rder he would casually stroll alongside
some sweating soldier and drone out,

"I say, Private Stetson. Don't you just love to hike?"

Then and there he made a lifelong personal enemy of Private
Stetson. In the same or similar ways he made personal enemies of
every private soldier he came in contact with.

It may do no harm to tell how Mad Harry died. He came very near
being shot by one of his own men.

It was on the Somme. We were in the middle of a bit of a show, and
we were all hands down in shell holes with a heavy machine-gun fire
crackling overhead. I was in one hole, and in the next, which
merged with mine, were two chaps who were cousins.

Mad Harry came along, walking perfectly upright, regardless of
danger, with his left arm shattered. He dropped into the next shell
hole and with his expressionless drawl unshaken, said, "Private X.
Dress my arm."

Private X got out his own emergency bandage and fixed the arm. When
it was done Mad Harry, still speaking in his monotonous drone,
said:

"Now, Private X, get up out of this hole. Don't be hiding."

Private X obeyed orders without a question. He climbed out and fell
with a bullet through his head. His cousin, who was a very dear
friend of the boy, evidently went more or less crazy at this. I saw
him leap at Mad Harry and snatch his pistol from the holster. He
was, I think, about to shoot his officer when a shell burst
overhead and killed them both.

Well, on this first day of the hike Mad Harry ordered us out for
foot inspection, as I have said. I found that I simply couldn't get
them out. They were in no condition for foot inspection,--hadn't
washed for days. Harry came round and gave me a royal dressing down
and ordered the whole bunch out for parade and helmet inspection.
We were kept standing for an hour. You couldn't blame the men for
hating an officer of that kind.

It is only fair to say that Mad Harry was not a usual type of
British officer. He simply carried to excess the idea of discipline
and unquestioning obedience. The principle of discipline is the
guts and backbone of any army. I am inclined to think that it is
more than half the making of any soldier. There has been a good
deal of talk in the press about a democratic army. As a matter of
fact fraternization between men and officers is impossible except
in nations of exceptional temperament and imagination, like the
French. The French are unique in everything. It follows that their
army c