It was a striking incident that the convoy was escorted from Bombay by the Dupleix, a French man-of-war. In the old days, when the French and English were fighting out their long struggle for the mastery of India, the English had no more dangerous enemy than Dupleix, who tried to raise against them a confederacy of Indian powers, and as some believe taught them the use of Indian soldiery trained after the manner of Europe. Sea-power, which he did not understand, baffled all his efforts and decided the struggle in favour of England. Now, if the spirit of the great Frenchman had returned to the shores of India, he would have seen the same sea-power again triumphantly exerted, and would have watched his own countrymen, in a vessel which bore his name, joining with his old enemies to convey to the shores of France, for the help of France, thousands of Indian soldiery drilled and disciplined after his own fashion. If he could have gone with them he might have seen another and even more striking example of the irony of fate. He might have seen on the shores of the Channel the figure of another and greater Frenchman, looking down from his lofty column, not upon the ranks of his veterans gathered together for the invasion of England, but upon the tents of numberless British encampments full of Englishmen assembled on French soil to fight for France. A hundred years before, English sea-power had foiled his vast schemes of conquest. “Those far-distant, storm-beaten ships upon which the Grand Army never looked, stood between it and the dominion of the world.” And they had prevailed. Now English sea-power was fighting on the side of the Army of France, and the old enemies combined were to bring down in ruin another scheme of universal empire.

CHAPTER VI.
VOYAGE TO FRANCE.

The voyage of the Thirteenth across the Indian Ocean was not disturbed by any hostile attack or demonstration, nor by bad weather, and the six-abreast formation was kept until the convoy was near Aden, when a new formation in two lines ahead, or two ships abreast, was taken up. Shortly after passing Aden the Dupleix parted company to coal at the French port of Jibuti, and her place was taken by the Northbrook, a vessel of the Royal Indian Marine. So far all had gone well.

The wife of an officer of the Thirteenth had left Bombay for England in a passenger steamer a day or two after the Regiment, and she writes in a letter of the time: “On Saturday, 28th of November, we caught sight of our Indian convoy at about nine in the morning. An Admiral asked the Captain to go quite close, as there were so many wives on board whose husbands were in the convoy. So he very kindly altered his course, and we went quite close so that we were able to pick out the different ships, and could actually through glasses see the ships with horses on board.” It was a courteous act, and no doubt gave pleasure, if a rather pathetic pleasure, to all concerned.

Though matters had gone well, the voyage had not been altogether without suffering for man and beast. Even at the best season of the year the heat in the Eastern seas can be very trying, and though British troops going on service were no longer exposed to the horrible discomforts of Crimean days, but conveyed in such splendid vessels as those of the Union-Castle Line, the Thirteenth had some unpleasant times. An officer wrote to his wife: “You know what the weather has been like, but you can have no conception of what it has been below in the horse decks: absolute hell. All across the Arabian Sea it was dead calm and a following wind, and the first day and a half in the Red Sea was even worse. We have worked like slaves with the horses, off and on all day: men stripped, officers in shirt sleeves, and all pouring with sweat; the horses panting for breath, and all we could do by continually moving them, sluicing with vinegar and water, and all sorts of things, to keep them alive. It was heart-breaking. I hope I’ll never go through such a time again.... All the days in the Arabian Sea seemed to get hotter and hotter, and the horses worse and worse; and the first day in the Red Sea, last Friday the 20th, was worse still, and one of my best horses, No. 133, 4th Troop, a nice bay from Saugar, with pink rings round his eyes, died from heat-stroke. Then one of ‘B’ Squadron died, and it was desperate. Two or three times they have had the ship round in a circle, to face the wind and try and get some air below for the horses, and it has been a great relief.... You wouldn’t believe how tame all the horses are now. You can do anything with them. Poor devils, they have had a frightful time. Saturday again was very hot, but the wind gradually came round ahead, and by evening there was a good breeze; and yesterday and to-day has been lovely: a stiff breeze ahead and quite cool. It is like heaven, and the horses are like different creatures and picking up fast. It is sure to last now, I think, right in to Suez, and I hope our troubles are over.... The men have worked like slaves, and so have we for that matter.”

Another officer, Lieutenant Watson Smyth, writes of the start at Bombay, after five or six hours spent in slinging horses into the hold: “At 8.30 I went down to the horse deck, and never have I met such heat. The horses were packed in pens of five, and were all, all over in a white lather; The temperature was taken by the Vet. and it was 133. This is 6 degrees more than the highest recorded in India, so you can see it was real hot....”

