Part 4

About the beginning of April old Beduys received, secretly, a letter from a relative in Frankfurt. The contents of the letter were such that the small pupils of the old man’s eyes dilated with fear. He hid the document away, and his temper for that day was execrable. That night he slept but little. Beduys lay in bed and pictured the sails of a windmill--HIS windmill--and he thought also of ten thousand francs and his own safety. He thought of the distance to the mill--a full two kilometres--and of the martial law which dictated, among other things, that he be in his home after a certain hour at night, and that his mill’s sails be set at a certain angle when at rest. Then he thought of Martha. Martha of the commercial mind. Martha the obedient. Yes! That was it, obedient! Hans Beduys rose from his bed softly, without disturbing his heavily-sleeping wife, and read and re-read his brother’s letter. One page he kept, and the rest he tore to shreds, and burned, bit by bit, in the candle flame.

High up on the hill stood the windmill--the Beduys windmill. Far over in the German lines an Intelligence Officer peered at it in the gathering dusk through a night-glass. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sails of the mill turned, and stopped for a full minute. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they turned again, and stopped again. This happened perhaps twenty times. The German made some notes and went to the nearest signalling station.

Five minutes later a salvo of great shells trundled, with a noise like distant express trains, over to the left of the mill.

There were heavy casualties in a newly-arrived battalion bivouacked not half a mile from the baker’s shop. The inhabitants of the village awoke and trembled. “Hurrumph-umph!” Again the big shells trundled over the village, and again. There was confusion, and death and wounding.

In his bed lay Hans Beduys, sweating from head to foot, while his brain hammered out with ever-increasing force: “Ten thousand francs--Ten Thousand Francs.”

In the small hours a shadow disengaged itself from the old mill, cautiously. Then it began to run, and resolved itself into a woman. By little paths, by ditches, by side-tracks, Martha reached home. She panted heavily, her face was white and haggard. When she reached her room she flung herself on her bed, and lay there wide-eyed, dumb, horror-stricken, until the dawn broke.

Jefferson’s Battalion finished a tour in the trenches on the following night. Jefferson marched back to billet with a resolve in his mind. He had happened to notice the windmill moving the night before, as he stood outside Company head-quarters in the trenches. He had heard the shells go over--away back--and had seen the sails move again. The two things connected themselves instantly in his mind. Perhaps he should have reported the matter at once, but Jefferson did not do so. He meant to investigate for himself.

Two days later Jefferson got leave to spend the day in the nearest town. He returned early in the afternoon, put his revolver in the pocket of his British warm coat, and set out for the windmill. He did not know to whom the mill belonged, nor did that trouble him.

An Artillery Brigade had parked near the village that morning. Jefferson got inside the mill without difficulty. It was a creaky, rat-haunted old place, and no one lived within half a mile of it. Poking about, he discovered nothing until his eyes happened to fall on a little medallion stuck between two boards on the floor.

Picking it up, Jefferson recognised it as one of those little “miraculous medals” which he had seen strung on a light chain around Martha’s neck. He frowned thoughtfully, and put it in his pocket.

He hid himself in a corner and waited. He waited so long that he fell asleep. The opening of the little wooden door of the mill roused him with a start. There was a long pause, and then the sound of footsteps coming up the wooden stairway which led to where Jefferson lay. The window in the mill-face reflected the dying glow of a perfect sunset, and the light in the mill was faint. He could hear the hum of a biplane’s engines as it hurried homeward, the day’s work done.

A peaked cap rose above the level of the floor, followed by a stout, rubicund face. A Belgian gendarme.

Jefferson fingered his revolver, and waited. The gendarme looked around, grunted, and disappeared down the steps again, closing the door that led into the mill with a bang. Jefferson sat up and rubbed his head.

He did not quite understand.

Perhaps ten minutes had passed when for the third time that night the door below was opened softly, closed as softly, and some one hurried up the steps.

It was Martha. She had a shawl over her head and shoulders, and she was breathing quickly, with parted lips.

