CHAPTER XIII
"That you, Nancarrow?"
"Yes, Captain Pringle," replied Bob, whom by this time he had recognised.
"What are you doing here?" asked Captain Pringle, with a smile.
"I want to enlist, sir."
The Captain lifted his eyebrows; perhaps he remembered their last conversation together.
"Will you come this way," he said; "I should like a chat with you."
Bob followed the Captain, while the other fellows looked envyingly towards him.
Captain Pringle led the way to a small room which he evidently used as an office. To all appearance he was in authority at the station.
"I'm rather surprised to see you here, Nancarrow," he said, when he had taken his seat behind a business-looking desk, and pointed Bob to a chair.
"I'm rather surprised myself, sir."
"What have you been doing since I saw you last?"
Bob told him.
"And now you want to enlist?"
"If I can, sir."
"What as?"
"Anything, sir. For the front, if it is possible. I want to be at it."
The Captain smiled at Bob's eagerness.
"But, my dear chap," he said, "this is surely a big change for you. If I remember aright, you joined the O.T.C. only to please your mother, and you hated soldiering and all its doings as you hated the devil."
"I expect I do still, sir; but—but I am afraid it would take too long to explain why—why I feel I must go to the front. I've had a bad time in one way and another. You see, my father was a Quaker, and I was brought up to believe in his teachings. I do still, for that matter. War is hell, there's no doubt about that. But I've gone through the whole business, and now I want to be at it. I don't want to stay in England five minutes longer than I can help. I must get to the firing-line. I feel like a man who wants to kill a mad dog."
"Commissions aren't so easily obtained."
"I'm not troubling about a commission, sir. We can't be all officers, and I feel that all I ever learnt about soldiering would come back to me in a week. If I can help it, I don't want to be idling around in a barracks, or in camp; I just want to go to France as soon as ever I can. I'll do anything, be anything; I don't care what, so long as I can get into action."
"That's the spirit," replied Captain Pringle; "and I can't tell you how glad I am to see you here. Of course I remember you when you were in the O.T.C. You did jolly well—distinguished yourself, in fact. You remember what I said to you."
"Yes, sir, I remember very well."
The Captain was silent for a few seconds. He seemed to be thinking deeply, as if he were uncertain what to say.
"Naturally you know that even although you took a kind of double first in the O.T.C., in the ordinary course of things you would have to have further training before you could go into active service as a private."
"That's what's bothering me, sir. I did think of joining one of the Public School or University Corps, but from what I can find out, they are kept down at Epsom or some such place. I suppose they are having a great time, and all that sort of thing; but, don't you see, that's not what I want! I mean business, Captain Pringle."
The Captain started from his chair, and took two or three turns up and down the room.
"You are really anxious for active service?" he said presently.
"I am. I feel that I've waited too long, and I want to make up for lost time. It's several weeks now since the war commenced, and although, heaven knows, I thought I was doing the right thing, I feel now as though I have been playing the sneak and the coward. Other chaps have been fighting while I have been sitting in an arm-chair theorising on the ethics of the business. Now, however, I see my duty, and my way is clear. But I want to make up for lost time. I want to be in the thick of it. Of course, if I can't, I can't, and, as I said, I'm willing and anxious to do whatever I am told. But I do want to go to the front; I don't care in what capacity, but somewhere where I can help to kill this Mad Mullah who is threatening the best life of Europe."
"You want to help to smash Germany?" laughed the Captain.
"Yes, that's it!"
"But why?" asked the Captain curiously.
"Because Germany, that is, official Germany, the Germany that holds in thraldom millions of people, is the spirit of war. It worships the God of War, and I want to go to war in order to kill war. You can't argue with it, you can't appeal to it, because what is right to you is simple madness to them. There's nothing for it but to crush it, destroy it root and branch."
"But what about your religious views?" laughed the Captain. "Don't you still believe in prayer and in that kind of thing?"
