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us mad, and many of the men are knocked up.” Much of this discomfort was, to be sure, the fate of any troops in an advanced position, but there seemed to be an uncertainty as to purpose and a confusion in staff-work from which the Allies were now free.

      It was the fashion in the German Press, at this time, to compare the Picardy offensive of the Allies with the German attack on Verdun, very much to the advantage of the latter. The deduction was false. In every military aspect —in the extent of ground won, in the respective losses, in the accuracy and weight of artillery, in the quality of the infantry attacks, and in the precision of the generalship—the Verdun attack fell far short of the Picardy battle. The Verdun front, in its operative part, had been narrower than that of the Somme, but at least ten more enemy divisions had by the beginning of August been attracted to Picardy than had appeared between Avocourt and Vaux up to the end of April. The Crown Prince at Verdun speedily lost the initiative in any serious sense; on the Somme von Below never possessed it. There the enemy had to accept battle as the Allied will imposed it, and no counter-attack could for a moment divert the resolute Allied purpose.

      We have spoken of the stamina of the British troops, which was never tried more hardly than in the close-quarters fighting in the ruined villages and desolated woods of the German second position. No small part of it was due to the quality of the officers. When our great armies were improvised, the current fear was that a sufficient number of trained officers could not be provided to lead them. But the fear was groundless. The typical public-school boy proved a born leader of men. His good-humour and camaraderie, his high sense of duty, his personal gallantry were the qualities most needed in the long months of trench warfare. When the advance came he was equal to the occasion. Much of the fighting was in small units, and the dash and intrepidity of men who a little before had been schoolboys was a notable asset in this struggle of sheer human quality. The younger officers sacrificed themselves freely, and it was the names of platoon commanders that filled most of the casualty lists.

Men fell who promised to win the highest distinction in civilian life. Many died, who were of the stuff from which the future leaders of the British Army would have been drawn. Such, to name one conspicuous instance, was Major William Congreve, who fell at Delville Wood at the age of twenty-five, having in two years of war already proved that he possessed the mind and character of a great soldier.¹ It was a heavy price we paid, but who shall say that it was not well paid—not only in military results, but in the proof to our country and to the world that our officers were worthy of our men, and that they realised to the full the pride and duty of leadership? In an address given in the spring to a school for young officers, one of the most brilliant—and one of the youngest— of British generals told his hearers: “Remember that, though we are officers and the men are privates, still we are all comrades in the great dangers and the great struggle; make the men feel that you realise this comradeship and love it. . . . Do not overlook the fact that the British soldier has a great soul, and can appreciate what courage, honour, patriotism and selfsacrifice mean.” That lesson had been well and truly learned, and the result was “one equal temper of heroic minds” in all ranks of the British Army.

      The list of Victoria Crosses can never be an adequate record of gallantry; it is no more than a sample of what in less conspicuous form was found everywhere in the battle. But in that short list there are exploits of courage and sacrifice which have never been surpassed. Major Loudoun-Shand, of the Yorkshires, fell mortally wounded while leading his men over the parapets, but he insisted on being propped up in a trench and encouraged his battalion till he died. Lieutenant Cather, of the Royal Irish Fusiliers, died while bringing in wounded from no-man’s-land and carrying water to those who could not be moved, in full view and under the direct fire of the enemy. Second-Lieutenant Simpson Bell, of the Yorkshires, found his company enfiladed, during an attack, by a German machine-gun. Of his own initiative he crept with a corporal and a private up a communication trench, crossed the open, and destroyed the machine-gun and its gunners, thereby saving many lives and ensuring the success of the British movement. A similar exploit was that of Company-Sergeant-Major Carter, of the Royal Sussex, who fell in the attempt. Corporal Sanders, of the West Yorkshires, found himself cut off in the enemy line with a party of thirty men. For two days he held the post, without food or water, and beat off German attacks, till relief came and he brought back his remnant of nineteen to our lines. Private Miller, of the Royal Lancashires, was sent through a heavy barrage with a message to which a reply was urgently wanted. Almost at once he was shot through the back, the bullet coming out in front. “In spite of this, with heroic courage and selfsacrifice, he compressed with his hand the gaping wound in his abdomen, delivered his message, staggered back with the answer, and fell at the feet of the officer to whom he delivered it. He gave his life with a supreme devotion to duty.” Private Short, of the Yorkshires, was foremost in a bombing attack and refused to go back though severely wounded. Finally his leg was shattered by a shell, but as he lay dying he was adjusting detonators and straightening bomb-pins for his comrades. “ For the last eleven months he had always volunteered for dangerous enterprises, and has always set a magnificent example of bravery and devotion to duty.”

      Officers sacrificed themselves for their men, and men gave their lives for their officers. Private Veale, of the Devons, went out to look for an officer and found him among standing corn fifty yards from the enemy. He dragged him to a shell hole and went back for water. Then, after vain efforts to bring him in, he went out with a party at dusk, and while they did their work he kept off an enemy patrol with a Lewis gun. Private Turrall, of the Worcesters, when an officer was badly wounded in a bombing attack which had been compelled to fall back, stayed with him for three hours under continuous fire, completely surrounded by the enemy. When a counter-attack made it possible he carried the officer back to our lines. Private Quigg, of the Royal Irish Rifles, went out seven times under heavy machine-gun and shell fire to look for a lost platoon-commander, and for seven hours laboured to bring in wounded. Another type of service was that of Drummer Ritchie, of the Seaforths, who stood on the parapet of an enemy trench sounding the charge to rally men of various units who had lost their leaders and were beginning to retire. And, perhaps the finest of all, there was Private McFadzean, of the Royal Irish Rifles, who, while opening a box of bombs before an attack, let the box slip so that two of the safety pins fell out. Like Lieutenant Smith, of the East Lancashires, at Gallipoli, he flung himself on the bombs, and the explosion, which blew him to pieces, only injured one other man. “He well knew the danger, being himself a bomber, but without a minute’s hesitation he gave his life for his comrades.” The General was right when he told his hearers that the British soldier has a great soul.

       THE FRENCH CARRY THE GERMAN THIRD LINE.

      The French by the second week of August had carried, as we have seen, all the German third position south of the Somme. On Saturday, August 12th, after preparatory reconnaissances, they assaulted the third line north of the river from the east of Hardecourt to opposite Buscourt. It was a superbly organised assault, which on a front of over four miles swept away the enemy trenches and redoubts to an average depth of three-quarters of a mile. They entered the cemetery of Maurepas and the southern slopes of Hill 109 on the Maurepas-Clèry road, and reached the saddle west of Clèry village. By the evening over 1,000 prisoners were in their hands. Four days later, on Wednesday, August 16th, they pushed their left flank—there adjoining the British—north of Maurepas, taking a mile of trenches, and south of that village took all the enemy line on a front of a mile and a quarter. Except for a few inconsiderable sections the enemy third position opposite the French had gone.

      The British to the north were not yet ready for their grand assault. They had the more difficult ground, and for six weeks had been steadily fighting up hill. At points they had reached the watershed, but they had not won enough of the high ground to give them positions against the German third line on the reverse slopes. The following week was therefore a tale of slow progress to the rim of the plateau, around Pozieres, High Wood, and Guillemont. Each day saw something gained by hard fighting. On Sunday, the 13th, it was a section of trench N.W. of Pozieres, and another between Bazentin-le-Petit and Martinpuich. On Tuesday it was ground close to Mouquet Farm. On Wednesday it was the west and south-west environs of Guillemont and a 300-yards advance at High Wood. On Thursday there was progress north-west of Bazentin-le-Petit

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