Jefferson noiselessly dropped his revolver into his pocket again.

With swift, sure movements, the girl began to set the machinery of the mill in motion. By glancing over to the window, Jefferson could see the sails move slowly--very, very slowly. Martha fumbled for a paper in her bosom, and, drawing it forth, scrutinised it tensely. Then she set the machinery in motion again. She had her back to him. Jefferson rose stealthily and took a step towards her. A board creaked and, starting nervously, the girl looked round.

For a moment the two gazed at each other in dead silence.

“Martha,” said Jefferson, “Martha!”

There was a mixture of rage and reproach in his voice. Even as he spoke they heard the whine of shells overhead, and then four dull explosions.

“Your work,” cried Jefferson thickly, taking a stride forward and seizing the speechless woman by the arm.

Martha looked at him with a kind of dull terror in her eyes, with utter hopelessness, and the man paused a second. He had not known he cared for her so much. Then, in a flash, he pictured the horrors for which this woman, a mere common spy, was responsible.

He made to grasp her more firmly, but she twisted herself from his hold. Darting to the device which freed the mill-sails, she wrenched at it madly. The sails caught in the breeze, and began to circle round, swiftly and more swiftly, until the old wooden building shook with the vibration.

* * * * *

From his observation post a German officer took in the new situation at a glance. A few guttural sounds he muttered, and then turning angrily to an orderly he gave him a curt message. “They shall not use it if we cannot,” he said to himself, shaking his fist in the direction of the whirring sails.

* * * * *

In the little village part of the church and the baker’s shop lay in ruins. Martha had sent but a part of her signal, and it had been acted upon with characteristic German promptitude.

In the windmill on the hill, which shook crazily as the sails tore their way through the air, a man and a woman struggled desperately, the woman with almost superhuman strength.

Suddenly the earth shook, a great explosion rent the air, and the mill on the hill was rent timber from timber and the great sails doubled up like tin-foil.

“Good shooting,” said the German Forward Observation Officer, as he tucked his glass under his arm and went “home” to dinner.

COURCELETTE

“It was one of the nastiest jobs any battalion could be called on to perform; to my mind far more difficult than a big, sweeping advance. The First Battalion has been in the trenches eighteen days, on the march four days, and at rest one day, until now. No men could be asked to do more, and no men could do more than you have done. I congratulate you, most heartily.”

In the above words, addressed to the men and officers of the First Canadian Infantry Battalion, Western Ontario Regiment, Major-General Currie made it plain to all that among the Honours of the First Battalion few will take higher place than that which will be inscribed “COURCELETTE.”

On the night of September 20th, 1916, the First Battalion moved up from support to the firing-line, beyond the ruins of the above-mentioned little hamlet. For the past few days it had rained incessantly, and all ranks had been working night and day, in mud and slush, carrying material of all kinds to the front line. The men were soaked to the skin, caked with mud, and very weary, but they went “up-along” with an amazing cheeriness, for rumour had whispered that the regiment was to attack, and the men were in that frame of mind when the prospect of “getting their own back” appealed to them hugely. Although the enemy opened up an intense barrage during the relief, casualties were comparatively few, and by morning the First Battalion was, Micawber-like, “waiting for something to turn up.”

Three companies, “A,” “B,” and “D,” held the front line, with “C” Company in close support. The positions were to the east of Courcelette, opposite a maze of German trenches which constituted a thorn in the side of the Corps and Army Commanders, and which had for several days checked the advance and were therefore a serious menace to future plans. Just how great was the necessity to capture this highly organised and strongly manned defensive system may be gauged by the letter received by the Commanding Officer from the Divisional Commander on the eve of the attack. In it the G.O.C. expressed his confidence in the ability of “The Good Old First” to capture the position, and to hold it, and he added that it _must_ be taken at all costs--“if the first attack fails, you must make a second.” On the capture of this strong point hung the fate of other operations on the grand scale.