November 29, 1914.—“It has been very hot indeed the last few days, and the horses are feeling it very much. Only two have died so far.... I think I said that most of my squadron are in the fore-hold, and the other squadrons are on the decks above it round the hatchway, so that if anything has to be taken out of their decks by a crane it has to be hung over the hold while being hoisted. One of the horses I mentioned died in one of their decks, and when slung up to be dropped overboard, slipped out of the sling and fell forty feet into the hold. Luckily he only grazed one of our horses, another half-inch and it would have been killed. I have decided to take that horse for a charger, as if he can have an escape like that nothing else is likely to hurt him.”

It was a rough experience, and not a very good preparation for the cold of a winter in Northern France; but for the moment the discomfort was over, and throughout the voyage not many horses died. The Thirteenth lost four or five in all. Three-quarters of the troop horses were Indian country-breds, and the rest Australians, and therefore also accustomed to some heat. But the country-breds were rather light for British Cavalry, and hardly fitted at best to face snow and wet.

The Thirteenth found the banks of the Suez Canal lined with troops, largely Indian, who were expecting an attack from the Turkish army gathered in the desert to the north, but no attack came while the convoy was in the Canal.

Meanwhile, though still ignorant of their destination and very anxious to know it, they were cheered by a letter from an officer who had seen some fighting on the French Front. “He says the German Cavalry won’t face ours at all, and that their Infantry shoot rottenly. He says their Artillery, machine-guns, aeroplanes—anything mechanical, in fact—are perfect—and nearly all the casualties are from gun-fire. He says, man for man they are no match for us, and it is all simply a question of numbers. He says the patrol-work of the German Cavalry is too childish.” This confident letter was not altogether wrong in its views, as was afterwards shown by Lord French’s despatches and other evidence. Needless to say, the Thirteenth longed to be face to face with the famous Uhlans.9

Port Said was full of troops and of French cruisers and destroyers, a very bright and busy scene. There the Thirteenth at last learnt their destination. What they had longed for had come. They were to go on to Marseilles, and from there to the Western Front. It was to be real work, against a European enemy.

The passage across the Mediterranean, if rough, was uneventful, and by the middle of December the Regiment was landed on French soil. “We have arrived all fit and well and jolly,” Captain Eve wrote, “and have had a very busy day.... It is beautifully mild and fine. All the horses are well, and mine flourishing.”

The next day the Regiment went on by rail to Orleans. It was an interesting journey, and the French people all along the line gave the Regiment a hearty welcome. “French Red Cross people at all large stations, and lots of soldiers: also lots of enthusiasm, singing, giving the men country wine, and so on. They gave us cigarettes, coffee, tea, flowers, and so on, and were all very nice. Altogether it was very interesting and I enjoyed it. I had to give one badge away to a girl who asked for it, and to kiss another’s hand, which I hated. The men made a tremendous noise, but behaved very well indeed, except that two or three of mine got rather drunk on the last night. But it was very difficult for them. I find I can get on a little with my French if I am not hurried....”

That entry was very English, and very English too the thoughts of hunting stirred up by the French campagne: “We came a round-about way, not straight, and at one part came through some awfully nice country just like home, say the Duke’s country, enclosed property, and some stone-wall country too, and small coverts, and hilly. I got quite excited looking out at it.”

But the journey was soon over. A little after midnight, on the 17th of December, the Regiment arrived at a siding near their camp: “It was bitterly cold, with a white frost and icy wind, and we had to turn out, detrain, and load up all our kit, saddles, and arms on to motor lorries, and then march, leading our horses six miles out to our camp here in pitch darkness.... We left the station about 2.45 A.M., and reached camp about 5 A.M., and groped about till we somehow got our lines down.” It was not a pleasant beginning to their soldiering in France, a curious contrast to the heat of the Red Sea—“the worst and coldest camp, I think, I have ever seen, about six inches deep in liquid mud, on the top of an exposed hill, with a bitter wind blowing. We are in tents, V.10 and I sharing an 80-lb. one. We are very warm and comfortable, lots of warm straw on the ground, and our valises on top of it, and the men are in tents too, but the poor unfortunate horses are having a terrible time.... They stand always in a bog. The watering-place, about three-quarters of a mile away, is literally up to your knees nearly in liquid mud.” Lance-Corporal Bowie’s diary says of the arrival at Orleans: “Here we detrained at once in the midst of a terrific hailstorm, afterwards saddling up and leading our horses through the city to the village of La-Source, a distance of nine miles. Our stay at this camp proved to be a very severe test for both men and horses, as we were still clothed in our Indian khaki; at the same time it rained heavily for hours, and was also bitterly cold. The place in which the rough water-troughs had been fitted up, being in a valley, became practically a sea of mud, in places reaching up to our horses’ bellies.”

