Part 3

Before the outbreak of the Great War, George Wilson was selling newspapers in the streets of Edinburgh. He had already served as a private in the Highland Light Infantry, and, being in the Reserve, was called out at the beginning of the great struggle. In a very short time he was fighting in France with his old regiment.

In the middle of September 1914, the H.L.I. were hard at work trying to check and drive back the Germans not very far from Paris. During the fighting in one quarter, some of our men were greatly worried by a German machine-gun which was posted in a wood; and Private Wilson made up his mind to do what he could to silence the gun.

Taking another private with him, he set out on his errand. The two men were able to come quite close to the enemy’s position, and then, all at once, Wilson’s comrade fell over with a bullet in his body.

This did not check Wilson in the least, and he went on alone. After a while he was able to find cover behind some trees. Here he was quite hidden, and had a good view of the gun which had worried his mates.

From this position he picked off, one by one, the entire crew of the machine-gun which included an officer and six men. Then he ran forward and took over the gun, together with a supply of ammunition. For this piece of splendid work Wilson received the Victoria Cross, which he well deserved.

His exploit was somewhat like that of Michael O’Leary of the Irish Guards, except that the latter captured two machine-guns single-handed. He was a lance-corporal when the great chance came to him, and the story of how he won the Cross is told by his own quartermaster-sergeant in the following words:--

“My company was ordered from our trench to keep up a hot rifle and machine-gun fire across the German trenches and points of cover. After the rain of bullets and shrapnel had been kept up for twenty minutes, No. 1 Company was let loose on the left. They came out of the trenches with a yell, bayonets fixed, and went for the enemy at the double. They had from 100 to 150 yards to travel, and they went at a tidy pace, but were easily outstripped by O’Leary. He never looked to see if his mates were coming, and he must have done pretty near even time over that patch of ground.

“When he got near the end of one of the German trenches, he dropped, and so did many others a long way behind him. The enemy had discovered what was up. A machine-gun was O’Leary’s mark. Before the Germans could manage to slew it round, and meet the charging men, O’Leary picked off the whole five of the machine-gun crew.

“Then leaving his mates to capture the gun, he dashed forward to the second barricade which the Germans were quitting in a hurry and shot three men. O’Leary came back as cool as if he had been for a walk in the park, and with two prisoners.” The prisoners were taken because O’Leary’s shot was exhausted!

A soldier or sailor cannot win the V.C. a second time; but if a man who holds the medal does another very brave deed he is given an extra clasp. This distinction was awarded to Captain Martin-Leake of the Royal Army Medical Corps for continuous bravery during the early months of the war.

In our very proper admiration for the fighting men, we are a little apt to overlook the work of that branch of the army to which Captain Martin-Leake belonged; and this is somewhat unjust.

No section of the British forces did better, more skilful, or more heroic work than the Medical Corps. After a fight, parties of stretcher-bearers would be quickly on the scene no matter how great was the danger to themselves. Many of these brave men were struck down while engaged in this work of mercy.

The wounded were tenderly lifted, placed upon stretchers and given first-aid. They were then, without the loss of a moment, taken in motor ambulances from a collecting station to the base hospitals far away from the firing line.

Captain Martin-Leake had won his Cross in the South African War for great bravery shown in tending the wounded under fire; and while engaged in this splendid work he had been wounded no less than three times.

He did the same kind of work in the fighting during the Great War. Over and over again, he went out into the open, careless of shell and rifle fire, to bring in the wounded or render first-aid. Some of the men whom he rescued had been shot in storming the enemy’s trenches, and lay quite near to the parapets; but the brave captain brought several of them back from the very grasp of the foe.

THE CANADIAN SCOTTISH

At times during a battle a body of comrades seem to act together as one man. Their spirit and discipline are so good and they each forget themselves so completely in the effort of the fight that the foe cannot stand before them. When a brave effort of this special kind is made, Crosses are not granted, but the name of the battle is worked on the flag or colours of the regiment.

Never was such a distinction better earned than by the Canadians at Ypres.

In the spring of 1915, the Germans were making desperate efforts to get to Calais, as a step on the road to London. They were so eager to get there that they began to use poison gas against our men and their friends, the French and Belgians.

The Canadians were among the first to feel the effects of that horrible, choking, blinding gas. The use of it gave the Germans an advantage at first; and it seemed likely, for a time, that they would be able to make a way through the British lines. It was the Canadians who stepped into the gap and helped to save Calais. The people of Britain and the Empire can never forget that splendid service.

At another time there was a desperate fight in a wood near Ypres from which the Canadian Scottish drove the Germans one moonlight night. The story, as told by an officer, forms another fine page in the history of the British Army. Here it is:--

“It was just a few minutes before midnight when we got to a hollow which was about 300 yards from the wood. The moon came out now and then, but we could have done without her, for farm buildings were blazing all round. The fire from the Germans in the wood had now ceased, and we had a spell of silence that could be felt.

