THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP
There was little element of surprise about the "Somme" offensive.
Although there must have been some uncertainty in the mind of the
German Staff as to just where the blow would be struck, for our papers
were filled with rumors of a drive in the north, and troops and big
guns were moved north every day and withdrawn at night, yet the
intensity of the artillery bombardment around Albert, which day by day
waxed ever greater, proclaimed in a shout that here was the point on
which our punch would strike.
The selection of this place for an offensive was an indication that it
was not the policy of the Allies to attempt to drive the German army
out of France, but that their evident intention was to defeat the enemy
practically in the present trenches. The German line in France and
Belgium is shaped like the letter L, and the Somme battle was waged at
the angle of the letter just where the line was farthest from Germany.
Of course it would be madness to attempt to finish the war on German
soil, if to do it we should have to devastate one-eighth of France and
its fairest and richest province.
These smashes are rapidly destroying the morale of the enemy, as well
as killing many of them, and will lead to the collapse of the army
pretty much where they are now. If they attempt an offensive on the
western front, where our armament is now so strong, it will hasten the
end. The British artillery had at the end of 1917 a reserve of fifty
million of shells, and pity help the German army if they bump into
them. The British offensive of 1916 was hastened somewhat by the need
of relieving the pressure on Verdun, and though the first blow was not
as powerful as it would have been if delayed a few months, it
accomplished much more than was expected.
Up the British line there crept news of big doings down south. There
was a new sound in the air--a distant continued thunder that was
different from any previous sound--the big drums of the devil's
orchestra were booming an accompaniment that was the motif of hell's
cantata. Up the line ran the rumor of a battle intenser than any yet
fought--more guns being massed in a few miles than the world had ever
seen before. Into every heart crept the dread of what might await us
down there, and to every mind came the question: "When are we going?"
Close behind rumor came marching orders, and as we left our old
trenches south of Armentières we said good-bye to scenes that had
become homelike, and turned our faces south to make that "rendezvous
with death" in the dread unknown to which duty called us.
But there were weeks of peaceful scenes that seemed to us like a
forgotten melody of love and home and peace, and the train that bore us
out of the war zone seemed to carry us into another world, but though
the feast to our eyes was pleasant and like "far-off forgotten things
and pleasures long ago," we were not borne thither on downy couches.
Never were there seats more uncomfortable than the floors of those
French trucks, and we occupied them for days. When now and again the
train stopped and we could unbend ourselves for a short stroll, it was
like the interval in a dull play. We had taken our cookers with us on
the train, but the French railway authorities would not allow us to
have a fire burning while the train was moving, so we would have to
draw onto a siding that our meals might be cooked. Now and again at
these stops there would be canteens run by English and American women,
and the home-cooking and delicacies they smilingly gave us were a
reminder of the barracking of the womenfolk that makes courage and
endurance of men possible. These are the untiring heroines that uphold
our hands till victory shall come, and so the women fight on. There
were French women, too, who brought us fruit and gingerbread, and with
eyes and strange tongue unburdened hearts full of gratitude and prayer.
How glad we were to gaze on the earth, smiling through fields of waving
corn and laughing with peaceful homes, with the church-spires still
pointing heavenward, after so many months of associating with the scars
of blackened fields and the running sores festering on earth's bosom,
once so fair, where churches had swooned and in lost hope laid their
finger in the dust.
But all journeys end in time, and one night instead of eating we loaded
ourselves like the donkeys in Egypt and tramped off to the village of
our sojourning. The billeting officer and guide were several days
ahead of us and they met us at the train and told us it was only three
miles to the village, but after we had tramped five we lost all faith
in their knowledge of distance. It was "tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys
are marching," for three miles more, and when we had given up all hope
of eating or resting again we saw, at the bottom of a hill, silhouetted
against the violet sky the spire of a church, but we did not breathe
our hopes lest it might vanish like a dream. Soon we came to a house,
and instinctively the column halted, but it was "On, on, ye brave!" yet
a little longer, then suddenly a company was snatched up by the
darkness. Lucky dogs! They had found some corner in which to curl up
and sleep, which was all we longed for, as we were now too tired to
even care about eating. Chunk after chunk was broken off the column
and almost all were swallowed by stables and barns, or houses that were
not much superior, when there loomed ahead some iron gates, and like
the promise of a legacy came the news that this was the headquarters
billet; and never did the sight of four walls offer to weary man such a
fortune of rest and shelter.