"It's because I do believe in it that I've been led to think as I do think. But it would be mocking the Almighty to pray to be kept from starvation when you refused to work; blasphemy to pray for good health while your drains are foul; madness to pray that no robbers might enter your house, when you left your doors unlocked, knowing that all the time fellows were waiting to come in and rob you. Just the same it would be mockery to pray that Germany may be kept from going to war, when she believes that Christ encourages it, that it is her duty to force war, and as a consequence has been for twenty years preparing for it, and waiting for a favourable opportunity to begin her hellish work, without doing all one can. We've got to crush, to kill this War God of theirs, and make war impossible for the future. Forgive me, sir, for talking like this; I didn't mean to. I've been a long time in getting to this point, but now it has become a kind of passion with me, because I feel it to be the Call of God."
"By gad, Nancarrow, but you've touched the spot this time, and you've put it well too! I'm not much at religion, I'm afraid, and I've had no scruples. I'm an Englishman, and an Englishman must stand by his promises, and help the weak. That's enough for me. All the same, I've thought, as I suppose every one else has, how any war can be squared with Christianity. But as you've put it—yes, I see—you mean that out of love for the German people themselves, this War God, as you call it, must be thrown down and crushed to powder!"
"Yes, that's it."
"Yes, and then there is another question—but no, I'll not go into that now. As you said, you mean business, and I've spent a good quarter of an hour, or more, talking. But still, old times are old times, after all, and we were friends in the old days. But to business now. I'm as keen as you are that you shall get into the thick of it. As a matter of fact, I expect to go to the front myself in a week, and I want to do what I can for you. You are willing to do anything, you say?"
"Anything."
"Look here, can you ride—well, I mean? No modesty, now. Speak plainly."
"I can ride anything, sir. I can stick on a horse galloping, with my face to its tail."
"Good! Know anything about motoring?"
"I've had a car for years, and always driven it myself. I do my own repairing, and I know every inch of it, inside and out."
"Good again! Know anything about motorbikes?"
"Ridden one for years. After the last Easter Vac., I went from Cornwall to Oxford on an old Humber. When I got there, I took it all to pieces, repaired some of the parts, and turned it into a good machine. Excuse me for talking so much about myself. I wouldn't have done it, had you not asked me. Besides, I'm anxious to show you that I'm not helpless."
"Helpless, by George! You are a useful man. You ride like a Centaur, and you know all about motor-cars and motor-bikes. In addition to all this, you did jolly well in the O.T.C. Yes, you certainly must be made use of."
Again Captain Pringle was silent for a few seconds.
"You've got your licence and all that sort of thing for motoring?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Ever been to France?"
"Often, sir; also Germany."
"Know the lingo?"
"Passably."
"That is, you can understand what a Frenchman or a German says?"
"Everything, sir."
"Good! I'll speak to my Colonel right away. But let's strike while the iron is hot. You came here to enlist as a private, you say. In that case let's get through the medical business at once."
"I'm all right, sir."
"That must be proved. You are big enough, Heaven knows! Six feet high, aren't you?"
"Just a trifle above that."
"And forty inches around the chest, I should think. Come this way."
A few minutes later Bob had been overhauled by a doctor.
"Sound as a bell," was the doctor's verdict.
Next he had to submit himself to an oculist, who tested Bob's eyes.
"All right?" asked Captain Pringle, who was present during the examination, and told the doctors that Bob was an old friend of his.
"Should be a good shot," replied the oculist. "He's all right."
"Good!" said Captain. "How are your teeth, Nancarrow?"
Bob opened his mouth with a laugh. He was in high spirits.
"They look all right," said Captain Pringle; "but you must be properly examined. A week or two ago hundreds of fellows were taken on without any real examination at all. Only yesterday, when I was down at S——, I was talking with a doctor there, and he told me that a fellow had actually been passed who had a weak spine, and wore instruments to support his back. Of course he was sent home at once, but it shows how, under the new conditions, things were conducted in a loose fashion. However, that's all over now. We are taking only sound men. Here you are."
Bob was quickly dismissed by the dentist, and pronounced "all right."
"I suppose you are ready at once?" asked Pringle.
