"Contemptible" Part 15

They slept propped up against the bank for some hours; then they were moved further up the road into the little village of Souvir. It appeared that their new role was to act as Local Reserve, and that they could amuse themselves how they liked as long as they were prepared "to move off at fifteen minutes' notice."

The men broke into two big barns and made themselves tolerably comfortable. They lit little fires in the road and began to cook their breakfasts. The Officers of the Company billeted themselves on the hovel nearest the barns and set about the same object.

"I think," mused the Senior Subaltern, "that it would be an excellent idea if some of us went on a foraging expedition. I should not be at all surprised if we did not have to stop here for weeks. And there may be one or two things to be picked up--before the others."

So two of them went off on a tour of inspection. Noticing bee-hives outside the house of the village priest, they went in and bought two large jars of liquid honey. An estaminet yielded a couple of bottles of Medoc, and a patisserie, most unexpectedly, some bread.

Having successfully settled their business, there was time to look around. Souvir was a bigger village than Poussey, and seemed to be teeming with troops, who looked as if they had been used to the place for years, and were likely to remain in it longer. The first object of interest was the church, which had been turned into a hospital for Germans, many of whom were sitting about on benches in the stone-flagged courtyard. The two Officers went in to have a closer look at them. The majority were so greyish pale, their hair such unlovely stubble, their temples so shrunken that the Subaltern pitied them in their morose dejection and slow-witted taciturnity.

"I don't think we'd better go into the church," he said. "They'd probably throw us out."

They pa.s.sed through an archway in a huge medieval wall into the graveyard, and thence, by a sudden and complete transformation in time, colour and atmosphere, into a most delightful garden of magnificent proportions, with smooth lawns and sweeping drives. The chateau itself was scarcely in keeping with this stateliness. The impression it gave one came as an anti-climax. The Subaltern was beginning to develop a fine taste in French chateaux, but somehow this one did not rank with the others, although his brain reeled at the thought of the cost of it all. Probably that is why it failed as a work of art and beauty: it made one wonder how much it must have cost.

A pa.s.ser-by told them that it belonged to a certain woman whose name had been on everybody's lips, just before the war, and the information stimulated their interest. They wandered around, past silent fountains and over velvet lawns, stone terraces and gravel drives. On their way back they pa.s.sed one of the big bay windows on the ground floor of the chateau. It was open, and they caught the faint but distinctive aroma of disinfectant. The erstwhile billiard-room had obviously been converted into a hospital dressing-room. The place was deserted, and they turned away without the intuition entering into either of their heads that they themselves would before long be carried into that very room.

Souvir was apparently their headquarters for the time being, for if they moved away by day or night, they always marched back into it. And as, day by day, they saw the same sights and did the same things, the pa.s.sage of time did not leave such exact impressions on his mind as the changing sights and actions of the moving battles had done.

Compared with the days that had gone before they were divinely comfortable. Unless there was an alarm, they could sleep as long as they liked. There was not sufficient accommodation in the little hut, so the Officers commandeered a little shed at the side of it. Here there was plenty of straw, and for several mornings they lay dozing until eight or nine o'clock.

The men were quite happy in their barns, and would not begin to stir before seven o'clock. Then they would hear in their sleep confused sounds of tramping feet and shouts in the road outside.

The voice of the Quartermaster-Sergeant, distributing the rations, was always the most insistent.

"'_Ere_, who's 'ad that there tea?"

"Fourty-two Smith took it down the street, Cooler Sawgint."

(When there is more than one man of the same name in a Battalion, the last two figures of his regimental number, are, as it were, hyphenated on to it. Brown's number was, say, 1965, so to prevent mistakes he was always '65 Brown, to distinguish him from all the other Browns.)

"Where's the Orderly Cor'pril of No. 5 Platoon?"

"Comin', Cooler Sawgint!"

Then another voice raised in pained expostulation--

"'_Ere_, look at '_im_--a hackin' up the bacon. Who d'ju think's comin'

after you?"

"Go and see why there ain't no rum, Watkins!"

"There ain't '_arf_ enough sugar for all them!"

"'And over my firewood, will ye, or I'll ...!"

And so on, and so forth. It was the tune to which they finally awoke every morning.

When it was impossible to maintain the pretence of being asleep any longer, they would get up and shake themselves. They had pa.s.sed the stage of wanting to take clothes off. Their uprising in the morning was as easy and simple as a dog's. Then, aided, perhaps, by one of their servants, they would set about getting their breakfast ready in the front room. The Subaltern discovered what a tremendous amount of trouble is entailed in the preparation of even the simplest meals. Tables to be moved, kettles to be filled, bread cut, jam and bully beef tins opened!

But each would have his own particular job, and they would soon be seated round the dirty table, drinking their tea out of cups, or their own mugs, and munching biscuits or bread.

Now that they were getting their rations each night with the regularity of clockwork, they were beginning to appreciate properly the excellence of their fare. "Seeing," as the Senior Subaltern would say, "that we are on Active Service, I think the rations is an extraordinarily well managed show."

