The scene is a base camp behind the Western Front. In the background
is a gravel pit, its brow fringed with pines. On the right-hand side
is a black hut; against one wall several cast-iron cylinders are
leaning; against another several stretchers; behind it a squad of
R.A.M.C. orderlies are playing pitch and toss for profit and
pleasure. On the left-hand side is a cemetery.
On the turf in the centre of the stage are some two hundred members
of the well-known British family, Atkins. The matter in hand being
merely that of life and death those in the rear ranks are whiling
away the time by playing crown and anchor. Their less fortunate
comrades in the prominence of the front ranks are "havin' a bit o'
shut eye"--in other words are fast asleep sitting up, propped the one
against the other.
Before them stands a Bachelor of Science disguised as a Second
Lieutenant. From the green and black brassard about his arm and the
_attar de chlorine_ and _parfum de phosgene_ which cling about him in
a murky aureole one would guess him to be connected with the Gas
Service. And one would be quite correct; he is.
* * * * * * * *
Lecturer: "Ahem! Pay attention to me, please; I am going to give you
a little chat on Gas. When you go up the line one of two things must
inevitably happen to you; you will either be gassed or you will not.
If you are not gassed strict attention to this lecture will enable
you to talk as if you had been. On the other hand, if you are gassed
it will enable you to distinguish to which variety you succumbed,
which will be most instructive.
"There are more sorts of gas than one. There is the Home or Domestic
Gas, which does odd jobs about the house at a bob a time, and which
out here is fed to observation balloons to get them off the earth.
There is Laughing Gas, so called from the fun the dentist gets out of
his victims while they are under its influence; and lastly there is
Hun Gas, which is not so amusing.
"Three varieties of gas are principally employed by the Hun. The
first of these is Chlorine. Chlorine smells like a strong sanitary
orderly or weak chloride of lime. The second on our list is Mustard
Gas, so called because it smells like garlic. Everything that smells
of garlic is not Mustard Gas, however, as a certain British Division
which went into the line alongside some of our brave Southern allies
regretfully discovered after they had been sweltering in their masks
for thirty-six long, long hours.
"The third and last is Phosgene. Phosgene has a greenish whitish
yellowish odour all its own, reminiscent of decayed vegetation,
mouldy hay, old clothes, wet hides, burnt feathers, warm mice,
polecats, dead mules, boiled cabbage, stewed prunes, sour grapes, or
anything else you dislike.
"As all these gases have a depressing effect on the consumer if
indulged in too freely the War Office has devised an effective
counter-irritant, the scientific wonder of the age, the soldier's
friend and _multum in parvo_--in short, the Respirator-Box. Here you
will observe I have a respirator-box as issued to the troops.
"There are other kinds with lace trimmings and seasonable mottoes
worked in coloured beads for the use of the Staff; but they do not
concern us. Let us now examine the ordinary respirator-box. What do
we discover? A neat canvas satchel, knapsack or what-not, which will
be found invaluable for the storage of personal knick-knacks, such as
soap, knives and forks, socks, iron rations, mouth-organs,
field-marshal's batons, etc. Within the satchel (what-not or
knapsack) we discover a rubber sponge-bag pierced with motor goggles,
a clothes-peg, a foot of garden hose, a baby's teether (chewers among
you will find this a comforting substitute for gum), a yard or two of
strong twine (first-aid to the braces), a tube of Anti-Dimmer (use it
as tooth-paste, your smile will beam more brightly), and a record
card, on which you are invited to inscribe your name, age, vote and
clubs; your golf, polo and ludo handicaps; complaints as to the
cooking or service and any sunny sentiments or epigrams that may
occur to you from time to time.
"Should you be in the line and detect the presence of hostile gas in
large numbers your first action should be to don your respirator-box
and your second to give the alarm. The donning of the respirator is
done in five motions by the best people:--
"1. Remove the cigarette, chewing-gum or false teeth from the mouth
and place it (or them) behind the ear (or ears).
"2. Tear the sponge-bag out of the knapsack (what-not or satchel) and
slap it boldly on the face as you would a mustard-plaster.
"3. Pin it to your nose by means of the clothes-peg.
"4. Work the elastics well into the back hair.
"5. Swallow the teether and carry on with deep breathing exercises,
as done by Swedes, sea-lions and such-like.
"The respirator once in position, pass the good news on to your
comrades by performing _fortissimo_ on one of the numerous alarums
with which every nice front line is liberally provided. But please
remember that gas alarms are for gas only, and do not let your
natural exuberance or love of music carry you away, as it is liable
to create a false impression; witness the case of some of our
high-spirited Colonials, who, celebrating a national festival (the
opening of the whippet racing-season in New South Wales) with a full
orchestra of Klaxon and Strombos horns, rattles, gongs, shell-cases,
tin-cans, sackbuts, psalteries and other instruments of musick, sent
every living soul in an entire army area stampeding into their
smell-hats, there to remain for forty-eight hours without food, drink
or benefit of clergy.
"Having given you full instructions as to the correct method of
entering your respirators I will now tell you how to extricate
yourselves. You must first be careful to ascertain that there is no
gas left about. Tests are usually made (1) with a white mouse, (2)
with a canary.
"If the white mouse turns green there is gas present; if it don't
there ain't. If the canary wags his tail and whistles 'Gee! ain't it
dandy down in Dixie!' all is well, but if it wheezes 'The End of a
Perfect Day' and moults violently, beware, beware! If through the
negligence of the Quartermastering Department you have not been
equipped with either mice or canaries do not start sniffing for gas
yourselves, but remember that your lives are of value to your King
and country and send for an officer. To have first sniff of all gas
is one of an officer's privileges; he hasn't many, but this is one of
them and very jealously guarded as such. If an officer should catch
you snuffing up all the gas in the neighbourhood he will be
justifiably annoyed and peevish.
"Now; having given you all the theory of anti-gas precautions, we
will indulge in a little practice. When I shout the word 'Gas!' my
assistants will distribute a few smoke bombs among you, and every man
will don his respirator in five motions and wend his way towards the
gas-chamber, entering it by the south door and leaving it by the
north. Is that quite clear? Then get ready. Gas!"
* * * * * * * *
Four or five N.C.O. Instructors suddenly pop up out of the gravel pit
and bombard the congregation with hissing smoke grenades. The front
ranks wake up, spring to their feet in terror and leg it for safety
at a stretched gallop, shedding their respirators for lightness' sake
as they flee. The rear ranks, who, in spite of themselves, have
heard something of the lecture, burrow laboriously into their masks.
Some wear them as hats, some as ear-muffs, some as chest-protectors.
The smoke rolls over them in heavy yellow billows.
Shadow shapes, hooded like Spanish inquisitors, may be seen here and
there crouched as in prayer, struggling together or groping blindly
for the way out. One unfortunate has his head down a rabbit-hole,
several blunder over the edge of the gravel pit and are seen no more.
There is a noise of painful laboured breathing as of grampuses in
deep water or pigs with asthma.
The starchy N.C.O. Instructors close on the helpless mob and with
muffled yelps and wild waving of arms herd them towards the south
door of the gas-chamber, push them inside and shoot the bolts.
The R.A.M.C. Orderlies are busy hauling the bodies out of the north
door, loading them on stretchers and trotting them across to the
cemetery, at the gates of which stands the Base Burial Officer
beaming welcome.
The lecturer, seeing the game well in progress, lights a pipe and
strolls home to tea.