Part 11

To convert an army of a few hundred thousands into a mighty machine of millions--what achievement! And this, in a few months. To clothe, equip, and supply these men with munitions--an even greater task! Yet this England did; and French military critics were amazed at an exploit unequalled in the world's history. The little band of men who fought so gallantly at Mons, and whose opportune arrival helped to turn the first tide of invasion, have grown and increased to the gigantic British Army of to-day. Nothing delighted the French as much as the establishment of Conscription in England. It seemed to them like the gauge of England's seriousness. With their clear minds they had long realised that the voluntary system was inadequate to furnish the necessary resources to the army in time of war. True, the French, in their impatience to see England scientifically increase her army, forgot how slowly was evolved their own system of national service. Although, as we have seen, the Convention, in a moment of revolutionary fervour, decreed that it was the duty of every one to serve the State, a national system of compulsion, applicable to everybody, was not resorted to until more than fifty years after the Napoleonic Wars, and France had suffered defeat from conscripted armies. Then, in its form, compulsion became a drastic measure from which none escaped; but, even here, nearly another fifty years was necessary to implant and make good the system of absolute equality. Thus the French opinion which carped at England for her slowness in taking up an equal burden in the field was not quite mindful of French military history. These critics had not realised that the completeness of the French national military service had been the growth of many years, and that a vast national army could not spring into being at the mere waving of a wand; and hence it was impossible for England, even with the resources of her vast Empire, to have taken, _from the start_, an equal share in the war. Even had England adopted compulsion at the beginning of the war, there were corps of instructors to form, barracks to build, training-grounds to be found. These difficulties were quite apart from equipment, which hinged largely upon the supply of labour for the making of rifles. Lastly, there was the supreme difficulty of the higher command. Generals and staff-officers cannot be turned out with the speed of drill-sergeants. Happily the Press, instead of inflaming the spirit of criticism, set to work to explain the difficulties under which England laboured by reason, even, of the character of her institutions slowly evolved by the centuries. Both M. Cruppi and M. Henry Davray emphasised England's marvellous achievement in raising and equipping so vast an army, even before she adopted the principle of Conscription, and appreciated the difficulty of accommodating compulsory service to the notion of that individual liberty which is the corner-stone of English national life. It was clear that a certain section of the British public confounded a national army, formed for a definite national purpose, with militarism of the Prussian type, and, therefore, had created a bogey which it was necessary to knock down before the principle of obligation could be accepted by a free and enlightened people. And it is typical of the conduct of the present war in England that it was the voice of the people themselves, the clamour of the man-in-the-street, which forced the Government to a decision. When the war broke out many thousands of Englishmen voluntarily sacrificed their careers to join the army. But in so doing they insisted that the manhood remaining in the country should be forced to do likewise. And the man who stayed at home? Was he averse from Conscription? Almost without exception the men who stayed turned to Westminster and said, "Fetch me if you really want me. Fetch me if the need is honestly great." No, the great British public--the men in the trenches, the men at home, and the women (above all, the women) insisted upon Conscription. It was Westminster that slept; Westminster that hesitated, Westminster (slow as ever in learning to "trust the people") that mumbled about votes when, even in those first days of the war, they could have insured probably speedy victory! Only when forced by the man-in-the-street did the Government act. Throughout the first stages of the war, the British Government, instead of leading public opinion, was driven by it. But in the eyes of a foreign nation, a country, unfortunately, has only the prestige of its Government, and the French, chafing against our slowness to adopt compulsion, little knew that John Bull himself was fighting, through a maze of lawyers' arguments, for that very principle. The farm labourer who, at the beginning of things, asked, "Why can't they treat us all alike?" had his finger upon the pulse of the nation while the politicians hesitated and gambled with time. Their fatal lethargy contrasted ill with the patriotism of France, who, twelve months before, imposed upon herself a system of national service of the most complete character. No partial exemptions were allowed either in the interests of education or any of the liberal careers or even of poor widows' sons. The terms of service, too, were equally long for infantry as for cavalry. In Germany a larger and superabundant population allowed a fairly wide system of exemptions. Until before the Great War, certain categories of men were not called up; the infantry served only two years, and students benefited by a one-year system. French people do not always realise, I think, the immense price they have paid to escape from a repetition of the events of 1870. They have not realised how seriously has been impeded their own progress, thanks to the heavy strain placed upon their resources in men. It has meant the withdrawal of practically all the valid young men of the country from industry and commerce for the preparation of war. It has meant the retardation of marriages and a limited birth-rate, because young people could not marry until comparatively late; it has meant, also, that the smallest proportion of the country was in a condition to emigrate, for emigration takes place in the years of one's youth. Thus the French social and industrial system was under the domination of military exigencies, and France has made heavy sacrifices to escape from what she most dreads: the Prussian yoke.

