CHAPTER II

THE ATTACK

On the morn of the 8th of April, reveille was sounded at 4:15 A.M. as everything had to be packed up. All the surplus kits were loaded on transport wagons. Every officer and man was busy looking after his personal effects and cleaning up the billets, for everything must be left in as good shape and order as when we moved in. The boys were in high spirits and glad of the opportunity to demonstrate again the quality of the New World troops. At about 9:00 A.M. the bugle sounded and the battalion fell in. Each platoon was carefully inspected. Our acting commanding officer, Major R----, spoke a few words to the whole battalion, telling us that we would uphold all traditions of the Canadian Army, and that he was sure our battalion would prove to be one of the best in France. He felt certain we would gain all our objectives. He then wished us the "best of luck" and, as it was his turn to remain out of the line, he handed the command over to the acting second in command of the battalion, Major M----.

It was a bright day and the roads had commenced to dry up. For a short distance, our battalion marched along making very slow progress, as the highway was being used by motor transports, most of them carrying ammunition for the "Big Push." Behind a few of these there were some big guns, ever coming forward. The road was alive with excitement--the very atmosphere reeked with it. Every one felt the crisis was at hand. As we moved slowly along the road in detachments of platoons in columns of fours, or two deep, our progress was in consequence extremely slow. Our guides had been sent out to find out the best cross-country road to reach our brigade assembling point. Each platoon had its own guide. We were led by them off the main road across country to the eastern slope of Mount St. Eloi which we reached at noon of the same day.

We halted and took off our equipment to await for dusk. Other platoons were continually arriving. The men had their dinner, and then made themselves as comfortable as possible, some went to sleep and others wrote letters, many for the last time.

By four in the afternoon battalions of our brigade and of other brigades had arrived and were thickly scattered along the slope of Mount St. Eloi. Some bands were playing. A short distance away from us at the foot of Mount St. Eloi a large Y.M.C.A. marquee was being well patronised by our boys. After the various brigade bands would stop playing, I could hear faintly the soft tones of the Y.M.C.A. organ mingled with the voices of the boys singing a hymn.

We had our supper at 6 P.M. and again inspected our platoons most carefully. The gas helmets had to be examined thoroughly to see that they were in perfect condition, that the goggles were not cracked or broken and that the gas fumes could not penetrate through any part of the mask. All the officers' watches were carefully synchronised from brigade time. The small box respirator was put on in the alert position. Every man had to show that he had his iron rations and extra rations to last for two days.

After inspection, it was fast approaching dusk. At 7:45 P.M. we formed up and moved off in detachments of platoons at distances of 100 yards.

We marched up the slope of Mount St. Eloi. A little over half way, we came to a bush road. This we followed until we reached the main road. This road led us through part of the badly shelled little town of Mount St. Eloi. As we reached the top of the summit, on the right of the road could be seen the ruins of the church and monastery of Mount St. Eloi. The monastery had been founded by St. Eloi in the year six hundred and forty and reconstructed in the eighteenth century. Previous to the present war, only the facing walls of the church were standing, but the Germans demolished these walls by shell fire as well as the surrounding buildings, formerly occupied by the clergy and civilians. Mount St. Eloi Church, a very prominent object on the landscape, we had used for an observation post.

It was now 8:30 P.M. and quite dark. We started to descend the slope. As I looked ahead of me, I could see the German white flares, also their green and red rockets going up, and could see the bursting of the shrapnel and its flash, and hear the thunder of both ours and the enemy's artillery.

It was an awe-inspiring spectacle. To the right of the road the ammunition column men on mules were hauling to the various artillery dumps large and small shells, fodder for hungry guns that were to give us victory the next day. As we passed these men they wished us the "best of luck," shouting some friendly remarks such as "We are working like h--- for you boys; see that you give Fritz h--- to-morrow!"

