the extraordinary distanceof about forty miles! Here at last was the station of Saint-P----. 

Talbot looked about him. Standing near was an officer with theMachine-Gun Corps Badge, whom he hailed, and questioned about theHeadquarters of the Tank Corps. 

"About ten miles from here. Are you going there?" the fellow asked. 

Talbot explained that he hoped to, and being saturated with Infantryideas, he wondered if a passing motor lorry might give him a lift. 

The man laughed. "Why don't you telephone Headquarters and ask them tosend a car over for you?" he asked. 

Talbot did not quite know whether the fellow were ragging him or not. He decided that he was, for who had ever heard of "telephoning for acar"?

"Oh, I don't believe I'll do that--thanks very much for the hint, allthe same, " he said. "Just tell me which road to take and I'll be quiteall right. "

The officer smiled. 

"I'm quite serious about it, " he said. "We all telephone for cars whenwe need them. There's really no point in your walking--in fact, they'll be surprised if you stroll in upon them. Try telephoning andyou'll find they won't die of shock. "

Partly to see whether they would or not, and partly because he foundthe prospect of a motor car more agreeable than a ten-mile walk, Talbot telephoned. Here he experienced another pleasant surprise, forhe was put through to Headquarters with no difficulty at all. Acheerful voice answered and he stated his case. 

"Cheero, " the voice replied. "We'll have a car there for you in anhour--haven't one now, but there will be one ready shortly. "

Saint-P---- was a typical French town, and Talbot strolled around. There were soldiers everywhere, but the town had never seen theGermans, and it was a pleasant place. There was, too, a refreshinglack of thick mud--at least it was not a foot deep. 

Although Talbot could not quite believe that the car wouldmaterialize, it proved to be a substantial fact in the form of abox-body, and in about an hour he was speeding toward Headquarters. Itwas dark when they reached the village, and as they entered, heexperienced that curious feeling of apprehensive expectancy with whichone approaches the spot where one is to live and work for some time tocome. The car slowed up to pass some carts on the road, and startedforward with such a jerk that Talbot was precipitated from the back ofthe machine into the road. He picked himself up, covered with mud. Thesolemn face of the driver did not lessen his discomfiture. Here was astrange village, strange men, and he was covered with mud!

 [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y. _ A BRITISH TANK AND ITS CREW IN NEW YORK]

Making himself as presentable as possible, Talbot reported toHeadquarters, and was posted to "J" Company, 4th Battalion. That nighthe had dinner with them. New men were arriving every few minutes, andthe next day, after he had been transferred to "K" Company, theycontinued to arrive. The nucleus of this company were officers of theoriginal tanks, three or four of them perhaps, and the rest was madeup with the newcomers. 

Men continued to arrive in driblets, from the beginning of December tothe first of January. When a new man joins an old regiment there is areserve about the others which is rather chilling. They wait to seewhether he is going to fit in, before they make any attempts to fithim in. In a way, this very aloofness makes for comfort on the part ofthe newcomer. At mess, he is left alone until he is absorbednaturally. It gives him a chance to find his level. 

All this was different with the Tank Corps. With the exception of thevery few officers who were "old men, " we were all painfully new, sothat we regarded one another without criticism and came to know eachother without having to break through the wall of reserve andinstinctive mistrust which is characteristically British. A happy bondof good-fellowship was formed immediately. 

The first few days were spent in finding billets for the men. Theywere finally quartered at a hospice in the village. This was a privatealmshouse, in charge of a group of French nuns, where lived a numberof old men and women, most of them in the last stages of consumption. The Hospice consisted of the old Abbey of Ste. Berthe, built in thetwelfth century, and several outbuildings around a courtyard. In thesebarns lived the men, and one large room was reserved for the officers'mess. The Company Orderly Room and Quartermaster's Stores were alsokept in the Hospice, and four or five officers were quartered abovethe Refectory. The buildings were clean and comfortable, and the onlydrawback lay in the fact that one sometimes found it objectionable tohave to look at these poor old creatures, dragging themselves around. They had nothing to do, it seemed, but to wait and die. One old manwas a gruesome sight. He was about ninety years old and spent his dayswalking about the courtyard, wearing a cigarette tin hung around hisneck, into which he used to cough with such terrible effort that itseemed as if he would die every time the spasm shook him. As a matterof fact, he and many others did die before we left the village: theextreme cold was too much for them; or perhaps it was the fact thattheir quiet had been invaded by the "mad English. "

It was during this time that Talbot developed a positive genius fordisappearing whenever a gray habit came into sight. The nuns weresplendid women: kind and hospitable and eager for our comfort, butthey did not like to be imposed upon, however slightly. The firstthing that Frenchwomen do--and these nuns were no exception--whensoldiers are billeted with them, is to learn who is the officer incharge, in order that they may lose no time in bringing theircomplaints to him. The Mother Superior of the Hospice selected Talbotwith unerring zeal. His days were made miserable, until inself-defence he thought of formulating a new calendar of "crimes" forhis men, in which would be included all the terrible offences whichthe Mother Superior told off to him. 

Did the Colonel send for Captain Talbot, and did Talbot hurry off toobey the command, just so surely would the Mother Superior select thatmoment to bar his path. 

"Ah, mon Capitaine!" she would exclaim, with a beaming smile. "J'aiquelque chose à vous dire. Un soldat--"

Talbot would break in politely, just as she had settled down for agood long chat, and explain that the Colonel wished to see him. Aswell try to move the Rock. It was either stand and listen, or go intothe presence of his superior officer with an excited nun following himwith tales of the "crimes" his men had committed. Needless to say, theMother Superior conquered. Talbot would have visions of some fairlyserious offence, and would hear the tale of a soldier who had borroweda bucket an hour ago, promising, on his honour as a soldier of theKing, to return it in fifty minutes at the most. 

"And it is now a full sixty minutes by the clock on the kitchenmantel, M'sieu le Capitaine, " she would say, her colour mounting, "andyour soldier has not returned my bucket. If he does not bring it back, when can we get another bucket?"

And so on, until Talbot would pacify her, promising her that thebucket would be returned. Then he would go on to the Colonel, breathless and perturbed, his mind so full of buckets that there washardly room for the business of the Tank Corps. Small wonder that thesight of a gray habit was enough to unnerve the man. 

He, himself, was billeted with a French family, just around the cornerfrom the Hospice. The head of the family had been, in the halcyon daysbefore the war, the village butcher. There was now Madame, the littleMarie, a sturdy boy about twelve, and the old Grand'mère. The husbandwas away, of course, --"dans les tranchées, " explained Madame withcopious tears. 

Talbot was moved to sympathy, and made a few tactful inquiries as towhere the husband was now, and how he had fared. 

"Il est maintenant à Paris, " said Madame with a sigh. 

"In Paris! What rank has he?--a General, maybe?"

"Ah, M'sieu s'amuse, " said Madame, brightening up. No, her husband wasa chef at an officers' mess in Paris, she explained proudly. He hadbeen there since the war broke out. He would soon come home, theSaints be praised. Then the Captain would hear him tell his tales oflife in the Army!

The hero came home one day, and great was the rejoicing. Thrillingevenings the family spent around the stove while they listened tostories of great deeds. On the day when his _permission_ was finished, and he set out for his hazardous post once more, great was thelamenting. Madame wept. All the brave man's relatives poured in tokiss him good-bye. The departing soldier wept, himself. EvenGrand'mère desisted for that day from cracking jokes, which she wasalways doing in a patois that to Talbot was unintelligible. 

But they were very kind to Talbot, and very courageous through thehard winter. When he lay ill with fever in his little low room, wherethe frost whitened the plaster and icicles hung from the ceiling, Madame and all the others were most solicitous for his comfort. Hisappreciation and thanks were sincere. 

By the middle of December the Battalion had finally settled down andwe began our training. Our first course of study was in the mechanismof the tanks. We marched down, early one morning, to an engine hangarthat was both cold and draughty. We did not look in the least likeembryo heroes. Over our khaki we wore ill-fitting blue garments whichmen on the railways, who wear them, call "boilers. " The effect ofwearing them was to cause us to slouch along, and suddenly Talbotburst out laughing at the spectacle. Then he remembered having heardthat some of the original "Tankers" had, during the Somme battles, been mistaken for Germans in their blue dungarees. They had been firedon from some distance away, by their own infantry; though nothingfatal ensued. In consequence, before the next "show" chocolate oneswere issued. 

In the shadows of the engine shed, a gray armour-plated hulk loomedup. 

"There it is!" cried Gould, and started forward for a better look atthe "Willie. "

Across the face of Rigden, the instructor, flashed a look of scorn andpain. Just such a look you may have seen on the face of a young motherwhen you refer to her baby as "it. "

"Don't call a tank 'it, ' Gould, " he said with admirable patience. "Atank is either 'he' or 'she'; there is no 'it. '"

"In Heaven's name, what's the difference?" asked Gould, completelymystified. The rest of us were all ears. 

"The female tank carries machine guns only, " Rigden explained. "Themale tank carries light field guns as well as machine guns. Don't evermake the mistake again, any of you fellows. "

Having firmly fixed in our minds the fact that we were to begin on afemale "Willie, " the instruction proceeded rapidly. Rigden opened alittle door in the side of the tank. It was about as big as the doorto a large, old-fashioned brick oven built into the chimney beside thefireplace. His head disappeared and his body followed after. He wasswallowed up, save for a hand that waved to us and a muffled voicewhich said, "Come on in, you fellows. "

Gould went first. He scrambled in, was lost to sight, and then weheard his voice. 

McKnutt's infectious laugh rose above the sound of our mirth. But notfor long. 

"Hurry up!" called Rigden. "You next, McKnutt. "

McKnutt disappeared. Then to our further astonishment his rich Irishvoice could be heard upraised in picturesque malediction. What wasRigden doing to them inside the tank to provoke such profanity fromthem both? The rest of us scrambled to find out. We soon learned. 

When you enter a tank, you go in head first, entering by the sidedoors. (There is an emergency exit--a hole in the roof which is usedby the wise ones. ) You wiggle your body in with more or less grace, and then you stand up. Then, if it is the first time, you are usuallyprofane. For you have banged your head most unmercifully against thesteel roof and you learn, once and for all, that it is impossible tostand upright in a tank. Each one of us received our baptism in thisway. Seven of us, crouched in uncomfortable positions, ruefully rubbedour heads, to Rigden's intense enjoyment. Our life in a tank hadbegun!

We looked around the little chamber with eager curiosity. Our firstthought was that seven men and an officer could never do any work insuch a little place. Eight of us were, at present, jammed in here, butwe were standing still. When it came to going into action and movingaround inside the tank, it would be impossible, --there was no room topass one another. So we thought. In front are two stiff seats, one forthe officer and one for the driver. Two narrow slits serve asportholes through which to look ahead. In front of the officer is amap board, and gun mounting. Behind the engine, one on each side, arethe secondary gears. Down the middle of the tank is the powerfulpetrol engine, part of it covered with a hood, and along either side anarrow passage through which a man can slide from the officer's anddriver's seat back and forth to the mechanism at the rear. There arefour gun turrets, two on each side. There is also a place for a gun inthe rear, but this is rarely used, for "Willies" do not often turntail and flee!

Along the steel walls are numberless ingenious little cupboards forstores, and ammunition cases are stacked high. Every bit of space isutilized. Electric bulbs light the interior. Beside the driver are theengine levers. Behind the engine are the secondary gears, by which themachine is turned in any direction. All action inside is directed bysignals, for when the tank moves the noise is such as to drown a man'svoice. 

All that first day and for many days after, we struggled with theintricacies of the mechanism. Sometimes, Rigden despaired of us. Wemight just as well go back to our regiments, unless they were so gladto be rid of us that they would refuse. On other days, he beamed withpride, even when Darwin and the Old Bird distinguished themselves byasking foolish questions. "Darwin" is, of course, not his right name. Because he came from South Africa and looked like a baboon, we calledhim "Baboon. " So let evolution evolve the name of "Darwin" for him inthese pages. As for the Old Bird, no other name could have suited himso well. He was the craftiest old bird at successfully avoiding workwe had ever known, and yet he was one of the best liked men in theCompany. He was one of those men who are absolutely essential to amess because of his never-failing cheer and gaiety. He never did astroke of work that he could possibly "wangle" out of. A Scotchman bybirth, he was about thirty-eight years old and had lived all over theworld. He had a special fondness for China. Until he left "K" Company, he was never known by any other name than that of "Old Bird. "

There was one man, from another Company, who gave us the greatestamusement during our Tank-mechanism Course. He was pathetically inearnest, but appeared to have no brains at all. Sometimes, whileasking each other catch questions, we would put the most senselessones to him. 