The enthusiasm in France was, then, immense, when England finally decided to become an ally in the only true sense of the word: to impose upon herself a burden equal to that borne by her friends. But France breathed a sigh of bitter disappointment (disappointment which, it is fair to say, was shared by the majority of Englishmen), at the large number of exemptions at first granted; and the excuses offered by English statesmen by no means assuaged the irritation felt both at home and abroad. For instance, "the maintenance of essential trade" had a sort of ironic ring to the French whose trade, either essential or inessential, was hardly maintained at all. They listened with a little smile of mockery whilst the British Minister spoke rather glibly, as it seemed to them, concerning the necessity of England being in a position to lend money to the Allies. There was a feeling, perhaps, that if they had suffered more, they would have been more anxious to end the war, and would have talked with less assurance of the necessity of possessing money whereby they could lend it to other combatants. The large proportion of conscientious objectors, also, presented a strange and sinister spectacle to the French, and assuredly so curious an attitude would not have been tolerated in France in the stress of a national war. It seemed a monstrous proposition that a class of society should have been allowed to accumulate wealth and a vast prosperity under the protection of the flag, and yet decline in the hour of need to bear arms from religious scruples. To the alert intelligence of the French, this was a grotesque and illogic situation, though they themselves remembered that they had had in the past their strict religious sects, including the Calvinists and the Camarists. The good-will of the English people as a whole, however, was shown by the zeal with which this question of national service was taken up and adopted by a country naturally hostile to any interference with the old principle of voluntary enlistment; and the position would have been clearer to the French had they realised that the driving power in England was being supplied by the individual and not by the Government. The principle of Conscription was not advocated by Ministers; it was forced upon them. In small matters, as in great, the individual took upon himself responsibility. Frail, delicate women went without butter on their bread and little children denied themselves sweets. In France there was no evidence of any such personal sacrifice. People lived as well as they could afford. Why? Because they relied upon their Government to _enforce_ any necessary sacrifices, and the individual, having confidence in its Government, felt no personal responsibility.

It is refreshing to turn from the question of Conscription, befogged as it was by the stifling atmosphere of Westminster, to our army, working under the stars, rubbing shoulders with our Allies in the trenches, and, amid the bursting shells, establishing friendships and understandings that are not couched in lawyers' language. There in Northern France a brotherhood has sprung into being which laughs at the arm-chair critics and takes no count of the blunders of politicians. But the arm-chair critic exists in France (as in England), and his garrulity in clubs and public places is by no means restrained by his lack of a real understanding of military affairs. Let us admit at once that the British Army has suffered from over prestige in the popular imagination of France; the French people thought that England's help would be sumptuous, colossal, spontaneous and irresistible; and disappointment inevitably followed this exaggerated idea of the military assistance we should be able to give at the beginning of the war. One heard much criticism in France--indeed, one heard much the same in England: "Why did the English, for so long a time, take so small a share of the battle-line?" "Where were Kitchener's great armies that were to join with the French to drive the Germans back to Berlin?" "Why did not the English create a diversion while the French were fighting at Verdun?" Such murmurings and complaints followed the relief and joy which welcomed the arrival of the British armies in France, and, among the uninformed portion of the population, resulted in a certain cooling off in the sentiment of friendliness. It was useless to urge that the British Expeditionary Force could not achieve the impossible; that an army cannot be built in a night; that General Joffre was responsible for the general direction of operations, and that the British could make no offensive that he did not decree. French popular opinion persisted in believing in the god their imagination had created, and bitterly proclaimed its feet to be of clay. But such is the work of the arm-chair critic all the world over. It is his business to destroy confidence, to find fault, to shake friendships; and of far more real value is the opinion of the French military command of our army in the field. Here, again, we must be prepared to hear some criticism--but considered criticism that weighs difficulties and estimates conditions. The French military observer notes an absence of good staff work on the English side, and he begins to account for it by saying that, to form a staff is a long and expensive process involving extensive scientific studies. Now it is apparent that, up to the time of the Great War, the profession of arms attracted rather the high-spirited and sporting type of man than the scientific student. In consequence, these excellent sportsmen were at a disadvantage, perfectly easy to comprehend, with the continental soldier. They had not had the same training. It was impossible for them to enter at once into the conception of men who had been making war scientifically--at least on paper--for many years. Excellent spade-work was done at Aldershot, but the General Manoeuvres could not be compared in military utility with those conducted in Germany and France. Moreover, a long course is necessary in military history, for without this one glances at the map and finds nothing; there is no spirit of comparison available, such as history brings forth. On the other hand, if one has the sense of comparison developed by long and varied reading, the result is of the utmost value. One is able to say, "Napoleon did so and so in certain circumstances; what is there to prevent the modern commander from imitating him?" But without the knowledge such comparison is impossible.