We left the main road and started across open fields until we reached at right angles the Arras-Bethune road, directly opposite was the entrance of the Aux Reitz communication trench. A few hundred yards to our left, along the Arras-Bethune road stood once the little village of La Targette, and on the opposite side, Neuville St. Vaast. Now nothing remained but masses of fallen masonry caused by the continuous bombardments both by the Allies when these towns were occupied by the Germans, and then by the Huns when they were driven back, and the Allies occupied them.

The Aux Reitz communication trench was what we called an ingoing communication trench. The leading platoon had started up the communication trench--my platoon came next. As I was crossing the road at the head of my platoon, now in single file, I formed a mental picture of what I saw before me. It was about 10 P.M. and pitch dark. Our shells were bursting in the German trenches and wire entanglements. On our right forward flank, the Germans were signalling by means of green rockets. They were an exceedingly pretty and spectacular display of fireworks, as these green rockets would go up and, after attaining a certain height, they would burst and a tail of green stars would appear.

The Germans very often use their golden spray rocket for the S.O.S. signal, but they are liable to change from time to time, as is also our habit.

Here and there I could see fires where the German ammunition dumps had been blown up by our shell fire. Then I would suddenly hear the quick hissing sound of German shells upon our right and left flanks along the Arras-Bethune road. The Huns were shelling our back area.

Our battalion scout officer, Lieutenant B----, who had preceded us, was directing each platoon from the top of the communication trench, past the various intersections of the C.T.[1] Lieut. B---- was very much exposed and in a more dangerous position than any of us who were in the trench, but he did not seem to mind it. I could hear above me the swish, swish, swish of the German shells and the rat-tat-tat of their machine guns. As the machine gun bullets struck the top of the trench above us, small clods of earth would fall in our midst.

As previously mentioned, the Aux Reitz communication trench had a regular maze of trenches branching off from it. At the intersection were signboards on which were painted the names of each trench and where they led to. Quite a number of the trenches were without these signboards. They had probably been knocked off the side of the trench in some manner. Nevertheless, our scout officer guided us correctly in the intense darkness.

Our C.T. was about seven feet deep in some places and five feet wide, but this varied. It was the usual zig-zag formation. Under our feet in some places were trench mats.[2]

We had proceeded up the communication trench for some 300 yards when word was passed along to me from the rear to double in front, as the entrance of the communication trench was being shelled by the Huns and that there were some casualties due to the congestion. As the whole brigade was coming up in single file and each man had to run across the exposed Arras-Bethune road to get into the communication trench, they were anxious to obtain the protection from shell fire that the trench would afford. I passed the word along to the platoon commander of No. 1 platoon, which had the desired effect. We started at a steady double march, bending under small culverts, through little rivulets of water, slipping and sliding over the muddy trench mats when we found them under our feet. Ofttimes we would suddenly find ourselves up to our hips in muddy water.

A considerable number of telephone wires crossed our C.T. Some sagged and were in line with our faces. In the darkness they were hard to see, and if one was unfortunate enough to get caught by the wire under his chin he would have good cause to remember it. Word was being continually passed along as obstacles were encountered, such as, "Wire overhead," "Wire underfoot," "Step down," "Step up," etc. This information was appreciated by those in the rear. After doubling for about 500 yards, word was passed along to me that the "line was broken." This meant that we had left behind us some of the boys who could not run as fast as those in front. This usually happens to the section of Lewis gunners who have their gun equipment to carry, which is much heavier than what the men have to carry in the other sections. We therefore had to halt for a few minutes until they caught up to us. At last we reached the end of our trench. To the right and left, we could see the boys on sentry duty, holding the front line trench. On the fire step men were sitting or lying down trying to get a few minutes' sleep. These were the men who had to hold the front line trenches at all costs. We were what is commonly known as the "storming troops."

By the time we had reached the front line trenches, approximately 300 yards from the German front line, their white flares were going up in profusion, and while these flares were up, it was almost as light as day. We passed down the lines the usual caution, "Be sure when the flare light breaks to keep your body perfectly rigid and your face down as you go over No Man's Land to the jumping-off trench."