Darwin would say, "Look here, how is the radiator connected with thedifferential?"

The poor fellow would ponder for a minute or two and then reply, "Oh!through the magneto. "

He naturally failed again and again to pass his tests, and wasreturned to his old Corps. 

Somehow we learned not to attempt to stand upright in our steelprison. Before long, McKnutt had ceased his remarks about sardines ina tin and announced, "Sure! there is plenty of room and to spare for adozen others here. " The Old Bird no longer compared the atmosphere, when we were all shut in tight, with the Black Hole of Calcutta. In aword, we had succumbed to the "Willies, " and would permit no man toutter a word of criticism against them. 

It is necessary here, perhaps, to explain why we always call ourmachines "Willies. " When the tanks were first being experimentedupon, they evolved two, a big and a little one. Standing together theylooked so ludicrous, that they were nicknamed "Big" and "LittleWillie. " The name stuck; and now, no one in the Corps refers to hismachine in any other way. 

A few days before Christmas, our tank course was finished, and the OldBird suggested a celebration. McKnutt led the cheering. Talbot had anidea. 

"Let's get a box-body and go over to Amiens and do our Christmasshopping, " he said. 

A chorus of "Jove, that's great!" arose. Every one made himself usefulexcepting the Old Bird, who made up by contributing more than any oneelse to the gaiety of the occasion. The car was secured, and we allpiled in, making early morning hideous with our songs. 

We sped along over the snowy roads. War seemed very far away. We wereextraordinarily light-hearted. After about twenty miles the coldsobered us down a little. Suddenly, the car seemed to slip from underus and we found ourselves piled up in the soft snow of the road. Arear wheel had shot off, and it went rolling along on its own. Fortunately we had been going rather slowly since we were entering atown, and no one was hurt. Borwick, the musician of the Company, looked like a snow image; Darwin and the Old Bird were locked in eachother's arms, and had an impromptu and friendly wrestling match in asnowdrift. McKnutt was invoking the aid of the Saints in hisendeavours to prevent the snow from trickling down his back. Talbotand Gould, who had got off lightly, supplied the laughter. The wheelwas finally rescued and restored to its proper place, and we crawledalong at an ignominious pace until the spires of Amiens welcomed us. 

We shopped in the afternoon, buying all sorts of ridiculous things, and collecting enough stores to see us through a siege. After ahilarious dinner at the Hôtel de l'Univers (never had the Old Birdbeen so witty and gay), we started back about eleven o'clock, andforgetting our injured wheel, raced out of the town toward home. Ashort distance down the main boulevard, the wheel again came off, andthis time the damage could not be repaired. There was nothing for itbut to wait until morning, and it was a disconsolate group thatwandered about. All the hotels were full up. Finally, a Y. M. C. A. Hutmade some of us welcome. We sat about, reading and talking, until wedozed off in our chairs. The next morning we got a new wheel and rangingerly the sixty-odd miles back, to regale the others with enviabletales of our pre-Christmas festivities. 

III

LATER DAYS OF TRAINING

"Well, thank Heaven, that sweat's over, " said the Old Bird the nightafter we finished our tank course, and had our celebration. Hestretched luxuriously. 

"Yes, but you're starting off again on the gun to-morrow morning, "said the Major, cheerfully. 

The Old Bird protested. 

"But I can have a few days' rest, sir, can't I?" he said sorrowfully. 

The Major laughed. 

"No, you can't. You're down, so you'll have to go through with it. "

So for three days we sat in the open, in the driving sleet, fromhalf-past eight in the morning until half-past four in the afternoon, learning the gun. On the fourth day we finished off our course withfiring on the range. Surprising as it may seem, after two or threerounds we could hit the very smallest object at a distance of four orfive hundred yards. 

"How many more courses must we go through?" asked the Old Bird ofRigden, as they strolled back one evening from the range. The Old Birdwas always interested in how much--or, rather, how little--work he hadbefore him. 

"There's the machine gun; the signalling course, --you'll have to workhard on that, but I know you don't object, --and also revolverpractice. Aren't you thrilled?"

"No, I'm not, " grumbled the Old Bird. "Life isn't worth living withall this work to do. I wish we could get into action. "

"So do I, " said Talbot, joining them. "But while we're waiting, wouldn't you rather be back here with good warm billets and acomfortable bed and plenty to eat, instead of sitting in a wet trenchwith the Infantry?" He remembered an old man in his regiment who hadbeen with the Salvation Army at home. He would stump along on his flatfeet, trudging miles with his pack on his back, and Talbot had neverheard him complain. He was bad at drill. He could never get the ordersor formations through his head. Talbot had often lost patience withhim, but the old fellow was always cheerful. One morning, in front ofBapaume, after a night of terrible cold, the old man could not move. Talbot tried to cheer him up and to help him, but he said feebly: "Ithink I'm done for--I don't believe I shall ever get warm. But nevermind, sir. " And in a few minutes he died, as uncomplainingly as he hadlived. 

"You're right, of course, Talbot, " the Old Bird said. "We're very welloff here. But, I say, how I should like to be down in Boulogne for afew days!" And until they reached the Mess, the Old Bird dilated onthe charm of Boulogne and all the luxuries he would indulge in thenext time he visited the city. 

The rest of that week found us each day parading at eight o'clock inthe courtyard of the Hospice, and after instruction the variousparties marched off to their several duties. Some of us went to thetankdrome; some of us to the hills overlooking historic Agincourt, and others to the barn by the railroad where we practised with theguns. Another party accompanied Borwick to a secluded spot where hedrilled them in machine-gun practice. Borwick was as skilful with amachine gun as with a piano. This was the highest praise one couldgive him. 

That night at mess, Gould said suddenly:--

"To-morrow's a half day, isn't it?"

"Of course. Wake up, you idiot, " said Talbot. "We're playing 'J'Company at soccer, and on Sunday we're playing 'L' at rugger. Twostrenuous days before us. Are you feeling fit?"

Gould was feeling most awfully fit. In fact, he assured the mess thathe, alone, was a match for "J" Company. 

Our soccer team was made up almost entirely of men who had beenprofessional players. We had great pride in them, so that on thefollowing afternoon, an eager crowd streamed out of the village to ourfootball field, which we had selected with great care. It was as flatas a cricket pitch. A year ago it had been ploughed as part of theFrench farmland, and now here were the English playing football!

Before the game began there was a good deal of cheerful chaffing onthe respective merits of the "J" and "K" Company teams. And when theplay was in progress and savage yells rent the air, the Frenchvillagers looked on in wonder and pity. They had always believed theEnglish to be mad. Now they were convinced of it. 

From the outset, however, "J" Company was hopelessly outclassed, andwishing to be generous to a failing foe, we ceased our wild cheering. "J" Company, on the other hand, wishing to exhort their team togreater efforts, made up for our moderation, with the result that ourallies were firmly convinced that "J" Company had won the game! Ifnot, why should they dance up and down and wave their hats and shriek?And even the score, five to one in favor of "K" Company, failed toconvince them entirely. But "K" went home to an hilarious tea, with asense of work well done. 

And what of the rugger game the next day? Let us draw a veil over it. Suffice it to say that the French congratulated "K" Company over theoutcome of that, although the score was twelve to three in favor of"J"!

We awoke on Monday morning with a delightful feeling that somethingpleasant was going to happen, for all the world the same sensation weused to experience on waking on our birthday and suddenly rememberingthat gifts were sure to appear and that there would be somethingrather special for tea! By the time full consciousness returned, weremembered that this was the day when, for the first time, the tankwas to be set in motion. Even the Old Bird was eager. 

We hurry off to the tankdrome. One after another we slide in throughthe little door and are swallowed up. The door is bolted behind thelast to enter. Officer and driver slip into their respective seats. The steel shutters of the portholes click as they are opened. Thegunners take their positions. The driver opens the throttle a littleand tickles the carburetor, and the engine is started up. The driverraces the engine a moment, to warm her up. The officer reaches out ahand and signals for first speed on each gear; the driver throws hislever into first; he opens the throttle: the tank--our "Willie"--moves!

Supposing you were locked in a steel box, with neither portholes tolook through nor airholes to breathe from. Supposing you felt thesteel box begin to move, and, of course, were unable to see where youwere going. Can you imagine the sensation? Then you can guess thefeelings of the men in a tank, --excepting the officer and driver, whocan see ahead through their portholes, --when the monster gets underway. There are times, of course, with the bullets flying thick andfast, when all portholes, for officer, driver, and gunners, must beclosed. Then we plunge ahead, taking an occasional glimpse through thespecial pin-point holes. 

Thirty tons of steel rolls along with its human freight. Suddenly, the driver rings a bell. He presses another button, and signals thedriver of the right-hand track into "neutral. " This disconnects thetrack from the engine. The tank swings around to the right. Theright-hand driver gets the signal "First speed, " and we are off again, at a right angle to our former direction. 

Now we are headed for a gentle slope across the field, and as weapproach it, the tank digs her nose into the base of the hill. Shecrawls up. The men in the rear tip back and enjoy it hugely. If thehill is steep enough they may even find themselves lying flat on theirbacks or standing on their heads! But no such luck. Presently they arestanding as nearly upright as it is ever possible to stand, and thetank is balancing on the top of the slope. The driver is not expert asyet, and we go over with an awful jolt and tumble forward. This israre fun!

But the instructor is not pleased. We must try it all over again. Soback again to attack the hill a second time. The top is reached oncemore and we balance there. The driver throws out his clutch, we slipover very gently, and carefully he lets the clutch in again and downwe go. The "Willie" flounders around for the fraction of a second. Then, nothing daunted, she starts off once more. We have visions ofher sweeping all before her some day far behind the German lines. 

Three or four weeks of this sort of thing, and we are hardened to it. 

Our reward came at last, however. After mess one morning, when theconversation had consisted mainly of the question, "When are we goinginto a show?" with no answer to the question, we were called into theMajor's room, where he told us, in strictest secrecy, that in aboutthree weeks a big attack was to come off. We should go in at last!

For the next two or three weeks we studied maps and aeroplanephotographs, marking out our routes, starting-points, rearammunition-dumps, forward dumps, and lines of supply. At last, then, our goal loomed up and these months of training, for the most partinteresting, but at times terribly boring, would bear fruit. Twodirect results were noticeable now on looking back to the time when wejoined. First, each man in the Battalion knew how to run a tank, howto effect slight repairs, how to work the guns, and how to obtain thebest results from the machine. Second, and very important, was thefact that the men and officers had got together. The crews andofficers of each section knew and trusted each other. The strangenessof feeling that was apparent in the first days had now entirelydisappeared, and that cohesion of units which is so essential inwarfare had been accomplished. Each of us knew the other's faults andthe mistakes he was prone to make. More important still, we knew ourown faults and weaknesses and had the courage to carry on and overcomethem. 

A few nights before we moved up the line, we gave a grand concert. Borwick and the Old Bird planned it. On an occasion of this sort, theOld Bird never grumbled at the amount of work he was obliged to do. Some weeks before we had bought a piano from one of the inhabitants ofthe village, and the piano was naturally the _pièce de résistance_ ofthe concert. The Old Bird went around for days at a time, hummingscraps of music with unintelligible words which it afterwardsdeveloped at the concert were awfully good songs of his own composing. The Battalion tailor was called in to make up rough Pierrot costumes. The Old Bird drilled us until we begged for mercy, while Borwickstrummed untiringly at the piano. At last the great night arrived. 

A stage had been built at one end of a hangar, and curtains hung up. 

The whole of the Staff and H. Q. Had been invited, and the _maire_, the_curé_, the _médecin_ of the village, and their families were also toattend. 

Promptly at eight o'clock, the concert began, with Borwick at thepiano. Everything went off without a hitch. Although "K" Companyprovided most of the talent, the Battalion shared the honours of theentertainment. Each song had a chorus, and so appreciative was ouraudience that the choruses were repeated again and again. The one"lady" of the Troupe looked charming, and "she" arranged for "her"voice to be entirely in keeping with "her" dress and paint. The Frenchspectators enjoyed it hugely. They were a great encouragement, forthey laughed at everything uproariously, though it could not have beendue to their understanding of the jokes. 

At ten o'clock we finished off with "God Save the King, " and went backto our billets feeling that our stay in the village had beensplendidly rounded off. 

IV

MOVING UP THE LINE

Two or three days before we were due to leave, we had received ordersto pack our surplus kit, and have it at the Quartermaster's Stores ata certain time. We drew a long breath. This meant that the actualdate, which up to the present had been somewhat indefinite, was closeat hand. We were given orders to draw our tanks and the whole Companywas marched over to work sheds about two miles away at E----, wheretanks and stores were issued. 

