Part 2

One dark night in November, a portion of his regiment was holding a certain position of some importance. The enemy made a fierce attack and the three officers in charge were struck down. Then Bent took command and, under his cool direction, the position was held until relief came. The young soldier had nobly earned the Cross which he afterwards received.

You will remember how Indian troops came to the help of Britain in the Great War and how some of them fought very bravely in Northern France. It is said that there was great rejoicing in India when news reached that country that two of the native soldiers had won the Victoria Cross.

These were Naik (_i.e._ Corporal) Darwan Sing Negi and Sepoy Khudadad, who were the first soldiers of India to receive the highest military honour that it was in the power of their Emperor to grant.

Naik Darwan Sing Negi was in action one night in late November near Festubert in France. Certain trenches had been taken by the enemy and his regiment was given the task of recapturing them. This was a very difficult piece of work, for it meant hand-to-hand bayonet fighting in narrow passages half filled with water, where a fighter had little elbow-room and, if he went first in an attack, could get very little help from his comrades.

The Garhwal Rifles, to which the Corporal belonged, rushed to the attack with fierce shouts and flashing eyes. Darwan Sing Negi was wounded more than once, but he stuck to his work with grim valour, fighting his way foot by foot along the narrow passages, and striking terror into the hearts of his enemies.

When the stern work had been well done, the company fell in and it was found that the Corporal was very badly wounded; but he received his reward a little later at the hands of King George himself, who first visited the British lines in December 1914.

Sepoy Khudadad was fighting in Belgium and was one of a machine-gun section which was told off to support the 5th Lancers. The place in which he fought was heavily bombarded by the enemy and the machine-gun company suffered greatly. In a short time one of their two guns was put out of action.

The six men who manned the second gun fought with splendid bravery until the Germans rushed the position in great numbers and struck down five of them. Sepoy Khudadad saw his chance to escape, but stayed behind for a time in order to make his gun useless before it fell into the hands of the enemy. Then he slipped away to a place of safety, to the great surprise of the Germans, each of whom probably thought that some one else had secured him! He was, however, very badly wounded; and when King George came over to France the Indian hero was too ill to receive at his hands the Cross which was afterwards given to him in London.

THE SPIRIT OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

The old story of Sir Philip Sidney might well be written in letters of gold upon the wall of every school in the Empire. It will be remembered that he fought at Zutphen in Eastern Holland during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and that he was mortally wounded in the thigh with a musket-ball. The immortal tale is told in the following words by his friend, Fulke Greville:--

“Being thirsty with excess of bleeding, he called for drink which was presently brought him; but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had eaten his last at the same feast, casting up his eyes at the bottle. Which Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his head before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man with these words, ‘Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.’”

Over and over again the brave fighters on the Western Front showed that the spirit of Sir Philip Sidney still lived and that it survived under conditions of horror and misery such as no soldier of Queen Elizabeth ever saw. Discipline and self-denial showed themselves in situations where the most severe judge might well forgive a man for thinking only of himself and his pressing and immediate needs. Here is one incident of the retirement from Mons.

Major Fawcett was in charge of two ambulance wagons and a water-cart, and saw with pity and anxiety that the poor wounded soldiers were suffering untold agonies owing to their long ride over rough and uneven ground. He therefore made up his mind to call a halt in order that the men might be refreshed with some beef-tea. The wagons were drawn up by the wayside, and the Major rode ahead to find some cottage or farm where the water might be boiled.

A few minutes after he disappeared from sight, a company of infantry came along. The men were weary, footsore, thirsty, and indescribably dirty; and as soon as they saw the water-carts drawn up by the side of the road, they crowded round them eager to quench their burning thirst.

Then an officer rode up to them and explained the situation. He said that there was very little water left in the carts and that it was badly needed for the wounded men in the two ambulances.

“I am thirsty myself,” he said, “and I’m awfully sorry for you fellows, but you see how it is; the wounded must come first.”

The reply was worthy of Sir Philip Sidney: “Quite right, sir; we didn’t know it was a hospital water-cart.” Then the thirsty men turned away and went on with their march.

There was the same Sidney spirit in Lieutenant Wynn of the Yorkshire Light Infantry, of whom one of his men wrote after the officer had died: “He was a gentleman and a soldier. The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the trenches, and we asked him if he would have a drink. He said, ‘No, drink it yourselves: you are in want of it,’ And then with a smile, he added simply, ‘We are to hold these trenches to-day,’” Self-denial and pride in duty! These were the marks of British officers and men in that time of fiery trial.

THE MESSENGERS

Some of the bravest and most daring of our men were those who carried the messages or dispatches; and many thrilling stories can be told of their adventures. One of the most exciting is that of four men of the Royal Irish Fusiliers.

