Part 3

For three-quarters of an hour we lay in that ditch with the earth jumping and falling all round us—at times the whole trench seemed to move three or four feet. A ration party out on the mule track hadn’t got such good cover, and we could hear the poor devils moaning and screaming as some of the others tried to drag them back to the aid post. Some of the kids in our trench began to cry, and I felt like it myself. We were all choking, and the valley was so full of smoke and dust that I couldn’t even see the Verey lights which were less than 300 yards away—only the great red splashes of fire where the shells burst.

It seemed to last for hours; the steady crashing of the bursts, the whine of the flying pieces and all around the screaming of shattered men who had once been strong. And then the smell which, if a man has known it once, will haunt him to the end of time, the most sickly nauseating stench in the world—the combined smell of moist earth, high explosive, and warm human blood.

God, in Thy mercy, let me never again hear any one speak of the Glory of War!

About 1.30 the noise stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun, but he put down two more barrages, one at 2 a.m. and one at 2.30. Had an awful headache when I got to bed.

_July 15._ McDougall gone down with shell-shock and blindness, but I managed to turn out, although very sore and stiff—that shell must have been mighty close, and every one is agreed we should be dead. Dinner with the Colonel again and promised to repair his dug-out, which got badly smashed up last night.

Desultory shelling all night but comparatively quiet—my head feels like a concertina and if we had more officers I would certainly go to hospital. However——

_July 16._ All my men were sent back to the Reserve line to-day for a rest, but as we are so short of officers there is no rest for me. In fact the work is rather more, and I had a very heavy time explaining things to the new sergeants.

Machine-gun bullet hit a stump about a yard in front of me and drove a lot of dirt and splinters into my face.

I am worn out.

_July 17._ Was coming home this morning about 5 a.m. very weary, when Jerry put down still another barrage. There were no trenches handy and I spent a nasty half-hour in a ditch on the side of the track. When you have once been strong it is awful to lie in a ditch and quiver like a jelly when shells are falling fifty yards away. I am going all to pieces and my imagination is killing me. Last night I was alone inspecting the wire when for some hellish reason I saw a picture of myself disabled by a bullet and lying for hours until I bled to death—days it would have been, for my vitality is tremendous. For several minutes I couldn’t move, covered with a clammy sweat and paralysed with fear.

Great wind-up to-day—the Huns are expected to make their last effort for Calais to-morrow. Every available man working on battle positions, and all guns fired a counter preparation on German roads. If they _do_ attack seriously it will be the end of my diary.

_July 18._ Worked like devils all last night and then spent an awful hour before dawn, standing to and waiting for the attack. Every time an odd shell came over we held our breath and waited for the crash of the general bombardment. The strain was terrific and my stomach felt as if I had eaten a whole live jelly-fish. The attack didn’t come—24 hours’ reprieve!

_July 19._ Another day of feverish activity, work, and strain. I have been thinking of Piccadilly Circus and wonder if they realise how very near they are to the end. Reconnoitred an old farm with a view to erecting a Brigade H.Q. there in event of retreat to Reserve Line. Why, Heaven knows, as if they _do_ attack there will be no one to retreat—except, of course, the Brigade H.Q. with their trouser-presses, etc. Derry came back to us and is going to take over this work.

Did very well in the line at night, and completed wire to Right Brigade in spite of heavy shell-fire.

_July 20._ Words fail me—a new officer has arrived and I am going to have a rest, at least a comparative one, on the Reserve Line.

After starting the parties I spent the night advising the P.B.I. on trench drainage and got soaked up to the waist. Got three hours’ sleep in my soaking clothes as German attack is still expected. I wish it would come—the strain of waiting is terrible.

_July 21._ Life is getting quite enjoyable again. Spent the night handing over to new officer. The company has received four more Lewis guns which, I think, shows better than any words how well we did in the retreat.

_July 22._ Filthy wet day, spent in taking over Reserve Line from T.O., who returns to Horse-Lines. The threat of attack still hangs over us in a state of suspended animation.

_July 23._ Poured all day; soaked and fed up.

_July 24._ Day goes on leave, so I took over his work in the line, chiefly concrete pill-boxes. Thus ends my rest. Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed. Did a good night’s work under a beautiful moon and met the Major in the morning before dawn to reconnoitre some wire.

_July 25._ Derry went sick again, so we are now as badly off as ever. Doing four men’s work and had a very rushed day. Why the _devil_ don’t they send us reinforcements?

_July 26._ Four hours’ sleep and off up the line again—the first Americans came within a few miles of the line to-day. I think we have just about weathered the storm without them.

_July 27._ Four hours’ sleep, then spent the morning on Brigade H.Q., afternoon on the Reserve Line, paid the company, and spent all night on wiring and completion of No. 1 Pill-box.

