CHAPTERI

partfour.

awinterofdiscontent

chapteri

thewinterof1915was,ithink,theworstofall.therewasasettledhopelessnessinitwhichwasheavyintheheartsofmen—oursandtheenemy's.in1914therewasthefirstbattleofypres,whenthebodiesofbritishsoldierslaystrewninthefieldsbeyondthiscityandtheirbrownlinesbarredthewaytocalais,butthewardidnotseemlikelytogoonforever.mostmenbelieved,eventhen,thatitwouldendquickly,andeachsidehadfaithinsomemiraclethatmighthappen.in1916-17thewinterwasfouloverthefieldsofthesommeafterbattleswhichhadcutallourdivisionstopiecesanderedthesouloftheworldbytheimmensemartyrdomofboys—british,french,andgerman—onthewesternfront.butthegermanretreatfromthesommetotheshelteroftheirhindenburglinegavesomerespitetoourmen,andtheirs,fromthelong-drawnfuryofattackandcounter-attack,andfromtheintensityofgun-fire.therewasatbestthemirageofsomethinglikevictoryonourside,afaintflickeringupoftheoldfaiththatthegermanshadweakenedandwerenearlyspent.

butforatimeinthosedarkdaysof1915therewasnohopeahead.nomentaldopebywhichourfighting-mencoulddrugthemselvesintoseeingavisionofthewar'send.

thebattleofloosanditsaftermathofminormassacresinthegroundwehadgained—thenewhorrorofthatnewsalient—hadsappedintotheconfidenceofthosebattalionofficersandmenwhohadbeenassuredofgermanweaknessbycheery,optimistic,breezy-mindedgenerals.itwasnogoodsomeofthoseoldgentlemensaying,“we'vegot'embeat!”whenfromhoogetothehohenzollernredoubtourmensatinwettrenchesunderceaselessbombardmentofheavyguns,andwhenanysmallattacktheymadebytheordersofahighcommandwhichbelievedinsmallattacks,withoutmuchplanorpurpose,wasonly“askingfortrouble”fromgermancounterattacksbymines,trench-mortars,bombingsorties,poison-gas,flame-throwers,andotherformsoffrightfulnesswhichmadeadirtymessoffleshandblood,withoutdefiniteresultoneithersidebeyondpilingupthelistsofdeath.

“itkeepsupthefightingspiritofthemen,”saidthegenerals.“wemustmaintainanaggressivepolicy.”

theysearchedtheirtrenchmapsforgoodspotswhereanother“smalloperation”mightbeorganized.therewasacompetitionamongthecorpsanddivisionalgeneralsastothehighestnumberofraids,mineexplosions,trench-grabbingsundertakenbytheirmen.

“mycorps,”oneoldgeneraltoldmeoveracupofteainhisheadquartersmess,“beatstherecordforraids.”hiscasualtiesalsobeattherecord,andmanyofhisofficersandmencalledhim,justbluntlyandsimply,“ouroldmurderer.”theydislikedthenecessityofdyingsothathemightaddonemoreraidtohisheroiccompetitionwiththecorpscommanderofthesectorontheleft.whentheywaitedfortheexplosionofaminewhichafterwardtheyhadto“rush”inaracewiththegermanbombing-parties,someofthemsawnosenseintheproceeding,butonlythelikelihoodofhavinglegsandarmstornoffbygermanstick-bombsorshells.“what'sthegoodofit?”theyasked,andcouldfindnoanswerexceptthesatisfactionofanoldmanlisteningtothedistantroarofthenewtumultbywhichhehad“raisedhell”again.