In the morning we discovered we were in the village of
Ailly-sous-Ailly, the sleepiest place on earth. It nestled at the
bottom of a cup and was hidden by trees; no passer in the skies would
glimpse roof or street. No vehicle entered it from outside and the war
was only hearsay. I think the hum of its labor can only be heard by
the bees, and its drowsy evening prayers are barely audible to the
angels. Its atmosphere crept over our spirits like ether and we did
little else but sleep for the week that we were there. Parades would
be ordered, but after a short time of drilling in the only field of the
village, we would realize the sacrilege of our exertion, and the parade
would be dismissed. Thereafter the only preparation for the day ahead
that was persisted in consisted of lectures, when the droning voice of
the officer would frequently be accompanied by snores from his men. My
duties were to give instruction in scouting, but I seemed to be
sounding a motor-horn in slumberland when I counselled my boys to
"always keep their eyes skinned" as the genie of the village was
weighting their eyelids with lead. I spoke in the language of
different worlds when I said: "A scout's body should never be seen to
move" (and the village hummed its applause), "but his eyes should be
never still--" (and there was almost a hiss that came through the
trees).
For the first day or two we did not see the inhabitants of the village
at all. Much puzzled at this we questioned the maire, and he told us
that they were very much afraid because we were Australians--that there
had been much alarm when they heard we were coming. Perhaps they
thought we were black, and into their dulled ears had crept a whisper
of the fierceness in battle of these giants called "Anzac." It was not
long, however, before curiosity drew them from their hiding-places and
our laughing good nature won their confidence. It was not surprising
that our lavish spending of money should have roused their cupidity,
for never had they seen so much wealth before, and never had we seen
such poverty. Any of our privates was able to buy out the stock of a
whole store, which was not worth more than a pound or two. One of
them, to satisfy his hunger, on the first night walked into one of
these stores, but when he saw the stock his face was a picture of blank
disappointment. "I want something to eat," he said, "and I think I'll
take all you've got. It may make a fruit salad or something." There
were only one or two that could converse with us in anything but a
language of signs, but the old maire spoke English of the kind that
Queen Elizabeth used, and he acted as interpreter for the whole village.
When they understood that we were willing to pay for any damage done,
the bills came in in sheaves. Some boys, in ignorance, cut up for
firewood an old cedar log that was an heirloom. You would have thought
it was made of gold from the value put upon it by its owner. Fifteen
francs was asked for a bundle of straw that some boys made a bed of,
and some of our Australian horses did not know any better than to eat
the thatch off one old lady's bedroom, which not only cost us the price
of the thatch when it was new but also damages for fright. There was a
gap in the hedge that I had noticed when we entered the town, but it
cost us ten francs all the same. These people were not unpatriotic,
but to them it looked like the chance of a lifetime to acquire wealth,
and I have no doubt we pensioned several of them for life.
The war was to them like a catastrophe in another world, and
Australians did not travel farther to fight than in their imagination
did the sons of this village when they went to the trenches less than a
hundred miles away. I discovered one day how deep the knife of war had
cut when I spoke to a grandmother and daughter working a large farm, as
with dumb, uncomprehending pain in their eyes they showed me the
picture of son-in-law and husband who would never return. Rights of
peoples and the things for which nations strive had no meaning to these
two, but from out the dark had come a hand and dragged from them the
fulness of life, leaving only its empty shell.
Our headquarters billet was in the vacated house of the village squire.
He was a major in the French army, and had taken with him the young men
of the village committed to his charge. His wife had gone to nurse in
a hospital and they had put their children in a convent. He then left
the key in his door, saying that his house and its contents were at the
service of the officers of any British regiment that should come that
way. This house was a baronial castle, but in its furnishing knew as
little of modern conveniences as Hampden Court of William IV. We did
not smile, however, at the antimacassars, wax flowers, and samplers,
nor the scattered toys of the nursery, for we were guests of a kindly
host who, though absent himself, had intrusted to our care his
household gods and was a comrade in arms.
Houses, especially old houses, absorbed the personality of the dwellers
therein, and I fancy that our host is not unknown to me. Were I to
meet him I would recognize him at once, for his spirit dwelt with us in
his home, and my prayer is that when he returns he will not find that
temple tainted by the spirit of any alien who occupied it in his
absence.