"Give me a couple of hours to settle up about my chambers, and a few things like that, and I shall be ready, sir."
"Right. Of course there are the papers to sign and all that kind of thing, but that's nothing. Be here at three o'clock this afternoon."
"Very good, mon capitaine," and Bob saluted military fashion, while the other laughed.
"I don't know quite what to do with you yet, Nancarrow," said Pringle. "You see, you are too good a man for a private—beside, you want to go straight to the front. Naturally, too, at such times as these we can't do everything by cast-iron rule. Exceptional cases demand exceptional treatment. I can't say any more than that until I see my Colonel. You will go with me to see him this evening. As you will see, I'm not treating you quite like an ordinary recruit."
"I should think not, sir. I did not expect such favours."
When Bob got back to his chambers, he wrote to his mother.
"I expect this letter will come as a great surprise to you, mother," he wrote. "This morning I enlisted! Of course you are rubbing your eyes by this time, especially when you remember how I regard war. I haven't altered my opinions in the slightest about its horror, and all that. In fact, that's why I have enlisted. I'm not going to enter into any explanations of my change of belief and conduct. I'm only going to sy that I believe it is my Christian duty to fight as long as God gives me health against this War God which Germany has set up. I'm not sorry I have gone through what I have gone through, even although I've lost nearly everything I treasure most, and have lived in hell for weeks. If I had enlisted when you wanted me to, I should have been no good. I should have been feeling all the time that I was not doing right. I should have been like a paralysed man trying to walk. Now everything is different. I am eager to be in the thick of it. I am just longing to be at those Germans. Not that I have anything against the German people, but I want to help to kill the system that has gripped them body and soul. It seems that nothing but war will cut out this poisonous cancer of militarism, and it is the call of God to cut it out.
"That's why I've pleaded to be sent to the front right away. I met Captain Pringle this morning (you remember him), and he's going to do his best for me. He's off to the firing line in about a week's time, and I'm in hopes that I shall be able to go with him. In what capacity I don't know as yet; possibly only as a private, but I don't mind that. We can't all be officers, and I'm eager, anxious to be anything whereby I can help the cause. It is possible, therefore, that in a week or two's time I shall be out of England, on my way to, if not in the very midst of action.
"Please don't talk about this. God knows it's too serious to be talked about. Fancy a doctor going to perform an operation which may kill not only the patient but himself, and you have a hint of my feelings at this moment. Let the people think what they will of me—I'm beyond all that now. I'll write you in a day or two telling you exactly what has taken place."
When Bob arrived at S—— that afternoon, Captain Pringle went straight to Colonel Sapsworth. In a few minutes the Colonel knew the main outlines of Bob's career.
"I should have advised him to join one of the Public School Corps," said the Captain, "but in that case he would have been months before he could have gone into active service. You see he's as keen as mustard to be at the front, and remembering my last conversation with you, I thought I'd bring him down. We shall be sadly in need of men of his stamp. He will provide his own motor-bike, which he knows inside and out; he speaks French and German almost like a native, he's as plucky as they make 'em, he's eager to get to work; in addition to which he was the best lad we had in the O.T.C. with which I was connected."
"Does he want a commission?" asked the Colonel.
"Yes, I should think so—naturally. You see he's been well brought up, and is well off. On his mother's side he belongs to one of the best families in the West of England, and—and—well, Tommies are having to rough it just now."
"And none the worse for it," snapped the Colonel.
"Exactly; and he's quite prepared to enlist as a private. I was only answering your question."
"Just so: let's see him."
A few minutes later Bob was undergoing a severe cross-examination by the Colonel, who had the reputation of being somewhat eccentric in his methods. Bob, who of course knew that he was being subjected to special treatment, did not know whether the old officer was pleased with him or not. He only knew that he was asked keen, searching questions in a brusque, military fashion, and that he was finally dismissed without knowing what was to become of him.
