The French, always so quick to give things names--and so liberal about
it that, to the embarrassment and undoing of the unhappy foreigner, they
sometimes invent fifty names for one thing--have added so many words to
the vocabulary since August, 1914, that a glossary, and perhaps more
than one, has been published to enshrine them. Without the assistance of
this glossary it is almost impossible to read some of the numerous
novels of poilu life.
So far as I am aware the latest creation is the infinitesimal word "as,"
or rather, it is a case of adaptation. Yesterday "as des carreaux" (to
give the full form) stood simply for ace of diamonds. To-day all France,
with that swift assimilation which has ever been one of its many
mysteries, knows its new meaning and applies it.
And what is this new "as"? I gather, without having had the advantage of
cross-examining a French soldier, that an "as" is an obscure hero, one
of the men, and they are by no means rare, who do wonderful things but
do not get into the papers or receive medals or any mention in
despatches. We all know that many of the finest deeds performed in war
escape recognition. One does not want to suggest that V.C.'s and
D.S.O.'s and Military Crosses and all the other desirable tokens of
valour are conferred wrongly. Nothing of the kind. They are nobly
deserved. But probably there never was a recipient of the V.C. or the
D.S.O. or the Military Cross who could not--and did not wish to--tell
his Sovereign, when the coveted honour was being pinned to His breast,
of some other soldier not less worthy than himself of being decorated,
whose deed of gallantry was performed under less noticeable conditions.
The performer of such a deed is an "as" and it is his luck to be a not
public hero. But why ace of diamonds? That I cannot explain.
The "as" can be found in every branch of the Army, and he is recognised
as one by his comrades, even although the world at large is ignorant.
Perhaps we shall find a word for his British correlative, who must be
numerically very strong too. The letter A alone might do it, signifying
anonymous. "Voila, un as!" says the French soldier, indicating one of
these brave modest fellows who chances to be passing. "You see that
chap," one of our soldiers would say; "he's an A."
All that I know of the "as" I have gathered from the French satirical
paper, a child of the War, _La Baïonette_. This paper comes out every
week and devotes itself, as its forerunner, _L'Assiette au Beurre_,
used to do, to one theme at a time, one phase or facet of the struggle,
usually in the army, but also in civil life, where changes due to the
War steadily occur. In the number dedicated to the glory of the "as" I
find recorded an incident of the French Army so moving that I want to
tell it here, very freely, in English. It was, says the writer, before
the attack at Carency, and he vouches for the accuracy of his report,
for he was himself present. In the little village of Camblain-l'Abbé a
regiment was assembled, and to them spoke their Captain. The scene was
the yard of a farm. I know so well what it was like. The great manure
heap in the middle; the carts under cover, with perhaps one or two
American reapers and binders among them; fowls pecking here and there; a
thin predatory dog nosing about; a cart-horse peering from his stable
and now and then scraping his hoofs; a very wide woman at the
dwelling-house door; the old farmer in blue linen looking on; and there,
drawn up, listening to their Captain, row on row of blue-coated men, all
hard-bitten, weary, all rather cynical, all weather-stained and frayed,
and all ready to go on for ever.
This is what the Captain said--a tall thin man of about thirty, speaking
calmly and naturally as though he was reading a book. "I have just seen
the Colonel," he said; "he has been in conference with the Commandant,
and this is what has been settled. In a day or two it is up to us to
attack. You know the place and what it all means. At such and such an
hour we shall begin. Very well. Now this is what will happen. I shall be
the first to leave the trench and go over the top, and I shall be killed
at once. So far so good. I have arranged with the two lieutenants for
the elder of them to take my place. He also will almost certainly be
killed. Then the younger will lead, and after him the sergeants in turn,
according to their age, beginning with the oldest who was with me at
Saida before the War. What will be left by the time you have reached the
point I cannot say, but you must be prepared for trouble, as there is a
lot of ground to cover, under fire. But you will take the point and hold
it. Fall out."