"'_C'est bien, Mon Capitaine_.' That was the slogan. And when the
process was accomplished, off he would trot, eager to do my will. He was
powerful and well-built, but he had the oddest manner of locomotion ever
I saw, a trot like--like a Ford car. I discovered pretty soon that the
poor wretch was a born coward. I've seen him start at the distant sound
of guns long before we got near the front, and he was nervous at going
out alone at night about the camp. The men ragged him, but he was such
a friendly rascal and so willing to take over others' work that he got
along with a fraction of the persecution most of his sort would have
had. I wondered sometimes what would happen to the poor little devil
when actual fighting came. Would it be '_C'est bien, Mon Capitaine_,' at
the order to go over the top, or would the terrible force of fear be too
much for him and land him at last with his back to a wall and a firing
squad in front--a deserter? Meantime he improved and I got dependent on
his radiant good will. Being John Dudley's brother-in-law sanctified me
with him, and nothing was too much trouble if I'd give him a chance
sometimes to clean John's boots. I have a man now who shows no ecstacy
at being ordered to do my jobs, and I don't like him.

"We were moved up towards the front, and, though Mr. Winston Churchill
has made a row about the O.S.--the officers' servants who are removed
from the firing line, I know that a large proportion of them do their
share in the trenches. I saw to it that mine did.

"One night there was a digging expedition. An advance trench was to be
made in No Man's Land about a hundred and fifty yards from the Germans.
I was in command of the covering party of thirty-five men; I was a
captain. We, of course, went out ahead. Beauramé was in the party. It
was his first fighting. We had rifles, with bayonets, and bombs, and a
couple of Lewis guns. We came up to the trenches by a road, then went