A certain section of ground of about a quarter of a mile in width was swept by a fierce and continuous German fire. On either side of this open space were British troops, one section of which was in great danger of being surrounded by the enemy. The British officers on the other side saw the danger and wished to warn the company and instruct them to make a certain movement which would prevent disaster.

The buglers were ordered to give calls of warning, but these were either unheard in the din or were not properly understood. There was no way open but across that fire-swept space, and when other methods of sending warning had been tried and had failed, it was decided to send a dispatch carrier.

A call was made for volunteers for the dangerous task, and every single man in the company expressed his willingness to go. This was more than was wanted so coins were quickly produced, spun in the air, and by this boyish method the volunteers were thinned down to the number required. Then the men who had won the honour stepped forward.

The first in the line was given the message and made a desperate dash through the hail of bullets. He ran for a short distance, then tumbled over, and lay still. Two others advanced and commenced the race with death. One of them stopped to lift his wounded comrade, and the other ran on, only to fall in a few moments--dead.

A fourth man rushed out and raced across the zone of death. The bullets flew round him and his comrades watched him with tense anxiety as he seemed to dodge them until he came to a point at a short distance from the British trenches. Then he fell and lay still.

But the men in the trench had seen him and guessed that he had some message for them; otherwise he surely would not have set out on that desperate race with death. A number of them sprang forward as one man, eager to go to his help. They leapt “over the top” and commenced their own gallant race. In a few moments every man of the little party was wounded. But by this time the messenger was on his hands and knees crawling slowly and painfully towards the British cover.

Then a second rescue party came out, in spite of the bullets which seemed to fall thicker than ever, and in a short time they came up with him and were able to draw him into safety. The battalion was saved, for the required movement was instantly made which rendered the German efforts of no avail.

Dispatch carriers on motor bicycles had many great adventures during those stirring days, and many narrow escapes from death, while numbers of them made the last great sacrifice in the performance of their dangerous duty. One of these men was the means of saving a whole French regiment which was in close touch with a British force.

It was necessary to carry a warning to the French not to venture along a certain road where there was a German ambush. Signals were tried by men who paid for their daring in going out into the open by meeting their death from the bullets of German marksmen. The British were hidden in a wood, and when the signallers had failed to carry the necessary warning, a motor-cyclist sped out from the cover and raced at breathless speed along the road. He had not gone far before he was hit and tumbled over with his machine on top of him. A second messenger followed, but in a short time he too went down. A third man came out and began the race which he won after marvellous escapes. The message was safely delivered to the French officer, and the company of our Allies was saved.

The machine and clothes of the last messenger were riddled with bullets but he himself was quite unhurt!

THE STORY OF CORPORAL HOLMES

All true hearts go out to the man who risks his life to save a comrade. There were numberless instances of this supreme act of unselfish courage in the Great War; and one of the best of the earlier stories is that of Corporal Holmes.

He belonged to the 2nd Battalion of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, and he won the Cross for rescue work under heavy fire. He was only twenty-three years of age when his great chance came. Let him tell his own story[1]:--

[1] As reported in the _Daily Graphic_, with acknowledgments.

“We were at Le Cateau and the order had been passed to reinforce us at 11 a.m.; but the men were delayed, and we were still on the spot at 4.30 in the afternoon. Then the order to retire was given, but this did not reach my own particular detachment. We went on for another half-hour, and then one of our officers said that we must get back if there were to be any more of us left, for the Germans were very close to us and in much greater force.

“Just as I was jumping out, I saw a wounded man on the top of the trenches, and noticed that he was a comrade. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Freddie, save me if you can!’ he said. I looked at him and my heart stood still; for at that moment I had little hope of saving myself, let alone anybody else.

“Then I thought I must have a try, somehow. So I picked him up. But my equipment hurt him, for he was badly wounded. So I slung it off as fast as I could, gave him the fireman’s hold, and somehow carried him about 200 yards, with shrapnel spraying round us all the time. I thought over and over again that I was done, but I had to go on.

“After a bit we came to a few houses, and at the door of one of them a young woman was standing. When she saw my burden she said, ‘Put him in here,’ and I did so. I rested a few minutes and then went back towards the firing line. At first I saw nobody, but very soon I made out the Germans coming on in extended order. All the time shells were coming from their batteries behind. I reached the crest of a hill and saw a gun with its horses isolated.

“All around the gunners were lying--dead as far as I could see. But another man, a trumpeter, was not dead; so I took him up and stuck him on the limber. Then I started to drive off the gun.

