''Contemptible'' by - (best ereader for pc TXT) 📕

Regimental Transport, and he began to change the offending boots for a fresh pair, without nails.

Some one procured a footbath, and ablutions began.

The Medical Officer came in to say that the Colonel seemed to be very ill. The Subaltern was glad he had declined the offer of his horse. He then began to shave and wash. Just as he was in the middle of this, with his boots and puttees off, his Captain came in to say that his Platoon was being sent off as infantry escort to a battery of artillery. By the time he had redressed himself, the Battery and his Platoon had both gone. The streets were filled by French peasants, as usual excited and garrulous, and by men settling down to their billets. The Subaltern failed absolutely to discover what route his Platoon had taken, but pursuing the road along which they had come, he soon left the town.

It was raining and blowing most fiercely; the darkness was intense, otherwise absolute silence reigned. Suddenly, excitedly, a voice, saturated with fear, cried out from the darkness, "Who goes there?" A face, with a bayonet in front of it, loomed up from the side of the road. "Friend!" this tersely. "Sentry, have you seen a battery of artillery and a platoon of ——shires pass here?"

"No, sir; you're nearly in the outpost line. There's only Royal Blankshires in front, sir."

So they had evidently not come this way. Where next? They must be found. He felt that to lose his men would be a sort of dishonour. Even while he was thinking, a shout was wafted on the wind out of the darkness and chasing it, overtaking it almost, a rifle shot. It was as if a match had been applied to the whole line. With the rapidity of wind the crackling spread to either side.

Soon the whole line in front was blazing away into the darkness. Should the Subaltern stop and try to lend assistance where he was, or hurry back to his own unit? Before long a couple of men rushed along the road crying out for Stretcher Bearers, and he learnt from one of them that in the darkness and confusion of the retreat, British had been fighting with British. The pitch darkness shrouded every action with a ghastly uncertainty.

Then news came through that another bridge had been captured. A fresh company arrived in reinforcement. There was nothing for it but to effect a retreat before the morning light could betray their weakness to the Germans. Apparently, however, the capture of the bridge had only been a precautionary measure, for the enemy did not press his attack home.

The Subaltern saw that the best thing he could do would be to return to the remainder of his Battalion at Maroilles. If he were to grope about the countryside in the dark, looking for "that battery," he would most likely be shot down for a spy; moreover, in a little over two hours the morning would dawn. So he trudged back to Maroilles.

He felt that he ought to have been on the verge of exhaustion from lack of food and from fatigue, and he vaguely wondered why he was not. The truth was that the excitement of the attack, coupled with the chill of the night, had restored him in mind and body, although he had marched over twenty miles on the previous day, had had no sleep that night, and no meal since the evening of the battle of Mons.

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

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

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

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

"Oh, 'ere they are; so they 'ave come. Well, that's somethink."

The "Marseillaise" broke out once again.

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

"'Ow d'you mean, Sam?"

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

CHAPTER VII VENÉROLLES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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