At this camp the Regiment found some more of their officers awaiting them, which brought them up to full strength again.

After two or three days they moved to a slightly more sheltered place, and the weather began to change. By Christmas Day it was bitterly cold, but bright and still, with a warm sun, and all was going better. Plenty of warm clothing was being served out to the men, and it was possible to get exercise again; and the food was excellent, good meat and vegetables, and tobacco. The warm clothing indeed was more than the men and horses could carry, and the quantity of blankets and other things had to be reduced to a more reasonable and serviceable scale. To quote Lance-Corporal Bowie again: “On Christmas Day 1914, every one received a post-card photo of the King and Queen, and also a gift from Princess Mary, which consisted of a pipe and an embossed brass box containing tobacco and cigarettes. A majority of us also received a Christmas parcel, which we owed to the generosity of the ladies connected with the Regiment, at the same time being completely overloaded with warm underwear, woollen cardigans, waistcoats, mittens, &c. But the waste of our new kits which we were compelled to obtain before leaving India was disgraceful, almost everything being burnt with the exception of some which we had dumped at Marseilles, which, needless to say, we never saw again. On the morning of the 31st of December we were all very glad to march out of this muddy camp, an incident worthy of note being that the men were so overloaded with kit (many of them having on two of almost everything as regards underclothing, having nowhere else to carry it), that they found it an awful struggle to mount, feeling more like a well-dressed Christmas-tree than a cavalryman. However, having all got mounted, we marched direct to Orleans Station, where we at once entrained for Berguette (Pas-de-Calais), where we arrived at 3 A.M. on 1st January 1915. Detraining here, we marched up to a village called Enquin-les-Mines, a distance of some kilometres, where we were allotted billets which consisted of old barns, &c., for the men, whilst we made our horses comfortable under archways, &c.”

Certainly the British soldier in this war was equipped and fed as he had never been before, and the Thirteenth ended the year very happily on the whole. It was a contrast to their winter in the Crimea sixty years earlier.

Christmas good wishes and photographs from the King and Queen and Princess Mary came to assure them that they were not forgotten in England. And if the prayer of Their Majesties, “May God protect you and bring you home safe!” was not to be fulfilled for all of them, they faced what was to come with confidence and eagerness, longing only for more stirring work, and a chance of doing their share of honourable service.

It was a pause in the fighting then. The great retreat on Paris and the battle of the Marne were over, and the baffled enemy had made his first attempt to strike out to the westward for the Channel ports. He had been stopped after desperate fighting by the wasted regiments of our little army, and the troops on both sides were settling down into the long trench warfare of the next four years. The British part of the line was woefully short of men, and guns and munitions of all kinds; and to those who knew the real state of affairs the outlook was very dark, for in England there were no trained reserves to send to the Front—plenty of brave men, but no soldiers. Happily the country did not know in what peril its army was, and contingents were coming from India and Canada and Australia and New Zealand, and the confidence of the men at the Front was unfailing, and all hoped that the worst was over. It seems wonderful now that such confidence should have prevailed at the Front, and so little real anxiety in England; but the fighting men were full of the belief that they were man for man so superior to the enemy that he could never break through. Such gloomy faces as there were could be found only in England, not among the fighting men. In spite of snow and mud and suffering of all kinds, there was no gloom with them.

CHAPTER VII.
1915 IN FRANCE.

The Regiment was now at full strength, officers and men and horses, and keen for a share in the fighting. The horses had suffered to some extent from the change of climate in the past six weeks, but only required a little rest and feeding-up. The men seemed fit and ready for anything.

But though all hoped for Cavalry work in the near future, and a chance at the Uhlans, this was not to come yet. The enemy’s horsemen were no longer to be found in the extreme front, and the fighting was being done by our guns and Infantry, which were deficient in numbers and very hard pressed. The British Cavalry, therefore, though kept as far as possible efficient for their own work in case a chance should occur, had to be utilised to some extent to help the out-numbered foot-soldiers in the trenches; and during the first few days of the new year the officers and men of the Thirteenth, while undergoing Cavalry inspection and training, were hard at work perfecting themselves in their new duties. They had not long to wait.

