Kitchener's Mob: Adventures of an American in the British Army

oing in

red together and thrust into the capacious depths of pack-sacks. Members of the battalion's sporting contingent broke up their games of tuppenny brag without waiting for "just one more hand," an unprecedented thing. The makers of war ballads, who were shouting choruses to the merry music of the mouth-organ band, stopped in the midst of their latest com

t night, and make himself useful generally. The real test of a good batman, however, is his carrying capacity. In addition to his own heavy burden he must carry various articles belonging to his officer: enameled wash-basins, rubber boots, bottles of Apollinaris water

When the order, "Packs on! Fall in!" was given, not a man was missing.

e maga

les with ball ammunition. Five long shiny cartridges were slipped

mn of route, 'A'

turned sharply to our left at the crossroad where the signboar

d were holding tenaciously on, awaiting the long-heralded arrival of Kitchener's Mob. As the units of the new armies arrived in France, they were sent into the trenches for twenty-four hours' instruction in trench warfare, with a battalion of regulars. This one-day course in trench fightin

streamed through chinks and crannies in the walls. Now and then blanket coverings would be lifted from apertures that had been windows or doors, and we would see bright fires blazing in the middle of brick kitchen floors, and groups of men sitting about them luxuriously sipping tea from steaming canteens. They were laughing and talking and singing songs in loud, boisterous voices which contrasted strangely with our timid noiselessness. I was marching with one of the trench guides who

s away from Fritzie's trenches! We're a good two an' a 'arf miles back 'ere. All right to be ca

areful about giving the enemy artillery an aiming mark. This was the reason

ys, 'blokes in billets!' an' over comes a 'a

ominous distinctness. We heard the melancholy song of the ricochets and spent bullets as they whirled in a wide arc, high over our heads, and occasionally the less pleasing phtt! phtt! of those spe

on. All along the way we had glimpses of dugouts lighted by candles, the doorways carefully concealed with blankets or pieces of old sacking. Gr

in the darkness, with scarcely a pause. At length, after a winding,

They were the fighting sons of fighting sires, and they taught us more of life in the trenches, in twenty-four hours, than we had learned during nine months of training in England. An infantryman of my company has a very kindly feeling toward one of them who probably saved his life before we had been in the trenches five minutes. Our first question was, of course, "How far is i

e as we've got 'is. 'Is snipers is a-layin' fer us same as ours is a-layin' fer 'im." Then, turning to the rest of us, "Now, we

moment later another bullet st

ce for an hour, 'opin' to catch you lookin' over again. Les

sniper is too clever to fire at it. But a biscuit tin, set on the parapet at night in a badly sniped position, is almost certain to be hit. The angle from which the shots come is shown by the jagged edges of tin aro

res, and the men of the signaling corps at their posts in the trenches, in communication with brigade, divisional, and army corps headquarters. We learned how to "sleep" five men in a four-by-six dugout; and, when th

rest, an' they're all slathered in mud, likely, an' dead beat fer sleep. I

atch upon the movements of the enemy, and to report the presence of his working parties or patrols. This is dangerous, nerve-trying work, for the men sent out upon it are exposed not only to the shots of the enemy, but

yer nippers through. 'Ad to saw an' saw, an' w'en I all but 'ad it, lum

one of the artill'ry blokes. 'E's got a bet on with 'im that it's three-ply

edible to me that men crawled over to the German lines in

r anything?"

layin' of. An' you ought to 'ave 'e

, when he fell back into the trench without a cry. It was a terrible wound. I would not have believed that a bullet could so horribly disfigure one. He was given first aid by the light of a candle; bu

ad that he was a wretched marksman: he would not stand up to the bayonet: whenever opportunity offered he crept over and gave himself up: he was poorly fed and clothed and was so weary of the war that his officers had to drive him to fight, at the muzz

ommers along the Rhine, or in Austry-Hungry? No, they ain't a-firin' wild, I giv

contribution to the discussio

o go 'ome again, with me eyesight, I'll never feel syfe w'en I sees a Fritzie

an's-Land" and drift slowly down. And I watched the charitable shadows rush back like the very wind of darkness. The desolate landscape emerged from the gloom and receded again, like a series of pictures thrown upon a screen. All of this was so new, so terrible, I doubted its reality. Indeed, I doubted my own identity, as one does at times when brought face to face with some e