in such an action when their lives are the pawns of his direction!

I felt a kind of awe in the presence of one of the battalions in billet
in a warehouse, more than in the presence of prime ministers or
potentates. Most of them were blinking and mind-stiff after having slept
the clock around. They were Yorkshiremen, chiefly workers in worsted
mills and a stubborn lot.

"What did you most want to do when you got out of the fight?" I asked.

They spoke with one voice which left no question of their desires in a
one-two-three order. They wanted a wash, a shave, a good meal, and then
sleep. And personal experiences? Tom called on Jim and Jim had bayoneted
two Germans, he said; then Jim called on Bill, who had had a wonderful
experience according to Jim, though all that Bill made of it was that he
got there first with his bombs. Told among themselves the stories might
have been thrilling. Before a stranger they were mere official reports.
It had been quick work, too quick for anything but to dodge for cover
and act promptly in your effort to get the other fellow before he got
you.

Generically, they had a job to do and they did it just as they would
have done one in the factories at home. They were not so interested in
any exhibition of courage as in an encounter which had the element of
sport. Each narrator invariably returned to the subject of soda water.
The outstanding novelty of the charge to these men was the quantity of
soda water in bottles which they had found in the German dugouts. They
went on to their second objective with bottles of soda water in their
pockets and German light cigars in the corners of their mouths and
stopped to drink soda water between bombing rushes after they had
arrived. It was a hot, thirsty day.

Through the curtains of artillery fire which were continually maintained
back of their new positions supplies could not be brought up, but Boche
provisions saved the day. In fact, I think this was one of the reasons
why they felt almost kindly toward the Germans. They found the canned
meat excellent, but did not care for the "K.K." bread.

Thus in the dim light of the warehouse they talked on, making their task
appear as a half-holiday of sport. It seemed to me that this was in
keeping with their training; the fashionable attitude of the British
soldier toward a horrible business. If this helps him to endure what
these men had endured without flinching, with comrades being blown to
bits ar