Before the middle of January they had been taken up to the firing line to be “shot over.” “On the 12th,” writes Lance-Corporal Bowie, “we were informed that we were to take our places in the trenches as infantry, having been armed with the new H. V. rifle and bayonet, and having had plenty of practice in bayonet-fighting, which was quite a new thing for the Cavalry, we were pretty confident of being able to do anything that was required of us dismounted. So leaving only sufficient men behind to attend to the horses, we started off the next morning in the highest spirits for Béthune, our conveyances being the good old London motor-buses, complete with their own drivers and conductors. Arriving there at 5 P.M., we marched direct to the trenches, just in front of the village of Festubert, a distance of thirteen kilometres, relieving the 6th Inniskilling Dragoons. We remained in these trenches until 6 P.M. the following evening, when we were relieved by the Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry, many of our fellows having to be lifted out of the trenches owing to being cramped with standing in the mud and water for so long. On each man receiving a tot of rum, we at once marched back to Béthune.... On arriving at the market square in Béthune, many men fell from sheer exhaustion. Meeting the buses again, we had some hot coffee and returned directly back to our billets, which we were very thankful to reach about 2 A.M. on the 15th of January 1915. One of the most remarkable features of this, our first time in the trenches, was the fact that we did not sustain a single casualty, although we were subjected to a continual bombardment the whole time, the Huns’ shooting being fairly good(?), but their shells were very bad, many burying themselves in the mud and failing to explode at all.”

Such was the first introduction of the Thirteenth to actual fighting in the Great War. It was very different from what they had hoped—a dreary struggle of endurance against mud and cold, on foot, instead of the stirring hand-to-hand work in the saddle for which a cavalryman naturally longs; but the account shows the cheery spirit in which the men took to their uncongenial duty. Needless to say, the officers set them a good example. One of them, Lieutenant Watson Smyth (14th January 1915), writes: “We got up at Enquingatte, where we were billeted, at 6 A.M. on Wednesday, and at 8 had a three-mile march to another village, Estrée Blanche, where the whole Brigade was concentrated. At about 10.30 along came a fleet of motor omnibuses (London General Company), and halted along the line of troops. We were then told off, and twenty-five men and one officer went in each bus. The buses have the glass out of the windows and the space is boarded up, otherwise they are the same, except that the outside advertisements are painted over, and the whole bus is dark grey (please excuse my writing, but we are under shell-fire—75 mm. shrapnel—and I am expecting one through the roof any minute). To go on, we left in our buses at 11 A.M. Soon after starting, one skidded into the ditch and had to be jacked and dug out, but this got to be quite a common occurrence later in the trip. At about 1 P.M. we arrived at Béthune, about seven miles from the trenches. We stayed there for an hour, and had our lunch while the men had their dinners. At about 2.30 we got going again, this time on our flat feet, and marched about four and a half miles to a village, Festubert, where we halted. Here we all got a drink of beer, followed by coffee and rum. At 4.45 P.M. we started again, and this time went right on up to just behind the trenches. Here I, with eight men who had volunteered for the job, went on to ----, about 400 yards in front of our machine-guns, which were on the left of our line.... When I got up to it we were challenged by the post of the Regiment that we were relieving, and then I went up to them. I asked if they were all right. In a very despondent voice he replied, ‘I’ve two men nearly dead with cold: they are both unconscious, and I don’t know how I’ll get them back.’ Just at that moment one more man went over flop. I thought this was a jolly start, as I was going to be there all night and these fellows had been there in the day. We had great trouble to get them out, as the trench was knee-deep in the most holding mud I had ever met. It beat Wadhurst clay by three stone and a distance. Another difficulty was the fact that the Germans, who were about 600 yards in front, or perhaps a bit more (people are talking all round me, and I keep writing what I hear), kept on sending up ‘Very’ lights and star-shells, which lit up the whole place far better than it was lit up in the daytime. Owing to the snipers, who were lying up all over the place, we had to drop flat as soon as we saw the light going up, and stay there for about a minute after it had gone. Then I got into the trench, which was bisected by a stream which was just over knee-deep. I put four men one side, and four with myself the near side. I had orders to keep on sniping all night so as to annoy the Germans, so I had one man of each four on sentry for an hour at a time, with orders to shoot about once every five minutes. Of course I could not sleep myself, but I lay down in the wet mud. The trench was over ankle-deep in mud and water, and only just long enough to hold us all. About midnight it got most damnably cold, and I issued the men milk chocolate, and gave them each a tot of rum from a flask I’d got. The snipers kept on shooting at us, but mostly went over, though a few bullets did hit the trench. One horrid fellow, whom we called Bert, was behind us somewhere, and made me very angry. At 3 A.M. we heard the devil of a battle going on a long way off, machine-firing guns going rapid, and a rattle of musketry. This went on for half an hour, and then one or more of our big guns somewhere behind us started firing occasional shots. It made a most colossal row, although it must have been at least half a mile away. At about 5 A.M. we saw the relief coming up, halted it and saw that it was all right, got out of the trench, ... then we went back to the road behind us and walked along it for about 500 yards till we came to the house that the squadron was billeted in. There we got some tea and more rum, and a bit of bully and biscuit, and the men thawed out. The squadron had been in the trenches all night, and had been relieved, as I was, just before dawn. I do not think I ever appreciated a house and a fire so much before as after that twelve hours of water and mud.... The dotted lines show where the snipers were firing. There was one called Fritz who used to fire across the road about every ten minutes. I am sending you one of his bullets. We sat in the house until 10 A.M., when the Germans began to shell the place. The first shell (shrapnel out of captured French guns) burst about 80 feet in front of a group of us, me included, and the bullets went all round us without touching anybody—it was really rather a lucky escape. After that we cleared off to the bomb-proof at the back of the house where I am now. Another shell burst as we were going into the shelter, and scattered all round, but again missed everybody....”

