Part 5 (1/2)

After all, our generals had to learn their lesson, like the private soldier, and the young battalion officer, in conditions of warfare which had never been seen before-and it was bad for the private soldier and the young battalion officer, who died so they might learn. As time went on staff-work improved, and British generals.h.i.+p was less rash in optimism and less rigid in ideas.

XVI

General Haldane was friendly to the war correspondents-he had been something of the kind himself in earlier days-and we were welcomed at his headquarters, both when he commanded the 3d Division and afterward when he became commander of the 6th Corps. I thought during the war, and I think now, that he had more intellect and ”quality” than many of our other generals. A tall, strongly built man, with a distinction of movement and gesture, not ”stocky” or rigid, but nervous and restless, he gave one a sense of power and intensity of purpose. There was a kind of slow-burning fire in him-a hatred of the enemy which was not weakened in him by any mercy, and a consuming rage, as it appeared to me, against inefficiency in high places, injustice of which he may have felt himself to be the victim, and restrictions upon his liberty of command. A bitter irony was often in his laughter when discussing politicians at home, and the wider strategy of war apart from that on his own front. He was intolerant of stupidity, which he found widespread, and there was no tenderness or emotion in his att.i.tude toward life. The officers and men under his command accused him of ruthlessness. But they admitted that he took more personal risk than he need have done as a divisional general, and was constantly in the trenches examining his line. They also acknowledged that he was generous in his praise of their good service, though merciless if he found fault with them. He held himself aloof-too much, I am sure-from his battalion officers, and had an extreme haughtiness of bearing which was partly due to reserve and that shyness which is in many Englishmen and a few Scots.

In the old salient warfare he often demanded service in the way of raids and the holding of death-traps, and the execution of minor attacks which caused many casualties, and filled men with rage and horror at what they believed to be unnecessary waste of life-their life, and their comrades'-that did not make for popularity in the ranks of the battalion messes. Privately, in his own mess, he was gracious to visitors, and revealed not only a wide range of knowledge outside as well as inside his profession, but a curious, unexpected sympathy for ideas, not belonging as a rule to generals of the old caste. I liked him, though I was always conscious of that flame and steel in his nature which made his psychology a world away from mine. He was. .h.i.t hard-in what I think was the softest spot in his heart-by the death of one of his A. D. C.'s-young Congreve, who was the beau ideal of knighthood, wonderfully handsome, elegant even when covered from head to foot in wet mud (as I saw him one day), fearless, or at least scornful of danger, to the verge of recklessness. General Haldane had marked him out as the most promising young soldier in the whole army. A bit of sh.e.l.l, a senseless bit of steel, spoiled that promise-as it spoiled the promise of a million boys-and the general was saddened more than by the death of other gallant officers.

I have one memory of General Haldane which shows him in a different light. It was during the great German offensive in the north, when Arras was hard beset and the enemy had come back over Monchy Hill and was sh.e.l.ling villages on the western side of Arras, which until then had been undamaged. It was in one of these villages-near Avesnes-le-Compte-to which the general had come back with his corps headquarters, established there for many months in earlier days, so that the peasants and their children knew him well by sight and had talked with him, because he liked to speak French with them. When I went to see him one day during that bad time in April of '18, he was surrounded by a group of children who were asking anxiously whether Arras would be taken. He drew a map for them in the dust of the roadway, and showed them where the enemy was attacking and the general strategy. He spoke simply and gravely, as though to a group of staff-officers, and the children followed his diagram in the dust and understood him perfectly.

”They will not take Arras if I can help it,” he said. ”You will be all right here.”

XVII

Gen. Sir Neville Macready was adjutant-general in the days of Sir John French, and I dined at his mess once or twice, and he came to ours on return visits. The son of Macready, the actor, he had a subtlety of mind not common among British generals, to whom ”subtlety” in any form is repulsive. His sense of humor was developed upon lines of irony and he had a sly twinkle in his eyes before telling one of his innumerable anecdotes. They were good stories, and I remember one of them, which had to do with the retreat from Mons. It was not, to tell the truth, that ”orderly” retreat which is described in second-hand accounts. There were times when it was a wild stampede from the tightening loop of a German advance, with lorries and motor-cycles and transport wagons going helter-skelter among civilian refugees and mixed battalions and stragglers from every unit walking, footsore, in small groups. Even General Headquarters was flurried at times, far in advance of this procession backward. One night Sir Neville Macready, with the judge advocate and an officer named Colonel Childs (a hot-headed fellow!), took up their quarters in a French chateau somewhere, I think, in the neighborhood of Creil. The Commander-in-Chief was in another chateau some distance away. Other branches of G. H. Q. were billeted in private houses, widely scattered about a straggling village.

Colonel Childs was writing opposite the adjutant-general, who was working silently. Presently Childs looked up, listened, and said:

”It's rather quiet, sir, outside.”

”So much the better,” growled General Macready. ”Get on with your job.”

A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed. No rumble of traffic pa.s.sed by the windows. No gun-wagons were jolting over French pave.

Colonel Childs looked up again and listened.

”It's d.a.m.ned quiet outside, sir.”

”Well, don't go making a noise,” said the general, ”Can't you see I'm busy?”

”I think I'll just take a turn round,” said Colonel Childs.

He felt uneasy. Something in the silence of the village scared him. He went out into the roadway and walked toward Sir John French's quarters. There was no challenge from a sentry. The British Expeditionary Force seemed to be sleeping. They needed sleep-poor beggars!-but the Germans did not let them take much.

Colonel Childs went into the Commander-in-Chief's chateau and found a soldier in the front hall, licking out a jam-pot.

”Where's the Commander-in-Chief?” asked the officer.

”Gone hours ago, sir,” said the soldier. ”I was left behind for lack of transport. From what I hear the Germans ought to be here by now. I rather fancy I heard some shots pretty close awhile ago.”

Colonel Childs walked back to his own quarters quickly. He made no apology for interrupting the work of the adjutant-general.

”General, the whole box of tricks has gone. We've been left behind. Forgotten!”