It was the key position, and it fell to the First Canadian Battalion to be honoured with the task of taking it.

Until two and a half hours previous to the attack (when the Operation Order had been issued, and final instructions given), the latest _maps_ of the German defences had been all the C.O. and his staff could work upon. Then, truly at the eleventh hour, an aerial _photograph_, taken but twenty-four hours before, was sent to Bn. Head-quarters with the least possible delay. This showed such increase in the enemy defences, and trenches in so much better shape to withstand attack, that the whole tactical situation was changed, and it became necessary not only to alter the operation order completely, but also to draw a map, showing the most recent German lines of defence. This was done.

It is difficult to single out for praise any special portion of a regiment, or any member of it, especially when _all_ the units have been subjected to intense and violent bombardment prior to attack, not to mention the activities of numerous snipers. One Company alone lost half their effectives through the fire of a “whizz-bang” battery which completely enfiladed their position. The Battalion and Company runners cannot be too highly praised--they were the sole means of communication--and risked their lives hourly, passing through and over heavily-pounded trenches, and in and out of the village of Courcelette, which was subjected to “strafing” at all hours of the day and night, without cessation. Tribute is also due to the carrying parties, who took from beyond the Sugar Refinery, and through the village, bombs, ammunition, water, and rations, leaving at every trip their toll of dead and wounded.

Zero hour was at 8.31 P.M., preceded for one minute by hurricane artillery fire. Previous to this the heavy guns had carried out a systematic bombardment of the German defences, yet, as was subsequently discovered, failing to do them great damage, and not touching the main fire trench at all.

At 8.28½ P.M. the Germans suddenly opened with a murderous artillery and machine-gun fire along our front. They had by some means or other discovered that an attack was about to take place. At this time the assaulting waves were in position, “A” Coy. on the left flank, “D” Coy. in the centre, and “B” Coy. on the right flank, while a Battalion Reserve of eighteen men--five of whom became casualties three minutes later--waited for orders a little in rear. These men belonged to “C” Company, the major portion of which had already been sent to reinforce the front line. All our guns then opened up with an electric spontaneity. To such an extent that one charging company was forced to halt a full minute in No Man’s Land until the barrage lifted a few hundred yards in rear of the German lines, to catch their reserves coming up.

Among the _Fragments from France_ there is a Bairnsfather picture entitled “We shall attack at Dawn” and “We do!” The situation much resembled it.

One could hear nothing but the vicious “splack” of high explosive shrapnel, the deep “Krrumph” of 6-inch and 8.2’s, “coal-boxes” and “woolly bears”; great herds of shells whined and droned overhead, and now and then emerged from the tumult the coughing, venomous spit of machine-guns. One could see myriads of angrily-bursting yellow and orange-coloured flames, and all along the front dozens of green Verey lights, and red, as the Germans called frantically on their artillery, and at the same time showed that some of their own batteries were firing short (a thing which always gives great joy to all ranks). Now and then a deeper series of booms announced a bombing battle, and the air was heavy with the odour of picric fumes and thick with smoke.

On the left flank “A” Coy. met with stubborn opposition. Four machine-guns opened on their first wave, cutting it to pieces, as it was enfiladed from the flanks. The Company reformed at once, and charged again. This time they were met by a heavy counter-attack in force. In the cold words of official phraseology, “This opposition was overcome.” It was here that two very gallant officers were lost--Lieut. B. T. Nevitt and Major F. E. Aytoun--while leading their men. The last seen of Lieut. Nevitt, he was lying half in and half out of a shell-hole, firing his revolver at the enemy who were almost on top of him, and calling to his men to come on. Major Aytoun’s last words were, “Carry on, men!”