January 15, 1915.—“We are now back in billets, having done only twenty-four hours in the trenches. We stayed in our bombproof till about 3 P.M., although they had stopped shelling the village.... We found that two shells had gone through the room we had been sitting in and had burst in it. They had only knocked holes in the walls and scattered a lot of plaster and stuff about. We had our transport packed by 4.30 P.M. and fell in at 5 in the dark.... I had to wait so as to take the patrol of the relieving regiment down to where I had been.... On the way, up went a star-shell, and down I flopped in about six inches of water. As soon as the light had gone—phut!—and a bullet from Fritz hit the ground about 15 yards over. I lay a little flatter, with my back crawling with apprehension—phut!—and another went about 10 yards in front. I lay flatter still—phut!—and another hit the ground about 10 yards behind. I thought this was nice, as he must now be able to see me, and the next shot ought to get me, so I lay very flat and cursed all Germans. But he didn’t fire again, so after a bit I got up and splashed (I’ve never made such a noise before, at least so I thought) forward to the patrol. They also were so cold that they could hardly stand, so I had to stand on the bank and lug them out to the usual accompaniment of star-shell, Very lights, and snipers.... We got into our billets at 3 A.M., and I was in bed and asleep at 3.20. We were all in a most filthy mess outside, owing to the mud and water that we had been lying in, and inside our clothes owing to the cod-liver oil that we were anointed with from our feet up to our waists.... It is fine stuff to keep the cold out. I was wearing Cording boots with two pairs of socks, the inside pair vaselined, and the outside pair oiled, and puttees over the top of the boots. Although I had been several times in water over my knees, I never got my feet cold or wet.... The only casualty in the Brigade was one sowar of the ——, killed. He got scared at a Very light, and stood up in the open staring at it, so of course a sniper shot him and he died. I don’t expect we shall do any more trenches for a bit: this effort was only due to the Corps Commander, who wanted to have us shot over. I think it did every one a lot of good: it has certainly taught me that shrapnel is not half so awful as one thinks, and that one can lie out with only a coat on in a puddle all through a winter night, and be none the worse for it, and also that a whack of rum has an entirely beneficial effect.”

