I liked to think of undertaking to help in the training of United States soldiers with an eye solely to this moment, in an effort to insure, as far as this is possible, its being not a gamble but a sure thing. There was not much doubt in my mind, on those days when I first realized that my actual participation in the war was over, as to what was essential and what unessential. With this sudden perspective, the essentials stood out, and there was no room for trifling — possibly fatal — unessentials. My enthusiasm for war as an adventure gave place to a keen appreciation of and admiration for the human material that won its battles. It was startlingly clear how all the vast organization — the thunder of the guns, the congested lines of transport, the roaring factories, the fatherless homes — all waited upon the fate of this thin line.
I had every reason to appreciate fully the value of training; yet, with all the training it was possible to give, this seemed to be expecting a great deal of men. It remained a gamble, a desperate and critical game in which a man needed to be given a break; the result was not scientifically certain; it was human. And there were many little things in the practices of the British Army in which this was recognized. It is difficult to name them; they were not always provided for in the regulations; but the effect was there. I tried to summarize it on those mornings of early spring while others were waiting to go over the top in a war which for me was finished. Training? Cold, wet and benumbed through enforced long waiting, strapped up and loaded, in cramped positions, they are by no means the same alert men who a few weeks ago turned out smartly for physical drill. The instructor can’t finish with men and say: “Now you are ready for battle.” The British war organization doubtless had its full share of theorists, little men with big, impractical ideas and good-intentioned fellows who didn’t know exactly what they were talking about; but somewhere in the set-up was a practical and efficient hand which was never bound by red-tape, precedent or regulations and which, in the final show-down, did not allow these to interfere with the real business of war; it went on quietly keeping in touch with the essential realities of the situation as they affect the soldier all the way from Aldershot to the Somme and the zero-hour and the final jumping-off place.
I don’t wish to idealize the British — or any other army; I merely wish to say that in so far as this effect was achieved, it is worth knowing about. It is vital. The rum ration of the British will serve to indicate what I am talking about. I intended to say something about this, anyway, for its value in itself; but it may also be taken to illustrate this larger effect, this determination to give a soldier every possible chance to win — and live. This will, of course, arouse the indignation of the perfervid and patriotic guardians of purity, but we are talking about war and the
The rum ration has been issued just before the zero-hour, and is getting in its effect by the time the word comes along to be up and away. If the men are alert, mentally and physically, their chances of reaching the scene of the first actual encounter are incalculably greater than if they are tired, benumbed with cold, and apathetic. After that, their blood will be up; they uncover new and unsuspected sources of energy that will take them through the day.
It is this first minute that is important, the initial attitude of men who are awake and ready with the quick parry, the sure thrust, the dead-certain shot. This is a truism. As to the effect of rum in this emergency, there is room for just two opinions: that of the man who has tried it, and that of the physician and physiological chemist who knows the effects of fatigue and exposure and of alcohol in temporarily and quickly overcoming them. Yet, there has been in the United States another and very loud one. It could not very well be called an opinion, because an opinion should rest only upon full and unbiased information and should be qualified in so far as the information is not full or the viewpoint prejudiced. There was no such temperance in the mouthings of these temperance fanatics. The least damaging part of their noise was the charge that the men were made drunk and sent in to die. This doesn’t deserve an answer; but it may be stated:
The rum ration of the British Army consisted of one-half gill (one sixty-fourth of a gallon) of pure unadulterated Jamaica rum, the real article, thick, syrupy stuff, such as is not generally known commercially, particularly in the United States. It was administered by an officer or sergeant in person, at a stated time, and had to be swallowed then and there, or not at all. It was not invariably issued, to all troops at all times; but it was expected by all troops on active service during most of the winter or under any unusual conditions of fatigue or exposure. We did not get it in England or Canada. But we nearly always got it at just about the times when we needed it most.