Someone passed the word from the rear that the jar of rum which is allotted to each platoon and which is usually in charge of the platoon commander had been ditched (thrown away). I looked around for my batman to whom I had entrusted it, and I was informed he had gone ahead over No Man's Land with Lieutenant B---- in order to select my position in the jumping-off trench. When last seen he had the jar of rum with him. The rum is usually given out at "stand to" both in the morning and evening, one hour before dawn and one hour before dusk. After being in the wet and cold, it both braces and stimulates the men.

While we were crouching and doubling over the ground from shell hole to shell hole, one after the other German white flares would go up and burst. We were seen by the Huns, who, probably thinking it might be a raiding party, turned their machine guns upon us. Those who happened to be outside of a shell hole fell flat, and awaited for orders. All this time our shells were dropping upon the German wire entanglements and front line trenches, which were then about 250 yards away from where we were out in No Man's Land.

The German machine guns were searching out the whole of this territory. For fully one hour we were glued to the ground.

As the "Zero Hour" was 5.30 A.M. we had lots of time to reach the jumping-off trench, yet, I could overhear remarks in a low tone of voice about the rum. It was still worrying the men. They were quite used to the machine gun bullets, and their only thought was how they might be cheated by fate of a small tot of rum before going "over the top."

I was then in a shell hole that was very shallow. As I looked over the lip of it, I saw someone making his way in short rushes towards me. The man I saw was Lieutenant B----. He was trying to locate me amidst all the shell holes. I went over to meet him. He told me that everything was all right and that the battalion had only four casualties who were taken out of the line. He then gave me exact directions to my place in the jumping-off trench.

There was a lull in the firing at this time, so I passed the word behind to the boys to advance and follow me closely.

Just then, the Germans opened up with machine-gun fire, and word was passed up for the stretcher bearer. That meant a man wounded and at this time it was very awkward. I could not spare my stretcher bearer, as we were going to advance, and again I could not allow a wounded man to die for want of attention. Neither could I endanger the lives of the men in my platoon more than was necessary for that of one man. However, I pointed out to the stretcher bearer who had crawled from a shell hole near by, his location on the ground and gave him an idea where he would find our platoon in the jumping-off trench. I told him if the man could walk to give him first aid if necessary, but if he could not walk, to see that word would be passed back to the firing line in the rear and have them send out stretcher bearers.

We crawled for a distance, and as there were no German white flares going up during this interval, we doubled up in a half crouching position until we reached and tumbled into our jumping-off trench. As I looked at my luminous watch, I noticed it was exactly midnight. We were packed like sardines in this little trench not more than 2-1/2 feet wide by four feet. But that mattered not--we were nearing our goal.

I was reminded by the boys that they had not seen the rum carrier, my batman Lamb. I was also anxious to see him, so I passed the word along to my right and left flank that if anyone did see him, they were to tell him where I was located. A few minutes later, as a German white flare was sent up, I saw a figure crouching along the trench. It was Lamb, and under his arm he had the jar of rum. I heaved a sigh of relief, and Lamb at that particular moment was a very popular man. I could hear the boys passing the glad word down the line, "Good old Lamb has got the rum! Lamb's got the rum!"

I made room for Lamb to get beside me in the trench. The Huns then began shelling our front line trenches in the rear of us with "Minenwerfers," "rum-jars," and "fish-tails." The latter are short range trench shells that have a high trajectory and make considerable noise when they explode. I could feel the hot air as they went over my head.

Our guns were shelling the German trenches, so that we were between both fires without any overhead protection. The Germans, never dreaming for a moment that we were so close to them, kept on shelling to the rear of us. They imagined we were still in the front line trenches. We carefully posted sentries and warned them to listen for any noise, such as hammering on the faucets of gas drums, as the wind was favourable for the Germans to attempt a gas wave attack.

I began to think how many of us would come through this show, for I knew we had a tough proposition before us. I then remembered that my stretcher bearer had not returned, so I told my platoon sergeant to find out where he was. A little later, he appeared above the parados and got in beside us in the trench with his stretcher.