_July 28._ Our sister company went over last night to destroy wire for a raid. They collared two Huns, so that the real raid never came off and was unnecessary. Good work.

_July 29._ Completed No. 2 Pill-box. Work well on with Brigade H.Q. and put up 300 yards of wire at Reserve Line. Two of our drivers and three of the best horses were killed last night. It is difficult to make comparisons where all men are so wonderful, but as an example of the purest form of stolid courage I think the limber driver is unique. In a place like this there is never more than one decent road, and in consequence it is packed from dusk to dawn with every conceivable form of wheeled transport. Food, water, ammunition, guns, wire, and everything else which the linesman needs, must pass along this solitary lane, and the German knows it. The shell-fire is seldom heavy, as the line knows it, but it is persistent, wearing, and of the most deadly accuracy. A very favourite trick is to shell some point on the road and thus compel traffic to wait. In five minutes they know that there will be a solid column of wagons on the far side of the block, and then they lengthen range—preferably with shrapnel. Then it is like all hell let loose. Half a dozen shells among those crowded limbers can do the most terrific damage, and men and horses go down together in a welter of blood and flying red-hot steel. Mules and horses go mad, and scream and kick, the harness breaks, they climb into the limbers, ammunition explodes, and in a few seconds there is nothing but a mass of wreckage in the ditch and the cries of wounded men and dying horses.

Go through that and worse twice a night, every night for a month and more, and at the end when you take the reins in the evening your hand will quiver and your feet will tremble in the stirrups. And still they go without a murmur, night after night, until a merciful shell shall take them too, and they leave the saddle for ever. Each night they see the last night’s wreckage, and, if times are very bad, the unburied bodies of their one-time pals grinning at the stars until Time and the rats have done their work. And always they know their time will come, so that to me at least it is an eternal marvel how they find the strength to go. Perhaps some thought of home, some pride of England drives them on, or the memory of some dearly loved, dead officer sitting quietly on a mule among those shrieking shells and telling them not to leave their horses. But who can tell?—they do it, and England gains!

One thing is certain, they get no medals, for there are no Staff Officers along these howling roads at night.

_July 30._ For the first time since we have been here our billets were heavily shelled this afternoon. I had great wind-up, as I was upstairs in my canvas bath and two or three splinters came through the wall. There are some Americans near us, and as this was their first touch of shell-fire it was quite amusing to see them falling over each other in their efforts to get away across the fields. Beryl, our terrier bitch, presented us with seven puppies of every breed and colour—the little harlot!

The Americans had their first night in charge of an infantry working party and I went up to their line to have a look at them. It was a pathetic sight, and when they came back in the morning they reported being shelled off the job and that half the men’s clothes were cut to pieces by shrapnel. Combination of wind-up, imagination, and loose barbed wire on a dark night.

_July 31._ Put up 500 yards of wire at Reserve Line. Second party of Americans arrived. Bosche plane came over very low in the evening and spotted our billets and the guns round us. He got away through terrific machine-gun fire, but we heard later that he came down over the lines in flames—poor beggars!

_Aug. 1._ Billets shelled again, and thought we were hit several times. Another daring Bosche came over in the evening but was brought down over the lines. Our sister company pulled out of the line to prepare for an attack, so again we are doing a two-Brigade front.

_Aug. 2._ Got soaked to the skin scrambling round Right Brigade trenches and was quite worn out as I had to wear my respirator, all the time—ghastly night, with continuous shell-fire and casualties all over the place.

_Aug. 3._ Had great difficulty in getting material, as they shelled our dump all night long. It is very hard to order men to go to a place when you know that it is being steadily shelled, and yet the work has to be done. So much easier for the Staff, who just say, “Do it,” and then leave the details and the casualties to me. At 3.30 a.m. met the Major and took him round the line to see our troubles. Coming back alone——

_Aug. 4._ ——over the ridge just before dawn I got dead in line with a German M.G. firing straight down the road. I don’t think it was clear enough for them to see me, but the bullets whizzed past first on my left side and then on my right. I had to lie down for several minutes and watch them kicking up sparks on the road a few yards ahead—most unpleasant, and I found it another indication that my nerves are slowly giving out.

_Aug. 5._ Heavy barrage in reply to a raid by the Division on our right interfered with work and caused several casualties among the carrying parties.

_Aug. 6._ The men had a night’s rest, but I was out all night with two sappers laying out tapes and notice boards in preparation for the attack on the 8th. Several times we had to go well out into No Man’s Land, and once I was quite lost for about half an hour.

_Aug. 7._ Was out all night trying to get some work out of the Americans, but found it a hard job as they are not yet accustomed to working under shell and machine-gun fire, and are very nervous. Among our own men I would have considered their behaviour rank mutiny, but I kept them at it until 3 a.m. and got 150 yards done. Have never been so unpopular or so violently cursed in my life before.