January 16.—“The patrol of the Regiment that relieved mine saw two dead Germans about 500 feet in front, and so of course all the men who were with me are claiming that they killed them, and the first blood of the Regiment is theirs.... The men I had with me were all hard nuts, and when not on sentry lay down in the water and went to sleep. They had their British warms (i.e., coats with a flannel lining that reaches to the knee) and mackintoshes, so that they were fairly warm and dry, except for their legs. Their feet got very cold, though the vaseline helped a lot.... It was quite an experience, and although I was most beastly uncomfortable all the time, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I must say that I never expected that the first time people fired shots in anger at me, and I was retaliating, that my only thought would be how to keep warm, and also not to go to sleep.... One rather amusing thing happened while we were in reserve in the village. Our Colonel got an idea that a sniper was concealed in one of the houses (there were no inhabitants left), and so ordered ‘X’ Squadron to make a house-to-house search. A party consisting of twenty men and one young officer started off with loaded rifles, fixed bayonets, fingers on the trigger—officers waving revolvers. Suddenly they saw a man on a haystack: immediately pandemonium ensued—rifles going rapid, men charging, revolvers going off, wild confusion. Suddenly the fire stopped, and a perfectly furious officer leaped off the haystack, rushed at the officer, and started, ‘You ... ’ for about five minutes. He then saw the squadron leader, rushed at him, and dragged him off to the Colonel. He then said he’d been on that haystack for five weeks, that all the Germans in Northern France had been shooting at him, as he was in an extraordinarily good place for observing fire, and then these ---- did their best—a d—d poor one at only 20 yards—to lay him out. As we had not been warned he was there, I think it was quite natural to plug him. He really was the angriest man I have ever seen.”

War has its humours, and it is well to be able to enjoy them.

For a month or so after that first experience there seem to have been no more nights in the front trenches for the Thirteenth, but some parties were told off for trench-digging, and there was much Cavalry-training of one kind or another, with occasional orders to “stand to” and be ready to move at very short notice. These orders of course gave rise at first to much excitement, and eager hopes of some real Cavalry-fighting, but they never came to anything. Perhaps the best way of showing what the Regiment was doing during the remainder of this year, 1915, is to quote some more extracts from letters and diaries.

Lieutenant Watson Smyth—February 6.—“When I got back I found my squadron ‘standing to,’ and ready to move at fifteen minutes’ notice. However, that has now been cancelled, and we are now living in the same old peaceable way. We had a sham fight this morning to practise dismounted action. I and my troop had to run along a dry stream-bed for about three-quarters of a mile. I was nearly dead at the end of it, but my troop were even more done, so on the whole I was rather pleased.... I do not think it is likely that we shall move for some time, as it is absolutely impossible for Cavalry to move once they get off the roads.... I have just finished my evening task of letter censoring. That is not a nice job as it takes a long time, and I don’t much care about reading other people’s letters, especially such extraordinarily dull ones as the average soldier writes.”

February 17.—“In the afternoon it began to snow, and it snowed as hard as it could all the evening and most of the night. We had been going to have a Divisional route-march the next day (Thursday), but that night the orders were cancelled. On Thursday we found it just possible to ride our horses, but only just as the roads were deep in snow, and it was balling badly.... We are rather badly off for water in these billets: I do not mean that there is not enough—the whole place is soaking—but none of it is very good. I rather think that that is one of the causes of our horses not looking as well as they might. Watering is almost as important as feeding, isn’t it?... Horses are my special care, but it’s rather disheartening having these beastly little country-breds to look after.”

It may be observed that the Indian country-bred is not accustomed to a Western winter and heavy snow. Nor were the men of the Indian Regiments in the Brigade, to whom such weather was as trying as the extreme heat of India is to English troops.

“I had one horse get his leg broken by a kick from his neighbour two nights ago. It was smashed clean in two about four inches above the knee. Must have been some kick, as the bone is pretty thick at that part. I had him shot where he stood, hitched on one of the draft horses, and pulled him about 200 feet into a field over the way, and the defaulters buried him in the afternoon. A six-foot grave for a horse takes a bit of digging, and fairly made ’em sweat. It nearly killed an old fat reservist, who was doing defaulter for getting drunk on the way up from the Base. However, if he has a few more to bury, he will be an easier man to mount.”

February 27.—“To-day we had the coldest day we have had in France. We paraded at 9 A.M. and did a Brigade scheme. I hated every minute of it, and so did our wretched horses. We were out from 9 till 1.45, and most of the time in a snowstorm on the side of a hill....

