BETWEEN THE LINES.*
Toe title of Mr. Boyd Cable's book is a very happy mot a double entente. What happens in the narrative is mostly the ebb and flow of trench-fighting, and therefore may be said to take place between the lines of the British and German armies ; but these sketches also enable us to read " between the lines " of the terse official reports of which they are a brilliant amplifi-
cation. Take, for example, the familiar words : " There is nothing to report. All remains quiet." Any one who did not guess it before need only read the sketch called " Nothing to Report " to understand that " nothing " and " quiet " are relative terms in General Headquarters' reports. " Nothing " may mean the most exciting and perilous day's work that some young soldier has ever done in his life; and "quiet" may signify simply that there were longer intervals than usual between the thunderclaps of the guns, a less varied assortment of " coal- boxes," " fizz-bangs," shrapnel, and so forth, a just appreciable reduction in the rattle of musketry, and fewer flashes of lightning by night from the enemy's flares. For a description of the making of a soldier we should place Mr. Ian Hay's The First Hundred Thousand above any book yet published about the war; but for a conspectus of daily routine within the limited area of first-line trenches we think Mr. Boyd Cable's book the most fully informing we have read. If one cannot see the life of the trenches going on by reading this book, it must be that one cannot derive a true impression from any printed page. The phrases from official reports which head most of the chapters, and " between the lines " of which we aro invited to read, are one and all old acquaintances. Thus : " Near Blank, on the Dash-Dot front, a section of advanced trench changed hands several times, finally remaining in our pos- session " ; " A violent artillery bombardment has been in progress " ; " A mine was successfully exploded under a section of the enemy's trench " ; " . . supported by a close and accurate artillery fire " ; " The attack has resulted in our line being advanced from one to two hundred yards along a front of over one thousand yards " ; " We have maintained and consolidated our position in the captured trench " ; " The troops continue in excellent spirits " ; and " The cost in casual- ties cannot be considered heavy in view of the success gained." To have such naked and unsatisfying phrases as those clothed
with meaning to the uttermost detail is an enormous help to the understanding of the war. Mr. Boyd Cable's book will enable many people to read the newspapers with new eyes.
We cannot do more than choose two or three of the sketches for a closer examination. " The Mine " is thrilling. One seems to be at work with the young Engineer who is doing his first independent job, and to be exalted with his hopes and depressed with his disappointments. The sap-head was situated among
the ruins of a cottage a few yards behind the forward firing trench. The work began one " beautiful night," which in sappers' language means a night of driving sleet and rain which forbade to the enemy all view of the operations. By the first dawn the sappers had safely dug themselves well underground. As for the young officer responsible for the enterprise-
" His first part of the work had been a matter of plans and map., of compass and level, of observing the ground—incidentally dodging the bullets of the German snipers who caught glimpses of his crawling form—by day, and of intricate and exact figuring and calculating by night, in the grimy cellar of another ruined house by the light of a candle, stuck in an empty bottle. Thereafter he spent all hiv waking hours (and many of his sleeping ones as well) in a thick suit of clayey mud ; he lived like a mole in his mine gallery or his under. ground cellar, saw the light only when he emerged to pass from his work to his sleep or meals, and back to his work, and generally gar(' himself, his whole body and brain and being, to the correct driving of a shallow burrow straight to the selected point under the enemy trench a hundred and odd yards away. . . . Ire had first suggested it, he had surveyed it, and plotted it, and measured and planned awl worked it out on paper ; and now, when it came to the actual pick-and-shovel work, he supervised and directed and watched each hour of work, and each yard of progress."
At first the spades bit out good stiff clay in clean mouthfuls, but soon the mine burrowed into some horribly soft, crumbly
• Between OW LOKI. By Boyd Coble, London : Smith, Elder, and Co. DC net.) soil that had to be walled and roofed. Timber was looted from wrecked houses, and so persistent was the subaltern's super- vision that he almost made himself a nuisance to the men. But the experienced old corporal managed to quell resentment. " Leave the lad be," he said in answer to gramblings about " too bloomin' much fuss and feathers over a straight simple bloomin' job." " He's young to the job, mebbe," went on the corporal, " but he's not such a simple fool as some that take this for a simple job." The corporal was right. Water flooded the mine, and the sappers squeezed aside in silence, and waited with side-winks to one another when the subaltern pushed in to inspect the working. " Pumps "—of course. But no pumps were to be had. Nevertheless the subaltern obtained one pump by a masterly assault on the feelings of an officer in a farm-billet—the mine, he explained, was really to counter a German mine which, if not stopped, would probably reach the British trench just about the time when the officer in the farm- billet himself took charge of the trench. So the officer in the billet let the farm pump go, and the water flowed steadily out of the mine along gutters and rain-pipes which the subaltern had stripped from Headquarters under the eyes of a sentry. The German counter-mine story came true after all ; the subaltern heard the tapping, and waited at the danger-point, with his heart in his mouth, till the German picks struck through the wall of his own gallery. The subaltern's mine had had the honour of being accepted as fit to play its part in a considerable scheme of operations hatched at Headquarters, but the counter- mine had introduced a doubt whether the subaltern could wait to touch off his mine till the scheme was ready to be launched. That was why he waited underground all alone in a dangerously advanced position in order that the mine should not be exploded a moment too soon. But here we must leave the mine. The culmination in undiluted freshness is the property of the prospective reader.