In the course of the wire we came across a shell-hole with a mule and three rotting Frenchmen in it, and the Americans were very worried that they had not been buried!

Poor devils, they have a lot to learn.

THE MERRYWAY ATTACK

The events that follow are necessarily somewhat confused, both from their own nature and from the fact that I was not able to set them down until some ten days after they occurred. They fell out somewhat as follows:—

The Merryway had once been a decent road, but after the fighting in June there was little left but a shattered track running at right angles to the main lines of trenches. The Huns had pushed out a very considerable salient on both sides of this track, and as their ground was rather higher than ours they were able to make life very unpleasant for every one around them.

With the threat of more German attacks still hanging over us and the men quite worn out, the Staff decided that we must keep up our morale by trying to lower that of the Huns. An attack on the Merryway Salient was decided upon as the best way of doing this.

Accordingly one Infantry Brigade and one Field Coy. R.E. went over on the night of August 8th, and under cover of a terrific bombardment surprised the Germans and gained practically all their objectives. All was quiet for two days, the Field Coy. put up quantities of barbed wire and the Staff went to sleep to dream of medals.

The morning of the 11th was cold and misty, and to our great consternation the Huns delivered a very heavy counter-attack. This was quite successful, and we were all driven back with the exception of one post which held out on the Merryway. Here about 30 Huns got held up against our wire and all surrendered, although most of the men wanted to shoot, because we were too weak to find an escort. However we sent them back with two men, but seeing that our flanks were gone and how weak the escort was, they strangled the two men and joined the fight. Everything was now completely mixed up, the gray-coated figures were all around, and odd groups of men were fighting detached battles for their own skins against heavy odds. Our telephone wire was cut, and rockets were useless because of the mist; the casualties were heavy, and it looked as if the line would go. Then I saw Bradley, a fearsome sight, with a piece of his scalp hanging over his ear and his face covered with blood, trying to collect some men. I joined him, and we got a few together and went forward again. In technical language I suppose we led a charge or counter-attack, but it never struck me in that way at all, and I’m sure we had no clear idea what we intended to do.

Bradley was mad, and we went at the first group of Huns we saw. There was a tussle, we killed two and the rest surrendered. Bradley collared one of these himself, a poor miserable kid not more than twenty, and I remember the sight of him put heart into us all.

In all we got forward about two hundred yards and got in touch with the Merryway post, although, of course, we were still a long way behind our original line.

This restored the line a little, and instead of pushing through the gaps on either side of us the Huns hesitated a little and finally dug in about 50 yards away. All the infantry officers were killed and every one was out of touch, so that the Huns were not followed up. During the day reliefs came up, and at night Brigade reported that we held a line of posts in touch with one another about half-way between our first and second positions.

I went up with a few men and some material to try to consolidate the position, but when I got to Merryway post everything was in absolute chaos and there was only a sergeant and six men in the post and absolutely at their last gasp. Apparently they had been attacked again during the day, and had only just kept off the Huns after suffering heavy casualties from trench mortars. It was obvious the Huns thought a lot of this post, and I felt sure they would try to take us during the night. I put all my men on and tried to strengthen the place with sandbags, and made it a little deeper by lifting some bodies out of the bottom. I had 19 men with 150 rounds each and 1 Lewis gun with several thousand rounds—this I placed at the end of the trench to fire up the track.

About 11.30 we were shelled heavily without sustaining casualties, and immediately afterwards a crowd of infantry—about 100 I think—made a dash at us, chiefly down the old track. The Lewis gun opened at once, and I was terrified to find that the Huns had a gun on our flank which was shooting straight at our gun and right into the trench. The gunner was killed at once and Cox wounded, so that the gun was silent. Then the infantry sergeant took it and was shot dead immediately. I shouted to the men to keep shooting at the infantry in front and I took the Lewis gun myself and turned it round at the German gun. I waited for him to shoot, and then fired at the flash and silenced him. I noticed that the men’s firing had died down, and on looking to the front I was relieved to see that the first attack was beaten off—we must have killed a lot, as they were right against the skyline—and there were a lot of them moaning about in front. I felt certain we could hold them if we could keep their gun quiet, so for the next twenty minutes we worked like fiends to raise some protection across the open end of the trench. Then they came again in a sudden rush, but I must have damaged their gun, and without that to help them we could turn our gun right into them and easily held them off. A small party sneaked close up to us on the left away from the gun and threw some bombs right into us, blowing an infantryman to bits and wounding a sapper. Then they shelled us steadily for half an hour and got one of the look-out men in the shoulder—another rifle useless. At this point we had our one piece of luck—found a rum jar with just enough in it to give each man a mouthful—it put new heart into us and helped us more than twenty reinforcements. Everything went quiet for a time, and in thinking things over I had an awful job to keep myself under control. The men were wonderful, but there were only 13 of us left and fully 200 Huns all round. During the lull Cox died in my arms—he was very game, but just before the end he sobbed like a child: “My wife and kiddie, oh God! sir, what’s going to happen to them?—poor kid, poor kid.” And so he died.