For some time after this Bob knew what it meant to be a Tommy; he soon found out, moreover, that his experiences in the O.T.C. did not prepare him for those he was now undergoing. Each morning he was up at half-past five, and then for several hours a day he was submitted to the severest drilling. He quite understood the necessity for men being physically fit before being drafted into the army at war time. When he lay down at night in the company of men whom in ordinary times he would never think of associating with, he was so tired that he forgot the uncomfortable surroundings and uncongenial society. Never in his life had he slept as he slept now. Never did he imagine he would have to put up with such privations.
In one sense he found that, as far as the privates went, the army was a great democracy. One man was as good as another. The sons of well-to-do families rubbed shoulders with colliers and farm labourers. Tommy was Tommy, whether he was "Duke's Son" or "Cook's Son." And yet, in another sense, education and social status were recognised. He found that in spite of themselves, and in spite of the fact that all distinctions were technically sunk between them, those who came from labourers' cottages found themselves almost instinctively paying deference to the men who did not belong to their class.
There were some half a dozen men in Bob's company who had come from good homes, and while general comradeship existed, these men naturally drifted together.
One of the great hardships to Bob was the food. The rancid butter, the coarse bread, the almost uneatable bacon, the tough meat, tried him sorely. At first he could scarcely swallow it. He got used to it at length, however, and found that he was none the worse for it. He also longed for the luxury of a private bath. Oh! just for half an hour in the porcelain bath in his mother's house! Just to have the exquisite pleasure of feeling the sting of cold pure water around his body!
But things were not to be. As he laughed to himself, "I am a full private, and I must take my chance like the rest of them!" Nevertheless, to a lad reared amidst all the refinements of a good home the change was so great that had he not felt it a bounden duty to be where he was, he would have felt like running away. Still he was not there for fun, neither had he anticipated an easy time. Sometimes, it is true, he was more than disgusted by what he saw. Many of the men did not seem to understand the ordinary decencies of life, and acted in such a fashion as to grate sorely upon his sensitive nature. Their language was often unprintable, while their ideas of life and conduct often made him sick.
How could such fellows as these fight for honour and truth? Some of them seemed to have no sense of honour or decency. He saw presently, however, that even these, who were not by any means representative of the whole, had far higher standards than he had at first thought. They were coarse, and some times brutal, but they were kind to their pals, and would put themselves to any trouble to do another chap a good turn.
One night it was very cold, although it had been very warm during the day. They had all been drilling hard, and were dog-tired. One of the men was evidently very seedy. He complained of a sick headache, and he was shivering with the cold.
"Bit off colour, mite?" said one.
"Jist orful, Bill. Gawd, I wish I was 'ome. The graand is so —— hard too, and I'm as sore as if some one had been a-beatin' me with a big stick."
"Ere mitey, you just 'ave my blanket. I don't want it. And let me mike my old overcoat into a bit of a pillow for yer."
"You are bloomin' kind, Bill, and I don't like——"
"Oh, stow it, it's nothink. Anything you'd like, mitey?"
"No, that is——"
"Come, out with it you ——. Wot is it? Shall I fetch the doctor?"
"Ee ain't no use! besides, you'd get into a —— row if you went to him now. When I wos 'ome and like this my mother used to go to a chemist and git me some sweet spirits of nitre, and it always made me as right as a trivet. But there ain't no such —— luck 'ere."
"Wot yer call it? Sweet spirits o' mitre? Never 'eerd on it afore.
'Ow do you tike it?"
"Oh, you just puts it in 'ot water; but there, I can't 'ave it. Good night, Bill, and thank you for the blanket."
Bill, without a word, tired as he was, left the tent, and half an hour afterwards returned with the medicine.
"Gawd, Bill," said the sick man, "but you ain't a ——"
"Not so much chin music. There, tike it, and go to sleep."
Such little acts of kindness as these were constantly taking place, and they were by no means confined to men who belonged to the better-class but were more frequently seen among the roughest and coarsest.
