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ON THE RIGHT
OF THE BRITISH LINE
[Illustration: Captain Gilbert Nobbs.
_From a photograph by Aylett._]
ON THE RIGHT
OF THE BRITISH LINE
BY
CAPTAIN GILBERT NOBBS
(LATE L.R.B.)
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published September, 1917
BESIDES THE MAN WHO FIGHTS
THERE IS THE WOMAN WHO WAITS, AND
IN HUMBLE TRIBUTE TO HER SILENT HEROISM
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
PREFACE
This is my first book. It is also my last. But I have a record to make
and a duty to perform. I was five weeks on the firing line; four weeks
mourned as dead; and three months a prisoner of war.
I have attempted to make a true record of all that happened. The names
alone are fictitious (all except that of Saniez), for those days were
too full of stirring events which will long live in my memory to need
the aid of fiction. If I have dwelt at some length upon my experience
in Germany, it is with the hope that the information may be of
interest to those who have relatives and friends still in the hands of
the enemy and burn to know the truth.
I do not deplore the loss of my sight, for I can say in all sincerity
that I was never happier in my life than I am to-day.
G.N.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FOVANT 1
ORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT.
II. THE SILENT HEROES 6
THE WOMAN WHO WAITS--AND SUFFERS IN SILENCE.
III. DEPARTURE FOR THE FRONT 9
WATERLOO STATION. LUNCHEON ARGUMENTS. THE BAGGAGE
PROBLEM.
IV. CROSSING THE CHANNEL 15
THE DOCK PORTER. A WHIFF OF BOND STREET.
V. GOING UP THE LINE 24
PERFIDIOUS GANG-PLANKS. D'ARCY STRANDED. GUIDES WHO
CANNOT GUIDE. A HEATED ARGUMENT.
VI. RATIONS 33
I LEARN TO HATE FOOD. MATHEMATICAL PROBLEMS.
VII. ST. AMAND 37
I REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS. THE PROBLEM OF
VENTILATION.
VIII. EARLY IMPRESSIONS 41
BILLETS. A STARTLING INCIDENT. REST CAMP.
IX. DEPARTURE FOR THE SOMME 48
CORBIE. HAPPY VALLEY. PASSING THROUGH THE GUNS.
X. ARRIVAL ON THE SOMME 57
FEEDING THE GUNS. SEPTIMUS D'ARCY ARRIVES. A CURIOUS
KIT.
XI. DEATH VALLEY 66
MOVING OVER BATTLE-FIELDS. ---- BATTALION, LONDON
REGIMENT, IN POSSESSION. THE MYSTERY TRENCH.
FALFEMONT FARM.
XII. OUT IN NO MAN'S LAND 71
SUDDEN ORDERS. THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT ADVENTURE.
DIGGING IN.
XIII. A NIGHT OF ALARM 82
SEPTIMUS IN A NEW ROLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE
LAST CARTRIDGE.
XIV. NEXT MORNING 87
A COUNCIL OF WAR. OPERATION ORDERS. A BITTER
DISAPPOINTMENT.
XV. THE ADVANCE THROUGH LEUZE WOOD 91
NEW OPERATION ORDERS. "AT ANY COST." LIKE RATS IN
A TRAP.
XVI. THE ATTACK 101
A DESPERATE SITUATION. BATTLE FORMATION. "FOR
ENGLAND."
XVII. AT ANY COST 110
OVER THE TOP. MAD, FIGHTING MAD. THE FINAL ASSAULT.
XVIII. LEFT ON THE FIELD 116
THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. THE SECRET CODE. TWO TERRIBLE
DAYS.
XIX. THE JAWS OF DEATH 123
LONELINESS, DARKNESS, AND SILENCE. A LAST EFFORT. I
PREPARE FOR DEATH.
XX. AT THE MERCY OF THE HUN--AND AFTER 130
A BASIN OF SOUP. HOSPITAL AT ST. QUENTIN. THE "OPEN
SESAME."
XXI. ALIVE 143
XXII. BLINDNESS 147
XXIII. THE WOMAN WHO WAITS 151
THE TELEGRAPH BOY'S RAT-TAT. KILLED IN ACTION. WEEKS
OF MOURNING.
XXIV. WARD 43, RESERVE LAZARETTE 5, HANOVER 156
OCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR.
XXV. SANIEZ 160
XXVI. LIFE IN HANOVER HOSPITAL 166
HOSPITAL DIET. INTERVIEWED BY A GERMAN DOCTOR.