“Whispered orders were given to fix bayonets and were obeyed in a flash. Our coats, packs, and everything were dropped and we advanced in light order. When we reached a low ridge in full view of the wood, a storm of fire was loosed upon us from the undergrowth skirting the wood. At once the word was given to charge, and on we rushed, cheering, yelling, and shouting, straight for the foe.

“At first they fired too high, and our losses were small. Then some of our men began to drop, and the whole front line seemed to melt away, only to be instantly closed up again. Cheering and yelling, we jumped over the bodies of the wounded and tore on. Of the Germans with the machine-guns not one escaped, but those inside the wood stood up to us in fine style.

“The struggle became a dreadful hand-to-hand conflict; we fought in clumps and batches, and the living struggled over the bodies of the dead and dying. At the height of the conflict, while we were steadily driving the Germans before us, the moon burst out. The clashing bayonets flashed like quicksilver, and faces were lit up as if by limelight.

“Sweeping on, we came upon lines of trenches, which had been hastily made and could not be well defended. All who held out were bayoneted; those who gave in were sent to the rear.”

The officer spoke modestly as all British heroes do; but no words could convey a full idea of the desperate character of the fighting on that moonlight night. The Canadians knew perfectly well what depended upon them in that frantic struggle round about the poor battered town of Ypres; and they nobly performed the duty laid upon them.

Remember that these men were not fighting, directly at least, for the safety of their own homes, which were thousands of miles away in peaceful Canada; nor for their wives and children, mothers, or sweethearts, who had sent them out so bravely from their homes in the western land. They might have stayed at home, and no one would have had any right to call them slackers or shirkers.

But they did not stay at home. The “Old Grey Mother” of them all was in danger--the Britain to whom it was their pride to belong. So they came racing across the seas as quick as steam could bring them; and after some months of training in the Old Country, they went out to fight and win and die.

THE CANADIAN SPIRIT

When the Canadian troops arrived at the Western Front Sir John French wrote of them, “The soldierly bearing and the steadiness with which the men stay in the ranks on a bleak, cold, and snowy day are most remarkable.” Other leaders spoke of their high spirits and love of fun; others again of their cleverness in finding out new ways of doing things, and, later, of tricking the enemy.

The men from overseas soon became comrades with the Britons from the Motherland. “The British Tommy,” wrote a young Canadian, “is splendid. He is alive to his fingertips. He is full of devices to deceive the enemy; he knows all kinds of tricks; he hasn’t a mean streak in him, and he’s a first-class fighting man. He uses his brains. It has been a revelation to me to find him as he really is.”

Briton and Canadian, therefore, were prepared to think the best of each other; and the feeling of brotherliness with which they began their stern work carried them shoulder to shoulder through many a terrible day and yet more terrible night.

The Canadians, after their custom, treated their officers in a free-and-easy manner which seemed at first somewhat strange to the ordinary British soldier. But when the time for duty came there was no difference between Canadian and British discipline. But there was always a standing dispute among Canadian officers and men in the heat of action as to who should go first into the stiffest part of the fight.

At one battle a Canadian captain was leading his men in single file through a dangerous place, when a non-commissioned officer stepped forward and said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but bomb-throwers always go first.” Then he ran on ahead before the officer could speak to order him to go back.

There are numberless stories of Canadian pluck and resource. In one engagement, Lieutenant Campbell, leading a small number of men, made his way into the front trench of the Germans, and passed along for some distance until he was held up by a barricade. They were under very heavy fire, and in a short time only two of the party were left, namely, the lieutenant and Private Vincent.

The two men, however, kept on fighting. They had a machine-gun, but it was useless because they had no tripod to stand it on. So Vincent stooped down and the officer strapped the gun upon his back. It was worked with its human tripod for some time, but at last a German bombing party entered the trench and Campbell was wounded to death. Vincent, however, succeeded in dragging the gun away to a place of safety.

Our men were, naturally enough, very anxious to prevent their guns from falling into the enemy’s hands and being used against themselves. A British gun, lost near Ypres, was afterwards recovered in a surprising manner.

One bright morning a German aeroplane was seen circling gracefully over the headquarters of a British division. Soon the shrapnel was bursting round it; but the airman flew too high to be hit, and he and his pilot seemed to the thousands of watchers to be thoroughly enjoying the risks of their morning flight.