Too much praise cannot be given to the stretcher bearers. They are unarmed and many of them are killed. The moment a man is wounded, a stretcher bearer rushes to his assistance; no matter how heavy the bombardment may be, he is in the thick of the fight attending to the wounded and dying. All men in the ranks know the old familiar cry, "Stretcher bearer, stretcher bearer, on the double." Then we know it is blighty for someone; it may be a mere scratch, or it may mean death.

I had often gone over No Man's Land at night, and looked over it through my periscope in the daytime, but this was going to be my first time "over the top" in daylight. I did not feel afraid, yet I was naturally anxious as to what I should feel like, and also how my platoon would act under the ordeal. No man but one who has gone "over" can describe or try to make anyone realise the feeling. One wishes to get it over quickly; the time seems to drag until that moment, and then it seems to fly.

Suddenly, I was aroused from my reverie by a voice that sounded between us and our own firing line. I listened, and heard the same voice shout out these startling words, "Where in h--- is the end of this damned ditch?" The voice was clear and distinct and betrayed no sign of nervousness or fear. The Huns were strafing our front lines, we all knew he was not a soldier, therefore, he must be a civilian, and we wondered why he was out here. Then again he would have called a trench a trench, and not a ditch. I heard one of the boys say, "Well, he must have some nerve, whoever he is!" and then I heard another say, "I'm going to take a peep at the man." Another said, "He may be a German spy." I could see it was up to me to do something, so I told my platoon sergeant to take charge and gave instruction to the men to keep their heads down below the parapet.

With my batman I cautiously proceeded in the direction of the voice. Just then, I saw a civilian with a steel helmet on his head and a small box respirator on his chest. He was about 30 yards away from me and appeared to be carrying a machine gun. I raised my Colt automatic pistol and was ready to fire; the batman had also drawn a bee-line on him with his rifle. I called to him to come forward with his hands up and to drop what I thought was his gun, or I would kill him. He shouted back, "Don't shoot, friend, don't shoot. I'm a moving picture man and an American; I am going to take moving pictures of you fellows as you go 'over the top' and get the Germans on the run. I feel quite proud to be with you boys."

I went over to the shell hole and, by the aid of my luminous prismatic compass and the flares of the Germans, I examined his papers and found them in order. It appeared that he had been following a battalion up the communication trench. As they started to double forward, he had been left behind. He was determined to see the show through and be in the thick of it, taking our pictures as we proceeded to advance with our barrage in the attack. He was certainly a very cool customer. Unarmed, he was taking all kinds of risks in order to take the pictures of the boys as they went over. He told me the battalion he was supposed to be with, so I gave him one of my men as a guide and told him where to go.

If this is a sample of the Americans who have gone over to France to fight with us, then all I can say is that the Boche will have a hard time when the boys from the United States of America go "over the top."

I returned to my place in the trench and told the boys about the movie man. It certainly amused them. Lamb in the meantime commenced to dig with his entrenching tool foot holes in the trench for me. I noticed he had done the same thing for himself. All the other boys did likewise. This was to facilitate our getting out of the trench quickly at the last moment.

It was now four o'clock, still very dark, and I decided this was the best time to give the boys their tot of rum. This was welcome news indeed. It is the duty of every platoon commander to personally issue the regulation allowance of rum to each one of his men. As there was not sufficient room to allow passageway along the trench, my batman and I jumped out and worked our way along both flanks of the platoon. We served each man with his allowance of this beneficial fluid. I was glad when this task was over as it was slow work, and at any moment I expected we might be spotted by the Huns, especially as they were sending up large numbers of white flares. We had to assume all kinds of rigid, grotesque positions until the flares died out.

The Huns are great on fireworks. It is very seldom we send up a white flare. The Huns seem to have an unlimited quantity. They give us all the light we require--very often too much. Their nerves are on edge, as they are in constant dread of our raiding parties. I was glad to get back to my place in the ditch, as the American called it.