“B” Coy., on the left flank, met with little opposition, attained the whole of their objective, and established communication by patrol with the troops on their right flank, a difficult operation. Here Lieut. Unwin, a splendid young officer, laid down his life, and Lieut. MacCuddy, who had carried on in the most exemplary manner, was mortally wounded. This Company captured a German Adjutant from whom much valuable information was obtained. Thoroughly demoralised, his first words were: “Take me out of this, and I will tell you anything, but anything.” On this German’s reaching head-quarters he amused every one by saying: “I come me to the West front September 22nd, 1914, as a German officer. I go me from the West front September 22nd, 1916, Heaven be thanked, as a German prisoner. For me the war is over, hurrah!”

In the centre “D” Coy. also attained their objective and captured a trophy, in the shape of a Vickers gun (which had been converted to German usage). This gun was taken by Lieut. J. L. Youngs, M.C., who bombed the crew, which thereon beat a hasty retreat, leaving half their number killed and wounded. This was one of the best pieces of work done individually in this action. Major W. N. Ashplant was wounded here, at the head of his men, and is now missing, and believed killed.

Bombing posts were thrown out at once, and manned by Battalion and Company bombers, who, time and again, repulsed German bombing attacks. “A” Coy. linked up with “D” and “D” Coy. with “B,” while the Lewis gun sections worked admirably, but one gun being lost, despite the heavy artillery fire. The whole line was at once consolidated. Hundreds of German bombs, Verey lights and pistols, many rifles, and quantities of ammunition were captured, and also forty prisoners, the great majority of whom were unwounded.

“C” Coy.’s reserve was almost immediately used up, a company of the 4th Bn. coming up in support, at the request of the Commanding Officer of the First Battalion.

“Your attack was so vicious,” declared a prisoner, “that no troops could withstand it.”

“Too good troops”--this from a tall, fair member of the Prussian Guard--“better than we are!”

The Germans opposed to the First Battalion were picked troops, among whom the iron-cross had been freely distributed.

On capturing this network of enemy lines to the east of Courcelette, the First Battalion discovered that what was at first deemed a small stronghold, was in reality a formidable position, held by the enemy in large numbers. Not only was there a deep, fire-stepped main trench, in which they had dug many “funk-holes,” but also a series of support and communication trenches, and numerous bombing posts.

During the thirty hours following the capture of this ground, numerous counter-attacks took place, all of which were repulsed with heavy enemy losses. Bombing actions were frequent along the whole line, and at least two attacks were made in force.

A small post, held by two men, on the right flank of “D” Coy., to communicate with “B,” accounted for six Germans in the following manner: Early in the morning six of the enemy advanced with their hands up. Our men watched them closely, albeit they called out “Kamerad” and were apparently unarmed. The foremost suddenly dropped his hands and threw a bomb. Our men thereupon “went to it” and killed three of the Germans, wounding the remainder with rifle fire as they ran back to their own lines.

At dusk on the 23rd the Germans tried another ruse before attempting an attack in force. Two of them were sent out, calling “Mercy, mercy, Kamerad,” and as usual with their hands up, and no equipment. But the officer in charge saw a number of Germans advancing behind them, and at once ordered heavy rifle and machine-gun fire to be opened on them. This, and bombs, resulted in the attack being broken up completely. “B” Coy. dispersed several bombing attacks, and “A” Coy. broke up a heavy attack, as well as bombing attacks. Fog at times rendered the position favourable for the enemy, but not one inch of ground was lost.

Every man of the fighting forces of the First Battalion was engaged in this action, and much valuable assistance during consolidation and counter-attack was rendered by the Company of the Fourth Battalion sent up to support. For over thirty hours after the assault the regiment held on, heavy fog rendering relief in the early hours of the 24th a difficult undertaking, all the more so in view of the intense and long-continued barrage opened by the enemy during the hours of relief. In fact, during the whole tour of the First Canadian Battalion in the Courcelette sector, the regiment was subjected to intense and incessant fire.

When the remainder of the First Battalion marched out to rest, with Hun helmets and other souvenirs hanging to their kits, they marched with the pride of men who knew they had done their bit.

