my orderly? He was a shy, refined little fellow, who used to sell neckties in peace-time. He loathed war, shells, blood and danger.
"Well, at the end of 1916, the powers that be sent the battalion to Gamaches training camp. A training camp, padre, is a plot of ground traversed by imitation trenches, where officers who have never been near the line teach war-worn veterans their business.
"The officers in charge of these camps, having a clientèle to satisfy, start some new fashion every season. This spring I understand that 'open file' is to be the order of the day; last autumn 'massed formation' was the watchword of the best firms. There's a lot of talk been going on for some time, too, about 'firing from the hip'; that's one of my friend Lamb's absolutely original creations—a clever fellow that; he ought to do very well.
"At Gamaches the officer in command was Major Macleod, a bloodthirsty Scot whose hobby was bayonet work. He was very successful at showing that, when all's said and done, it's the bayonet that wins battles. Others before him have sworn that it is only hand-grenades, heavy guns, or even cavalry that can give a decisive victory. But Macleod's doctrine was original in one respect: he favoured moral suggestion rather than actual practice for the manufacture of his soldiers. For the somewhat repulsive slaughter of bayonet fighting he found it necessary to inspire the men with a fierce hatred of the enemy.
"For this purpose he had bags of straw stuffed to the shape of German soldiers, adorned with a sort of German helmet and painted field-grey, and these were given as targets to our Highlanders.
"'Blood is flowing,' he used to repeat as the training proceeded, 'blood is
flowing, and you must rejoice at the sight of it. Don't get tender-hearted; just think only of stabbing in the right place. To withdraw the bayonet from the corpse, place your foot on the stomach.'
"You can imagine how Biggs's soul revolted at these speeches. In vain did Sergeant-Major Fairbanks of the Guards deliver himself of his most bloodthirsty repertoire; Biggs's tender heart was horror-struck at the idea of bowels and brains exposed, and it was always owing to him that the most carefully-prepared charges were deprived of the warlike frenzy demanded by Major Macleod.
"'As you were!' Sergeant-Major Fairbanks used to yell. 'As you were! Now then, Private Biggs.' And after twenty attempts had failed, he would conclude sadly, 'Well, boys, mark my words, come Judgment Day, when we're all p'radin' for the final review an' the Lord comes along, no sooner will the Archangel
give the order, "'Tention!" than 'e'll 'ave to shout, "As you were! Now then, Private Biggs!"'