The variety and number of little things which it is necessary to drawwhen fitting out a tank for action is inconceivable. Tools, smallspares, Pyrenes, electric lamps, clocks, binoculars, telescopes, petrol and oil funnels, oil squirts, grease guns, machine guns, headlights, tail lamps, steel hawsers, crowbars, shovels, picks, inspection lamps, and last, but not least, ammunition. The field-gunammunition has to be taken out of its boxes and placed in the shellracks inside the tank. The S. A. A. (small arms ammunition) must beremoved from its boxes and stacked away. At the same time every singleround, before being put into the drum, must be gauged. All this has tobe done in the last two or three days, and everything must be checkedand countersigned. There is always a great deal of fun for TankCommanders in drawing their stores. It is a temptation, when in themidst of all these thousands of articles, to seize the opportunity, when no one is looking, to pocket a few extra spares and dainty littletools, not, of course, for one's own personal benefit, but simplybecause such things are always being lost or stolen, and it isexasperating, to say the least, to find one's self, at a criticalmoment, without some article which it is impossible to duplicate atthe time. 

During these last few days it was a continual march for the men fromB---- to E----. Very often they were called back when their day's workwas over to draw some new article or make some alteration which hadbeen forgotten at the time they were in the workshops. 

At last, however, --on the third day following the grand concert, --thekits were packed, loaded on to the lorries, and sent off to E----. Thetroops said "Good-bye" to the village which had been such a happy homeand school during that winter of 1916, and the officers made theirfond adieus to the mothers and daughters of the houses in which theyhad been billeted. 

The companies formed up and marched along to the workshops. Every onewas in high spirits, and there was a friendly race to see whichCompany of the Battalion could load up their tanks in the shortesttime on to the specially constructed steel trucks. 

A few days before all these activities commenced, Talbot and anotherTank Commander had gone on to the tanks' ultimate destination, A----, a village which had been evacuated a few days before by the Germans ontheir now famous retirement to the Hindenburg Line. It was a mostextraordinary sight to ride along the road from Albert to Bapaume, which during the summer and winter of the preceding year had witnessedsuch heavy fighting. The whole country on each side of the road was adesolate vista of shell-holes as far as the eye could see. Wherevillages had been, there was now no trace left of any sort ofhabitation. One might think that, however heavy a bombardment, sometrace would be left of the village which had suffered. There wasliterally nothing left of the village through which had run the roadthey were now travelling. Over this scarred stretch of country weredotted camps and groups of huts, with duck-boards crossing the oldshell-holes, some of which were still full of water. 

On approaching B---- they saw traces everywhere of the methodical andorganized methods by which the Germans had retired. The first sign wasa huge shell-crater in the middle of the road, about forty feet deep, which the Boche had arranged to prevent armoured cars from followinghim up. If they did succeed, the transports would be delayed inreaching them, at all events. These holes were rather a nuisance, forthe road itself was a mass of lesser shell-craters and the soft groundon each side was impassable. The road was crowded with engineers andlabor battalions, filling in the shell-holes, and laying railways intothe outskirts of A----. 

In A---- the old German notices were still standing as they had beenleft. Strung across the road on a wire was a notice which read:"Fuhrweg nach Behagnies. " Every house in the town had been pulleddown. The wily Boche had not even blown them up. Instead he had savedexplosives by attaching steel hawsers to the houses and by means oftractors had pulled them down, so that the roof and sides fell in onthe foundation. Every pump handle in the village had been broken offshort, and not a single piece of furniture was left behind. Later, wefound the furniture from this and other villages in the HindenburgLine. 

Saddest of all, however, was the destruction of the beautiful poplartrees which once bordered the long French roads built by Napoleon. These had been sawn off at their base and allowed to fall on the sideof the road, not across it, as one might suppose. If they had beenallowed to fall across the road, the Boche, himself, would have beenhindered in his last preparations for his retreat. Everything was donewith military ends in view. The villages were left in such a conditionas to make them uninhabitable, the more to add to our discomfort andto make our hardships severer. The trees were cut down only on thoseparts of the road which were screened from observation from hisballoons and present trenches. In some places where the road dippedinto a valley the trees had been left untouched. 

At the place where our tanks were scheduled to arrive, and which hadlately been a railhead of the Boche, all the metals had been torn up, and in order to destroy the station itself, he had smashed thecast-iron pillars which supported the roof, and in consequence thewhole building had fallen in. But nothing daunted, the Britishengineers were even now working at top speed laying down new lines. Some of the metals, which a few short weeks before had been lying incountless stacks down on the quays at the Bases, now unrolledthemselves at the rate of about two and a quarter miles a day. Oneinteresting feature of this rapid track-laying was that when the tanktrain left E----, on its two and a half days' journey down to therailhead at A----, the track on which the train was to run was notcompleted into A----. But, nevertheless, the track arrived ahead ofthe train, which was the main point!

As they rode into the ruined village of A---- Talbot and his companioncame across still further evidence of the steps which the German willtake to inconvenience his enemy. In order to battle against the hordesof rats which are so prevalent in the old parts of the line in France, the Boche breeds cats in enormous numbers. Yet, in order to carry outto the limit his idea that nothing of value should fall into ourhands, he had killed every cat in the village. In every house three orfour of these poor little creatures lay around with their headschopped off. Tabby cats, black cats, white cats, and little kittens, all dead. Farther on, over a well at the corner of the main square wasposted a sign which read: "This well is poisoned. Do not touch. Byorder. R. E. "

Here and there a house had been left intact, with its furnitureuntouched. It was not until later that it struck us as peculiar thatthese houses had been spared from the general destruction. Two orthree days later, however, after we had moved in, and headquarters hadbeen established, we discovered that under many of these houses, andat certain crossroads which had not been blown up in the usual manner, the Boche had left mines, timed to go off at any time up totwenty-eight days. One could never be sure that the ground underneathone's feet would not blow up at any moment. These mines were smallboxes of high explosive, inside of which was a little metal tube withtrigger and detonator attached. Inside the tube was a powerful acid, which, when it had eaten its way through, set free the trigger andexploded the charge. The length of time it took for the mine toexplode was gauged by the strength or weakness of the acid in thetube. 

 [Illustration: A TANK MOVING TO THE ATTACK DOWN WHAT WAS ONCE A MAIN STREET]

We were also impressed with the mechanical genius of the German. TheBoche had made a veritable mechanical toy out of nearly every house inthe village which he had spared. Delightful little surprises had beenprepared for us everywhere. Kick a harmless piece of wood, and in afew seconds a bomb exploded. Pick up a bit of string from the floorand another bomb went off. Soon we learned to be wary of the mostinnocent objects. Before touching anything we made elaboratepreparations for our safety. 

One of the men was greatly annoyed by a wire which hung over his headwhen he was asleep, but he did not wish to remove it. He had decidedthat it was connected with some devilish device which would do him nogood. Finally, one morning, he could endure this sword of Damocles nolonger. With two boon companions, he carefully attached a string aboutfifteen yards long to the wire. They tiptoed gently out of the houseto a discreet distance, and with a yell of triumph, the hero pulledthe string, --and nothing happened!

But there was another side to all this. McKnutt some time afterwardscame in with an interesting story. Some Sappers, he said, had beendigging under a house in the village, presumably for the mysteriousreasons that always drive the Engineers to dig in unlikely places. Oneof them pushed his shovel into what had been the cellar of the house, but as the roof had fallen in on the entrance, they did not know ofits existence. When they finally forced their way in, they found twoGerman officers and two Frenchwomen in a terribly emaciated condition. One of the Boches and one of the women lay dead, locked in eachother's arms. The other two still breathed, but when they were broughtup into the open they expired within a few hours without either ofthem giving an explanation. The only reason we could find for theirterrible plight was that the women had been forced down there by theofficers to undergo a last farewell, while the Germans were destroyingthe village, and that the house had fallen in on top of them. Later, probably no one knew where they had disappeared, and they were unableto get out of the ruins or to make themselves heard. The village ofA---- gained a romantic reputation after that, and it was curious torealize that we had been living there for days while this silenttragedy was being enacted. 

In addition to the destruction in the towns, the beautiful orchardswhich are so numerous in France were ruined. Apple, pear, and plumtrees lay uprooted on the ground, and here again the military mind ofthe German had been at work. He did not wish the fruit that the treeswould bear in future to fall into our hands. 

But although the village was a pretty poor place in which to stay, thenear presence of a B. E. F. Canteen was a comfort. It is always amazingto visit one of these places. Within perhaps four or five miles of thefiring line we have stores selling everything from a silver cigarettecase to a pair of boots, and everything, too, at nearly cost price. The Canteen provides almost every variety of smoking materials, andeatables, and their only disadvantage is that they make packages fromhome seem so useless. As the tobaccos come straight out of bond, it isfar cheaper to buy them at the Canteen, than to have them forwardedfrom home. These Canteens are managed by the Army, and are dotted allover the country inhabited by the British troops. Since they havesprung into existence life at the front has been far more comfortableand satisfactory in France, and people at home are discovering thatmoney is the best thing to send out to their men. 

Finally, one cold, sunny morning, about half-past five, the tank trainsteamed slowly into A----, and drew up on a siding. It was notpossible to begin the work of unloading the tanks until night fell. Sothe tired crews turned into the roofless houses which had beenprepared for them, and slept until dusk. When darkness fell, as if bymagic, the town sprang to activity. 

V

PREPARATIONS FOR THE SHOW

That night the engines were started up, and one by one the tankscrawled off the train. Although the day had begun with brilliantsunshine, at dusk the snow had begun to fall, and by the time thetanks came off, the snow was a foot thick on the ground. The tanksmoved down to the temporary tankdrome which had been decided upon nearthe railway, and the sponson trucks were towed there. The night wasspent in fitting on the sponsons to the sides of the machines. It wasbitterly cold. The sleet drove in upon us all night, stinging ourhands and faces. Everything seemed to go wrong. We had the utmostdifficulty in making the bolt-holes fit, and as each sponson weighsabout three tons they were not easy to move and adjust. We drove aheadwith the work, knowing that it must be done while the darknesslasted. 

Finally, about two hours before dawn broke, the last bolt wasfastened, and the tanks were ready to move. The night was blacker thanever as they lumbered out of the tankdrome, and were led across thesnow to a halfway house about four miles from the railhead, and anequal distance from the front-line trenches. We had not quite reachedour destination when the darkness began to lift in the east, and withfeverish energy we pushed ahead, through the driving snow. 

Late that afternoon, Talbot was again sent ahead with five or sixtroopers and orderlies to a village in the front line. It wasnecessary for us to spend three or four days there before the attackcommenced, in order to study out the vulnerable points in the Germanline. We were to decide also the best routes for the tanks to take incoming up to the line, and those to be taken later in crossing NoMan's Land when the "show" was on. We rode along across fields denudedof all their trees. The country here was utterly unlike that to whichwe had been accustomed in "peace-time trench warfare. " This lastexpression sounds like an anomaly, but actually it means the lifewhich is led in trenches where one may go along for two or threemonths without attacking. In comparison with our existence when we aremaking an offensive, the former seems like life in peace times. Hence, the expression. But from this it must not be supposed that "peace-timetrench warfare" is all beer and skittles. Quite the contrary. As amatter of fact, during four or five days in the trenches there may beas many casualties as during an attack, but taking it on an average, naturally the losses and dangers are greater when troops go over thetop. Curiously enough, too, after one has been in an attack thefront-line trench seems a haven of refuge. Gould, who was wounded inthe leg during a battle on the Somme, crawled into a shell-hole. Itwas a blessed relief to be lying there, even though the bullets werewhistling overhead. At first he felt no pain, and he wished, vaguely, that he had brought a magazine along to read! All through the burningsummer day he stayed there, waiting for the night. As soon as it wasdark he wriggled back to our trenches, tumbled over the parapet of thefront-line trench, and narrowly escaped falling on the point of abayonet. But he never forgets the feeling of perfect safety and peaceat being back, even in an exposed trench, with friends. 

