Contemptible | Page 6

an expression on his face that showed he was well aware of the dramatic part he was about to play. Imagine him standing by the wayside, surrounded by his Officers, two Sergeant-Majors, and some half-dozen senior Sergeants, all with pencils ready poised to write his orders in their Field Service Note-books. There was a pause of several seconds. The Major seemed to be at a loss quite how to begin. "There's a lot that I needn't mention, but this is what concerns this Company," he said with a jerk. "When we reach" (here he mentioned a name which the Subaltern has long since forgotten) "we have to deploy to the left, and search the village of Harmign�� to drive the enemy from it, and take up a position...."
It was a blow. Officers were frowning over their note-books as if afraid they had not heard correctly. The enemy here, in the western corner of Belgium? The Major's orders petered out. They saluted, and returned to their platoons, feeling puzzled and a little shaken.
The Subaltern had come to this campaign with such fresh hopes of victory. This was not to have been a repetition of '70! France would not have gone to war unless she had been strong and ready. Inspired with the spirit of the First Republic, the French Armies, they had told themselves, would surge forward in a wave of victory and beat successfully against the crumbling sands of the Kaiser's military monarchy--Victory, drenching Germany with the blood of her sons, and adding a lustre to the Sun of Peace that should never be dimmed by the black clouds of Militarism! And all this was not to be? He had never even heard that Li��ge had fallen, let alone Brussels, and here were the Germans apparently right round the Allied flank. It was astounding, irritating. In a vague way he felt deceived and staggered. It was a disillusionment! If the Germans were across the Sambre, the French could scarcely launch their victorious attack on the Rhine.
The excitement dispelled his fatigue, but the men were openly incredulous. "The ruddy 'Oolans 'ere a'ready! They're only tellin' us that, to make us march!"
The first fight! How would it turn out? How would the men shape? Could the ammunition supply be depended upon? But above all, what would he be like? Would he feel afraid? If so, would he be able to hide it? Would his men follow him well? Perhaps he might be wounded (parts of him shrank from the thought), or killed. No, somehow he felt it was impossible that he would be killed. These and a thousand more such questions flashed through his brain as the march continued northwards.
The hourly halts were decreased from ten to about three minutes. The excitement of the future dissolved the accumulating fatigue of the three days. The very weight of his sword and haversack was forgotten.
It was Sunday morning. The bells of the village churches were ringing, and the women and children, decked in their Sunday best, were going calmly to church, just as if the greatest battle that, up to then, history had ever seen were not about to be fought around their very homesteads.
A waterworks was passed, and at last the crossroads were reached. There was a wait while the Battalion in front of them deployed. Officers were loading their revolvers, the men charging their magazines. One Company left as advanced guard, and very soon the Battalion was on its way to its appointed sector of the battlefield.
They threw aside a hastily improvised barricade of ploughshares, and hurried on to the little village which was to be their especial care in the impending battle, known rather inadequately as "Mons."

CHAPTER IV
MONS
Then came the village of Harmign��--just a few cottages on either side of the road, and soon the companies debouched from the village to take up the positions allotted to them.
In war it is well known that he who sees most is likely to take least away. It was not the soldier's duty to gaze about him to see what was happening. He must enlarge his bit of trench, and be ready to meet the enemy when he himself is attacked. Therefore, if you ask a veteran of Mons about the battle, all he will be able to tell you as likely as not is, "Marching, and digging, and then marching mostly, sir."
The Company on the left was astride a railway embankment in front of a large mine. The Subaltern's Company was directly in front of the village itself; another Company to the right, the fourth in local reserve. The work of entrenchment began immediately. There was not time to construct a trench, as laid down in the Manual of Field Engineering. Each man had to scrape with his entrenching tool as big a