Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: A FOUL BLOW (_See p_. 52.)]
FIGHTING
WITH FRENCH
_A TALE OF THE NEW ARMY_
BY
HERBERT STRANG
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY CYRUS CUNEO_
LONDON
HENRY FROWDE
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
_First published in_ 1915
PREFACE
In these days one would rather fight than write; and those of us whom
inexorable Time has superannuated can but envy and admire.
Seven years ago the father of two boys at Rugby asked me to write a
story on the German peril, and the necessity of closing our ranks
against a possible invasion. After some hesitation I decided to decline
the suggestion, anxious not to insinuate in young minds a suspicion of
Germany which might prove to be ill-founded. Two years later, when the
subject was again pressed upon me, I felt bound to attempt some little
service in the cause of national defence; but again I avoided any direct
implication of Germany, imagining an invasion of Australia by an
aggressive China. In two or three books I had poked a little fun at
German foibles, how harmlessly and inoffensively may be known by the
fact that one of these books was translated into German. The course of
events, the horrors of the present war, show how needless were my
scruples. Germany has come out in her true colours, and the mildest of
pacifists feels a stirring of the blood.
In _A Hero of Liege_ I wove a little romance upon the early events of
the war, when we were still under the shock of surprise and information
was scanty. The present story has been written under more favourable
conditions. A good deal of it springs from personal knowledge of the
training of the New Army. The "Rutland Light Infantry" exists, under
another name, and one or two of the characters may perhaps be recognised
by their friends. But I should point out that a story is not a history.
The history of this great struggle must be sought elsewhere. The
romancer is satisfied if he is reasonably true to facts and
probabilities, and more than happy if his fictions, while amusing an
idle hour, have also anything of stimulus and encouragement.
HERBERT STRANG.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I A CHANCE MEETING
II SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE
III STONEWAY ENLISTS
IV THREE ROUNDS
V THE BACK OF THE FRONT
VI BAGGING A SNIPER
VII IN THE ENEMY'S LINES
VIII SKY HIGH
IX D.C.M.
X HOT WORK
XI THE DISAPPEARANCE OF GINGER
XII DOGGED
XIII THE FIGHT FOR THE VILLAGE
XIV THE HIKIOTOSHI
XV THE OBSERVATION POST
XVI EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY
XVII STRATEGY
XVIII USES OF A TRANSPORT LORRY
XIX SUSPICIONS
XX MONSIEUR OBERNAI'S ATTIC
XXI MARKED DOWN
XXII 'RECOMMENDED'
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A FOUL BLOW . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ (_see page_ 52)
"HANDS UP!"
A LONG WAY BACK
THE INTRUDER IN KHAKI
CHAPTER I
A CHANCE MEETING
Mr. Kishimaru smiled, and rubbed his long lean hands gently the one over
the other.
"Yes, Mr. Amory, you make great progress," he said, in low smooth tones,
and with the careful enunciation of one speaking a foreign tongue. "You
will be an artist. Yes, I assure you: jujutsu is a fine art; more than
that, it is an application of pure science. I say that, and I know.
Compare it with boxing, that which your grandfathers called the noble
art. Rapidity of movement, yes; quickness of eye and judgment, yes; but
delicacy of touch--ah! jujutsu has it, boxing no. There is nothing
brutal about jujutsu."
Kenneth Amory smiled back at the enthusiastic little Japanese, and
rubbed his left shoulder.
"Nothing brutal, I agree," he said. "But it has been a dry summer, Mr.
Kishimaru."
"A dry summer?" the Japanese repeated, still smiling, but with an air of
puzzlement.
"Yes; the turf's uncommonly hard, and I came down a pretty good whack
that last time."
"I am sorry. You have not quite recovered your strength yet, or you
would not have fallen so heavily. But you do well; it is good exercise,
for body and mind too. A little rest, and we will try another throw."
Kenneth Amory was seated on a bench on the lawn where, in summer, Mr.
Kishimaru instructed his pupils in the fine art of jujutsu. He wore a
loose white belted tunic and shorts: head and legs were bare. Mr.
Kishimaru, a wiry little Japanese of about thirty-five, similarly clad,
walked up and down, expounding the principles of his art.
A bell rang in the house. The garden door opened, and a tall young
fellow of some twenty years came with quick step on to the lawn.
"Hullo, Kishimaru!" he cried. "How do? Have you got a minute?" He
glanced towards the figure on the bench, but did not wait for an answer.
"Just back from Canada--to enlist. Got to smash the Germans, you know.
But look here; just spare a minute to show me the Koshinage, will you?
I was in a lumber camp, you know, out west; lumbering's hard work; no
cricket or anything else; had to do something; taught 'em jujutsu, odd
times, you know. But the Koshinage--I fairly came to grief over that:
tried it on a big chap, and came a regular cropper. Made me look pretty
small; I'd been explaining that I'd throw any fellow, no matter how big.
Somehow it didn't come off: must have forgotten something, I suppose.
I've only got a few minutes; have to catch the 4.30 at St. Pancras; just
put me through it once or twice, there's a good chap."
Mr. Kishimaru rubbed his hands all through this impetuous address. He
was always pleased to see an old pupil, and Harry Randall, voluble,
always in a hurry, had been one of his best pupils a year or two before.
"I am delighted to see you, Mr. Randall," he said. "If you will
change----"
"No time for that. I'll strip to my shirt, be ready in a winking."
He threw off coat and waistcoat, wrenched off his collar, with some
peril to the stud, and knotting his braces about his waist, stood ready.
Meanwhile Mr. Kishimaru had stepped to the bench.
"The Koshinage is the exercise we have been practising, Mr. Amory," he
said. "Perhaps you will be good enough to go through it with Mr.
Randall, an old pupil. I will watch, and criticise if necessary."