The fields across which we rode had been ploughed the preceding autumnby the French civilians. Later, when the snow had disappeared, wecould see where the ground had been torn up by the horses of a Germanriding-school of ten days before. On some of the roads the ruts andheavy marks of the retreating German transports could still be seen. It was a new and exciting experience to ride along a road which onlytwo or three days before had been traversed by the Germans in aretreat, even though they called it a "retirement. " The thought wasvery pleasant to men who, for the last two years, had been sitting _infront_ of the Boche month after month, and who, even in an attack, hadbeen unable to find traces of foot, hoof, or wheel mark because ofthe all-effacing shell-fire. Here and there were places where theBoche had had his watering-troughs, and also the traces of scatteredhuts and tents on the ground where the grass, of a yellowish green, still showed. The front line of defence here was really no front lineat all, but was merely held as in open warfare by outposts, sentrygroups, and patrols. 

At night it was the easiest thing in the world to lose one's selfclose up to the line and wander into the German trenches. In fact, over the whole of this country, where every landmark had beendestroyed and where owing to the weather the roads were littledifferent from the soil on each side, a man could lose himself andfind no person or any sign to give him his direction. The usual guidewhich one might derive from the Verey lights going up between thelines was here non-existent, as both sides kept extremely quiet. Eventhe guns were comparatively noiseless in these days, and were a man tofind himself at night alone upon this ground, which lay between twoand three miles behind our own lines, the only thing he could dowould be to lie down and wait for the dawn to show him the direction. 

As we rode toward O---- our only guide was a few white houses two orthree miles away on the edge of the village. The German had notevacuated O---- of his own free will, but a certain "FightingDivision" had taken the village two days before and driven the Germanout, when he retired three or four hundred yards farther to his rearHindenburg Line. The probable reason why he hung on to this village, which was really in front of his line of advance, was because at thetime he decided to retire on the Somme, the Hindenburg Line wasincomplete. In fact, the Boche could still be seen working on his wireand trenches. 

We arrived in O---- at nightfall. Some batteries were behind thevillage, and the Germans were giving the village and the guns a rathernasty time. Unhappily for us, the Boche artillery were droppingfive-nine's on the road which led into the village, and as they seemedunlikely to desist, we decided to make a dash for it. The horses werea bit nervous, but behaving very well under the trying circumstances. (With us were some limbers bringing up ammunition. ) Shells wereexploding all around us. It would never do to stand still. 

The dash up that hundred yards of road was an unpleasant experience. As we made the rush, the gunners tearing along "hell for leather" andthe others galloping ahead on their plunging horses, we heard the dullwhistle and the nearer roar of two shells approaching. Instinctivelywe leaned forward. We held our breath. When a shell drops near, thereis always the feeling that it is going to fall on one's head. Weflattened ourselves out and urged our horses to greater speed. Theshells exploded about thirty yards behind us, killing two gunners andtheir mules, while the rest of us scrambled into the village and undercover. 

In the darkness, we found what had once been the shop of the villageblacksmith, and in the forge we tied up our horses. It was bitterlycold. It was either make a fire and trust to luck that it would not beobserved, or freeze. We decided on the fire, and in its gratefulwarmth we lay down to snatch the first hours of sleep we had had innearly three days. But the German gunners were most inconsiderate, anda short time afterward they dropped a small barrage down the road. Thefront of our forge was open, and we were obliged to flatten ourselveson the ground to prevent the flying splinters from hitting us. Whenthis diversion was over, we stirred up our fire, and made some tea, just in time to offer some to a gunner sergeant who came riding up. Hehitched his horse to one of the posts, and sat down with us by thefire. The shell-fire had quieted down, and we dozed off, glad of theinterlude. Suddenly a shell burst close beside us. The poor beast, waiting patiently for his rider, was hit in the neck by the shrapnel, but hardly a sound escaped him. In war, especially, one cannot helpadmiring the stoicism of horses, as compared with other animals. Onesees examples of it on all sides. Tread, for instance, on a dog'sfoot, and he runs away, squealing. A horse is struck by a large lumpof shrapnel just under its withers, and the poor brute trembles, butmakes no sound. Almost the only time that horses scream--and the soundis horrible--is when they are dying. Then they shriek from sheer painand fear. Strange as it may seem, one is often more affected by seeinghorses struck than when men are killed. Somehow they seem soparticularly helpless. 

It was during these days at O---- that Talbot discovered Johnson. Johnson was one of his orderlies. Although it did not lie in the pathof his duty, he took the greatest delight in doing all sorts of littleodd jobs for Talbot. So unobtrusive he was about it all, that for sometime Talbot hardly noticed that some one was trying to make himcomfortable. When he did, by mutual agreement Johnson became hisservant and faithful follower through everything. The man wasperfectly casual and apparently unaffected by the heaviest shell-fire. It is absurd to say that a man "doesn't mind shell-fire. " Every onedislikes it, and gets nervous under it. The man who "doesn't mind it"is the man who fights his nervousness and gets such control ofhimself that he is able to _appear_ as if he were unaffected. Between"not minding it" and "appearing not to mind it" lie hard-won moralbattles, increased strength of character, and victory over fear. Johnson had accomplished this. He preserved an attitude of carelesscalm, and could walk down a road with shells bursting all around himwith a sublime indifference that was inspiring. Between him and hisofficer sprang up an extraordinary and lasting affection. 

The wretched night in the forge at last came to an end, and the nextmorning we looked around for more comfortable billets. We selected thecellar of a house in fairly good condition and prepared to move in, when we discovered that we were not the first to whom it had appealed. Two dead Germans still occupied the premises, and when we had disposedof the bodies, we took up our residence. Here we stayed, going outeach day to find the best points from which to view No Man's Land, which lay in front of the village. With the aid of maps, we plannedthe best routes for the tanks to take when the battle should havebegun. Not a detail was neglected. 

Then something happened to break the monotony of life. Just back ofthe village one of our batteries was concealed in such a fashion thatit was impossible to find it from an aeroplane. Yet every day, regularly, the battery was shelled. Every night under cover of thedarkness, the position was changed, and the battery concealed ascleverly as before, but to no avail. The only solution was that someone behind our lines was in communication with the Germans, _everyday_. Secrecy was increased. Guards were doubled to see that no oneslipped through the lines. Signals were watched. The whole affair wasbaffling, and yet we could find no clue. 

Just in front of the wood where the battery was concealed, stood anold farmhouse where a genial Frenchwoman lived and dispensed goodcheer to us. She had none of the men of her own family nor anyfarmhands to help her, but kept up the farmwork all alone. Every day, usually in the middle of the morning, she went out to the fieldsbehind her house and ploughed, with an old white horse drawing theplough. For some reason she never ploughed more than one or twofurrows at a time, and when this was done, she drove the white horseback to the barn. One day, an officer noticed that a German planehovered over the field while the woman was ploughing, and that whenshe went back to the house, the plane shot away. The next day the samething happened. Later in the day, the battery received its dailyreminder from the Boche gunners, as unerringly accurate as ever. 

Here was a clue. The solution of the problem followed. The woman knewthe position of the battery, and every day when she went out toplough, she drove the white horse up and down, making a furrowdirectly in front of the battery. When the men in the German plane sawthe white horse, they flew overhead, took a photograph of the newlyturned furrow, and turned the photograph over to their gunners. Therest was easy. 

 [Illustration: A TANK GOING OVER A TRENCH ON ITS WAY INTO ACTION]

The next day we missed three events which had become part of our dailylife. The German plane no longer hovered in the air. Our battery, forthe first time in weeks, spent a peaceful day. And in the field behindher house, a woman with an old white horse no longer made the earthready for the sowing. 

 * * * * *

For three days now we had received no rations, and were obliged tosubsist on the food which the Boche had left behind him when he fled. Finally, when all our plans were complete, we were notified that thepoint of attack had been shifted to N----, a village about four milesaway. This practical joke we thought in extremely bad taste, but therewas nothing for it but to pack up and move as quickly as possible. Welearned that our troops at N---- had tried twice to break through theGerman lines by bombing. A third attempt was to be made, and the tankswere depended upon to open the way. Hence the change in our plans. 

Early the next morning we left O----, and dashed along a road whichlay parallel with our line, and was under direct observation from theGerman trenches. Owing to the fact, probably, that he was not properlysettled in his new line, the Boche did not bother us much, exceptingat one place, where we were obliged to make a run for it. We arrivedat N---- just after the tanks had been brought up. They were hurriedlyconcealed close up to houses, in cuttings, and under trees. 

The show was scheduled to come off the next morning at 4. 30. Thatnight we gathered at Brigade Headquarters and made the final plans. Each tank had its objective allotted to it, and marked out on the TankCommander's course. Each tank was to go just so far and no farther. Talbot and Darwin were detailed to go forward as far as possible onfoot when the battle was in progress, and send back messages as to howthe show was progressing. Talbot also was given the task of going outthat night to make the marks in No Man's Land which would guide thetanks in the morning. 

At eleven o'clock, in the bright moonlight, Talbot, with Johnson and acouple of orderlies, started out. They climbed over the front line, which was at present a railway embankment, crawled into No Man's Land, and set to work. Immediately the Boche snipers spotted them andbullets began to whistle over their heads. Luckily, no one was hit, but a couple of "whizz bangs" dropped uncomfortably close. The mendropped for cover. Only Johnson stood still, his figure black againstthe white snow gleaming in the moonlight. 

The shells continued to fall about them as they wriggled back when thework was done. As they reached N---- the tanks were being led uptoward the line, so that later, under cover of the darkness, theymight be taken farther forward to their starting-points. 

VI

THE FIRST BATTLE

At dawn the next morning, the tanks were already lined up, sullen andmenacing in the cold half-light. The men shivered in the biting air. One by one the crews entered the machines, and one by one the littlesteel doors closed behind them. The engines throbbed, and they movedoff sluggishly. 

Darwin and Talbot, with their orderlies, waited impatiently. Themoments just before an attack are always the hardest. A few batterieswere keeping up a desultory fire. They glanced at their watches. 

"Only a minute to go, " said Darwin. "I bet the show's put off orsomething. Isn't this snow damnably cold, though!"

Suddenly a sixty-pounder in our rear crashed out. Then from all sidesa deafening roar burst forth and the barrage began. As we becameaccustomed to the intensity and ear-splittingness of the sound, thebark of the eighteen-pounders could be faintly distinguished above thedull roar of the eight-inches. The sky-line was lit up with thousandsof flashes, large and small, each one showing, for a second, trenchesor trees or houses, and during this tornado we knew that the "Willies"must have started forward on their errand. 

As the barrage lifted and the noise died down a little, the firststreaks of light began to show in the sky, although we coulddistinguish nothing. No sign of the infantry or of the tanks could beseen. But the ominous sound of machine guns and heavy rifle-fire toldus that the Boche was prepared. 

We could stand this inactivity no longer. We trudged forward throughthe snow, taking the broad bands left by the tracks of the busses asour guide, the officers leading the way and the orderlies behind insingle file. 

"The blighter's starting, himself, now, " said Talbot, as a four-twolanded a hundred yards away, and pieces of earth came showering downon our heads. Then another and another fell, each closer than the onebefore, and instinctively we quickened our steps, for it is difficultto walk slowly through shell-fire. 

The embankment loomed before us, and big splotches of black and yellowleaped from its surface. The deafening crashes gave us that peculiarfeeling in the stomach which danger alone can produce. We scrambled upthe crumbling, slaggy sides, and found when we reached the top thatthe sound of the machine guns had died away, excepting on the extremeleft in front of B----, where the ordinary tap of ones and twos haddeveloped into a sharp crackle of tens and twenties. By listeningcarefully one could feel, rather than hear, the more intermittentbursts from the rifles. 

"There's one, sir, " shouted one of the orderlies. 

"Where?"

"Half-right and about five hundred yards ahead. "

By dint of straining, we discovered a little animal--or so itlooked--crawling forward on the far side of the Hindenburg Line. Already it was doing a left incline in accordance with itsinstructions, so as to enfilade a communication trench which ran backto N----. The German observer had spotted her. Here and there, on eachside of her, a column of dirt and snow rose into the air. But thelittle animal seemed to bear a charmed life. No harm came to her, andshe went calmly on her way, for all the world like a giant tortoise atwhich one vainly throws clods of earth. 

As it grows lighter, we can now see others in the distance. One is notmoving--is it out of action? The only motion on the whole landscape isthat of the bursting shells, and the tanks. Over the white snow infront of the German wire, are dotted little black lumps. Some crawl, some move a leg or an arm, and some lie quite still. One who has neverseen a modern battle doubtless forms a picture of masses of troopsmoving forward in splendid formation, with cheering voices andgleaming bayonets. This is quite erroneous. To an observer in a postor in a balloon, no concerted action is visible at all. Here and therea line or two of men dash forward and disappear. A single man or asmall group of men wriggle across the ground. That is all. 

