ire_; Biggs's tender heart was
horror-struck at the idea of bowels and brains exposed, and it was
always owing to him that the most carefully-prepared charges were
deprived of the warlike frenzy demanded by Major Macleod.

"'_As_ you were!' Sergeant-Major Fairbanks used to yell. '_As_ you
were! Now then, Private Biggs.' And after twenty attempts had failed,
he would conclude sadly, 'Well, boys, mark my words, come Judgment
Day, when we're all p'radin' for the final review an' the Lord comes
along, no sooner will the Archangel give the order, "'Tention!" than
'e'll 'ave to shout, "As you were! Now then, Private Biggs!"'

"When the period of training was over, Macleod assembled all our men
in a large shed and gave 'em his celebrated lecture on 'hatred of the
enemy.'

"I was really curious to hear him, because people at G.H.Q. were
always talking about the extraordinary influence he had over the
troops' _moral_. 'One of Macleod's speeches,' said the Chief of
Staff, 'does the Huns as much harm as ten batteries of heavy
howitzers.'

"The lecturer began with a ghastly description of the shooting of
prisoners, and went on to a nauseating account of the effects of gas
and a terrible story about the crucifixion of a Canadian sergeant;
and then, when our flesh was creeping and our throats were dry, came
a really eloquent hymn of hate, ending with an appeal to the avenging
bayonet.

"Macleod was silent for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of our
haggard faces; then, considering we were sufficiently worked up, he
went on:

"'Now, if there is any one of you who wants anything explained, let
him speak up; I'm ready to answer any questions.'

"Out of the silence came the still, small voice of Private Biggs.

"'Please, sir?'

"'Yes, my man,' said Major Macleod kindly.

"'Please, sir, can you tell me how I can transfer to the Army Service
Corps?'

"That evening, in the kitchen, our orderlies discussed the incident,
and discovered in course of conversation that Biggs had never killed
a man. All the others were tough old warriors, and they were much
astonished.

"Kemble, the general's orderly, a giant with a dozen or so to his
account, was full of pity for the poor little Cockney. 'Mon, mon,'
he said, 'I can hardly believe ye. Why, never a single one? Not
even wounded?'

"'No,' said Biggs, 'honest Injun. I run so slowly, I'm always the
last to get there--I never get a chance.'

"Well, a few days later, the battalion