The Corps Commander rode over to congratulate the Commanding Officer and the regiment, and such terms were used from the Highest Command downwards that the “Old First” knows and is proud of the fact, that another laurel has been added to the wreaths of the battalion, the brigade, the division, and the Canadian Army.

We have but one sorrow, one deep regret, and that is for Our Heroic Dead.

CARNAGE

There is a little valley somewhere among the rolling hills of the Somme district wherein the sun never shines. It is a tiny little valley, once part of a not unattractive landscape, now a place of horror.

Half a dozen skeletons of trees, rotting and torn, fringe the southern bank, and the remnants of a sunken road curve beneath the swelling hill that shields the valley from the sun. Flowers may have grown there once, children may have played under the then pleasant green of the trees; one can even picture some dark-eyed, black-haired maid of Picardy, sallying forth from the little hamlet not far off with her milking-stool and pail, to milk the family cow in the cool shade of the trees and the steep above.

But that was long ago--at least, it seems as though it _must_ have been long ago--for to-day the place is a shambles, a valley of Death. Those who speak of the glory of war, of the wonderful dashing charges, the inspiring mighty roar of cannon--let them come to this spot and look on this one small corner of a great battle-field. Within plain view are villages that will have a place in history--piles of broken brick and crushed mortar that bear silent, eloquent testimony to the Kultur of the twentieth century. Round about the land is just a series of tiny craters, fitted more closely together than the scars on the face of a man who has survived a severe attack of small-pox; and here and there, scattered, still lie the dead. No blade of grass dare raise its sheath above ground, for the land is sown with steel and iron and lead, and the wreckage and wrack and ruin of the most bitter strife.

Even those who have seen such things for many months past pause involuntarily when they reach this valley of the shadow. It is a revelation of desolation--the inner temple of death. In that little space, perhaps three hundred feet long and a bare forty wide, lie the bodies of nearly a hundred men, friend and foe, whose souls have gone on to the happy hunting ground amid circumstances of which no tongue could give a fitting account, no pen a fitting description.

Once a German stronghold, this place passed into our hands but a short while since. Two guns were tucked away in under the hill, and the infantry, suddenly ejected from their forward position, fell back on them, and taking advantage of a pause strengthened their position, and brought up reinforcements. Thereupon our guns concentrated on them with fearful results, although when the infantry swept forward, there were still enough men in the deep, half-filled in trench to put up a desperate resistance.

It is not difficult to read the story of that early morning struggle. The land is churned in all directions, two of the bigger trees have fallen, and now spread out gnarled branches above the remnants of some artillery dugouts. Pools of water, thick glutinous mud--both are tinged in many spots a dark red-brown--and portions of what were once men, lie scattered around in dreadful evidence.

But for his pallor, one might think that man yonder is still living. He is sitting in an easy attitude, leaning forward, one hand idle in his lap, his rifle against his knee, and with the other hand raised to his cheek as though he were brushing off a fly. But his glassy eyes stare, and his face is bloodless and grey, while a large hole in his chest shows where the enemy shrapnel smote him.

Corpses of dead Germans are piled, in places, one over the other, some showing terrible gaping wounds, some headless, some stripped of all or part of their clothing, by the terrific explosion of a great shell which rent their garments from them. In more than one place old graves have been blown sky-high, and huddled skeletons, still clad in the rags of a uniform, lie stark under the open sky.

Papers, kits, water-bottles, rifles, helmets, bayonets, smoke goggles, rations, and ammunition are scattered everywhere in confusion. Some of the _débris_ is battered to bits, some in perfect condition. Shell-cases, shell-noses, and shrapnel pellets lie everywhere, and there arises from the ground that peculiar, terrible odour of blood, bandages, and death, an odour always dreaded and never to be forgotten. In one German dug-out three men were killed as they lay, and sat, sleeping. Some one has put a sock over their faces; it were best to let it remain there. Yonder, a Canadian and a German lie one on top of the other, both clutching their rifles with the bayonets affixed to them, one with a bayonet thrust through his stomach, the other with a bullet through his eye.