"Well, they haven't got it in the neck as I supposed, " said Darwin. "Remarkably few lying about. Let's push on. "

"All right, " Talbot assented. "If you like. "

We crawled over the top of the embankment and continued down the side. About two hundred yards to the left, we saw one of the tanks, with hernose in the air. A little group of three or four men were diggingaround her, frantically. We rushed over to them, and found that theOld Bird's 'bus had failed to get over a large pit which lay in themiddle of No Man's Land, and was stuck with her tail in the bottom ofthe ditch. Here occurred one of those extraordinary instances of luckwhich one notices everywhere in a modern battle. The tank had beenthere about ten minutes when the German gunners had bracketed on her, and were dropping five-nines, all of them within a radius of seventyyards of the tank, and yet no one was hurt. Finally, by dint ofstrenuous digging, she started up and pulled herself wearily out ofthe pit. 

 [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y. _ A TANK HALFWAY OVER THE TOP AND AWAITING THE ORDER TO ADVANCE IN THE BATTLE OF MENIN ROAD]

Suddenly, Darwin shouted:--

"Look here, you fellows! What are these Boches doing?"

Looking up, we saw about forty or fifty Germans stumbling over theirown wire, and running toward us as hard as they could go. For a momentwe thought it was the preliminary step of a counter-attack, butsuddenly we discovered that they carried no arms and were attemptingto run with their hands above their heads. At the same time somethingoccurred which is always one of the saddest sights in war. One hears agreat deal about the "horrors of war" and the "horrors" of seeing menkilled on either side of one, but at the time there is very little"horror" to it. One simply doesn't have time to pay any attention toit all. But the sad part was that the German machine gunners, seeingtheir men surrendering, opened a furious fire on them. There theywere, caught from behind, and many of them dropped from the bullets oftheir own comrades. 

Twenty or thirty of them came straight on, rushed up to the pit wherethe tank had come to grief, and tumbled down into this refuge. Evidently, they knew of the British passion for souvenirs, for whenour men surrounded them, the Germans plucked wildly at their ownshoulder straps as if to entreat their captors to take the shoulderstraps instead of anything else!

We gave two or three of the wounded Germans some cigarettes and adrink of water. They were then told to find their quickest way to therear. Like other German prisoners we had seen, they went willinglyenough. German discipline obtains even after a man has been made aprisoner. He obeys his captors with the same docility with which hehad previously obeyed his own officers. Left to themselves, andstarted on the right road, the prisoner will plod along, theirN. C. O. 's saluting the English officers, and inquiring the way to theconcentration camp. When they find it, they usually appear wellpleased. 

The Old Bird's tank moved on. 

"I suppose everything's going all right, " said Talbot. "Suppose wemove on and see if we can get some information. "

"Yes, or some souvenirs, " Darwin replied with a laugh. 

We pushed on slowly. Three tanks which had completed their job werecoming back and passed us. A little later we met some fellows who wereslightly wounded and asked them how the battle was going. Every storywas different. The wounded are rarely able to give a correct versionof any engagement, and we saw that no accurate information was to begleaned from these men. 

We had been out now for an hour and a half and still had no news tosend back to Headquarters. We knew how hard it was for the officersbehind the lines, who had planned the whole show, to sit hour afterhour waiting for news of their troops. The minutes are like hours. 

"My God, Darwin, look!" Talbot cried. "Something's happened to her. She's on fire!"

In the distance we saw one of our tanks stuck in the German wire, which at that point was about a hundred yards thick. Smoke wasbelching from every porthole. A shell had registered a direct hit, exploding the petrol, and the tank was on fire. We dashed forwardtoward her. 

A German machine gun rattled viciously. They had seen us. An instantlater, the bullets were spattering around us, and we dropped flat. Oneman slumped heavily and lay quite still. By inches we crawled forward, nearer and nearer to the blazing monster. Another machine gun snarledat us, and we slid into a shell-hole for protection. Then, after amoment's breathing space, we popped out and tried to rush again. Another man stopped a bullet. 

It was suicide to go farther. Into another shell-hole we fell, andthought things over. We decided to send a message, giving roughly thenews that the Hindenburg Line and N---- had been taken. An orderly wasgiven a message. He crawled out of the shell-hole, ran a few steps, dropped flat, wriggled along across the snow, sprang to his feet, rananother few steps, and so on until we lost sight of him. 

A moment or two later we started across the snow in a directionparallel with the lines. Behind an embankment we came across a littlegroup of Australians at an impromptu dressing-station. Some of themwere wounded and the others were binding up their wounds. We watchedthem for a while and started on again. We had gone about fifty yardswhen a shell screeched overhead. We turned and saw it land in themiddle of the group we had just left. Another shell burst close to usand huge clods of earth struck us in the face and in the stomach, knocking us flat and blinding us for the moment. A splinter struckTalbot on his tin hat, grazing his skin. Behind us one of theorderlies screamed and we rushed back to him. He had been hit belowthe knee and his leg was nearly severed. We tied him up and managed toget him back to the Australian aid-post. Two of the original fourstretcher-bearers had been blown up a few minutes before. But theremaining two were carrying on with their work as though nothing hadhappened. Here he was bandaged and started on his way for thedressing-station. 

Far across the snow, we saw three more tanks plodding back toward therear. Little by little, we gained ground until we reached a moresheltered area where we could make greater speed. We were feverishlyanxious to know the fate of the crew of the burning tank. "Whose tankwas it?" was on every tongue. We met other wounded men being helpedback; those with leg wounds were being supported by others lessseriously wounded. They could tell us nothing. They had been with theinfantry and only knew that two tanks were right on the other side ofthe village. 

A moment or two later, Talbot started running toward two men, one ofwhom was supporting the other. The wounded man proved to be theSergeant of the tank we had seen on fire. We hurried up to him. He washurt in the leg. So, instead of firing questions at him, we kept quietand accompanied him back to the dressing-station. 

Later we heard the tragic news that it was Gould's tank that hadburned up. None of us talked much about it. It did not seem real. They had got stuck in the German wire. A crump had hit them and firedthe petrol tank. That was the end. Two men, the Sergeant and another, escaped from the tank. The others perished with it. We tried tocomfort each other by repeated assurances that they must all have lostconsciousness quickly from the fumes of the petrol before theysuffered from fire. But it was small consolation. Every one had likedGould and every one would miss him. 

We waited at Brigade Headquarters for the others to return. A TankCommander from another Company was brought in, badly wounded andlooking ghastly, but joking with every one, as they carried him alongon a stretcher. His tank had been knocked out and they had saved theirguns and gone on with the infantry. He had been the last to leave thetank, and as he had stepped out to the ground, a shell explodeddirectly beneath him, taking off both of his legs below the knee. 

The last of the tanks waddled wearily in and the work of checking-upbegan. All were accounted for but two. Their fate still remains asecret. Our theory was that they had gone too far ahead and hadentered the village in back of the German lines; that the infantry hadnot been able to keep up with them, and that they had been captured. Two or three days afterwards an airman told us that he had seen, onthe day of the battle, two tanks far ahead of the infantry and thatthey appeared to be stranded. Weeks later we attacked at the pointwhere the tanks had been, and on some German prisoners whom we took, we found several photographs of these identical tanks. Then one day, when we had stopped wondering about them, a Sergeant in our Companyreceived a letter from one of the crew of the missing machines, sayingthat he was a prisoner in Germany. But of the officers we have neverheard to this day. 

We sat around wearily, waiting for the motor lorries which were totake some of us back to B----. Years seemed to have been crowded intothe hours that had elapsed. Talbot glanced at his watch. It was stillonly eight o'clock in the morning. Again he experienced the feelingof incredulity that comes to one who has had much happen in the hoursbetween dawn and early morning and who discovers that the day has butjust begun. He had thought it must be three o'clock in the afternoon, at least. 

The lorries arrived eventually, and took those who had no tanks, backto B----. The others brought the "Willies" in by the evening. 

VII

THE SECOND BATTLE

Ten days had now elapsed since that day when we had gone back to B----with the officers and men who had survived. We had enjoyed everyminute of our rest and once more were feeling fit. The remainder ofthe Company had been divided up into crews. The "Willies" themselveshad had the best of care and attention. 

Most important of all, to the childish minds of that part of theBritish Army which we represented, we had given another concert whichhad been an even greater success than the first. The Old Bird andBorwick had excelled themselves. We were convinced that something waswrong with a Government that would send two such artists to the front!They should be at home, writing "words and music" that would liveforever. 

Toward the end of the week, plans for another attack were arranged. This time it was to take place at C----, about five miles north ofN----. We were told that this was to be a "big show" at last. Part ofthe Hindenburg Line had been taken, and part was still in the hands ofthe enemy. It had been decided, therefore, that this sector of theline, and the village behind it, must be captured. Our share in thebusiness consisted of a few tanks to work with the infantry. Two of uswent up three days before to arrange the plans with the DivisionalCommander. We wandered up into the Hindenburg Line as close as wecould get to the Boche, to see what the ground was like, and to decideif possible on the routes for the tanks. In the line were innumerablesouvenirs. We found the furniture that the Germans had taken out ofthe villages on their retirement, and had used to make their line morecomfortable. 

We found, too, an extraordinary piece of engineering. A tunnel aboutten miles long ran underneath the whole of the Hindenburg Line. It wasabout thirty or forty feet down, and had been dug, we heard, byRussian prisoners. The tunnel was about six feet wide and about fivefeet high. It had been roughly balked in with timber, and at everytwenty yards, a shaft led out of the tunnel up into the trench. Borwick found a large mirror which he felt could not be wasted underthe circumstances. He could not resist its charm, so he startedlugging it back the six miles to camp. It was very heavy and its charmhad decreased greatly by the time he reached camp and found that noone could make any use of it. 

The day of the attack was still undecided, and in order to be quiteready when it should come off, we left B---- with the tanks oneevening and took them up to Saint-L----, a little place about threethousand yards away from the Hindenburg Line. Here we staged thembehind a railway embankment, underneath a bridge that had beenpartially blown up. This was the same embankment, as a matter of fact, behind which, four or five miles away, the Australian dressing-stationhad been established in the last battle. 

Here we spent two or three days tuning up the machines, and many ofour leisure moments in watching a howitzer battery which was justbeside us. This was fascinating. If you stand by the gun when it isfired, you can see the shell leave the muzzle, and watch the blackmass shoot its seven or eight thousand yards until it becomes a smallspeck and finally vanishes just before it hits the ground. 

We also made an interesting collection of German and Englishshell-cases. These cases are made of brass, and the four-fives, especially, in the opinion of some people, make very nice rose-bowlswhen they are polished, with wire arranged inside to hold theblossoms. Weird music could be heard issuing from our dugout at times, when we gave an impromptu concert, by putting several of theseshell-cases on a log of wood and playing elaborate tunes on them witha bit of stone. 

All this merry-making came to an end, though. One day we received wordthat the attack was to come off the next morning. Then began thepreparations in earnest and the day went with a rush. At this part ofthe Hindenburg Line, it was very easy to lose one's way, especiallyat night. The tanks were scheduled to start moving up at ten o'clock. Talbot and the Old Bird, with several men, set out at about eight, andarranged for marks to guide the machines. 

We had just reached a part of the Hindenburg Line which was now in ourpossession, and were near an ammunition dump, when shells began tofall around us. They were not near enough to do us any harm, and wecontinued our work, when one dropped into the ammunition dump andexploded. In an instant the whole dump was alight. It was like someterrible and giant display of pyrotechnics. Gas shells, Verey lights, and stink bombs filled the air with their nauseous odors. Shells ofall sizes blew up and fell in steely splinters. The noise wasdeafening. Cursing our luck, we waited until it died down into a red, smouldering mass, and then edged up cautiously to continue our work. By this time, Borwick's tank came up, and he emerged, with a broadsmile on his face. 

"Having a good time?" he asked genially. 

There was a frozen silence, excepting for his inane laughter. He madea few more irritating remarks which he seemed to think were veryfunny, and then he disappeared inside his tank and prepared to followus. We had gone ahead a couple of hundred yards when we heard bombsexploding, and looking back we saw the tank standing still, withfireworks going off under one of her tracks. Presently the noiseceased, and after waiting a moment we strolled back. As we reached thetank, Borwick and the crew came tumbling out, making the air blue withtheir language. They had run over a box of bombs, the only thing thathad survived the fire in the ammunition dump, and one of the trackswas damaged. To repair it meant several hours' hard work in the coldin unpleasant proximity to the still smouldering dump. Over Talbot'sface spread a broad smile. 

"Having a good time?" he asked pleasantly of Borwick. 

Infuriated growls were his only answer. He moved on with his men, while Borwick and his crew settled down to work. 

