CHAPTERIII

chapteriii

inthemonthofmayanewtypeofmanhoodwasfillingtheoldroadsbehindthefront.

isawthemfirstinthelittleoldtownofst.-pol,wherealwaystherewasacomingandgoingoffrenchandenglishsoldiers.itwasmarket-dayandthegrandeplace(notverygrand)wascrowdedwithboothsandoldladiesinblack,andyounggirlswithcheckeredapronsovertheirblackfrocks,andpigsandcluckingfowls.suddenlythepeoplescattered,andtherewasarumbleandrattleofwheelsasalonglineoftransportwagonscamethroughthesquare.

“byjove!...australians!”

therewasnomistakingthem.theirslouch-hatstoldoneataglance,butwithoutthemishouldhaveknown.theyhadadistinctivetypeoftheirown,whichmarkedthemoutfromallothersoldiersofoursalongthoseroadsofwar.

theywerehatchet-facedfellowswhocameridingthroughthelittleoldmarkettown;britishunmistakably,yetnotenglish,notirish,norscottish,norcanadian.theylookedhard,withthehardnessofaboyhoodandabreedingawayfromcitiesor,atleast,awayfromthesoftertrainingofourwayoflife.theyhadmerryeyes(especiallyforthegirlsroundthestalls),butresolute,clean-cutmouths,andtheyrodetheirhorseswithaneasygraceinthesaddle,asthoughborntoriding,anddrovetheirwagonswitharecklessnessamongthelittleboothsthatwasjustifiedbyhalfaninchbetweenanironaxleandanoldwoman'stableofcoloredribbons.

thoseclean-shaven,sun-tanned,dust-coveredmen,whohadcomeoutofthehellofthedardanellesandtheburningdroughtofegyptiansands,lookedwonderfullyfreshinfrance.youth,keenassteel,withaflashintheeyes,withanuttercarelessnessofanyperilahead,cameridingdownthestreet.

theyweregladtobethere.everythingwasnewandgoodtothem(thoughsooldandstaletomanyofus),andaftertheiradventuresintheeasttheyfounditsplendidtobeinacivilizedcountry,withwaterintheskyandinthefields,withgreentreesaboutthem,andflowersinthegrass,andwhitepeoplewhowerefriendly.

whentheycameupinthetrainfrommarseillestheywereallatthewindows,drinkinginthelookofthefrenchlandscape,andoneoftheirofficerstoldmethatagainandagainheheardthesamewordsspokenbythoseladsofhis.

“it'sagoodcountrytofightfor...it'slikebeinghomeagain.”

atfirsttheyfeltchillyinfrance,fortheweatherhadbeenbadforthemduringthefirstweeksinapril,whenthewindhadblowncoldandrain-cloudshadbrokenintosharpsqualls.

talkingtothemen,isawthemshiveralittleandheardtheirteethchatter,buttheysaidtheylikedamoistclimatewithabiteinthewind,afteralltheblazeandglareoftheegyptiansun.

oneoftheirpleasuresinbeingtherewastheopportunityofbuyingsweets!“theycan'thavetoomuchofthem,”saidoneoftheofficers,andtheideathatthosehardfellows,whosehomericfightingqualitieshadbeenproved,shouldbeenthusiasticforlollipopsseemedtomeanamusingtouchofcharacter.fortoughastheywere,andkeenastheywere,thoseaustraliansoldierswerebutgrown-upchildrenwithawonderfulsimplicityofyouthandthegiftoflaughter.

isawthemlaughingwhen,forthefirsttime,theytriedonthegas-maskswhichnoneofuseverleftbehindwhenwewentnearthefighting-line.thathorrorofwaronthewesternfrontwasnewtothem.

poison-gaswasnotoneoftheweaponsusedbytheturks,andthegas-masksseemedajoketothegroupsofaustralianstryingontheheadgearinthefields,andchangingthemselvesintoobscenespecters...butonemanwatchingthemgaveashudderandsaid,“it'sapitysuchsplendidboysshouldhavetoriskthisfoulwayofdeath.”theydidnothearhiswords,andweheardtheirlaughteragain.

onthatfirstdayoftheirarrivalistoodinacourtyardwithayoungofficerwhosegrayeyeshadafine,clearlight,whichshowedthespiritoftheman,andaswetalkedhepointedoutsomeoftheboyswhopassedinandoutofanoldbarn.oneofthemhaddonefineworkonthepeninsula,contemptuousofallrisks.anotherhadgoneoutunderheavyfiretobringinawoundedfriend...“oh,theyaregreatlads!”saidthecaptainofthecompany.“butnowtheywanttogetatthegermansandfinishthejobquickly.givethemafairchanceandthey'llgofar.”

theywentfar,fromthattimetotheend,andfoughtwithasimple,terriblecourage.

theyhadnoneofthedisciplineimposeduponourmenbyregulartraditions.theyweregipsyfellows,withnonebutthegipsylawintheirhearts,intolerantofrestraint,withnorespectforrankorcasteunlessitcarriedstrengthwithit,difficulttohandlebehindthelines,quick-tempered,foul-mouthed,primitivemen,butlovable,human,generoussoulswhentheirbayonetswerenotredwithblood.theirdisciplineinbattlewasthebest.theywantedtogettoaplaceahead.theywouldfightthedevilsofhelltogetthere.

thenew-zealandersfollowedthem,withrosycheekslikeenglishboysofkent,andmoregentlemannersthantheother“anzacs,”andthesamecourage.theywentfar,too,andsetthepaceawhileinthelastlap.butthat,inthesummerof'16,wasfaraway.

inthoselastdaysofjune,beforethebigbattlesbegan,thecountrysideofthesommevalleywasfilledwithsplendor.themustardseedhadspreadayellowcarpetinmanymeadowssothattheywerefieldsoftheclothofgold,andclumpsofredclovergrewlikeflowersofblood.thehedgesaboutthevillagesofpicardywerewhitewithelderfloweranddrenchedwithscent.itwashaymakingtimeandfrenchwomenandchildrenweretossingthehayonwoodenpitchforksduringhotdayswhichcamebetweenheavyrains.ourmenweremarchingthroughthatbeauty,andwereconsciousofit,ithink,andgladoflife.