CHAPTERVII

chaptervii

itwasnotlongbeforewebrokedowntheprejudiceagainstusamongthefightingunits.thenewarmieswereourfriendsfromthefirst,andlikedustovisitthemintheirtrenchesandtheirdugouts,theircampsandtheirbillets.everyyoungofficerwaskeentoshowushisparticular“peep-show”ortotellushislatest“stunt.”wemademanyfriendsamongthem,anditwasourgriefthatasthewarwentonsomanyofthemdisappearedfromtheirbattalions,andoldfaceswerereplacedbynewfaces,andthoseagainbyotherswhentheyhadbecomefamiliar.againandagain,afterbattle,twenty-twoofficersinabattalionmesswerereducedtotwoorthree,andthegapswerefilledupfromthereservedepots.iwasafraidtoask,“whereisso-and-so?”becauseiknewthatthebestanswerwouldbe,“ablightywound,”andtheworstwasmorelikely.

itwasthedurationofallthedramaofdeaththatsearedone'ssoulasanonlooker;thefrightfulsumofsacrificethatwewererecordingdaybyday.thereweretimeswhenitbecameintolerableandagonizing,andwheniatleastdesiredpeace-at-almost-any-price,peacebynegotiation,bycompromise,thattheriverofbloodmightceasetoflow.themenlookedsosplendidastheymarcheduptothelines,singing,whistling,withaneasyswing.theylookedsodifferentwhenthousandscamedownagain,tofielddressing-stations—thewalkingwoundedandthestretchercases,theblindandthegassed—aswesawthemonthemorningsofbattle,monthaftermonth,yearafteryear.

ourworkaschroniclersoftheiractswasnotaltogether“soft,”thoughwedidnotgo“overthetop”orliveinthedirtyditcheswiththem.wehadtotravelprodigiouslytocoverthegroundbetweenonedivisionandanotheralongahundredmilesoffront,withlongwalksoftenatthejourney'sendandawetwayback.sometimesweweresoakedtotheskinonthejourneyhome.oftenweweresocoldandnumbedinthoselongwilddrivesupdesolateroadsthatourlimbslostconsciousnessandthewindcutintouslikeknives.wewereworkingagainsttime,alwaysagainsttime,andanothertire-burstwouldmeanthatnodespatchcouldbewrittenofagreatbattleonthebritishfront,oronlyashortrecordwritteninthewildesthastewhentherewassomuchtotell,somuchtodescribe,suchunforgetablepicturesinone'sbrainofanotherday'simpressionsinthefieldsandontheroads.

therewerefiveenglishcorrespondentsand,twoyearslater,twoamericans.onmorningsofbigbattlewedividedupthelineoffrontanddrewlotsfortheparticularsectionwhicheachmanwouldcover.thenbeforethedawn,orinthemurkofwintermornings,orthefirstglimmerofasummerday,ourcarswouldpulloutandwewouldgooffseparatelytothepartofthelineallottedtousbythenumberdrawn,toseethepreliminarybombardment,towalkovernewlycapturedground,togetintothebackwashofprisonersandwalkingwounded,amidbatteriesfiringanewbarrage,gunsmovingforwardondaysofgoodadvance,artillerytransportbringingupnewstoresofammunition,troopsinsupportmarchingtorepelacounter-attackorfollowthroughthenewobjectives,ambulancesthreadingtheirwaybackthroughthetraffic,withloadsofprostratemen,mules,gunhorses,lorrieschurningupthemudinflanders.

sowegainedapersonalviewofallthisactivityofstrife,andfrommanymeninitswhirlpooldetailsoftheirownadventureandofgeneralprogressordisasterononesectorofthebattle-front.thenindivisionalheadquarterswesawthereportsofthebattleastheycameinbytelephone,oraircraft,orpigeon-post,fromhalf-hourtohalf-hour,ortenminutesbytenminutes.threedivisionswidelyseparatedprovidedalltheworkonewarcorrespondentcoulddoononedayofaction,andlaternewsonabroaderscale,couldbeobtainedfromcorpsheadquartersfartherback.tired,hungry,nerve-racked,splashedtotheeyesinmud,orcoveredinamaskofdust,westartedforthejourneybacktoourownquarters,whichweshiftedfromtimetotimeinordertogetasnearaswecouldtothelatestbattle-frontwithoutgettingbeyondreachofthetelegraphinstruments—byrelaysofdespatch-riders—at“signals,”g.h.q.,whichremainedimmovablyfixedintherear.

therewasarendezvousinoneofourrooms,andeachmanoutlinedthehistoricalnarrativeofthedayuponthefronthehadcovered,reservingforhimselfhisownadventures,impressions,andemotions.