The night was fortunately dark. They went slowly forward and broughtthe route almost up to within calling distance of the Germans. TheVerey lights, shattering the darkness over No Man's Land, did notdisclose them to the enemy. Suddenly, a Boche machine gun mechanicallyturned its attentions toward the place where they were working. With atightening of every muscle, Talbot heard the slow whisper of the gun. As it turned to sweep the intervening space between the lines, thewhisper rose to a shirring hiss. The men dropped to the ground, flattening themselves into the earth. But Talbot stood still. Now, ifever, was the time when an example would count. If they all dropped tothe ground every time a machine gun rattled, the job would never bedone. So, hands in his pockets, but with awful "wind up, " he waitedwhile the soft patter of the bullets came near and the patterquickened into rain. As it reached him, the rain became a fiercetorrent, stinging the top of the parapet behind them as the bulletstore by viciously a few inches above his head. Then as it passed, itdropped into a patter once more and finally dropped away in a whisper. Talbot suddenly realized that his throat was aching, but that he wasuntouched by the storm. The men slowly got to their feet and continuedtheir work in silence. Although the machine gun continued to spatterbullets near them all through the hours they were working, not onceagain did the men drop when they heard the whisper begin. The job wasfinally done and they filed wearily back. 

The attack was timed to come off at dawn. An hour before, while it wasstill as black as pitch, the tanks moved again for their finalstarting-point. McKnutt's machine was the first to go. 

"Cheero, McKnutt, " we said as he clambered in. "Good luck!"

The men followed, some through the top and some through the side. Thedoors and portholes were closed, and in a moment the exhaust began topuff merrily. The tank crawled forward and soon disappeared into theblackness. 

She had about fifteen hundred yards to go, parallel with theHindenburg Line, and several trenches to cross before coming up withthe enemy. We had planned that the tanks would take about threequarters of an hour to reach their starting-point, and that soon afterthey arrived there, the show would begin. 

Since it was still dark and the attack had not commenced, McKnutt andhis first driver opened the windows in front of them. They looked outinto impenetrable gloom. It was necessary to turn their headlights on, and with this help, they crawled along a little more securely. Asignal from the driver, and they got into top gear. She bumped along, over shell-holes and mine-craters at the exhilarating speed of aboutfour miles an hour, and then arrived at the first trench to becrossed. It was about ten feet wide with high banks on each side. 

"One up!" signals the driver. The gears-men get into first gear, andthe tank tilts back as it goes up one side of the trench. Suddenly shestarts tipping over, and the driver takes out his clutch and puts onhis brake hard. McKnutt yells out, "Hold tight!" and the tank slidesgently down with her nose in the bottom of the trench. The driver letsin his clutch again, the tank digs her nose into the other side andpulls herself up slowly, while her tail dips down into the bottom ofthe trench. Then comes the great strain as she pulls herself bodilyout of the trench until she balances on the far side. 

It was now no longer safe to run with lights. They were snapped off. Once more the darkness closed around them, blacker than ever. Theycould no longer find their route, and McKnutt jumped out, walkingahead with the tank lumbering along behind. Twice he lost his way andthey were obliged to wait until he found it again. Then, to hisintense relief, the moon shone out with a feeble light. It was justenough to illumine faintly the ground before them and McKnuttreëntered the tank, and started on. 

Their route ran close to the sides of an old quarry and they edgedalong cautiously. McKnutt, with his eyes glued to the front, decidedthat they must have already passed the end of the quarry. That wouldmean that they were not far from the spot where they were to wait forthe signal to go into action. The moon had again disappeared behindthe clouds, but he did not consider it worth while to get out again. The journey would be over in a few minutes. 

Suddenly, his heart took a great dive and he seemed to stop breathing. He felt the tank balance ever so slightly. Staring with aching eyesthrough the portholes, he saw that they were on the edge of the oldquarry, with a forty-foot drop down its steep sides before them. Theblack depth seemed bottomless. The tank was slipping over. When sheshot down they would all be killed from concussion alone. 

His heart was pounding so that he could hardly speak. But the driver, too, had seen the danger. 

"For God's sake, take out your clutch and put your brake on!" McKnuttyelled, his voice almost drowned by the rattle and roar inside thetank. The man kept his head. As the tail of the tank started tippingup, he managed somehow with the brakes to hold her on the edge. For asecond or two, she swayed there. She seemed to be unable to decidewhether to kill them or not. The slightest crumbling of the earth orthe faintest outside movement against the tank would precipitate themover the edge. The brakes would not hold them for long. Then thedriver acted. Slowly he put his gears in reverse, keeping the brake onhard until the engine had taken up the strain. Slowly she moved backuntil her tail bumped on the ground, and she settled down. NeitherMcKnutt nor his driver spoke. They pushed back their tin hats andwiped their foreheads. 

McKnutt glanced back at the men in the rear of the tank. They, ofcourse, had been unable to see out, and had no idea of what they hadescaped. Now that the danger was passed, he felt an unreasonableannoyance that none of them would ever know what he and the driver hadgone through in those few moments. Then the feeling passed, hesignalled, "Neutral left, " the gearsman locked his left track, and thetank swung over, passing safely by the perilous spot. 

They settled down now to a snail's pace, shutting off their engine, asthe Germans could not be more than one hundred and fifty or twohundred yards away. Running at full speed, the engine would have beenheard by them. In a few moments, they arrived at their appointedstation. McKnutt glanced at his watch. They had only a few moments towait. The engine was shut off and they stopped. 

The heat inside the tank was oppressive. McKnutt and James opened thetop, and crawled out, the men following. They looked around. The firststreaks of light were beginning to show in the sky. A heavy silencehung over everything--the silence that always precedes a bombardment. Presumably, only the attacking forces feel this. Even the desultoryfiring seems to have faded away. All the little ordinary noises haveceased. It is a sickening quiet, so loud in itself that it makes one'sheart beat quicker. It is because one is listening so intensely forthe guns to break out that all other sounds have lost theirsignificance. One seems to have become all ears--to have no sense ofsight or touch or taste or smell. All seem to have become merged inthe sense of hearing. The very air itself seems tense with listening. Only the occasional rattle of a machine gun breaks the stillness. Eventhis passes unnoticed. 

Slowly the minute-hand crept round to the half-hour, and the menslipped back into their steel home. Doors were bolted and portholesshut, save for the tiny slits in front of officer and driver, throughwhich they peered. The engine was ready to start. The petrol was onand flooding. They waited quietly. Their heavy breathing was the onlysound. The minute-hand reached the half-hour. 

With the crash and swish of thousands of shells, the guns smashed thestillness. Instantly, the flash of their explosion lit up the oppositetrenches. For a fraction of a second the thought came to McKnutt howwonderful it was that man could produce a sound to which Nature had noequal, either in violence or intensity. But the time was for actionand not for reflection. 

"Start her up!" yelled out McKnutt. 

But the engine would not fire. 

"What the devil's the matter?" cried James. 

A bit of tinkering with the carburetor, and the engine purred softly. Its noise was drowned in the pandemonium raging around them. James letin the clutch, and the monster moved forward on her errand ofdestruction. 

Although it was not light enough to distinguish forms, the flashes ofthe shell-fire and the bursts from the shrapnel lit up that part ofthe Hindenburg Line that lay on the other side of the barrier. Onehundred and fifty yards, and the tank was almost on top of thebarricade. Bombs were exploding on both sides. McKnutt slammed downthe shutters of the portholes in front of him and his driver. "Bullets, " he said shortly. 

"One came through, I think, sir, " James replied. With the portholesshut, there was no chance for bullets to enter now through the littlepin-points directly above the slits in the shutters. In order to seethrough these, it is necessary to place one's eye directly againstthe cold metal. They are safe, for if a bullet does hit them, itcannot come through, although it may stop up the hole. 

Suddenly a dull explosion was heard on the roof of the tank. 

"They're bombing us, sir!" cried one of the gunners. McKnutt signalledto him, and he opened fire from his sponson. They plunged along, amida hail of bullets, while bombs exploded all around them. 

McKnutt and James, with that instinctive sense of direction whichcomes to men who control these machines, felt that they were hoveringon the edge of the German trench. Then a sudden flash from theexplosion of a huge shell lit up the ground around them, and they sawfour or five gray-clad figures, about ten yards away, standing on theparapet hysterically hurling bombs at the machine. They might as wellhave been throwing pebbles. Scornfully the tank slid over into thewide trench and landed with a crash in the bottom. For a moment shelay there without moving. The Germans thought she was stuck. Theycame running along thinking to grapple with her. But they neverreached her, for at once the guns from both sides opened fire and theGermans disappeared. 

The huge machine dragged herself up the steep ten-foot side of thetrench. As she neared the top, it seemed as if the engine would nottake the final pull. James took out his clutch, put his brake on hard, and raced the engine. Then letting the clutch in with a jerk, the tankpulled herself right on to the point of balance, and tipped slowlyover what had been the parapet of the German position. 

Now she was in the wire which lay in front of the trench. McKnuttsignalled back, "Swing round to the left, " parallel to the lay of theline. A moment's pause, and she moved forward relentlessly, crushingeverything in her path, and sending out a stream of bullets from everyturret to any of the enemy who dared to show themselves above the topof the trench. 

At the same time our own troops, who had waited behind the barricadeto bomb their way down, from traverse to traverse, rushed over theheap of sandbags, tangled wire, wood, and dead men which barred theirway. The moral effect of the tank's success, and the terror which sheinspired, cheered our infantry on to greater efforts. The tank crewwere, at the time, unaware of the infantry's action, as none of ourown men could be seen. The only indication of the fact was thebursting of the bombs which gradually moved from fire bay to fire bay. 

The Corporal touched McKnutt on the arm. 

"I don't believe our people are keeping up with us, sir, " he said. "They seem to have been stopped about thirty yards back. "

"All right, " McKnutt answered. "We'll turn round. "

McKnutt and James opened their portholes to obtain a clearer view. Five yards along to the left, a group of Germans were holding up theadvancing British. They had evidently prepared a barricade in case ofa possible bombing attack on our part, and this obstacle, togetherwith a fusillade of bombs which met them, prevented our troops frompushing on. McKnutt seized his gun and pushed it through themounting, but found that he could not swing round far enough to get anaim on the enemy. But James was in a better position. He picked thegray figures off, one by one, until the bombing ceased and our own menjumped over the barricade and came down among the dead and woundedGermans. 

Then a sudden and unexplainable sense of disaster caused McKnutt tolook round. One of his gunners lay quite still on the floor of thetank, his back against the engine, and a stream of blood tricklingdown his face. The Corporal who stood next to him pointed to thesights in the turret and then to his forehead, and McKnutt realizedthat a bullet must have slipped in through the small space, enteringthe man's head as he looked along the barrel of his gun. There he lay, along one side of the tank between the engine and the sponson. TheCorporal tried to get in position to carry on firing with his own gun, but the dead body impeded his movements. 

There was only one thing to do. The Corporal looked questioningly atMcKnutt and pointed to the body. The officer nodded quickly, and theleft gearsman and the Corporal dragged the body and propped it upagainst the door. Immediately the door flew open. The back of thecorpse fell down and half the body lay hanging out, with its legsstill caught on the floor. With feverish haste they lifted the legsand threw them out, but the weight of the body balanced them backagain through the still open door. The men were desperate. With atremendous heave they turned the dead man upside down, shoved the bodyout and slammed the door shut. They were just in time. A bomb explodeddirectly beneath the sponson, where the dead body had fallen. To everyman in the tank came a feeling of swift gratitude that the bombs hadcaught the dead man and not themselves. 

They ploughed across another trench without dropping into the bottom, for it was only six feet wide. Daylight had come by now and the enemywas beginning to find that his brave efforts were of no avail againstthese monsters of steel. 

All this time the German guns had not been silent. McKnutt's tankcrunched across the ground amid a furious storm of flying earth andsplinters. The strain was beginning to be felt. Although one isprotected from machine-gun fire in a tank, the sense of confinementis, at times, terrible. One does not know what is happening outsidehis little steel prison. One often cannot see where the machine isgoing. The noise inside is deafening; the heat terrific. Bombs shatteron the roof and on all sides. Bullets spatter savagely against thewalls. There is an awful lack of knowledge; a feeling of blindhelplessness at being cooped up. One is entirely at the mercy of thebig shells. If a shell hits a tank near the petrol tank, the men mayperish by fire, as did Gould, without a chance of escape. Going downwith your ship seems pleasant compared to burning up with your tank. In fighting in the open, one has, at least, air and space. 