“By this time the Germans had seen me and were advancing, shooting at me as they came. I struck at the horses with my bayonet, and off we went, and I never slackened until the sound of the German guns had died down. Then the horses dropped from exhaustion, and I found that the trumpeter was gone. I have never heard of him again.

“At the moment a few artillerymen came up, and I handed over the gun; and they took charge of me too. And that’s all there is to it. Lots of others deserve the V.C. as much as ever I did, and a good deal more.”

The reader must not take this modest hero at his own value.

THE MEN OF THE FIRST LINE

It was the pick of the British Army which was selected for the work of the firing line. Among these men there were deeds done daily and at times almost hourly which were deserving of the highest reward. And only a small number of these deeds of daring and devotion were ever reported to those whose duty it was to recommend the granting of medals. Apart from the actual fighting it was a severe trial of strength, nerve, and endurance to stay for any length of time in the front system of trenches at all.

Let us never forget the heroism of endurance in paying our tribute to the heroism of “the crowded hour of glorious life.”

During the first winter months of the war the life in the trenches which were made across open country was almost unbearable; and it was only made possible by continual use of the pumps. Within and without the ditch men sank to the knees and sometimes to the waist in water and slime. A few shelters of corrugated iron were set up here and there which gave a little protection and made possible the lighting of a fire.

One of the civilian visitors to the Western Front thus described the trench system:--

“The trenches are immense labyrinths, miles in extent, branching in every direction, a guide being always required in entering their mazes. Unpleasant surprises crop up at every point. The sniper is a constant danger, and cover from the enemy’s bullets is scanty enough. I myself passed through one of the communication trenches behind a long double wall of sand-bags from 3 to 4 feet high.

“This trench runs in serpentine fashion for miles through fields, roads, villages, houses, bedrooms, the latter mostly in ruins though much of the furniture is still there. The height of the sand-bag wall renders it advisable to proceed in a stooping fashion, bent almost double.

“Many of the passages cannot be safely used by day. I saw in one place the body of a horse which had lain in the same position for a long time; and yet it could not be taken away, for it was certain death for any one to attempt to move it.

“An officer said to me, ‘If you are tired of life try to move it.’ Through this dreadful lane of death soldiers were constantly passing and re-passing, perspiring, laughing, joking, and teasing one another; but the officers in charge did not joke. They were responsible for the lives of these merry, thoughtless boys, and many a growl was heard as a specially daring private failed to take due care of the life that was too precious to be thrown away to no purpose.”[2]

[2] From the _Sphere_, with acknowledgments.

Between the front-line trench system of the British and that of the Germans was the open space often spoken of as “No Man’s Land.” Across this space there was incessant firing of rifles and machine-guns, throwing of bombs and hand grenades, and the firing of bombs from trench mortars.

The attacks and counter-attacks on the trenches were of a grim character such as defies description; and the horror of the work was increased by the use of chlorine gas and flame-throwers. The Germans first began to use the dreadful gas round about Ypres, and the brave Canadian troops were some of the first to feel its deadly effects. The use of the gas by the Germans in one of their attacks upon our trenches is thus described:--

“When the gas cylinders were opened, the thick green mist came rolling towards the parapet from the enemy’s empty front trench, several hundreds of yards away. It looked like vapour rising from a marsh, and the wind was strong enough to carry it rapidly towards the parapet.

“The battalion had time to load and fire two rounds through the screen of gas before it came pouring over the sand-bags, penetrating into every crevice of the dug-out, and choking the men who lay there. It was so thick at first that objects three feet away could hardly be seen.”

At a later date the Germans began to make attacks under cover of flame-projectors. The liquid used was a mixture of petrol and kerosene and was thrown towards the trench in such a way that it was fired by an electric spark as it left the tube. Such were some of the horrors of trench life which were borne without complaint day after day by the men who held the post of honour, the long front line facing a clever and determined foe.

It may seem difficult to believe that there was a funny side to this dread business of death, ruin, and hatred. Yet there were many humourous incidents which were not missed by our cheery soldiers. One story tells of a poor private who had toothache very badly and was sitting by the roadside like the old woman who “went to the market her eggs for to sell.” By came--not “a pedlar” but a shell which exploded in the sufferer’s vicinity, but did not hurt him.

In fact it proved of great benefit to him; for he was so much “shocked” that he instantly lost his toothache.

On the first of April 1915 an Allied airman flew over the aerodrome of the French town of Lille which was in German hands. He dropped not a bomb but a football. The Germans ran for cover and watched the “bomb” strike the earth and then bounce to a great height!

They watched carefully to take notes for the Kaiser on the new “postponed” fuse. Only when the ball had rested for some time quite peacefully on the ground did they come out to read the inscription with which it was furnished, namely--“April Fool!”

