a little, and made us a speech. I forget his words, but
remember the gist of them. He was pleased to welcome us within his army,
and trusted to our honor and loyalty. He made an allusion to the power
of the press, and promised us facilities for seeing and writing,
within the bounds of censorship. I noticed that he pronounced St.-Omer,
St.-Omar, as though Omar Khayyam had been canonized. He said, "Good day,
gentlemen," again, and coughed huskily again to clear his throat, and
then went back through the folding-doors.

I saw him later, during the battle of Loos, after its ghastly failure.
He was riding a white horse in the villages of Heuchin and Houdain,
through which lightly wounded Scots of the 1st and 15th Divisions were
making their way back. He leaned over his saddle, questioning the men
and thanking them for their gallantry. I thought he looked grayer and
older than when he had addressed us.

"Who mun that old geezer be, Jock?" asked a Highlander when he had
passed.

"I dinna ken," said the other Scot. "An' I dinna care."

"It's the Commander-in-Chief," I said. "Sir John French."

"Eh?" said the younger man, of the 8th Gordons. He did not seem thrilled
by the knowledge I had given him, but turned his head and stared after
the figure on the white horse. Then he said: "Well, he's made a mess o'
the battle. We could've held Hill 70 against all the di'els o' hell if
there had bin supports behind us."

"Ay," said his comrade, "an' there's few o' the laddies'll come back fra
Cite St.-Auguste."

IX

It was another commander-in-chief who received us some months after the
battle of Loos, in a chateau near Montreuil, to which G. H. Q. had then
removed. Our only knowledge of Sir Douglas Haig before that day was of
a hostile influence against us in the First Army, which he commanded. He
had drawn a line through his area beyond which we might not pass. He did
not desire our presence among his troops nor in his neighborhood. That
line had been broken by the protests of our commandant, and now as
Commander-in-Chief, Sir Douglas Haig had realized dimly that he might be
helped by our services.

It was in another French salon that we waited for the man who controlled
the British armies in the field--those armies which we now knew in some
intimacy, whom we had seen in the front-line trenches and rest-camps and
billets, hearing their point of view, knowing their suffering and their
patience, and their impatience--an