timeslippedaway,andtimewasshort,whilethedespatch-riderswaitedforourunwrittendespatches,andcensorswhohadbeenourfellow-travelerswashedthemselvescleanerandkeptaneyeontheclock.

timewasshortwhiletheworldwaitedforourtalesoftragedyorvictory...andtemperswerefrayed,andnervesonedge,amongfivemenwhohatedoneanother,sometimes,withamurderoushatred(though,otherwise,goodcomrades)anddesiredoneanother'sdeathbyslowtortureorpoison-gaswhentheyfumbledovernotes,writteninajoltingcar,oronabattlefieldwalk,andwentintopasthistoryinordertoexplainpresenthappenings,orbecametangledinthenumbersofbattalionsanddivisions.

percivalphillipsturnedpink-and-whiteunderthehideousstrainofnervouscontrol,withanhourandahalffortwocolumnsinthemorningpost.alittlepulsethrobbedinhisforehead.hislipsweretightlypressed.hisoathsandhisanguishwereinhissoul,butunuttered.beachthomas,themostamiableofmen,thepeterpanwhowentabird-nestingonbattlefields,aloverofbeautyandgamesandoldpoemsandgreekandlatintags,andalljoyinlife—whathadhetodowithwar?—lookedboredwithaninfiniteboredom,irritablewithascornfulimpatienceofunnecessarydetail,gazedthroughhisgold-rimmedspectacleswithanairofextremedetachment(whenpercyrobinsonrebuiltthemapwithdabsanddashesonablanksheetofpaper),andsaid,“i'vegotmorethanicanwrite,andthedailymailgoesearlytopress.”

“thanksverymuch...it'sverykindofyou.”

wegatheredupournote-booksandwerepunctiliouslypolite.(afterwardwewerethebestoffriends.)thomaswasfirstoutoftheroom,withshort,quicklittlestepsinspiteofhislonglegs.hisdoorbanged.phillipswasfirstathistypewriter,workingitlikeamachine-gun,inshort,furiousspasmsofword-fire.isatdowntomytypewriter—anewinstrumentoftorturetome—andcoaxeditsevilgeniuswithconciliatoryprayers.

“fordeargod'ssake,”isaid,“don'tgotwistingthatblastedribbonofyoursto-day.imustwritethisdespatch,andi'vejustanhourwheniwantfive.”

sometimesthatcoronawasamechanismofsingularsweetness,andiblesseditwithabenediction.butoftentherewasadevilinitwhichmockedatme.afterthefirstsentenceortwoittwistedtheribbon;attheendoftwentysentencestheribbonwaslikeanangrysnake,writhingandcoilinghideously.

ishoutedformackenzie,theamerican,amasterofthesethings.

hecameinandsawmyblanchedface,mysweatofanguish,mycrisedenerfs.icouldseebyhiseyesthatheunderstoodmystressandhadpityonme.

“that'sallright,”hesaid.“alittlepatience—”

byatouchortwoheexorcisedthedevil,laughed,andsaid:“goeasy.you'vejustaboutreachedbreaking—point.”

iwrote,asweallwrote,fastandfuriously,togetdownsomethingofenormoushistory,word-picturesofthingsseen,heroicanecdotes,theunderlyingmeaningofthisnewslaughter.therewasnevertimetothinkoutasentenceoraphrase,totouchupaclumsyparagraph,togobackonafalsestart,toannihilateavulgaradjective,toputatouchofstyleintoone'snarrative.onewroteinstinctively,blindly,feverishly...anddownstairswerethecensors,sendingupmessagesbyorderliestosay“half-time,”or“tenminutesmore,”andcuttingoutsometimesthethingsonewantedmosttosay,modifyingadirectstatementoffactintoavaguesurmise,takingawaythehonorduetotheheroicmenwhohadfoughtanddiedto-day...whowouldbeawarcorrespondent,oracensor?

soithappeneddaybyday,forfivemonthsatastretch,whenbigbattleswereinprogress.itwasnotaneasylife.thereweretimeswheniwassophysicallyandmentallyexhaustedthaticouldhardlyrousemyselftoanewday'seffort.thereweretimeswheniwasfaintandsickandweak;andmycolleagueswerelikeme.butweledontotellthedailyhistoryofthewarandthepubliccursedusbecausewedidnottellmore,orsneeredatusbecausetheythoughtwewere“spoon-fed”byg.h.q.—whonevergaveusanynewsandwhowerefarfromourwayoflife,exceptwhentheythwartedus,bypettyrestrictionsandfoolishrules.