LAND AND WATER. 
October 16, 1915. 
THE ROAD TO NEUVE CHAPELLE. 
By An Officer. 
I\ the earlv hours of a ^vintry March mormng, the 
var-siained battalion of a certain well-known 
;eginu.nt left its billets at the little French town 
where it had rested several days. l/l^-S not et 
light. Only the grey opaqueness of the sk> m K- 
cested h'e coming of davlight, which presently would 
filter through thettreets and between the shutters of the 
houses. , , „ • „. i;,,i„ 
Along those streets, among the houses, an icj ht e 
northeast x^ind whined a.id whispered Snowflakes 
ddSd down, large and slow, like ghosts o wh.te b.rd 
Snow lay thinly upon the roof-tops, "P°" ^'^^ P^"^^'^ 
ments, upon the surface of the road. Men s feet were 
silent as they moved about. There were no l.glus but 
fhe occasional flash of an electric torch and the beam 
which shot out from the half-open door of some empty- 
ing billet. There were no sounds but the muffled 
thump of gloved hands sharply brought together, an 
tKcasional low exclamation, an occasional query in the 
darkness. , , , • , ^r ,u„ 
Lines of men stretched dimly along the side of the 
road. Mvsterious shapes they were in the dim light o 
dawn, mysterious, indefinite. Many wore hoods and al 
wore greatcoats with full weight of equipment— the pack 
bulking upon the back, the rifle slung over the shoulder. 
Here and there a mounted orderly sat like a statue, his 
figure and horse outlined against the gradually lighten- 
ing skv. Now and then a motor-cyclist, crouching low 
and heavily burdened, rattled past over the pave. 
Farther down the road long lines of transport could be 
discerned— tarpaulin-covered wagons, a machine-gun 
section, numerous artillery limbers. 
The growing daylight revealed these tilings. So 
did the growing davlight reveal a curious stir and move- 
ment in those streets of silent houses. Now a sharp low 
word of command, now the champing of bits or the 
stamp of hoofs where the Brigadier's horses were await- 
ing him — always the erratic movement of troops which 
were trying by degrees to make their way out of the 
town. '" Form fours! Right! By the right, quick 
march ! " 
The column moved slowly off only to halt presently 
at the market-place, in front of the red brick, artificial- 
looking French church, where there was great conges- 
tion of transport and artillery. A long pause, while 
men stamped their feet and clapped their hands for 
warmth. Then, on again along the main pave road. 
Now the snowflakes had ceased, and the clear steely 
light of morning grew in the streets. Just as in London 
or Paris, workmen and market-women were doubtless 
creeping along the pavement even at that early hour, 
so here within three miles of the guns which were soon 
to thunder in deadly earnest they were going to their 
work in peaked caps and blue blouses, the women's 
heads covered with coloured shawls. Many who would 
otherwise be in bed are at their windows or doors, 
curious and rather frightened at the tramping of so 
many feet. 
Past the market-place and the brewery and tlie rows 
of insubstantial-looking red-brick houses with their orna- 
mented facades and childish front-doors and shutters — so 
across a bridge which spans a sluggish, dirty stream. 
Then the long column winds away to the right along a 
rough track, inches deep in mud, which leadsacross waste 
land in rear of a factory. Here are many slag-heaps, 
acres of black soil and rubbish-heaps, as in tlie outskirts 
of Black Country towns. Beyond them is an open space 
apparently designed by Nature as a military-exercise 
ground, for the expanse is unbroken, save bv a fence of 
wire-netting which divides it in lialf. All 'around are 
the tall chimneys of red-brick factories. 
An entire brigade, including the extra Territorial 
battalion, is assembled here. The men are drawn up in 
close column by battalions for inspection bv the 
Brigadier who, with his Brigade-Major and Aide-de- 
Camp, trots down the lines. Orders rattle out in quick 
succession. Stand easy ! Pile arms ! Packs off ! The 
men take ofl" their equipment, lay it down, and sit upon 
their packs. The first refuge of the Tommy is his packet 
of cigarettes, the second his rations. Everywhere the 
rank-and-file lie about smoking and eating. The ofticers, 
meanwhile, grouped around tlieir battalion commanders, 
are deeply engaged in studying and comparing maps. 
Here one observes an animated discussion, there a 
silent painstaking inquisition, whilst yonder a lively 
group of subalterns is laughing and joking. 
But for the hour and tlie surroundings you would 
say the assembly had a sort of garden-party air about i;. 
And just as at some social afTair an embarrassing silence 
often follows a burst of conversation, so now of a sudden 
everybody stops talking at once. All heads are turned the 
same way'. Everybody listens. A low thunderous roll can 
be heard punctured distantly by the " bang-boom, 
boom-bang " of innumerable guns. Somewhere beyond 
that low fringe of trees wliich tantalisingly borders one's 
horizon the great bombardment of Neuve Chapelle has 
begun. Nothing can be seen, only that low furious 
mutter trembles along the horizon. Yet the conflagra- 
tion spreads, and batteries nearer at hand begin to 
" bang " and " boom," so tliat now and again you may 
glimpse a pale flash of fire against the grey morning sky. 
It is about 7.30. The music has begun to the 
minute. Aeroplanes appear swiftly from all quarters, 
circling, whirring, droning in the sky. 
Suddenly the familiar whistle of a big shell causes 
everybody to look up. Screaming through the air, it 
lands with a crash in a piece of waste land close to one 
of the tall chimneys. No harm is done, but are there 
more to follow? With a whole brigade massed in 
the open this is a serious question. ()rdeis are imme- 
diately given to cut down tiie wire-netting which crosses 
and bisects the field in order to give the troops a chance 
of scattering if a proper shelling begins. Those having 
wire-cutters speedily get to work, but nothing further 
eventuates. 
On the contrary there is a long and tedious and 
anxious wait. One munches chocolate and smokes 
cigarettes, feeling the while that these moments are big 
with fate for all of us here, and for all those thousands 
out tliere in ditches and trenches, along roads and be- 
hind hedges, who, like ourselves are waiting to enter 
the battle which is now beginning. There is no news. 
Once the leading battalion moves off, only to come back, 
again in a few minut.es owing to tlie congestion of troops 
on the narrow roads in front. Sitting and waiting is the 
hardest thing of all in anxious times. 
The guns mutter and roll, now close at hand, and 
now faint. It is a misty morning and the wind is blow- 
ing away from us; moreover, the country is dead flat, 
so that it is impossible to judge what may be occurring. 
All sorts of pictures rise to the mind : one can imagine 
the Indians, far away to the right, swarming out of their 
trenches, racing across the open fields and jumping in 
with the bayonet quickly and silentlv 
" Packs on! " 
" Get ready to move ofif ! " 
10 
A first English translation of Ivan Goncharov's well- 
known Russian novel Ohlomov has just been published 
by Messrs. George Allen and TJnwin (3s. 6d.). Goncharov's 
caricature, pitiless as anything Thackeray ever did, is yet 
marked by such fidelity to life that Oblomov has passed into 
such a proverb in Russia as has Jos Sedley or Pecksniff in 
this country. Oblomov is more akin to Dickens's Richard 
in Bleah House than to any other recognisable figure in 
English literature; he is a man of tine instincts but of hope- 
less indecision and apatliy, and this book is concerned only 
with his portrait. That portrait is so clearly drawn as to 
make the book a work of genius, and in spite of the tragedy 
embodied in the story, that story is compelling in its interest. 