I looked at my watch and noticed it was 5:20 A.M. It was raining slightly. Our boys in the front line were no doubt "standing to." German white flares were still going up, also a few of their green and red rockets. I passed the word down the trench to "fix bayonets."

I could faintly see the men near me. They seemed to be impatiently looking at their watches; daylight was fast approaching. I kept looking down at my watch; again as I looked up I noticed the men's faces. It was hard to make out the lines, but I could see that their lips were tightly drawn with grim determination to do their duty at all costs! I overheard a remark made by one of the men to his companion and it was, "If I don't come out of this show, Bill, tell my mother I died game!" His friend's reply was, "I will! If I don't, and you do, tell mine the same!" I felt a thrill of pride when I overheard those words which gave me an idea of the calibre of the men fighting with me.

I placed my whistle in my mouth, ready to blow, my pistol loaded and at the safety, ready to be used in a second if required.

Exactly at 5:30 we heard the swish, swish, swish of our shells pass over our heads on their journey of destruction and defeat to the front line of the Germans. I had trouble to make the boys wait the one minute that was necessary. Finally I blew my whistle, I knew they could not hear it, but I pointed in the direction of the enemy and everyone was "over the top" like a shot. I cannot describe how I felt. My blood ran quickly, my head seemed to throb, and my heart felt as if it was going to come through my chest.

The screaming from the large number of shells that our artillery were firing over our heads was terrific. Our barrage was intense. No human being could live in that hell of fire. I saw the frantic appeals of the Germans who were sending up their S.O.S. signals, besides rockets of every colour of the rainbow.

But their appeal was too late. We had surprised them. No power on earth could save them; our barrage was perfect and we worked under it steadily. The training over the tapes was partly forgotten. We were eager to reach the Hun trenches; we were out for blood! God, how awful it seemed! Men fell around me gasping, sputtering; but we still moved on relentlessly.

When within fifty yards of the barrage, I signalled to the men to extend. I didn't know how many men I had lost. I saw my platoon sergeant fall just after we had gotten over the top. As they fell, other men took their places from other units. These men had lost their officers and placed themselves under me. I directed them and we moved again.

Our barrage played four shells per minute on a lateral space of 20 yards. The intense bombardment in front of us sent German limbs, bodies and earth all sky high.

Then our barrage lifted to the German support trench, which was called the Fringe Trench. As our barrage lifted, we rushed forward, and immediately took our first objective. Here we halted for one minute to allow our barrage to play upon the Fringe Trench without exposing ourselves unnecessarily. This was in accordance with orders.

One of the men who joined my platoon from another battalion met in this trench an old schoolmate who was in my platoon. As they were close to me, I overheard the following dialogue as they shouted to one another:

My boy shouted to the other man, "Hello, Tom, what are you doing out here?"

The reply was: "I like to fight, Bill, as I always did when I was at school, and being a single man, I came out here to Hunt the Huns." On asking Bill what brought him out, he gave the startling reply that he was married. He had married a widow with a large family. He liked peace and he therefore came here to get it. Each of them had what he wished for!

We followed on until we were within fifty yards of our barrage, which had to play five minutes on this trench. At such a distance, the air is hot and oppressive. I signalled to the boys not to go too fast for fear of moving into our own shell fire. As the barrage lifted, we doubled and jumped into the Fringe Trench, our second objective. There was no opposition. Quite a number of German dead lay about the trench.

As we continued our advance from the Fringe Trench to gain our third objective, I noticed a German soldier advancing towards us. He appeared to be about 18 years of age, and had his steel helmet on. His gas mask box was thrown over his shoulder. He did not appear to be armed and, as he advanced with his hands up I thought I heard him shout what I presumed to be "_Kamerad, Kamerad_!" How he escaped our barrage was a miracle. I passed him on to the rear.

Suddenly I was surprised to hear machine gun bullets strike the ground around me. Two of my boys fell face forward, wounded. We immediately all fell flat and I at once thought that someone had blundered. I naturally thought it might be possible that it was our own machine gunners, as we had not observed any machine gun emplacements as we advanced.