The flying men on both sides in the fight on the Western Front had a great deal of respect for each other; and in some cases courtesies were exchanged between them which remind us of the olden days of chivalry.

If, for example, a machine was brought down within either of the opposing lines, it was the custom for the captors to drop a weighted letter over the enemy positions giving information as to the fate of the pilot and the observer.

One day, one of these letters fell within the British lines. It told the men of a certain section of the air service that one of their pilots had died the day before. The men at once prepared a wreath which was taken over the German lines on a fast monoplane. The machine was fired at by the Germans as usual; but the British pilot flew low and was able to drop the wreath in a suitable spot, whence it was carried by the Germans to the dead pilot’s grave.

During Christmas time in 1914 a very strange thing happened. At one part of the line on the Western Front the Germans came out of their trenches and met some of the British to wish them the compliments of the season! Small gifts were exchanged and there was some singing and merriment. Then the men went back to their trenches and the cruel war went on.

Stories are told of other instances of friendliness between the men whose business it was to kill each other as quickly as possible. It is said that during a lull in one battle a tin was set up on a branch half-way between the two opposing trenches in order that the men on both sides might try their skill in a sniping match.

There are several instances of football matches being arranged between men on the opposing “international” sides. In one case, the players were ready, but a ball could not be found. In another, all was ready to begin when the British colonel forbade the play, evidently placing no trust in the goodwill of Germans, and being anxious for the safety of his men. In a third instance the match actually came off and the British team was beaten by one goal.

At one point some British soldiers took their enemies some hot cocoa on a bitter wintry day. The shivering men would not drink it until the “Tommies” had first tasted it themselves!

LIEUTENANT LEACH AND SERGEANT HOGAN

These two gallant officers belonged to the Manchester Regiment which fought with special bravery on the Western Front. The former was only twenty when he won the V.C., in company with Sergeant Hogan who had seen service in the South African War.

The Manchesters were stationed at Festubert not far from Ypres and, near the end of October, their trenches were fiercely bombarded by the Germans and then rushed with the utmost violence. One morning, just before day began to break, and at the time when the courage of most men is at its lowest, the enemy made an attack in great numbers.

They climbed over the parapet of the first trench and the British were forced to fall back into the second, where they were quite able to hold their own. By this time the massed attack of the Germans had spent itself, and the Manchesters prepared to drive them out of their front trench as soon as they could.

At about nine o’clock, Lieutenant Leach left the second trench and crept out to discover what the Germans were doing. What followed may be partly gathered from his own very modest account which was afterwards published:--

“I found that they had occupied three out of four of the traverses. At eleven o’clock I went again and found that they had occupied the lot. Later, I called for Sergeant Hogan and for ten volunteers. I took the first ten men, and we crawled along the communication trench, which led into the right of the advance trench.

“Our idea was to push the Germans as far to the left as we could and then wait for them to attempt to get back to their own lines, and shoot them. After some time we managed to push them to the left traverse.

“As we crawled along we had to climb over the bodies of dead or wounded Germans. Gradually we drove the others along until they were in the left traverse as far as they could go. I was surprised then to hear a voice call in English, ‘Don’t shoot, sir!’ and there was one of my own men who had been with me in the morning. He told me that the German officer had sent him to say that they wished to surrender.

“We went round the corner, and there were the officer and about fourteen Germans on their knees with their hands up crying ‘Mercy!’ I told them to take their equipment off, and then run into our main trench. This they did, and I was surprised that their own friends did not snipe them for surrendering. Twenty wounded Germans also joined the others.

“I found that the Germans had captured two of my men in the early morning, and the German officer, who could speak English, had told them that they would have a good time when they were sent to Berlin as prisoners.”

The lieutenant’s story does not make it clear what was the nature of the “push” which was applied to the Germans to bring them in a huddled heap to the end of the left traverse. He really employed a very clever ruse which completely deceived the enemy.

He and his companion left the rest of their party some distance behind them and went forward alone to drive the Germans along the winding trench which they knew had a blind end. When they came to a square corner Leach put his right hand round and fired at the Germans without exposing his body, which a man with a rifle could not do. Meanwhile, Hogan, who was a little way behind him, was watching the parapet to ward off attacks from above.

When the two men had cleared one section in this manner, they took up their stand at the next corner where Leach repeated the treatment; while Hogan raised his cap on the end of his rifle to show his friends how far progress had been made, and prevent the trench being swept by their fire. The whole operation showed remarkable coolness as well as daring and resource.

WILSON, O’LEARY, AND MARTIN-LEAKE