The quality was good, and there was plenty of it. Personally, the Subaltern never succeeded in getting on very good terms with the "bully beef." He decided that it was "a bit too strong" for him; but the others devoured large quant.i.ties, and seemed all the better for it.

The jam, at that time, and in that particular sector of the line, was good and, moreover, varied. The Subaltern does not ever remember suffering from the now notorious "plum and apple." There was even marmalade.

He openly delighted in the biscuits, and would go about his work all day munching them. The bacon, too, as some one said, was "better than what we have in the Mess, sometimes." None of them posed as connoisseurs of rum, but a Sergeant, who looked as if he knew what he was talking about, praised it heartily; and, taken in hot tea, it banished all sorts of cares....

Tea (without rum) and bacon, to be followed by ration bread and marmalade (if possible) was the staple fare at breakfast. They would sit around the fire and smoke--there was a tobacco allowance included in the rations. The Subaltern, however, had lost his pipe, and attempts at cigarette rolling were not particularly successful.

Every other day there used to be a mail, and with it, generally, papers from home. This was the first definite news they had had from "home"

since leaving in mid-August. There was an enthralling interest in seeing how the people at home "were taking things."

To be perfectly candid, before the war, the Army had placed very little reliance upon the patriotism or integrity of the country. The Army was a thing apart--detached from the swirl of conflicting ideas, and the eddies of political strife. The Army was, so to speak, on the bank, and it looked with stern disapproval at the river sweeping so swiftly by. It neither understood the forces that were hurrying the waters along, nor did it realise the goal that they were striving to reach. Perhaps it did not take the trouble, perhaps it could not.

Then, when the war clouds began to blacken the horizon, the Army, having so little sympathy with the vast and complex civilisation which it was to defend, felt convinced that the national feelings and political sense of the nation would be slumbering so soundly that no call of honour could awaken it to the realisation of either its duty or its danger. But the horse which all the expert trainers had dismissed as a "non-starter" for the next great race, suddenly gathered his haunches under him, and shot out on the long track to victory. The Army, with the rest of the world, realised that, after all, the heart of the nation was in the right place. Nevertheless, the tremendous wave of patriotism that had swept so splendidly over Britain caused, at first, not a little suspense.

"Good Heavens! he's asking for a million men," gasped the Subaltern.

"Well, if he doesn't get them, this Company will go over and fight for Germany," said the Captain. "The country isn't worth fighting for if it can't raise a million men."

"The Government seem to be doing jolly well," some one volunteered.

"And so they darn well ought," said the Senior Subaltern. "But you wait and see. If something wonderful does not happen in about six months'

time, all sorts of fools will be up on their hind legs, shouting out how the show, as they would do it, should be run."

As events turned out, the Senior Subaltern was not far wrong.

At this time, too, the country was thrilled with its first feeling of pride in the Army since Waterloo. The dramatic rush of events--Mons, the Retreat, the dramatic rally when all seemed lost, and the splendid victory of the Marne, the continued advance, the deadlock on the Aisne--people were gasping at the magnificence of the success. They realised that the swift and sudden victory which Germany had counted on had been frustrated, and that owing to the French and the "contemptible little Army" eventual victory had been a.s.sured.

Every one who had the ear of the "public" was raining praise upon this contemptible little Army, and the contemptible little Army was surprised; but although they cla.s.sified the eloquent speeches and das.h.i.+ng articles under the sweeping phrase of "hot air," these things pleased them a good deal, although they never have admitted it. The country, it appeared, had learned to appreciate them--a little late, it is true; still, in the volatile imagination of the public, they had arrived. They were quietly pleased, and awoke to the realisation of what fine fellows they were.

"No more of the 'expensive, idle loafer' talk," said some one.

It was the vindication of the British Army.

CHAPTER XXIX

TO STRAIGHTEN THE LINE

Later in the morning there would probably be an inspection of arms. They had always to be very careful that the rifles were in proper working order. A few stiff bolts at a critical moment might make all the difference.

The next function would be dinner. This generally consisted of bully beef made into a sort of stew, and some potatoes, stolen from a field near by. It must be confessed that the stews were not a great success, and the Subaltern conceived a violent dislike to them. The sudden change from "the move" to "reserve" perhaps upset his system. He confessed to not "feeling very fit." The others, however, all seemed to have insatiable appet.i.tes for food and sleep. Instead of marching twenty miles a day on one or two meals, they now had their rations regularly and got very little exercise. They slept as if sleeping sickness was laying its hold upon them, and when not sleeping they were eating.

The wine store had not yet been exhausted in the village, and very often they had a bottle with their suppers. The honey in the two jars seemed inexhaustible--indeed, everybody grew tired of it in time; and in the end the remnants were presented to another Company. The patisserie continued to yield new bread, and they ate such quant.i.ties of it, still hot from the oven, that many of them got "livers." They were notoriously the first Company when it came to "looking after themselves." "Which,"

as the Senior Subaltern said, "shows sense."