In the trenches it was issued as a routine matter just before daybreak, at stand-to, when every man needed to be up and on the alert to guard against surprise. Men were not only sleepless; but at that time in the morning, even after comfortable sleep, man’s vitality is at its lowest ebb. These men had not slept comfortably. Some of them had not slept at all, but had just returned from patrols or other duties in which there is hardly a moment that is not tense and fatiguing. If there was nothing doing, they counted upon getting their sleep during the next few hours. Sleep is the great restorer, and this single shot of rum made refreshing and invigorating sleep possible at times when it would otherwise have been impossible. If sleep was not to be considered under the circumstances, then the rum soothed jangled nerves and revived tired muscles inspiriting men for continued activity. It was accepted gladly, even by most of those who did not drink, as the best compensation available for the loss of sleep and rest which could not be avoided.
There is little complaint about hardships when men believe that everything possible is being done to minimize them. I am convinced that a distinction of the British Army, and an important source of its strength, is the conviction among the soldiers (above all grousing and grumbling) that their health and well-being are of intimate concern to those higher up, not simply matters unfeelingly provided for in K.R. & O. (King’s Regulations and Orders). This was a secondary and not unimportant effect of the rum ration. It was a great mediator between human endurance and military exigencies, between what seemed unreasonable demands and the obscure necessity for them. The sergeant with the little brass nose-cap (fuse cover of a shell), replenished as required from an ordinary water-bottle put to nobler use, was an emissary of good-will and understanding from the Brass-Hats who lived in comfort back of the line: “I can’t get you out of the mud today, Tommy; there’s nobody to take your place. This will help to pull you through. Cheerio!”
When the United States entered the war, the powers that be did well to study what two years of warfare had developed. The intention, presumably, was to profit by the experience of others. How, with this sound and laudable intention, they managed to adopt such trifles as the Sam Browne belt and that silly chin-strap for the campaign hat and pass up such splendid institutions as the rum ration and the bagpipes is beyond me. I suppose that in the case of the rum there is no doubt that the rabid reformers are largely responsible. That is why I have had something to say about it, because it is not a matter for reformers of any sort. It has nothing to do with the muddle of prohibition. It is a matter for those charged with national defense in time of war, with maintaining efficient armies in the field; and for them to allow themselves to be influenced by irrelevant considerations of politics or so-called morality and temperance is the same as to allow such considerations to decide what powder shall be used.
I hope it is clear that I regard it as an important matter and one that has nothing to do with anybody’s opposition to alcoholic beverages. I am convinced that in the British Armies many lives were saved by the timely issue of rum, and this may mean the difference between success or failure in the initial stages of an attack, which are often the critical ones. If this sounds like making the fate of empire hang upon a drink of rum, even so; it is only necessary to point out that life or death frequently depends upon a difference of a very small fraction of a second. Ask any athletic coach what top form means. What is the meaning of “fresh troops”? Well, you don’t have them on a modern battlefield. They are exhausted or shelled into insensibility in reaching it. In offensive operations, generally, the men that begin them come nearer to it than any others. A battalion that goes in on the succeeding day has quite likely been shelled and bombed from the time that it reaches the area, far back along the transport lines. It has probably reached this point only after forced marches. In the evening it begins its tedious progress toward the point from which it is to continue the advance. In the strongly entrenched areas, this route lies over a trackless waste, much worse than open country would have been. There are no roads, few recognizable landmarks. The communication trenches have been shelled to pieces, or, if usable, are filled with the wounded coming back. The lines of communication, quickly extended to keep in touch with the advance, are maintained with difficulty; and these are the ligaments which bind the loosely jointed war-machine together as well as the nerves which enable it to function. It all has to be moved up together, sensitive always to the varied and uncertain fate of the front line, which melts away at one place, is pushed back by a counter attack in another, while at a third it has encountered a stubborn redoubt, and at a fourth has pushed suddenly forward leaving an ominous gap which may mean disaster. In this tangled and uncertain flux, the battalion is but a small detachment, and it spends most of the night waiting about in little stretches of trench which afford a measure of shelter from machine-gun fire and shells. No one knows the cause of the delay or when it will end, what is happening in front or where the front is. With daylight, perhaps,