McKnutt, however, was lucky. They could now see the sunken road beforethem which was their objective. Five-nines were dropping around themnow. It was only a matter of moments, it seemed, when they would bestruck. 

"Do you think we shall make it?" McKnutt asked James. 

"We may get there, but shall we get back? That's the question, sir. "

McKnutt did not answer. They had both had over two years' experienceof the accuracy of the German artillery. And they did not believe inmiracles. But they had their orders. They must simply do their dutyand trust to luck. 

They reached the sunken road. The tank was swung around. Their orderswere to reach their objective and remain there until the bombersarrived. McKnutt peered out. No British were in sight, and he snappedhis porthole shut. Grimly they settled down to wait. 

The moments passed. Each one seemed as if it would be their last. Would the infantry never come? Would there be any sense in justsitting there until a German shell annihilated them if the infantrynever arrived? Had they been pushed back by a German rush? Should hetake it upon himself to turn back? McKnutt's brain whirled. 

Then, after hours, it seemed, of waiting, around the corner of atraverse, he saw one of the British tin hats. Nothing in the worldcould have been a happier sight. A great wave of relief swept overhim. Three or four more appeared. Realizing that they, too, hadreached their objective, they stopped and began to throw up a roughform of barricade. More men poured in. The position was consolidated, and there was nothing more for the tank to do. 

They swung round and started back. Two shells dropped about twentyyards in front of them. For a moment McKnutt wondered whether it wouldbe well to change their direction. "No, we'll keep right on and chanceit, " he said aloud. The next moment a tremendous crash seemed to liftthe tank off the ground. Black smoke and flying particles filled thetank. McKnutt and James looked around expecting to see the top of themachine blown off. But nothing had happened inside, and no one wasinjured. Although shells continued to fall around them and a Germanmachine gun raged at them, they got back safely. 

 [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y. _ A TANK BRINGING IN A CAPTURED GERMAN GUN UNDER PROTECTION OF CAMOUFLAGE]

Brigade Headquarters, where McKnutt reported, was full of expectancy. Messages were pouring in over the wires. The men at the telephoneswere dead beat, but cool and collected. 

"Any news of the other 'busses?" McKnutt asked eagerly. The Buzzersshook their heads wearily. He rushed up to a couple of men who werebeing carried to a dressing-station. 

"Do you fellows know how the tanks made out?" he asked. 

One of them had seen two of the machines on the other side of theGerman line, he said. In answer to the questions which were fired athim he could only say that the tanks had pushed on beyond the Germanfront line. 

Then on the top of the hill, against the sky-line, they saw a littlegroup of three or four men. James recognized them. 

"Why, there's Sergeant Browning and Mr. Borwick, sir, " he said. "What's happened to their tank, I wonder?" He and McKnutt hurried overto meet them. 

Borwick smiled coolly. 

"Hullo!" he said in his casual manner. 

"What's happened to your 'bus?" "What did you do?" was fired at him. 

"We got stuck in the German wire, and the infantry got ahead of us, "he said. "We pushed on, and fell into a nest of three machine guns. They couldn't hurt us, of course, and the Boches finally ran away. Weknocked out about ten of them, and just as we were going on and werealready moving, we suddenly started twisting around in circles. Whatdo you think had happened? A trench mortar had got us full in one ofour tracks, and the beastly thing broke. So we all tumbled out andleft her there. "

"Didn't you go on with the infantry?" asked McKnutt. 

"No. They'd reached their objective by that time, " Borwick replied, "so we saved the tank guns, and I pinched the clock. Then we strolledback, and here we are, " he concluded. 

Talbot joined the group as he finished. 

"But where's the rest of your crew?" he asked. 

Borwick said quietly: "Jameson and Corporal Fiske got knocked outcoming back. " He lit a cigarette and puffed at it. 

There was silence for a moment. 

Then Talbot said, "Bad luck; have you got their pay-books?"

"No, I forgot them, " Borwick answered. 

But his Sergeant handed over the little brown books which were theonly tangible remains of two men who had gone into action thatmorning. The pay-books contained two or three pages on which werejotted down their pay, with the officer's signature. They had beenused as pocket-books, and held a few odd letters which the men hadreceived a few days before. Talbot had often been given the pay-booksof men in his company who were killed, but he never failed to beaffected when he discovered the letters and little trifles which hadmeant so much to the men who had carried them, and which now wouldmean so much to those whom they had left behind. 

In silence they went back to McKnutt's tank and sat down, waiting fornews. Scraps of information were beginning to trickle in. 

"Have gained our objective in X Wood. Have not been counter-attacked. "

"Cannot push on owing to heavy machine-gun fire from C----. "

"Holding out with twenty men in trench running north from DerelictWood. Can I have reinforcements?"

These were the messages pouring in from different points on the linesof attack. Sometimes the messages came in twos and threes. Sometimesthere were minutes when only a wild buzzing could be heard and the menat the telephones tried to make the buzzing intelligible. 

The situation cleared up finally, however. Our troops had, apparently, gained their objectives along the entire line to the right. On theleft the next Brigade had been hung up by devastating machine-gunfire. As McKnutt and Talbot waited around for news and fresh orders, one of their men hurried down and saluted. 

He brought the news that the other three tanks had returned, havingreached their objectives. Two had but little opposition and theinfantry had found no difficulty in gaining their points of attack. The third tank, however, had had three men wounded at a "pill-box. "These pill-boxes are little concrete forts which the German hadplanted along his line. The walls are of ferro concrete, two to threefeet thick. As the tank reached the pill-box, two Germans slipped outof the rear door. Three of the tank crew clambered down and got insidethe pill-box. In a moment the firing from inside ceased, and presentlythe door flew open. Two British tank men, dirty and grimy, escortingten Germans, filed out. The Germans had their hands above their heads, and when ordered to the rear they went with the greatest alacrity. Oneof the three Englishmen was badly wounded; the other two were onlyslightly injured, but they wandered down to the dressing-station, withthe hope that "Blighty" would soon welcome them. 

Although Talbot had his orders to hold the tanks in readiness in casethey were needed, no necessity arose, and after a few hours' waiting, the Major sent word to him to start the tanks back to the embankment, there to be kept for the next occasion. Better still, the men were tobe taken back to B---- in the motor lorries, just as they had beenafter the first battle. Water, comparative quiet, blankets, --thesewere the luxuries that lay before them. 

As he sat crowded into the swaying motor lorry that lurched back alongthe shell-torn road to B----, Talbot slipped his hand into his pocket. He touched a cheque-book, a package of cigarettes, and a razor. Thenhe smiled. They were the final preparations he had made that morningbefore he went into action. After all he had not needed them, but onenever could tell, one might be taken prisoner. One needed no suchmaterial preparations against the possibility of death, but aprisoner--that was different. 

The cheque-book had been for use in a possible gray prison camp in theland of his enemies. Cheques would some time or other reach hisEnglish bank and his people would know that he was, at least, alive. The cigarettes were to keep up his courage in the face of whateverdisaster might befall him. 

And the razor? Most important of all. 

The razor was to keep, bright and untarnished, the traditions andprestige of the British Army!

VIII

REST AND DISCIPLINE

We stayed in that region of the Front for a few more weeks, preparingfor any other task that might be demanded of us. One day the Battalionreceived its orders to pack up, to load the tanks that were left over, and to be ready for its return to the district in which we had spentthe winter. 

We entrained on a Saturday evening at A----, and arrived at St. -P----at about ten o'clock on Sunday night. From there a twelve-mile marchlay before us to our old billets in B----. As may well be imagined, the men, though tired, were in high spirits. We simply ate up thedistance, and the troops disguised their fatigue by singing songs. There were two which appeared to be favorites on this occasion. 

One, to the tune of "The Church's One Foundation, " ran as follows:--

 "We are Fred Karno's[1] Army, The ragtime A. S. C. , [2] We cannot work, we do not fight, So what ruddy use are we? And when we get to Berlin, The Kaiser he will say, Hoch, hoch, mein Gott! What a ruddy rotten lot, Is the ragtime A. S. C. "

The other was a refrain to the tune of a Salvation Army hymn, "Whenthe Roll is called up Yonder":--

 "When you wash us in the water, That you washed your dirty daughter, Oh! then we will be much whiter! We'll be whiter than the whitewash on the wall. "

Eventually the companies arrived in the village at all hours of themorning. No one was up. We saw that the men received their meals, which had been prepared by the cooks who had gone ahead in motorlorries. They did not spend much time over the food, for in less thanhalf an hour "K" billets--the same Hospice de Ste. Berthe--wereperfectly quiet. We then wandered away with our servants, to be metat each of our houses by hastily clad landladies, with sleep in theireyes and smoking lamps or guttering candles in their hands. 

The next morning the Company paraded at half-past nine, and the daywas spent in reforming sections, in issuing new kits to the men, andin working the rosters for the various courses. On Tuesday, just asbreakfast was starting, an orderly brought a couple of memorandumsfrom Battalion Orderly Room for McKnutt and Borwick. 

No one watched them read the chits, but Talbot, glancing up from hisplate, saw a look on Borwick's face. It was a look of the purest joy. 

"What is it?" he said. 

"Leave, my God!" replied Borwick; "and McKnutt's got it too. "

"When are you going? To-day?" shouted the Old Bird. 

"Yes; there's a car to take us to the station in a quarter of anhour. "

They both left their unfinished breakfasts and tore off to theirbillets. There it was but a matter of moments to throw a few thingsinto their packs. No one ever takes any luggage when going on leave. They tore back to the mess to leave instructions for their servants, and we strolled out _en masse_ to see the lucky fellows off. 

The box-body drew away from where we were standing. We watched it growsmaller and smaller down the long white road, and turned back withregrets and pleasure in our hearts. With regrets, that we ourselveswere not the lucky ones, and knowing that for some of us leave wouldnever come; with pleasure, because one is always glad that a few ofthe deserving reap a small share of their reward. 

Then, strolling over to the Parade Ground, we heard the "Five Minutes"sounding. Some dashed off to get their Sam Brownes, others called fortheir servants to wipe a few flecks of dust from their boots andputtees. 

When the "Fall In" began, the entire Company was standing "At Ease" onthe Parade Ground. As the last note of the call sounded, the wholeparade sprang to "Attention, " and the Major, who had been standing onthe edge of the field, walked forward to inspect. 

Every morning was spent in this manner, except for those who hadspecial courses to follow. We devoted all our time and attention to"Forming Fours" in as perfect a manner as possible; to saluting withthe greatest accuracy and fierceness; and to unwearying repetition ofevery movement and detail, until machinelike precision was attained. 

All that we were doing then is the very foundation and essence of gooddiscipline. Discipline is the state to which a man is trained, inorder that under all circumstances he shall carry out withoutsecondary reasoning any order that may be given him by a superior. There is nothing of a servile nature in this form of obedience. Eachman realizes that it is for the good of the whole. By placing hisimplicit confidence in the commands of one of a higher rank than hisown, he gives an earnest of his ability to himself command at somefuture time. It is but another proof of the old adage, that the manwho obeys least is the least fitted to command. 

 [Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y. _ A BRITISH TANK IN THE LIBERTY LOAN PARADE IN NEW YORK]

When this war started, certain large formations, with the sheer lustfor fighting in their blood, did not, while being formed, realize theabsolute necessity of unending drill and inspection. Their first crywas, "Give us a rifle, a bayonet, and a bomb, show us how to use them, and we will do the rest. " Acting upon this idea, they flung themselvesinto battle, disregarding the iron rules of a preliminary training. Atfirst their very impetus and courage carried them over incredibleobstacles. But after a time, and as their best were killed off, theoriginal blaze died down, and the steady flame of ingrained disciplinewas not there to take the place of burning enthusiasm. The terriblewaste and useless sacrifice that ensued showed only too plainly thateven the greatest individual bravery is not enough. 

In this modern warfare there are many trials and experiencesunimagined before, which wear down the actual will-power of the menwho undergo them. When troops are forced to sit in a trench under themost terrific shell-fire, the nerve-racking noise, the sight of theircomrades and their defences being blown to atoms, and the constantfear that they themselves will be the next to go, all deprive theordinary mind of vital initiative. Having lost the active mentalpowers that a human being possesses, they are reduced to the level ofmachines. The officers and non-commissioned officers, on whom theresponsibility of leadership rests, have that spur to maintain theirequilibrium, but the private soldiers, who have themselves only tothink of, are the most open to this devastating influence. If thesemachines are to be controlled, as they must be, by an exteriorintelligence, they must obey automatically, and if in the pastautomatic obedience has not been implanted, there is nothing to takeits place. 