It is alleged against our leaders that they were not sufficiently elastic and did not always allow themselves to be guided by circumstances. They formed a rigid rule and would not depart from it. They did not change their plans with the required promptitude when the necessity arose for such a change. They were not supple enough, not adaptable in their minds. Of the immense and epic bravery of the English there was no question. "They know how to die," said a General to me, and the commendation expresses a universal opinion. There is something particularly Anglo-Saxon in the quality of this bravery. They stood resolutely to the guns, when perhaps it would have been better to temper valour with a little prudence. It seems to be part of our steadfastness never to draw back that we may leap the better; it is part of our magnificent quality to hold fast that we may be faithful to the end. Sometimes there is a pathetic side to this characteristic, as when a sentry posted outside British Headquarters was left standing in the road after the retreat of the officers, because he had not received his marching orders. That is typical of the British temperament with all its sublime self-abnegation; it is characteristic of the British leader, and it is certain that, in the eyes of the French observer, some element of suppleness might with advantage replace a little of our British stubbornness.

Of the new armies sent out by England I have heard nothing but praise. General Bonnal, the former director of the War School, writes: "Our dear Allies are as brave, if not braver, than we; and the athletic sports which they cultivate enable them to surmount material obstacles. Their moral has never ceased to be splendid and is always accompanied by unchanging good humour and gaiety." He, too, finds fault with some of the staff work, but universal is the commendation of the smartness and efficiency of English company officers, and particularly of the new class of officer, the student type--young men from the Universities who exhibit great facility with maps and show an immediate comprehension of the exigencies of modern scientific warfare.

But when we have left behind the arm-chair critic and the military critic we shall find that the British Army, small or great, has made a vast impression upon our neighbours, and the lilt of our pipes and the echo of _Tipperary_ will linger in the lanes when the boom of the cannon has died away. Long will the "poilu" recall such exploits as those of the teams of grenade-throwers in the British trenches, who were much praised by Foch for their amazing work and the speed they showed in it, reminiscent of the dash and energy of a crack football team; and long will the French Army covet the equipment and smartness of the British soldier. It has been the _grand chic_ to imitate the English officer as much as possible by the arrangement of straps and buttons and the rest; and some French Generals, particularly Gouraud (who was Commander-in-Chief in the Dardanelles and saw much of the British Army at work), have expressed to me their admiration for British smartness. "The British soldier looks smart even in his shirt-sleeves!" observed Gouraud.

In the matter of uniform, the war has provided a remarkable instance of the French ability to adapt oneself to new circumstances. When hostilities began, the French were still wearing their red and blue uniforms, and some of the dashing young officers went into battle at Charleroi with white gloves and plumes. Against them the Germans sent wave after wave of men in the invisible grey-green uniform. From the point of view of equipment the French were much behind us, and their red and blue uniforms were ludicrously inadequate for modern warfare, and contrasted unfavourably with the German grey-green and our own khaki. But this the French quickly realised, and in the middle of the battle adopted horizon blue, which, though it soiled quickly, was, at least, an excellent uniform from the point of view of not being too conspicuous.