“My first servant, Farmer, is a tiger for work. I discovered the other day that he had been working at a big butcher’s in Jermyn Street before he joined the Army. As I also found some young pigs in one of the farms, I took him down to pick out a nice sucking-pig. He chose one, and I bought it for eight francs, and we are all going to eat it to-night: Farmer was great at cleaning, and scalding, and killing it. It was a most comic affair, as there were about thirteen little pigs, the lady of the farm, Farmer, and self in a covered sty about 12′ × 8′ × 6′ high. We were all talking at once, a child was howling, the pigs were screaming, and we were all trying to catch a different piglet. At length, however, we succeeded in collaring the right one, and I’ve never heard any animal make such a colossal noise as this little beast did when he was carried off. I nearly died with laughing, as just as we were coming off the road we met the General riding down. He was frightfully tickled....”

It appears from Major Cox’s diary that “during the month of February a semi-station routine of Brigade route-marches, Brigade field-days, lectures on various subjects, and squadron schemes, was carried out.

“Quite a lot of snow fell during the month, and cold frosty weather was the rule.”

March opened with a very sad accident to the battery of Horse Artillery, V Battery, which formed part of the Brigade.

According to Major Cox’s diary, “A trench-mortar bomb exploded during instruction, mortally wounding Major Goldie commanding the battery, two subalterns, and twelve men. Forty-one N.C.O.’s and men were wounded. As bad luck would have it, the whole of the battery was assembled round the trench-mortar when the explosion took place.” All officers of the Thirteenth who could attend the funeral did so, and it was distressing to think of so many brave men killed and wounded, not by the enemy in fight, but by an accident of the kind.

This happened in Serny, a village adjoining Enquin.

Lieutenant Watson Smyth—March 7.—“To-day we had to find thirteen men a troop to go and dig trenches: they left at 6 A.M., and aren’t expected back till 8.30 P.M. This left us, allowing for servants, sick, &c., about six men a troop for duty. We spent our time tidying up and straightening out the billets, and have been at it all day.”

Lieutenant Chrystall—March 16.—“We have been on the move and bivouacking every night in a wood, so have had no time to write. We were in the advance to Neuve Chapelle, but were not used.... We always travel by night owing to hostile aircraft being about, and the consequence is sleep is impossible.”

Captain W. H. Eve—March 16.—“I got your letter in hospital at St Omer.... I was in a terrible funk they would send me off home, as I knew what that would mean—two or three weeks perhaps, and then to Aldershot to wait my turn to come out. So I got at the doctors at once, and they said I should be kept there and go straight back to duty as soon as possible. I was very relieved....

“Then rumours began to come through of this forward movement of ours between Armentières and La Bassée, and the hospital had to get ready for one thousand extra cases, though holding five hundred usually. So we knew something was on, and could also hear the big guns at times. At last on Thursday the 11th they told me I could leave hospital next day. Of course this is much too soon really, and would not be done in peace time. But now it is different.

“I went off to get my movement orders and asked ‘Any news?’ They said, ‘Haig has sent for his Cavalry.’ We are Haig’s Cavalry—1st Army—and you can imagine the state I was in. Next day I left by train—8.24—having slipped out of hospital without even having my things disinfected.... All the Indian Cavalry Corps was crowded up there [Berguette?], mostly in billets, but our Brigade in bivouac in a wood—all in reserve. We had done nothing so far, and I was relieved. I was fearfully anxious lest I should be too late.... Well, now you will have seen by the papers we have done pretty well, but I fancy somehow we haven’t done all we thought we might. I don’t understand it, and we don’t know the truth; but they said if we had got as far as we hoped, the British Cavalry Corps, which had been brought up too, was to have gone round the north of Lille, and we the Indian Cavalry Corps round the south, and had a cut at the Germans behind. But, anyhow, apparently the thing didn’t quite come off, for on Sunday the 14th we got orders to march back here to billets. We were very sick indeed; it looked as though we had missed our chance by so little. But, of course, we really know nothing. We marched back Sunday night and are now about a couple of miles from the station where we detrained when we came back from Orleans, about twenty miles still behind the line.... How long we shall be here I haven’t the least idea. We have to be ready to move at two hours’ notice, but that may not mean anything. It is a dull and trying business this, but we must be patient. We have quite nice billets here.”