Then a British machine appeared at some distance away, and it was not observed by the German airmen until it was close upon them. The enemy turned to escape but the sound of an aerial machine-gun soon told the watchers that the fight had begun. The German made a spirited reply, until his gun went wrong and his pilot was wounded. Then his machine fell rapidly to the ground and came to earth not far from the Montreal Battalion, while the British machine rose again to avoid the attentions of the German gunners.

The German airman was able to get clear of the wreckage of his machine and creeping to the Canadian trench gave himself up, saying that his pilot was dead. Our men were anxious to capture the machine but the German gunners were equally anxious to pound it to pieces. The Canadians, however, were able to gather the fragments of the wreck, and among them found the machine-gun which had been lost near Ypres some six months before.[3]

[3] The story is fully told, with many others of great interest, in _Canada in Flanders_, Part II., by Lord Beaverbrook. (Hodder and Stoughton.)

It was a French-Canadian officer, Major Roy, who performed one of the bravest deeds of the early part of the war in Flanders. A huge shell from a trench-mortar fell into a trench full of men. The gallant major picked it up to hurl it over the parapet, but his foot slipped and the shell exploded as he held it! There was little doubt that with men like these the Canadian spirit would carry the troops of the Dominion very far, as indeed it did, in the months of terror and glory which were to follow.

A young Canadian, Private Smith, was merrily singing a song during a bombing attack by some of his comrades when a mine exploded near him and he was almost completely buried in the falling earth. When he had dug himself out he found that he had lost his rifle and looked about to find some useful work.

He was soon made aware that the supply of bombs was running short, and the idea struck him that he might crawl round among the dead or wounded bomb-throwers and collect the bombs which they had not used.

Without wasting a moment, he moved carefully round on hands and knees and made his collection, hanging the bombs at various points on his own person. The missiles were duly delivered by the smiling “carrier,” to the great delight of his comrades who cheered him on in his very useful but risky work. He made five collections in all and safely delivered his precious burden to the men who were attacking the German trenches. His clothes and cap were riddled with bullets, but he was not hit, because, as he explained, he kept always “on the move.”

At last he could find no more bombs, and his company was forced to fall back before the terrible German fire. One of the bombing party was seen wounded, standing on the parapet of the German front-line trench. He had thrown every bomb he carried, and then weeping with rage at being unable to do more, he flung earth and stones at the enemy until the end came.

THE ADVENTURES OF THE _KENT_

The long and glorious history of the British Navy contains many a story of a fight against great odds. We think with pride of the little _Revenge_ which fought fifty-three Spanish ships, and only gave in when its gallant captain Sir Richard Grenville was wounded to the death. And this story of the time of Queen Elizabeth is only one out of many in the records of our Navy.

Now it was a splendid and glorious thing for Sir Richard Grenville to fight so bravely. But it would have been a foolish and cruel thing if Queen Elizabeth had _ordered_ him to fight single-handed against ten, or even five, Spanish ships.

In much the same way, it would be a splendid thing if two of our ships were to fight half a dozen Germans which had caught them unawares. But it would be very foolish of the rulers of our Navy to allow such a thing to happen if it could be helped. They must make as sure as they can that any group of our ships will not be outnumbered, or meet with an equal number of vessels of a newer type and carrying heavier guns.

Both these things happened off the coast of Chile in South America on November 1, 1914. On that day four German cruisers met three British cruisers and a battle took place. The German ships were of a newer type and carried much heavier guns than the British, so that the latter were “outclassed”; and though the British fought with great bravery against the heavy odds, two ships were lost.

A strong British squadron was at once got together and placed under the command of Admiral Doveton Sturdee. It was sent off in secret, and people at home knew nothing about it until news of victory came.

Turn to the map of South America and find out the group of islands known as the Falklands which lie off the south-east coast. These islands are part of the British Empire and at Port Stanley, the chief town, there is an important wireless station.

A message was sent from London to the governor of the Falklands to the effect that a German squadron was cruising near, and might, at any moment, make a raid upon the islands. The German ships, under Admiral von Spee, did indeed come to the Falklands intending to destroy the wireless station and take possession of the islands. But they found Admiral Sturdee awaiting them, and on December 8th the Battle of the Falklands was fought.

Sturdee in the _Invincible_ gave the signal,--“God save the King.” The firing began shortly after noon at a range of about nine miles. When night had fallen four of the five German ships lay at the bottom of the ocean, and two thousand of the enemy had died in doing their duty. The other enemy warship, the _Dresden_, made her escape. The loss on the British side was only eight men.

In connection with this battle the story of the cruiser _Kent_ is worth preserving, while one of the stokers won the praise and reward of his leaders for a deed of coolness and bravery. The _Kent_ was ordered to chase and engage one of the German cruisers and set out on the trail. But before long she found herself running short of fuel.