I cautiously crawled around on my stomach, and I saw not far in our rear the top of some German steel helmets. I knew at once that we had passed by and overlooked a German machine gun emplacement.

I divided the platoon into two sections. We crawled back to the right and left flank of this machine gun emplacement. Our moppers up, one company of the 22nd French Canadian Battalion, had not time to get to this point. When within striking distance, we fired a few rifle grenades and threw some bombs. Then all was silent from that quarter and we knew that the bombs had done the trick. I went over to this German machine gun emplacement. It was a "Mebu" type and our artillery had knocked the top off it. I found that we had exterminated the whole squad with the exception of the machine gun officer, who was badly wounded. He was half reclining and half kneeling on what was left of his machine gun. He struggled to his feet and came to attention as I reached him. He expected that we would shoot him, but we of the Anglo-Saxon race play the game fair. So I had him sent to the officer who had command of another company that had to look after prisoners. We had now lost time; we turned, doubled forward and gained our third objective. Our barrage had lifted for two intervals of 100 yards and was now playing upon the _Zwischen Stellung_ trench, our battalion's final objective.

We had now some distance to go. As we proceeded with our advance, I heard a loud shout from the boys, who excitedly pointed to the rear. But this time, it was with a feeling of relief that I saw four tanks looming up in the distance. They were firing away beyond us at the retreating Huns. Our barrage was still playing upon the _Zwischen Stellung_ trench. We moved along quickly. I noticed the boys were coolly smoking cigarettes.

All at once the barrage lifted. We rushed for the German trench. This was the first time we had met with resistance from the Germans, but we had followed so closely to the barrage that we were upon them before they realised it. What little opposition we did have, we quickly brushed aside.

Finally, I located my objective, the _Grenadier Graben_. As I was proceeding up this trench with the men I had left, I heard some shouting. It seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. I looked on the side of the trench and then saw what appeared to be the entrance of a dugout. It was almost blocked by earth caused by our artillery fire. I got the men to cautiously clear away the earth and then heard the familiar cry of "_Kamerad, Kamerad!_" My knowledge of the German language is limited, but I knew this meant surrender.

Very soon we cleared the entrance and a German officer appeared. He spoke in German. As I did not understand German, I tried him in French. This language he spoke fluently. He held his hands up and I asked him to come out, which he did. He was an officer of the 263rd Bavarians, a tall, handsome man with blue eyes, fair hair, and a small fair moustache. He asked me if he could speak to an officer. I at that time was wearing a private's tunic with the insignia of my rank on my shoulders. I told him I was an officer.

Then he informed me that he wished to surrender himself and twenty-two men who were still in the dugout. He knew that resistance was useless. He told me that our barrage had been terrible, that their own salvation was to get into their dugout, but that he thought the Germans would get Vimy Ridge back again by June. He omitted to say in what year. He then handed me over his pistol, and also asked me if I would accept his binoculars as a souvenir, which I did. I then told him to tell his men to drop their firearms and to come out in single file with their hands up. As soon as we had them all searched, I turned them over to the officer in charge of prisoners who gave me a receipt for one officer and twenty-two men.

I heard later that they safely reached the prisoners' cage at La Targette, from where they would be sent to the usual detention camps. The moppers up had by this time reached a trench near by and I noticed that if the Huns did not surrender promptly, no chances were taken to allow them to act treacherously. A few Mills' bombs thrown down the German dugouts would soon do the work with the aid of the Lewis machine gun fire.

About 4 P.M. I commenced to dig a small narrow trench in front of the _Zwischen Stellung_. While the boys were digging, my corporal, now acting platoon sergeant, asked me if I would like a drink of hot coffee. I replied, "Yes," and at the same time said, "What is the use of asking me, when you know we could not get it on account of the attack." However, I was agreeably surprised to hear him say, "There is plenty of coffee, sir, enough to do the whole platoon if you are not afraid of being poisoned as it has been left by the Germans in one of their dugouts." I therefore asked an officer from a nearby platoon to keep in touch with my men and informed him I would be back in a few minutes, as everything was quiet at that time. Taking my batman and three men, I was led by my acting platoon sergeant around shell craters and shell holes to the _Zwischen Stellung_ trench until we came to the mud-blocked entrance of a German dugout. We cleared away a little more of the mud. I noticed to the right of the entrance a large bell and a horn very much like a Claxton horn. These, no doubt, were sounded by the Huns when we made our gas wave attacks upon them.

