General Bramble Part 4

Barefoot, somewhat downcast, b.u.t.tonholed the interpreter, who was father-confessor to all Englishmen in distress. Aurelle begged him not to get excited.

"You are always talking about introducing your business methods into the army. As if that were possible! Why, the objects of the two things are entirely different. A business man is always looking for work; an officer is always trying to avoid it. If you neglect these principles, I can foresee an ignominious end in store for you, Barefoot, and Colonel Musgrave will trample on your corpse."

Now the thirty thousand Portuguese had been fed during their long voyage on tinned food; and as the transports' holds were being cleared, innumerable empty tins began to acc.u.mulate on the wharves.

Barefoot and his men were ordered to gather these tins together into regular heaps. These grew so rapidly that the Mayor of the town was exceedingly concerned to see such a waste of s.p.a.ce in a harbour already filled to bursting-point, and sent a pointed letter to Colonel Musgrave, asking him to find some other place for his empty tins.

Colonel Musgrave ordered his interpreter to write an equally pointed letter, reminding the Mayor of B---- that the removal of refuse was a munic.i.p.al concern, and that the British Army was therefore waiting for the Town to hand over a plot of ground for the purpose.

Barefoot happened to speak of this difficulty one day to the business man at whose house he was billeted; and the latter told him that a process had recently been discovered by which old tins could be melted down and used again, and that a company had been floated to work out the scheme; they would be sure to purchase Colonel Musgrave's tins.

The enthusiastic Barefoot began to see visions of profitable and glorious enterprises. Not only would he rid his chief and the Mayor of B---- of a lot of c.u.mbersome salvage, but this modest contract for some tens of tons might well serve as a model to those responsible for the sale of the millions of empty tins scattered daily by the British Army over the plains of Flanders and Artois. And the Commander-in-Chief would call the attention of the War Office to the fact that "Lieutenant E. W. Barefoot, by his bold and intelligent initiative, had enabled salvage to be carried out to the extent of several million pounds."

"Aurelle," he said to the interpreter, "let's write to this company immediately; we'll speak about it to the colonel when we get their reply."

The answer came by return; they were offered twenty francs per ton, carriage at the company's cost.

Barefoot explained his scheme to Colonel Musgrave with a.s.sumed modesty, adding that it would be a good thing to flatten out the tins before dispatching them, and that Sergeant Scott, who was a handy man, could easily undertake the job.

"First of all," said the colonel, "why can't you mind your own business? Don't you know you are forbidden to correspond with strangers upon matters pertaining to the service without consulting your superior officers? And who told you _I_'ve not been thinking for quite a long time of selling your d.a.m.ned tins? Do you think things are as simple as all that in the army? Fetch Aurelle; I'm going to see the superintendent of the French Customs."

Three years' experience had taught Colonel Musgrave that the French Customs Service were always to be relied on.

"Kindly ask this gentleman whether the British Army, having imported tins with their contents without paying any duty, has the right to sell these tins empty in France?"

"No," answered the official, when the colonel's question had been translated to him, "there is an order from our headquarters about the matter. The British Army must not carry on any sale of metal on French soil."

"Thank him very much," said the colonel, satisfied.

"Now just look here," he said to Barefoot on returning, "what a nice mess you would have made if I hadn't known my business. Let this be a lesson to you. In future it will be better if you look after your men and leave the rest to me. As for the tins, I have thought of a solution which will satisfy everyone concerned."

Next day Barefoot received orders to have the tins packed on lorries, and carried in several loads to the end of the pier, whence they were neatly cast into the sea. In this way the Mayor was spared the trouble of finding a dumping-ground, the British Government paid for the petrol consumed by the lorries, the _Ponts et Chaussees_ bore the expense of the dredging, and, as Colonel Musgrave said, every one was satisfied.

Colonel Parker, before rejoining the Division, wrote out a report, as usual, about the operations at B----.

"I beg to draw attention," the doc.u.ment ran, "to the excellent organization of the Supply arrangements. Thirty thousand men have been provided with rations in a harbour where no British base existed. This result is due especially to the organizing abilities displayed by Colonel A. C. Musgrave, C.M.G., D.S.O. (R.A.S.C.).

Although this officer has only recently been promoted, I consider it my duty to recommend him ..."

"What about Barefoot?" said Aurelle. "Couldn't he be made a captain?"

"Barefoot? That d.a.m.ned shopkeeper fellow whom Musgrave told me about?

The man who wanted to introduce his methods into the army? He's a public danger, my boy! But I can propose your friend Major Baraquin for a C.M.G., if you like."

"Baraquin?" Aurelle exclaimed in turn. "Why, he always refused everything you asked him for."

"Yes," said the colonel; "he's not very easy to get on with; he doesn't understand things; but he's a soldier, every inch of him! I like old Baraquin!"

CHAPTER V

THE STORY OF PRIVATE BIGGS

"La Nature fait peu de gens vaillants; c'est la bonne inst.i.tution et la discipline."--Charron.

The new padre was a stout, artless man with a kind face. He was only just out from England, and delighted the general with his air of innocent surprise.

"What's making all that noise?" he asked.

"Our guns," said Colonel Parker.

"Really?" replied the padre, in mild astonishment. As he walked into the camp, he was stopped by a sentry.

"Who goes there?"

"Friend," he answered. Then he went up to the man and added anxiously, "I suppose that was the right thing to answer, wasn't it?"

The general was delighted at these stories, and asked the Rev. Mr.

Jeffries to take his meals at his own table.

"Padre," he said, "don't you think our mess is a happy family?"

"Padre," chimed in the doctor approvingly, "don't you think that this mess has all the characteristics of a family? It is just a group of people thrown together by chance, who never understand each other in the least, who criticize one another severely, and are compelled by circ.u.mstances to put up with each other."

"There's nothing to joke about," said Colonel Parker. "It's these compulsory a.s.sociations that often give rise to the finest devotion."

And being in a lively mood that evening, he related the story of Private Biggs:

"You remember Biggs, who used to be my orderly? He was a shy, refined little fellow, who used to sell neckties in peace-time. He loathed war, sh.e.l.ls, blood and danger.

"Well, at the end of 1916, the powers that be sent the battalion to Gamaches training camp. A training camp, padre, is a plot of ground traversed by imitation trenches, where officers who have never been near the line teach war-worn veterans their business.

"The officers in charge of these camps, having a _clientele_ to satisfy, start some new fashion every season. This spring I understand that 'open file' is to be the order of the day; last autumn 'ma.s.sed formation' was the watchword of the best firms.

There's a lot of talk been going on for some time, too, about 'firing from the hip'; that's one of my friend Lamb's absolutely original creations--a clever fellow that; he ought to do very well.

"At Gamaches the officer in command was Major Macleod, a bloodthirsty Scot whose hobby was bayonet work. He was very successful at showing that, when all's said and done, it's the bayonet that wins battles.

Others before him have sworn that it is only hand-grenades, heavy guns, or even cavalry that can give a decisive victory. But Macleod's doctrine was original in one respect: he favoured moral suggestion rather than actual practice for the manufacture of his soldiers. For the somewhat repulsive slaughter of bayonet fighting he found it necessary to inspire the men with a fierce hatred of the enemy.

"For this purpose he had bags of straw stuffed to the shape of German soldiers, adorned with a sort of German helmet and painted field-grey, and these were given as targets to our Highlanders.

"'Blood is flowing,' he used to repeat as the training proceeded, 'blood is flowing, and you must rejoice at the sight of it. Don't get tender-hearted; just think only of stabbing in the right place.

To withdraw the bayonet from the corpse, place your foot on the stomach.'