This fact was reported to the captain and though it was a very serious matter he was not put out. “Very well then,” he said, “have a go at the boats.” The word was passed along, and some of the men unslung the boats and broke them up with hatchets and crowbars. Then the pieces were thickly smeared with oil and carried below to the stokers whose stock of coal was now almost at an end. Soon the ship’s boats were blazing in the furnaces and the _Kent_ raced along.

But this was not enough. Still more fuel was needed, and officers and men cast their eyes around in search of something more that would burn. Some one pointed to the wooden ladders; and in a few moments they had been taken down and sent below to the stokers.

Other men wrenched off the doors of cabins and ward-rooms. Young officers ran laughing to their cabins, and brought out chairs, tables, chests of drawers, and other pieces of furniture. These were quickly passed below. The stokers worked with a will and by and by a hearty cheer told them that the German was being overhauled.

Then the guns began to speak and after a brisk exchange the enemy cruiser was seen to be on fire and about to sink. She hauled down her colours, whereupon the _Kent_ ceased firing and closed in to save life if possible. But the German ship heeled over and went down like a stone, only twelve men being rescued by the British.

While these exciting things were happening Sergeant Mayes showed coolness and bravery which saved the lives of many of his comrades and probably saved his ship. A shell burst and set fire to some powder charges in the bomb-proof shelter. A flash of flame went down the hoist into the passage leading to the place where the shells were kept. Sergeant Mayes picked up a charge of powder and threw it into the sea.

He then got hold of a fire-hose and flooded the shelter, in this way putting out the fire in some empty shell bags which were burning. These things were done in a few seconds, but they were indeed fateful moments; for the firing of the magazine was the cause of the loss of more than one gallant vessel during the Great War.

THE LANCASHIRE LANDING

Again and again in our fighting history, a regiment acting as one man has performed a “deed of signal valour and devotion in the presence of the enemy,” such as is required for the winning of the Victoria Cross. There is, however, as we have seen, no V.C. for a regiment; but in one case at least during the Great War a regiment selected by vote the names of those men among them who were thought most worthy to wear the Victoria Cross.

The First Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers landed on Beach W in the Gallipoli Peninsula on April 25th, 1915--a day to be marked and remembered by all lovers of heroic deeds. And having won immortal glory by their valour they--or the survivors from among them--selected for the V.C. three of their number, namely Private Keneally, Sergeant Richards, and Captain Willis. The story of the landing, however, concerns the whole regiment.

Beach W was in a bay enclosed by hills through which a narrow gully running down to the sea opened out a break in the cliffs. The Turks had expected a landing on this beach, and had made every possible preparation to repel the invaders. There were mines in the sea and mines on the land. At the edge of the water there was a thick fence of barbed wire.

There were trenches and gun positions on the slopes overlooking the beach; and the guns were so cleverly hidden that the gunners on our warships, even when helped by the airmen, could not find them out. Behind each heap of sand and each tuft of brushwood a Turkish sniper was concealed.

“So strong, in fact,” wrote the British general, Sir Ian Hamilton, “were the defences of Beach W that the Turks may well have thought them impregnable. And it is my firm conviction that no finer feat of arms has ever been achieved by the British soldier--or any other soldier--than the storming of those trenches from open boats on the morning of April 25.”

Very early in the morning, the Lancashires under Major Bishop were embarked in boats from the cruiser which had brought them to the scene of action. As soon as they were ready, the British battleships began a terrific bombardment of the Turkish positions. This lasted for an hour, and at six o’clock eight lines of four cutters, each drawn by a small steamboat, made for the beach. When shallow water was reached, the steamboats cast off and the cutters were rowed towards the shore. Meanwhile, the enemy had made no sign.

But as the first boat grounded upon the beach, a furious fire was opened upon it from rifles, machine-guns, and pom-poms. Of the first line of fearless men who advanced upon the barbed-wire hedge along the shore nearly all were swept away. There was a pause, and the watchers on the ships asked each other, “Why are our men resting?” not knowing that most of the brave fellows had found the last great rest of all.

But the pause was only for a few moments. In a very short time the Lancashires were hacking doggedly at the bristling hedge of wire. Meanwhile, others of their comrades had been able to land on some rocks at the end of the bay; and a few had already found out some of the Turkish machine-gun positions and had accounted for the men who held them. Others had got round the ends of the wire hedge and were now steadily replying to the enemy’s fire.

But the struggle on the open beach was still going on. Captain Willis and a few men were able, after desperate efforts, to break a way through the wire and then ran forward to take cover behind a sandbank. When the men looked at their rifles they found the barrels and locks clogged with sand; but they coolly set to work to clean them, while the bullets whistled and sang around them. At last the rifles were ready for use and they did good service while other men of the Lancashires were engaged in landing on the beach.