Amory sprang up. In the newcomer he had at once recognised a
schoolfellow--Randy, they used to call him; a fellow everybody liked;
impulsive, generous, easy-going, always in scrapes, always ready to
argue with boys or masters. They had left school at the same time, and
had not seen each other since.
Mr. Kishimaru explained to Randall that his pupil would practise the
exercise with him, and was about to introduce the two formally. But
Randall anticipated him.
"Hullo, Amory!" he cried. "It's you. Didn't recognise you. Come on; no
time to spare."
Without more ado they took up position for the exercise, holding each
other as though they were going to waltz. Then they made one or two
rapid steps, Mr. Kishimaru skipping round them, intently watching their
movements. With a sudden turning on his toes and bending of the knees,
Amory dragged Randall from behind on to his right hip. A jerk of the
left arm and the straightening of the knees lifted Randall's feet from
the ground, and in another moment he was hoisted over Amory's hip to his
left front and deposited on his back.
"Excellent! Excellent!" cried Mr. Kishimaru.
"Just what I tried to do with big Heneky, and came bash to the ground
with him on top of me," said Randall. "But it's knack, not strength.
I'm heavier than Amory. Show me the trick."
Mr. Kishimaru placed them again in position, showed Randall how to get
advantage in the preliminary grip, and left them. In a few seconds Amory
was thrown.
"You have it, Mr. Randall," said the Japanese, rubbing his hands with
pleasure. "It is like a problem in chess: white to play and mate in
three moves. It is inevitable, given the position; it is mathematics,
mechanics, applied to the muscular human frame..."
"That's all right, old chap," interrupted Randall. "Knack, I call it.
Once more, Amory, then I must be off."
But at the third attempt he failed, and he would not be satisfied until
he had performed the feat three times in succession. Then, looking at
his watch, he found that he was too late for his train.
"Can't be helped," he said. "I'll go down to-morrow. Come along to my
hotel, Amory: haven't said how-de-do yet. We'll have some grub and a
talk. But you've got to change. Can't wait. I'll do some shopping and
wire home to the governor; you'll find me at the Arundel. Dinner seven
sharp: don't be late."
"The same old Randy!" thought Amory, smiling as he went into the house
to change.
At seven o'clock he found Randall walking restlessly up and down in
front of the hotel.
"Here you are. I've bagged a table. It's jolly to see you again
after--how long is it? Remember Shovel? He's got a commission in the
Fusiliers. Give me your hat. Want a wash? I landed yesterday; come
6000 miles, by Jove!"
And so, darting from one subject to another, he led the way to the
coffee-room. Before the soup arrived he started again.
"Heard the news right away in the backwoods. Lot of Germans and
Austrians in the camp. They began to crow. I slipped away; had to
tramp ten days to the rail. Gave a hint to the police, and hope all
those aliens are now in gaol. Extraordinary enthusiasm in Canada, old
chap. They wanted me to join their contingent, but I'd already applied
for a commission at home. People here seem to take things very coolly.
It'll be a bigger thing than they realise. And this rot in the papers
about the Germans' funk--running away, crying their eyes out! Stupid
nonsense, believe me. Had a letter in New York from my governor. Jolly
exciting voyage, I can tell you. All lights out; wireless going
constantly; alarm one night: German cruiser fifty miles away. We all
crowded on deck. By and by lookout signalled a vessel. We held our
breath: turned out to be a British cruiser. Captain gave our skipper
instructions for the course. We took ten days instead of five. What'll
you drink?"
Amory having intimated his modest choice Randall went on:
"Things'll have to wake up here. My governor's men are a lot of
rotters. Wrote me that out of five hundred or so only about a dozen had
'listed. Disgraceful, I call it. I'd sack 'em, but I know the governor
won't; he's against compulsion. I'm going down to-morrow to stir 'em
up. Haven't come 6000 miles for nothing. By the way, what are you
doing? You were a sergeant in the O.T.C. Of course you'd get a
commission right away. I shall never forget your cheek. Nearly died of
laughing when you went up to the O.C. and asked him to make you a
corporal. 'What for?' says he. 'I've been a private long enough, sir,'
says you, as cool as you please. But I say, what are you doing?"
"I've been rather seedy," said Amory, amused at his friend's chatter,
but not yet disposed to tell him that he had already seen service in
Belgium.
"But you're fit now, eh? You'll apply?"
"Yes, I suppose I shall."
"Why, hang it all, man, why suppose? They're awfully slow at the War
Office. I applied at once; passed the doctor and all that. I shan't
wait much longer. There's a Public School Corps forming; I shall join
that. I daresay they'll give me a platoon. I say, why not join too?
We're sure to find a lot of our old fellows in it; we might make up a
company. I hate waiting about. What do you say?"
"I'll think it over."
"Oh, I say, man, what rot! I tell you I've come 6000 miles to join.
You used to be keen enough." A cloud of disappointment, almost of
affront, hovered upon his face. Then suddenly he flashed a look of
mingled horror and disgust at his friend. "You don't tell me you're a
professional footballer?" he muttered.
"No, no," replied Amory with a laugh. "Don't be alarmed, Randy; I shan't
sit at home and read the papers."
"That's all right, then. But do make up your mind, there's a good chap.
I tell you what, what's your address? I'll wire you to-morrow when I've
had a go at the governor's men. Twelve out of five hundred!--no wonder
the poor old governor is biffy. It's a disgrace. Well, I'll wire you;
let you know how I get on as a recruiting officer. Then we'll meet
somewhere. Find out the headquarters of the Public School Corps, will
you? and make up your mind to join that with me. It won't spoil your
chance of a commission--perhaps hurry it up. Anyway, it will be jolly to
be together.... Waiter, bring me some more of that souffle. You don't
get things like that in the backwoods, Amory."