The only means by which to obtain inherent response to a given orderis so to train a man in minute details, by constant, inflexibleinsistence on perfection, that it becomes part of his being to obeywithout thinking. 

It must not be presumed that, in obtaining this almost inhumanreaction, all independent qualities are obliterated. For, though aman's mind is adjusted to carrying out, without questioning, any taskthat is demanded of him, yet in the execution of this duty he isallowed the full scope of his invention and initiative. 

Thus, by this dull and unending routine, we laid the foundation ofthat inevitable success toward which we were slowly working. 

When the Company dismissed, the Major, Talbot, and the Old Bird walkedover to lunch together. 

"Well, it's a great war, isn't it?" said the Major, turning to theother two. 

"It's very nice to have got through a couple of shows, sir, " repliedTalbot. "What do you think about it, Old Bird?"

"Well, of course, war is all very well for those who like it. But giveme the Base every time, " answered the Old Bird, true to hisreputation. Then, turning to the Major with his most ingratiatingsmile, he said, "By the way, sir, what about a few days in Boulogne?"

FOOTNOTES:

[1] A late, third-rate English pantomime producer. 

[2] Stands for Army Service Corps, and its equivalent in the AmericanArmy is the Quartermaster's Corps. 

IX

A PHILOSOPHY OF WAR

It has often been observed that if this war is to end war for alltime, and if all the sacrifices and misery and suffering will help toprevent any recurrence of them, then it is well worth while. 

In these days of immediate demands and quick results, this question istoo vague and too far-reaching to bring instant consolation. Apartfrom that, too, it cannot decide whether any war, however great, canever abolish the natural and primitive fighting instinct in man. 

The source from which we must draw the justification for our optimismlies much nearer to hand. We must regard the effect that warring lifehas already produced upon each individual member of the nations whoare and who are not engaged in it. 

At the very heart of it is the effect on the man who is actuallyfighting. Take the case of him who before the war was either workingin a factory, who was a clerk in a business house, or who was nothingat all beyond the veriest loafer and bar-lounger. To begin with, hewas perhaps purely selfish. The foundation of his normal life wasself-protection. Whether worthless or worthy, whether hating orrespecting his superiors, the private gain and comfort for himself andhis was the object of his existence. He becomes a soldier, and thatact alone is a conversion. His wife and children are cared for, it istrue; but he himself, for a shilling a day, sells to his country hislife, his health, his pleasures, and his hopes for the future. To makegood measure he throws in cheerfulness, devotion, philosophy, humour, and an unfailing kindness. One man, for instance, sells up threegrocery businesses in the heart of Lancashire, an ambition which ithas taken him ten years to accomplish. Without a trace of bitternesshe divorces himself from the routine of a lifetime, and goes out toFrance to begin life again at the very bottom of a new ladder. He whofor years had many men under him is now under all, and receives, unquestioningly, orders which in a different sphere he had beenaccustomed to give. Apart from the mere letter of obedience anddiscipline he gains a spirit of devotion and self-sacrifice, whichturns the bare military instrument into a divine virtue. He may, forinstance, take up the duties of an officer's servant. Immediately hethrows himself whole-heartedly into a new form of selfless generosity, which leads him to a thousand ways of care and forethought, that eventhe tenderest woman could hardly conceive. The man who receives thisunwavering devotion can only accept it with the knowledge that no onecan deserve it, and that it is greater gain to him who gives than tohim who takes. 

What life of peace is there that produces this god-like fibre in theplainest of men? Why, indeed, is it produced in the life of war? It isbecause in war sordidness and petty worries are eliminated; becausethe one great and ever-present fear, the fear of death, reduces allother considerations to their proper values. The actual fear of deathis always present, but this fear itself cannot be sordid when men canmeet it of their own free will and with the most total absence ofcringing or of cowardice. 

In commercial rivalry a man will sacrifice the friend of years to gaina given sum, which will insure him increased material comforts. In wara man will deliberately sacrifice the life for which he wanted thosecomforts, to save perhaps a couple of men who have no claim on himwhatsoever. He who before feared any household calamity now throwshimself upon a live bomb, which, even though he might escape himself, will without his action kill other men who are near it. This deedloses none of its value because of the general belief among soldiersthat life is cheap. Other men's lives are cheap. One's own life isalways very dear. 

One of the most precious results has been the resurrection of thequality of admiration. The man who before the war said, "Why is he mymaster?" is now only too glad to accept a leader who is a leaderindeed. He has learned that as his leader cannot do without him, so hecannot do without his leader, and although each is of equalimportance in the scheme of affairs, their positions in the scheme aredifferent. He has learned that there is a higher equality than theequality of class: it is the equality of spirit. 

This same feeling is reflected, more especially among the leaders ofthe men, in the complete disappearance of snobbishness. No suchartificial imposition can survive in a life where inherent valueautomatically finds its level; where a disguise which in peace-timepassed as superiority, now disintegrates when in contact with thislife of essentials. For war is, above all, a reduction to essentials. It is the touchstone which proves the qualities of our youth'straining. All those pleasures that formed the gamut of a young man'slife either fall away completely or find their proper place. Sport, games, the open-air life, have taught him that high cheerfulness, through failure or success, which makes endurance possible. But thecomplicated, artificial pleasures of ordinary times have receded intoa dim, unspoken background. The wholesomeness of the existence thathe now leads has taught him to delight in the most simple and naturalof things. This throwing aside of the perversions and fripperies of anover-civilization has forced him to regard them with a disgust thatcan never allow him to be tempted again by their inducements ofdelight and dissipation. The natural, healthy desires which a man issometimes inclined to indulge in are no longer veiled under a mask ofhypocrisy. They are treated in a perfectly outspoken fashion as thenecessary accompaniments to a hard, open-air life, where a man'svitality is at its best. In consequence of this, and as the result ofthe deepening of man's character which war inevitably produces, thesense of adventure and mystery which accompanied the fulfilment ofthese desires has disappeared, and with it to a great extent thedesires themselves have assumed a far less importance. 

In peace, and especially in war, the young man's creed is casualness. Not the casualness of carelessness, but that which comes from theknowledge that up to each given point he has done his best. It isthis fundamental peace of mind which comes to a soldier that forms thebeauty of his life. The order received must be obeyed in its exactdegree, neither more nor less; and the responsibility, though great, is clearly defined. Each man must use his individual intelligencewithin the scope of the part assigned to him. The responsibilitydiffers in kind, but not in degree, and the last link of the chain isas important as the first. There can be no shirking or shifting, and, knowing this, each task is finished, rounded out, and put away. Onemight think that this made thought mechanical: but it is mechanicalonly in so far as each man's intelligence is concentrated on his ownparticular duty, and each part working in perfect order contributes tothe unison through which the whole machine develops its power. Thusthe military life induces in men a clearer and more accurate habit ofthought, and teaches each one to do his work well and above all to dohis own work only. 

From this very simplicity of life, which brings out a calmness of mindand that equable temperament that minor worries can no longer shake, springs the mental leisure which gives time for other and unaccustomedideas. Men who wittingly, time and again, have faced but escapeddeath, will inevitably begin to think what death may mean. As thefirst lessons of obedience teach each man that he needs a leader topass through a certain crisis, so the crisis of death, where man mustpass alone, demands a still higher Leader. With the admission that noman is self-sufficient, that sin of pride, which is the strongestbarrier between a man and his God, falls away. He is forced, if onlyin self-defence, to recognize that faith in some all-sufficient Poweris the only thing that will carry him through. If he could cut awaythe thousand sins of thought, man would automatically find himself atfaith. It is the central but often hidden point of our intelligence;and although there are a hundred roads that lead to it, they may becompletely blocked. The clean flame of the disciplined life burns awaythe rubbish that chokes these roads, and faith becomes a nearer andmore constant thing. 

The sadness of war lies in the loss of actual personalities, but it isonly by means of these losses that this surrender can be attained. 

It must not be thought that faith comes overnight as a free gift. Itis a long and slow process of many difficult steps. There may be firstthe actual literal crumbling, unknown in peace-time, of one's solidsurroundings, to be repeated perhaps again and again until the oldhabit of reliance upon them is uprooted. Then comes the realizationthat this life at the front has but two possible endings. The first isto be so disabled that a man's fighting days are over. The other isdeath. Instant death rather than a slow death from wounds. Every manhopes for a wound which will send him home to England. That, however, is only a respite, as his return to France follows upon hisconvalescence. The other most important step is the loss of one'sfriends. It is not the fact of actually seeing them killed, for in thechaos and tumult of a battle the mind hardly registers suchimpressions. One's only feeling is the purely primitive one of relief, that it is another and not one's self. It is only afterwards, whenthe excitement is over, and a man realizes that again there is a spaceof life, for him, but not for his friend, that the loneliness and theloss are felt. He then says to himself, "Why am I spared when manybetter men have gone?" At first resentment swallows up all otheremotions. In time, when this bitterness begins to pass, the beliefthat somehow this loss is of some avail, carries him a little fartheron the road to faith. This all comes to the man who before the warbelieved that the world was made for his pleasure, and who treatedlife from that standpoint. All that he wanted he took without asking. Now, all that he has he gives without being asked. 

Woman, too, gives more than herself. She gives her men, her peace ofmind and all that makes her life worth living. The man after all mayhave little hope, but while he is alive he has the daily pleasures ofhealth, vitality, excitement, and a thousand interests. A woman hasbut a choice of sorrows: the sorrow of unbearable suspense or theacceptance of the end. 

Yet it needed this war to show again to women what they could best doin life: to love their men, bear their children, care for the sick andsuffering, and learn to endure. It has taught them also to accept fromman what he is able or willing to give, and to admit a higher claimthan their own. They have been forced to put aside the demands andexactions which they felt before were their right, and to acceptloneliness and loss without murmur or question. 

A woman who loses her son loses the supreme reason of her existence;and yet the day after the news has come, she goes back to her work forthe sons of other women. If she has more sons to give she gives them, and faces again the eternal suspense that she has lived throughbefore. The younger women, who in times of peace would have lookedforward to an advantageous and comfortable marriage, will now marrymen whom they may never see again after the ten days' honeymoon isover, and will unselfishly face the very real possibility of widowhoodand lonely motherhood. They have had to learn the old lesson that workfor others is the only cure for sorrow, and they have learned toothat it is the only cure for all those petty worries and boredomswhich assailed them in times of peace. If they have learned this, thenagain one may say that war is worth while. 

What effect has the war had upon those countries who in the beginningwere not engaged in it? The United States, for instance, has for threeyears been an onlooker. The people of that country have had everyopportunity to view, in their proper perspectives, the feelings andchanges brought about among the men and women of the combatantcountries. At first, the enormous casualties, the sufferings and thesorrow, led them to believe that nothing was worth the price theywould have to pay, were they to enter into the lists. For in thebeginning, before that wonderful philosophy of spirit and cheerfulnessof outlook arose, and before the far-reaching effects of the sacrificeof loved ones could be perceived, there seemed to be little reason orright for such a train of desolation. They were perfectly justified, too, in thinking this, when insufficient time had elapsed to enablethem to judge of the immense, sweeping, beneficial effects that thisstruggle has produced in the moral fibre and stamina of the nationsengaged. 

It must be remembered that the horrors of the imagination are farworse than the realities. The men who fight and the women who tendtheir wounds suffer mentally far less than those who paint thepictures in their minds, from data which so very often are grosslyexaggerated. One must realize that the hardships of war are merelytransient. Men suffer untold discomforts, and yet, when thesesufferings are over and mind and body are at ease for a while, theyare completely forgotten. The only mark they leave is thedisinclination to undergo them again. But on those who do not realizethem in their actuality, they cause a far more terrifying effect. 

Now, others, as well, have discovered that war's advantages outweighso much its losses. They who with their own eyes had seen thewonderful fortitude with which men stand pain, and the amazingsubmission with which women bear sorrow, returned full of zeal andenthusiasm, to carry the torch of this uplifting flame to their owncountrymen. 

Others will realize, too, that although one may lose one's best, yetone's worst is made better. The women will find that the characters oftheir men will become softened. The clear-cut essentials of a life ofwar must make the mind of man direct. It may be brutal in itssimplicity, but it is clear and frank. Yet to counteract this, thecontinual sight of suffering bravely borne, the deep love and humilitythat the devotion of others unconsciously produces, bring about thischarity of feeling, this desire to forgive and this moderation incriticism, which is so marked in those who have passed through thestrenuous, searing realities of war. Since the thirty pieces ofsilver, no minted coin in the world has bought so much as has theKing's shilling of to-day. 

THE END

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