DISCHARGED FROM HOSPITAL.
XXVII. OBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS 176
EMPLOYMENT OF PRISONERS. PARCELS. MEN OF MONS.
XXVIII. STORIES OF THE HEROES OF MONS 187
XXIX. OSNABRUCK 199
ARRIVAL IN CAMP. THE CANTEEN. DAILY ROUTINE. RATIONS.
PARCELS. NEWS.
XXX. COMEDY AND DRAMA 215
I SALUTE THE WALL. THE STORY OF AN EGG. A NOVEL
BANQUET. JOY RIDE ON A LORRY. THE SWISS COMMISSION.
XXXI. FREE 227
I BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF
WINE. ACROSS THE FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED
FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES.
ILLUSTRATIONS
Captain Gilbert Nobbs Frontispiece
Captain Nobbs after his release from the German
prison Facing page 164
ON THE RIGHT
OF THE BRITISH LINE
CHAPTER I
FOVANT
ORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT
"The C.O. wants to see you."
"What for?" I asked.
"I don't know, but he is in the orderly room."
It was the adjutant who was speaking, and his manner led me to think
there was something in the wind which he did not like to tell me. I
left the mess, and a few moments later I was standing before the C.O.
"I have just received a telegram from the War Office; you are included
in the next reinforcements for France."
"I am glad, sir."
"You've only forty-eight hours' notice. You are to report at
Southampton at 4. P.M. the day after to-morrow."
"Very good, sir."
"Well, as your time is so short, you had better go home and get things
ready. The adjutant will have your papers ready for you within half
an hour."
"Very good, sir."
The C.O. stood up, and in his cordial military manner, which seemed to
take you straight from the orderly room into the mess, held out his
hand to bid me good-bye.
There is quite a difference between a C.O. in the orderly room and a
C.O. in the mess. I mean those C.O.'s who are made of the right stuff,
and our C.O. was certainly one of them.
In the orderly room his presence keeps you at arm's length and makes
you feel that you want to keep clicking your heels and coming to the
salute. You are conscious of the terrible crime you would commit if
you permitted your body to relax from the position of attention; your
conversational powers are restricted; you fancy you have a voice at
the back of your head, saying:
"Don't argue, listen; digest, and get out."
It's a feeling which does not make the orderly room a very pleasant
place to go to; yet you have an instinctive feeling of confidence.
The same C.O. in the mess, however, is a different man and creates
quite a different atmosphere. In the orderly room he holds you from
him; in the mess he pulls you to him. You have the feeling that you
can sit in an armchair, with your feet on the coal-box, and talk to
him round the corner of your newspaper, like the very ordinary human
being he really is.
"Well, good-bye, and good luck." We shook hands, I came to the salute,
and the next moment I found myself once more outside the orderly room
door.
Have you ever experienced the feeling? Yes, thousands have, for the
despatch of reinforcing officers to the front in this abrupt manner
was taking place daily throughout the empire. You remember the feeling
quite well; amazement at its suddenness; eagerness for the adventure;
the prospect of the home parting; the sudden change in the daily
routine; the mystery of the future--all swirling through your brain in
a jumble of thoughts.
Then the hasty despatch of telegrams, the examination of time-tables,
and the feverish packing of a kit which has grown to enormous
proportions and hopelessly defies the regulations for weight.
An hour later and I had made a quick sale of my bicycle, distributed
odds and ends of hut furniture which I should no longer need, and was
sitting in a motor-car, outside the mess, grabbing at hands which were
outstretched in farewell.
Those who lived in camp at Fovant can remember what an uninteresting,
dreary place it seemed at the time, and how we cursed its monotony.
Rows upon rows of uninteresting and uninviting looking huts; the
large, barren square; the heart-breaking trudge to the station; the
little village with the military policeman, who stood at the fork of
the roads, and whose job seemed so easy, while ours seemed so hard;
and who always seemed so clean and cool, while we seemed so hot and
dusty.
The city of Salisbury, our one ray of hope, but which was too far to
walk to, and too expensive to ride to--all these things we used to
look upon as sufferings which had to be put up with. But we can look
upon the picture now, and there are few of us who can do so without a
feeling of affection, for there was a spirit of comradeship there
which links up the dreariness into pleasant recollections.
Now that I have been through the mill I can look back at that parting
scene, and as the car whirls away and my brother officers walk back
into the mess, I fancy I can hear the comment of those who had not yet
been out and those who had:
"Lucky brute."
"Poor devil!"