It all seemed very strange and unreal to Second-Lieutenant Angus
M'Lachlan, as he alighted from the train at railhead, and supervised
the efforts of his solitary N.C.O. to arrange the members of his draft
in a straight line. There were some thirty of them in all. Some were
old hands--men from the First and Second Battalions, who had been
home wounded, and had now been sent out to leaven "K(1)." Others were
Special Reservists from the Third Battalion. These had been at the
Dépôt for a long time, and some of them stood badly in need of a
little active service. Others, again, were new hands altogether--the
product of "K to the _nth_." Among these Angus M'Lachlan numbered
himself, and he made no attempt to conceal the fact. The novelty of
the sights around him was almost too much for his _insouciant_ dignity
as a commissioned officer.
Angus M'Lachlan was a son of the Manse, and incidentally a child of
Nature. The Manse was a Highland Manse; and until a few months
ago Angus had never, save for a rare visit to distant Edinburgh,
penetrated beyond the small town which lay four miles from his native
glen, and of whose local Academy he had been "dux." When the War broke
out he had been upon the point of proceeding to Edinburgh University,
where he had already laid siege to a bursary, and captured the same;
but all these plans, together with the plans of countless more
distinguished persons, had been swept to the winds by the invasion of
Belgium. On that date Angus summoned up his entire stock of physical
and moral courage and informed his reverend parent of his intention
to enlist for a soldier. Permission was granted with quite stunning
readiness. Neil M'Lachlan believed in straight hitting both in
theology and war, and was by no means displeased at the martial
aspirations of his only son. If he quitted himself like a man in the
forefront of battle, the boy could safely look forward to being
cock of his own Kirk-Session in the years that came afterwards. One
reservation the old man made. His son, as a Highland gentleman, would
lead men to battle, and not merely accompany them. So the impatient
Angus was bidden to apply for a Commission--his attention during the
period of waiting being directed by his parent to the study of the
campaigns of Joshua, and the methods employed by that singular but
successful strategist in dealing with the Philistine.
Angus had a long while to wait, for all the youth of England--and
Scotland too--was on fire, and others nearer the fountain of honour
had to be served first. But his turn came at last; and we now behold
him, as typical a product of "K to the _nth_" as Bobby Little had been
of "K(1)," standing at last upon the soil of France, and inquiring
in a soft Highland voice for the Headquarters of our own particular
Battalion.
He had half expected, half hoped, to alight from the train amidst a
shower of shells, as he knew the Old Regiment had done many months
before, just after the War broke out. But all he saw upon his arrival
was an untidy goods yard, littered with military stores, and peopled
by British privates in the _déshabille_ affected by the British Army
when engaged in menial tasks.
Being quite ignorant of the whereabouts of his regiment--when last
heard of they had been in trenches near Ypres--and failing to
recollect the existence of that autocratic but indispensable _genius
loci_, the R.T.O., Angus took uneasy stock of his surroundings and
wondered what to do next.