Bob found out, too, that there was a rough sense of honour among them. Some of them seemed to revel in filthy language, but if a man did a mean thing, or didn't play the game according to their standard, he was in for a bad time. Indeed, he soon found out that, in a certain sense, the same code of honour which prevailed at Clifton, with exceptions, operated in this newly-formed camp.
Day after day and week after week passed, and still Bob knew nothing of what was to happen to him. He had enlisted as a private, but on Captain Pringle's advice had put down his name for a commission. From the first day, however, he had heard nothing more of it. From early morning till late in the day it was nothing but hard, tiring work.
It was all wonderfully strange to him, this intermingling with a mixed humanity, working like a slave for that which he had hitherto hated, and which he still hated. Still, he threw his whole heart into it, and he could not help knowing that he was progressing rapidly. After the first few days his tiredness and soreness passed away, and he could go through the most arduous duties without feeling tired. There was something in it all, too, which inspired him. The military precision of everything appealed to him, and the shouts, and laughter of hundreds of voices made life gay in spite of everything. As the days passed by, moreover, he could not help seeing that the association with clean-minded, healthy-bodied, educated men, was having a good effect upon the coarse-fibred portion of the strange community. They did not indulge so frequently in coarse language, neither was their general conduct so objectionable. It seemed as though they had something to live up to.
"Shut up, mate, and don't be a beast," Bob heard one man say to another one day.
"You are mighty squeamish, you son of a swine," was the rejoinder; "wot are you so partic'ler about?"
"'Cos I don't want to tell them 'ere fellers that we're a low lot."
"We're as good as they are, thet's wot we are. We're just all equals 'ere. They are Tommies just as we are. That's wot I ses."
"We may be all equals as soldiers; but we cawn't git away from it, Bill, some of 'em are gentlemen. Thet's wot they are. Some of 'em just make me ashamed of myself sometimes. No, I ain't a puttin' on no side; but I just want to let 'em see that we workin' chaps can behave as well as they can. Thet's all. See?"
Meanwhile, good news came from the front. The Allies had driven the Germans back over the Marne, and were making progress all along the line.
The men cheered wildly as they heard the news.
"They'll git licked afore we get a smack at 'em," some ventured.
But in the main they knew better. They realised that the war was going to be long and bloody, and although going to the front possibly meant their death, there were very few who did not want to get there.
No one felt this more than Bob. He had now been three weeks in camp, and it seemed to him possible that it might be months before his time for action came. Of Captain Pringle he had heard nothing since he enlisted, and he was afraid he had gone to the front without having been able to do anything for him.
One evening he was sitting outside his tent, smoking his pipe. It had been a hot, sweltering day, although the summer was now over. Around him, as far as he could see, was a sea of bell-shaped tents. Everywhere was a great seething mass of men in khaki. Horses of all sorts abounded. Many of the men were bandying jokes one with another, others were at the canteen, while many more had gone to the nearest town. Bob himself had earlier in the day gone to the town to indulge in a "good square well-cooked meal," as he called it; and now, early as it was, although he little relished the thought of sleeping so-many in a tent, he was just thinking of going to bed. Near him a number of soldiers were singing gaily.
"Nancarrow!"
Bob turned his head, and saw a fellow soldier beckoning.
"What's up?"
"You are wanted."
"Where?"
"Officers' quarters."
As Bob obeyed the summons, he caught the song in which a great mass of men had joined.
"It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long way to go;
It's a long way to Tipperary,
To the sweetest girl I know.
Good-bye, Piccadilly;
Farewell, Leicester Square.
It's a long, long way to Tipperary.
But my heart's right there."
As he reached the officers' quarters, he was surprised to see Captain
Pringle.
"I've news for you, Nancarrow."
"Thank you, sir."
"You've got your commission."
"That's great. Thank you. I'm sure I owe it to you."
"Nonsense. Come this way. You've to go to Colonel Sapsworth. But that's not all. You start for the front almost immediately."
For a moment Bob could not speak. It was not fear that overwhelmed him, it was something more terrible. Every nerve in his body quivered, while his heart beat wildly.
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Yes, Captain. By Jove, that's great!"
And that was all Bob could say.