There were faces in that procession like faces on a Greek frieze, fighters all, radiant with youth and strength and determination to conquer or readiness to die, men who had looked Death in the eyes, and, in that they had withstood the ordeal, had risen above man’s puny fears of the Unknown. It was a spectacle to thrill a soldier, to inspire a poet, to make an Englishman vibrate with pride at the thought that these are his brothers. The army in the field loves the Guards. It is not jealous of their exclusiveness, for the Guards have shown in this war that they are not content to rest upon their laurels. The army trusts the Guards, for it knows that, when in a critical hour Wellington’s voice shall be heard once more above the storm crying, “Stand up, Guards!” the Guards will rise again in a solid wall of steel, as invulnerable as their phalanx at Waterloo. CHAPTER XIII THE ARBITERS OF VICTORY “... My guns are better than the German guns ... for instance, my 15-inch shell is equivalent to their 17-inch. The issue is now one between Krupp’s and Birmingham.” (Field-Marshal Sir John French to Mr. James O’Grady, M.P., quoted in the _Daily News_, August 23, 1915.) “Too-too! Too-too! Too-too!” “‘Ul-loh?” (wearily). “Too-too! Too-too! Too-too!” (with insistence). “‘Ul-loh?” (with vexation). “‘Ul-loh? ‘Ul-loh?” The sounds issued forth from a low, cramped dug-out, where a perspiring orderly, squatting on a box, huddled over a crepitating telephone-receiver--not the “gentlemanly article” of your City office or my lady’s boudoir, but a Brobdingnagian kind of instrument. Fragments of conversation drifted out of the hole: “_’Oo? ... I can’t ’ear yer.... Oh! Yessir! Yessir! Yessir!_” Then a sentence was bawled and repeated from mouth to mouth till it reached the orderly standing at the end of the trench. “_The Major of the Blankshires sends ’is compliments to Captain X, and there’s a German working-party be’ind the village clearly visible. Will Captain X send a few rounds over?_” The Captain turned wearily to the subaltern by his side (Cambridge O.T.C., out since March, keen as mustard). “Did you ever see such fellows?” he said. Then, to the orderly: “My compliments to the Major, and we have been watching that working-party for the past half-hour. Unfortunately, it is out of range. But tell him, you can, that we have just dispersed another working-party over by the bridge!” This message is shouted from mouth to mouth, the telephone toots again, but even before the Major in his dug-out a mile away has had his answer, the battery is called up once more from another quarter, with the request to “turn on for a bit” in some other direction.