Shortly afterwards they came at us again, and thank God none of us realised how many there were. On the right where the gun was we held them off again, but we were hopelessly outnumbered, and a German officer and a small party actually got into our trench at the other end. I heard the row and, leaving the gun with Willis, was just in time to see a man kill the officer with his bayonet and the others cleared off again. They were very close all round us now, and as we could see nothing I told the men to keep their ammunition and then split them up, some to shoot forward and some to shoot back. I was frightened that we should be bombed, and surely enough they started, but the throwing was rotten.

And then once more they tried us. A bomb came right in the trench and laid out two more men, splashing me with blood. We shot like fiends and the gun was nearly red-hot, but they were too many. About eight men got into the trench and then we all went mad. It would be impossible for me to give an accurate description because there was just one fierce wild tussle, they trying to get at Willis and that blessed gun and we trying to keep them off. We were too mixed to shoot; they used a sort of life-preserver and we used our bayonets taken off the rifles. A German about my own size slipped into the trench behind me and I just turned in time to duck under a swing from his preserver. What I was doing I shall never know, but by instinct I got my left hand on his throat, and before I knew what had happened I had got the bayonet dagger-wise a good six inches into his chest. He went down without a groan. There was no one in front of me and I turned to find a big Hun with his back to me and a life-preserver raised to hit McDonald, who had his back to the Hun, over the head. If I had had sense I would have stuck the bayonet into his back, but I was absolutely wild and dropped it. Before the Hun could strike I got my hands on his throat and we fell down together. I fell underneath but got on top and pressed until I thought my fingers would break. He was terribly strong and once scratched a great piece out of my left cheek. Gradually he weakened, and I kept my fingers on his throat until he died.

Much the same thing had happened to all the other men except one, who got badly mauled about the head and died shortly afterwards. For a moment I felt we could fight the whole German army, especially when I saw McDonald smash in a German head with the rum jar. Now the survivors were shouting for help, but that blessed Willis (ex jail-bird) was sitting with the gun out in the open, regardless of everything, swearing like hell, and none of the Huns seemed anxious to accept the invitation. We were all clean crazy, and I even had a job to keep the men in the trench. McDonald said something about Cox’s missus, and wanted to kill ten of the “bloody bastards.”

During the whole of that bloody night my hardest job was to restrain the men in that moment of semi-victory; for it was still two hours until dawn. Nine out of the nineteen of us were either dead or dying, and all the rest of us were damaged in some way. Throughout the whole night I had never thought of anything but death. Relief, I knew, was impossible—if we surrendered they would kill us, and I never dreamed that we could really hold them off till dawn. Writing now, it would be easy to imagine impressions which I never really experienced, but I can safely say that throughout the whole night I calmly regarded myself as a dead man. It seemed quite natural that I should be, and I can’t remember that I had the slightest regret. It even seems now that in some queer way I was distinctly happier and more tranquil than I had ever been in my life before. I felt nobler, mightier, than any human being on earth, and death seemed welcome as the only fitting end. Recalling some of my previous entries on the subject of war, I cannot understand my feelings on this occasion and can only repeat that it was so—perhaps something of

“The stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.”

It was therefore almost with a feeling of annoyance, of having been cheated of something, that I saw the first streaks of gray beyond Kemmel. I thought they would still make a last effort and waited, but we shivered in vain. In the semi-light we managed to get an odd shot at some of them who had been behind us as they went round to the front—we shot two or three more this way. Then I left my sergeant in charge and went back for a crawl to see what I could find. It was almost light now, and after about half an hour I came across a picket. They firmly believed we were all dead, and said so, and once more that odd feeling of annoyance returned. I remembered that during the night I had visualised the Brigade report on the whole business: “Their Lewis gun was heard firing until early in the morning but it was impossible to reach them.”

However, I went back, left some fresh men in the post and brought my fellows out, leaving orders for the dead to be brought down during the day if possible. As we went back past Brigade I dropped in to report. The General had apparently been up all night and looked very worried. He insisted on seeing the men. They were lying in the mud outside, bleeding and swearing—an awful but a sublime picture. He was deeply moved, and several times under his breath I heard him say, “Marvellous, marvellous, wonderful.” Afterwards, I was told that there were tears in his eyes when he went back into the dug-out. He has had an awful time, poor beggar.