As to the services rendered by the Navy, the French, like the English, have not been permitted to lift the veil of secrecy which has cloaked the operations. The newspapers, particularly the _Temps_, have extolled its efficiency and have assured the French public that the seas were being swept. But they did not see the sweeper, and, therefore, were not always aware how excellently the job was done. Nor is the question of imports of such urgency in France as in England, as the amount of wheat brought into the country is infinitely less, and, without difficulty, could be supplied at home.

To sum up one's impression of French sentiment towards England during the first eighteen months of war one is bound to admit a certain element of disappointment, due, undoubtedly, to ignorance and misconception. The French public expected--as did we--a dramatic naval action to begin with. This Germany's cautious tactics denied. Furthermore, our Allies did us the compliment of imagining we could achieve the impossible; and when it was found that our small Expeditionary Force could take but a slight share in the operations, attention in France was concentrated upon our National Service system, and exasperation grew as our politicians played with the issues of life and death. But this irritation is merely superficial, and is evidence of the strain felt by a highly strung, nervous people, forced to stand still, for long months, while part of their beloved country lay under the heel of the invader. Nothing can ever change the deep and lasting friendship between two peoples who have borne the same burden, shared the same horror, nursed the same hopes and fears. The understanding between England and France is no longer simply an _entente_; it is a brotherhood of tears.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*SOME TYPES OF COMMANDERS*

The Generalissimo was, in a certain sense, less known than any of his Generals, for though much had been written of him, but little was really apprehended of his silent and uncommunicative nature. As the head of a powerful and almost anonymous organisation, he lived in a semi-seclusion. No politician could boast that he had his ear, for he kept himself rigidly from such influences. His popularity with the masses was remarkable, and his name became a symbol for economy in lives. None the less he dwelt apart in an atmosphere removed from all clamour and excitation, apparently unconscious of the intrigues about him. This segregation carried with it the disability of its advantage, for it involved a certain inaccessibility to political necessities, which even the strongest commander has to consult at times. "Moral effect" had infinitely less weight with him than military utility; indeed, it seemed hardly to exist in his vocabulary, and probably he bracketed this species of popularity and concession to the crowd with that private and subterranean influence of which he was perpetually afraid. Rigid in his solitariness he watched the conflagration from a lonely hill, silhouetted against the glowing sky, and none could say that he had pierced to his inmost thoughts. Nor in the greater part of his career had he been in close touch with army life, for his occupations took him to distant climes where he engaged in road and railway, bridge and even town construction, thus removing him from military routine and strengthening those powers of reflection and cold, dispassionate survey which are his chief claims to a grateful consideration. And, doubtless, the desert and the jungle taught him nervelessness and that calmness which no vibration of calamitous events could shake.

De Castelnau, the second in command, presented a complete contrast with his chief. His character is open, his oratory at once humorous and compelling. Though a strict Catholic and attending Mass every day, his tolerance enabled him to employ as aides-de-camp two officers of the Alsatian Lutheran Church. His military science is so sure that he seems to divine in advance the plans of the enemy, and his experience of camps and courts, following on his missions to foreign countries, has given him the widest grasp of political affairs which in reality lie in the region of strategy. Probably the most accomplished General in the French Army, to him is attributed the plan of the great offensive designed for the Autumn of 1916.

The events of Verdun gave prominence to the personality of Petain. Before the great attack by the Germans on the fortress, he was unknown except to those in close touch with the army. In a few weeks, he had become world-famous. His rapid promotion was due to the perspicacity of de Castelnau, who had the general direction of the line from Soissons to Verdun. The second in command observed the vast German preparations, the accumulation of guns and the massing of infantry, and with the assent of the Generalissimo, set Petain to work to stem the tide of the enemy advance. With characteristic energy the new-comer flung himself into the task. Urgency was necessary, for it was a question of days. Divisions were hurried up to reinforce the thin line of 12,000 men, garrisoning the twenty miles chiefly threatened by the Germans; heavy artillery was got together, sometimes improvised from forts and warships, and an immense accumulation was made of machine and field guns. Fortunately, the German attack was delayed by bad weather, giving the French greater time to increase their fortifications, and when the battle opened, a week later, the defenders were in a good position to resist the first awful thrust of the German battalions. None the less, the big guns of the enemy were superior in range and were more mobile than the French. This defect was partially compensated by moving back the French line, by employing the 75's as if they were machine-guns, and yet, in other directions, so cunningly concealing them that their fire could not be silenced.