They weren’t long in finding out that the “padre” was a liar. They found a firm spiral iron stairway leading up into the tower and within commodious quarters where there were a heliograph, rockets and flash lamps of various sizes.
Meanwhile the “padre” was telling the soldiers that he would go down the road a little way to his modest home and there await the officer. And the unsuspecting soldiers were about to accede to the request when the captain and his men returned from their investigations.
The “padre” suddenly produced a pistol and it spat its fire twice in the darkness, wounding one soldier, but before he could fire again the soldier nearest jabbed him in the throat with his bayonet. We were to learn afterward that the real padre of the church had accompanied his flock in its exodus and though we never learned anything of our “padre,” it is certain, of course, he was no priest but an enemy spy.
In the trenches before the battle of Moquet Farm we got the news of the capture and death of one of the boldest of spies that ever operated among us. This man had been for days familiarly about the trenches in the uniform of a British artillery officer. His English was as faultless as his manner affable and his monocle firm in his eye. I have never learned what led to his detection, but I witnessed his arrest and saw him ten minutes later led to execution—a brave man, I must confess, able to smile philosophically in the face of death and wearing his monocle as debonairly as ever.
I have been asked so often whether in the excursions that I made from time to time into the German lines in quest of information, had I been captured would it have meant a spy’s death before a firing squad? So I suppose the public generally does not understand the difference in classification between a scout and a spy. As a scout I went forward to the German trenches, wearing my British uniform. If caught, I was entitled to treatment as a prisoner of war. Were I to wear a German uniform and suffer capture, then the assumption of a disguise would bring upon me a spy’s death. This is according to the agreements laid down by the Hague convention. Germany, however, has proven itself so utterly incapable of “playing cricket” in the game of civilization and mankind, that I am heartily glad they never caught me at my scouting tasks.
CHAPTER XV
“Woodfighting”
If you should ask me what feature of warfare was harder and fiercer than going “over the top” in the lot of an infantryman, there would be no hesitation about my reply—“Woodfighting.” Some of the most deadly contests of the war have been held in the woodlands of the battlefields.
And the worst of it was, the British soldier was all but an absolute novice at the game. There was lack of suitable training grounds in England and we had no time for training and preparation once we got into France. We had to go right into this dangerous character of fighting. If I might presume to suggest, I’d say that one feature of the training of American troops at home before they go over the “creek,” should be extensively in the tricks, devices and tactics of woodfighting, natural grounds for such training being everywhere in America readily to hand. I assure you that the Kaiser and his military advisers have put their infantry through the most thorough training in this secret and concealed method of fighting and America’s soldiers will find themselves at great disadvantage if they have not been thoroughly taught the character of woodfighting, its peculiar perils and its constant call on the wit and cunning of the individual fighter.