" Nothing to Report " is a delightful exercise in irony. When the 7th (Territorial) King's Own Asterisks took over their allotted portion of front trenches, having never been in such a position before, they burnt more Verey pistol lights the first night than would have sufficed a trench-hardened battalion for a month. They suffered casualties which would not have hap- pened to less eager spirits, and they believed a wiring-party of Germans who had crept out of their trench to be the van of a serious attack. A storm of rifle fire ran down the Asterisks' line, while the older battalions on either side of them thought the affair not worth more than " ten rounds rapid." The rest- lessness and the provocations of the Asterisks caused the opposing Germans perhaps to use their trench mortar a little more than they would otherwise have done, and this in turn caused the artillery supporting the Asterisks to expend more shells than they could bring themselves to part with willingly. After suffering casualties of nine killed and thirty-six wounded in twenty-four hours, the Asterisks made up their minds that there would be a glowing recognition of their service in beating off the German attack. The optimists even hoped for a column in the newspapers. The pessimists expected no more than two or three paragraphs, " owing to the silly fashion of not publishing details." Alas for them all I The official despatch for that day did an incredible thing—which has probably since become credible to the Asterisks—it said there was " nothing to report."
The scenes of banter between the British and German trenches are realistically done, but they have more worth than the mere power to entertain, since they suggest the whole metaphysic of humour in the face of death. It is indeed a merciful dispen- sation which abates the capacity for grief and horror in circum- stances in which either grief or horror might otherwise be over- whelming. We must express our doubt, however, as to the possibility of a soldier picking up the " air " of the " Hymn of Hate " on a mouth-organ after one hearing. Surely no one— at all events, if the author refers to the original setting of the hymn—imagines that that formidable, highly complicated, and exacting music without a melody could be sung at all by a trenchful of average Germans.
We will end by quoting a description of an Artillery observation officer pa-sling through a trench the occupants of which thought that their passive resistance under heavy German shell-fire at length demanded more protection from the British guns The gunner officer stumbled along the trench towards them. Behind him came his signaller, a coil of wire and a portable telephone in a leather case slung over his shoulder. No. 2 Platoon watched their approach with eager anticipation, and strained ears and atten- tion to catch the conversation that passed between their officer and the artilleryman. And a thrill of disappointment pulsed down the line at the gunner's answer to the first question put to him. No,' ho said, I have orders not to fire unless they come nut of the trenches to attack. We'll give 'em gyp if they try it. My guns are laid on their front trench and I can sweep the whole et this front with shrapnel.'—` But why not shut up their guns and put a stop to this ? ' asked the officer, and his platoon fervently echoed the question in their hearts.—` Not my pidgin,' said the gunner, cautiously peering through the field-glasses he levelled through a convenient loophole. • That's the Heavies' job. I'm Field, and my guns are too light to say much to these fellows. Look out ! • and he stooped low in the trench as the rising rush of sound told of a shell coming down near them. • That's about an eight- inch,' he said, after the shell had fallen with a crash behind them, a spout of earth and mud leaping up and spattering down over them and fragments singing and whizzing overhead. `Just tap in on the wire, Jackson, and raise the Battery.' The telephonist opened his case and lifted out his instrument, groped along the trench wall a few yards and found his wire, joined up to his instruments, dashed off a series of dots and dashes on the • buzzer,' and spoke into his mouthpiece. No. 2 Platoon watched in fascinated silence and again gave all their attention to listening as the Artillery officer took the receiver. • . . . That yen, Major ? . . . Yea, this is Arbuthnot. . . . In the forward firing trench. . . . Yes, pretty lively. . . big stuff they're flinging mostly, and some n-pounder shrap. . . . No, no signs of a move in their trenches. . . . All right, sir, I'll take care. I can't see very well from here, so I'm going to move along a bit. . . Very well, sir, ell tap in again higher up. . . . Good-bye.' Ho handed back the instrument to the telephonist. Paek up again,' he said,
• and come along.' When he had gone No. 2 Platoon turned eagerly on the telephonist, and he ran a gauntlet of anxious questions as he followed the Forward Officer. Nine out of ten of the questions were to the same purpose, and the gunner answered them with some sharpness. He turned angrily at last on one man who put the query in broad Scots accent. • No,' he said tartly, • we ain't tryin• to silence their guns. An' if you part.ickler wants to know why we ain't—well, p'raps them Glasgow townies o' yours can tell you.' why
we us hope that the days of ammunition allowances are num- bered. Nothing gives the infantryman more confidence than to know that his artillery cannot possibly fail him.
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