We descended the staircase, which was at an angle of about 55 degrees, until we reached the bottom. There we came to a door with a sliding window. As we turned a brass door knob and pushed open the door, candles were burning on a desk and I saw a room about 12 feet square, which had a wooden floor, a neat little rug under the desk, a few chairs, a comfortable looking spring bed in the corner with the softest of woollen blankets. In another corner was a small stove with a well filled coal bin in the rear of it. A wash basin with running water, electric light fixtures, telephone, and the wooden walls were papered and burlapped. Over the desk was a picture of the Kaiser. In addition there were German spiked helmets and caps, uniforms, pistols, swords, binoculars, maps, one Iron Cross, postcards, magazines, newspapers.

In the drawer of the desk, I found a small Eastman Kodak, an English dictionary, and a large quantity of note paper engraved with the emblem of the Iron Cross. I presume the winners of the Iron Cross were allowed to use this kind of stationery. In addition, I found the photograph of an N.C.O. of the 263rd Bavarian Regiment. This man's body I subsequently found in a shell hole directly on top of his dugout. He had evidently fought to a finish, as his rifle lay by his side with magazine empty. His gas helmet was suspended by a strap from his shoulder. On his tunic was the Iron Cross Ribbon. This photograph and ribbon I have in my possession at the present time. Later on, when we buried the body, we found a small .22 calibre Colt automatic pistol fastened to his belt.

To the left of the staircase was another door which led along a passageway, both sides of which had rows of bunks. With the aid of the candles we had, I could see that there were several other exits or entrances, similar to the one we had come down. As I could not make out any signs of daylight from above, I judged that the entrances had been blocked by the effect of our barrage.

As we neared what I then thought was the end of this passage, I saw some of the men of my battalion. They told me that they had permission to break away for an hour. These men were seated around a table having a good meal. They stood up as I approached. I told them to carry on.

The Germans had used this room as a dining-room. There were several German candles burning briskly on the table. To the right was a small kitchen. Here one of the boys was frying German bacon and eggs.

It was not long before I had a very good meal, a little of everything. In the German water bottles which were hung up along the walls we found cold coffee, the aroma of which as it was heated was something to be remembered. My menu consisted of bacon and eggs, jellied meat, sausage, cakes and candies. There was also wine, mineral waters, Spanish cigars and a large number of red packages of gold tipped cigarettes marked "Puck."

Needless to mention I brought a good feed back to my platoon.

This German dugout we marked by sticking a Hun rifle and bayonet upright on top of the parapet with a German steel helmet over the butt of the rifle. We could see it from some distance, otherwise it would have been very hard to have found this dugout again at that particular time, as the ground was simply one mass of shell holes. You could not place a table eight feet square anywhere in this locality where it would not slide into a shell hole. As the sergeant was making the landmark on the top of the dugout, I noticed the body of the Hun whose photograph I had. This dugout was named the "Berliner House." The following day we made it our company headquarters. It accommodated all the men of our company who were not on duty.

As I looked at the bodies of the Germans, who had been killed in the attack, I remarked that they were all clean shaven. Their equipment and uniforms were good and in first class condition. Large quantities of small arm ammunition done up in cloth bandoliers were nearby and large numbers of Mauser rifles lay here and there on the ground with the jetsam of the battlefield.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Communication trench.]

[Footnote 2: Trench mats are usually 8 feet long by 2-1/2 feet broad and are simply flooring boards about 2 inches broad which are nailed about two inches apart to a strong scantling 3 x 3 inches thick.]