The village church slumbered in the centre of the village, and was its
sluggish heart. No discord or schism of sect or creed ever disturbed
its atmosphere. Unquestioned was its hold on the faith of men, women,
and children. Not more quietly did the dead rest beneath the stones of
the churchyard than did the worshippers who knelt before the carved
wooden images of the saints, trusting in their protection and receiving
from their placid immobility a benediction of peace. The cure from a
neighboring town only visited the village once a quarter, and the old
lady who kept the key was very reluctant to let us in; but when the
maire knew of our desire, he brought us the key that we might view it
at our leisure. Its pews were thick with dust, the images were chipped
and broken, some saints were minus nose or arm, the vestments in the
open cupboard were moth-eaten and tawdry, dried flowers lay on tombs of
the village great; but its atmosphere was one of peace, and it was not
difficult to realize that many had carried therein their burden of
grief and unrest and left it behind them, soothed on the bosom of
Mother Church, like a fretting child.
But it is not the business of soldiers to sleep, and suddenly came the
awakening with the sound of the hundreds of motor-buses that were to
carry us into the noise and devastation of hell! We marched up to the
rim of the village, and amid the smell of gasolene, the tooting of the
horns, and the roar of the engines we boarded these, thirty to a bus,
and rumbled on toward the greatest noise and flame and fire that has
ever torn the atmosphere asunder, outdoing any earthquake,
thunderstorm, or tornado that nature has ever visited upon humanity.
On this journey we saw more of the tremendous organization needed to
equip and feed an army than we had been able to visualize before. For
thirty miles we were a part of a stream of motor vehicles flowing in
one direction passing a never-ending stream going the other way.
Through the city of Amiens we went without stopping. With longing eyes
we gazed from the buses which hours of bumping and rolling on poor
roads had made to us torture-chambers. How gladly would we have
strolled through its streets gazing on the pretty girls and gaping at
the novelty of its quaint buildings and the unusual ware in its
shop-windows.
[Illustration: My Own Comrades Waiting For Buses.]
Later on I was a week in the hospital here with a sprained ankle, and I
had a chance to explore this lovely city of Picardy. Its cathedral was
a never-ending source of interest, and not a day passed during my stay
that I did not hobble on crutches through its dim aisles and worship
the beauty of its statues. There is one statue called "The Weeping
Angel" which is world-famous, and I have gazed at it for hours, feeling
its beauty steal over me like a psalm. There was always music stealing
gently through the air, but like a blow in the face were the walls of
sandbags protecting the carving on the choir-stalls and the thousands
of statues on the huge doors. The grotesque hideousness of the
gargoyles gave a touch of humor that was not incongruous to religion,
but these sand-bags were such an eye-sore against the beauty of the
carved poems that suggested what an intrusion into God's fair world is
the horror of war.
Several times while I was in Amiens the German aeroplanes came over and
bombed the city. Opposite the hospital a three-story house collapsed
like a pack of cards, burying seventeen people in its ruins. I saw a
French airman bring down one boche by a clever feat. He evidently
could not aim upward to his satisfaction, so he turned upside down, and
while flying thus, brought down his opponent.
Through Amiens the buses carried us within a few miles of Albert, which
was within range of the German artillery. It is in Albert that the
remarkable "hanging Virgin" is to be seen. The cathedral and tower
have been almost practically destroyed, but still on top of the tower
remains uninjured the figure of the Virgin and Child. A shell has
struck its base, and over the town at right angles to the tower leans
the Virgin imploringly holding the babe outstretched as though she were
supplicating its protection. The French people say that the statue
will fall when the war ends, but some materialistic British engineers,
fearing the danger to life in its fall, have shored and braced it up.
This is similar to the miracles of the crucifixes that are found
standing unharmed amid scenes of desolation. I have seen several of
them without a bullet mark upon them when every building in the
vicinity has been laid in ruins. I know two cases in which there is
not one stone remaining of the church, yet the crucifix that was inside
stands in untouched security. There are always those who see in these
things a supernatural agency as some saw "angels at Mons," and as for
me I do not seek to explain them, knowing that there are more things in
heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.
I am reluctant to leave this chapter with its peaceful memories, for it
is the antechamber of hell. There is little here that hints of the
brimstone and fire just through the door. But our path lies that way
and we must pass on.