Another account of the move is given by Lieutenant Watson Smyth: “At 12.30 A.M. on the morning of the 11th we were woke up and told that the squadron was parading at 3 A.M. We were, of course, sleeping in our clothes, as everything was packed, and we had had orders to be ready to move at one hour’s notice. On being woke up I went to sleep again till 2.15, when I got up, put my coat and boots on, and went out to hurry up my troop.... We started to trot about 4.30 A.M. and trotted steadily until 8.30, except for two very short halts of about three minutes each, when we had just time to look round our horses. On coming to we turned out of the town, and the head of the squadron turned out of the road into a large sand-pit: this was found to be just large enough for a squadron, so the rest of the regiment was bivouacked in the wood. (I forgot to say that the sand-pit was in a wood.) We had easily the best place, as it was quite out of the wind and, better still, entirely free from mud.... The horses were perfectly happy, and so were the men. The latter dug holes running into the side of the pit, put a hurdle over the entrance, and were quite warm inside. We had very nice weather, sunny and so warm, and had nothing to do except listen to the rumble of the guns at Neuve Chapelle.... We stayed in our sand-pit for three days, and then one day got orders to move at 2 P.M.; about 1 P.M., however, these orders were cancelled, so we thought we might get another night in peace. This was rather too much to expect, and we were not very surprised when we were told to parade at 7.45 P.M. We did so, and had a perfectly ghastly march back to where we are now. We walked for hours on our horses, and then dismounted, and led the brutes for three and a half miles. It’s no fun walking on one’s flat feet when in marching order—i.e., belt, revolver, spare ammunition, compass, haversack, field-glasses, knife, and water-bottle. We then lost ourselves for a bit, and every one lost their tempers, and cursed everybody junior to themselves, and their horses, and the roads, and the staff. Eventually we hit our village about 2 A.M....

“We got orders to-day, and are off into the blue to-morrow.

“Our night march the other day was extraordinarily impressive, as we could see the flashes of the guns, and the searchlights swinging round, and the star-shell, and Very lights lighting up the whole horizon. The noise of the horses’ hoofs on the pavé was not enough to drown the thunder of the guns, and at one time we distinctly heard the crackle of rifle and machine-gun fire.”

March 18.—“We paraded at 8 this morning and started to march to ——, where we are going to be billeted. About 10 we halted and dismounted.... I tied up the horses, off-saddled, and let the men fall out to visit the town. At 12.30 I watered and fed the horses, and succeeded in stealing a bale of hay (100 lbs.) off a lorry that foolishly halted about ten yards from the horses. That pleased me and the horses a lot. I am now sitting on a tree-trunk near the horses writing this.”

March 27.—“I found a dead motor-cyclist to-day: he had tried to take a corner far too fast in our billets, and had hit a tree and knocked his head in. I am now hoping to be able to ‘make’ the bike, as except for its front forks and wheel it is in excellent condition and would be very useful.”

During this month there was much trench-digging, and Major Cox says, “Brigade field-days and regimental schemes were carried on similar to the routine in an Indian station.” It was doubtless necessary, but as instruction in Infantry work was going on at the same time the men were extremely hard worked.

The month closed with a visit from the Honorary Colonel, General Sir R. S. Baden-Powell, who happened to be in France on a short tour. An inspection of the Regiment was held, and a short address was made by Sir Robert, who also presented to the Regiment a large number of cigarette-cases.

Captain W. H. Eve—April 2.—“The Indian Cavalry Corps has been nicknamed ‘The Iron Rations,’ because they are only to be used in the last extremity. I believe this is all over the place, and am afraid it may be a little true, though let’s hope not. Anyhow, it’s very funny and very clever of whoever thought of it. You see the iron rations (tinned meat and biscuit) carried by each man is only supposed to be used in the last extremity.”

April 19.—“We are very busy all training more or less as in peace, and occasionally digging trenches; but one can find out no news or anything of what’s likely to happen, and can only be patient. We are all very fit and flourishing and doing ourselves grand.”

Lieutenant Watson Smyth—April 23.—“Wild excitement has possessed us for the last four hours, but it is now dying down, and in fact is nearly dead. It all started by our getting some wild story of Ypres, and asphyxiating gas, and the French, and standing-to. We were just starting out on a Brigade scheme, but this was abandoned, and we came back to billets and commenced furiously to pack. We are now feverishly unpacking. It really is extraordinary the rumours that get about out here; it is only very seldom that one meets any one who really knows anything worth knowing, and will tell what it is.

“It is a very good thing for every one to have these occasional bursts of energy, as one learns a lot about packing, and how things are lost, &c. To-day, of course, I got caught short of forage. Some one had stolen one of my sacks of oats.... I had to buy a sack of oats and feed on oat straw instead of hay. That is the advantage of a country-bred, he will eat anything, and his example makes the walers and English join in. I wish we could get a move on: these are excellent billets, but I want to see a German before peace is declared!”