_Impressions of a Subaltern_
_Told by "Casualty" (Name of Soldier Suppressed)_
This is another of the soldiers' tales of the Great War. This
soldier tells thirty-six fascinating experiences in which death is
defied. He describes: "The Advance to Mons"; "Sir John French";
"The Crossing of the Marne"; "The Crossing of the Aisne"; "The Jaws
of Death," among his many adventures. The story here told gives his
impressions on "Leaving England." It is reprinted from his volume
"Contemptible," by permission of his publishers, _J. B. Lippincott
Company_.
[8] I--WHEN THE FIRST BATTALION SWUNG OUT
No cheers, no handkerchiefs, no bands. Nothing that even suggested
the time-honored scene of soldiers leaving home to fight the Empire's
battles. Parade was at midnight. Except for the lighted windows of the
barracks, and the rush of hurrying feet, all was dark and quiet. It was
more like ordinary night operations than the dramatic departure of a
Unit of the First British Expeditionary Force to France.
As the Battalion swung into the road, the Subaltern could not help
thinking that this was indeed a queer send-off. A few sergeants' wives,
standing at the corner of the Parade ground, were saying good-bye to
their friends as they passed. "Good-bye, Bill;" "Good luck, Sam!" Not a
hint of emotion in their voices. One might have thought that husbands
and fathers went away to risk their lives in war every day of the week.
And if the men were at all moved at leaving what had served for their
home, they hid it remarkably well. Songs were soon breaking out from
all parts of the column of route.
* * * * *
In an hour the station was reached. An engine was shunting up and down,
piecing the troop trains together, and in twenty minutes the Battalion
was shuffling down the platform, the empty trains on either side.
Two companies were to go to each train, twelve men to a third-class
compartment, N.C.O.s second class, Officers first. As soon as the men
were in their seats, the Subaltern made his way to the seat he had
"bagged," and prepared to go to sleep. Another fellow pushed his head
through the window and wondered what had become of the regimental
transport. Somebody else said he didn't know or care; his valise was
always lost, he said; they always make a point of it.
Soon after, they were all asleep, and the train pulled slowly out of
the station.
When the Subaltern awoke it was early morning, and they were moving
through Hampshire fields at a rather sober pace. He was assailed with
a poignant feeling of annoyance and resentment that this war should
be forced upon them. England looked so good in the morning sunshine,
and the comforts of English civilization were so hard to leave. The
sinister uncertainty of the Future brooded over them like a thunder
cloud.
Isolated houses thickened into clusters, streets sprang up, and soon
they were in Southampton.
The train pulled up at the Embarkation Station, quite close to the
wharf to which some half-dozen steamers were moored. There was little
or no delay. The Battalion fell straight into "massed formation," and
began immediately to move on to one of the ships. The Colonel stood
by the gangway talking to an Embarkation Officer. Everything was in
perfect readiness, and the Subaltern was soon able to secure a berth.