Part 7

The Allies wished to clear the Germans from the mining district of Northern France of which Lens is the chief town. But their way was barred by the enemy who held Vimy Ridge. In 1915, the French tried to capture this ridge and fought for it with desperate bravery; but they were not able to drive out the enemy from his strong position. In the spring of 1917, the British took up the task; and it was the Canadians who were the chief means of completing it.

Very careful preparation was made before the fighting began. The British staff officers got some plasticine and made a careful model of the ridge and the places round about it. This model was made to scale, chiefly from the observations of the airmen. It showed the trenches, roads, tracks, railways, and streams, as well as all the ups and downs of the country.

Staff officers and those who were to lead in the attack on Vimy Ridge spent many hours in studying this model. Such careful plans were made for the attack that when the fighting did take place the losses on the British side were light, sad as they were. After the ridge had been won, the model was compared with the ground, and was found to be wonderfully correct.

Vimy Ridge itself was a piece of ground about 600 feet above sea level at its highest point. The Germans had turned it into a kind of fortress of very great strength. The western face of the ridge formed a more or less gentle slope, while the eastern side was steeper. Away to the east stretched a wide plain like a prairie; and it was in order to command this plain with artillery that the British wished to take the ridge.

They knew well enough how heavy was the task before them. The Germans had not held the position for more than two years without making the best of it as a means of checking their foes. The slopes were cut up by lines of trenches, one behind the other. The face of the hill had been tunnelled deeply; and in these tunnels were large numbers of German soldiers who had made themselves quite at home in their burrows. They had very comfortable quarters in Vimy Ridge, and thought they were going to stay there for a long time. All over the slope guns of various kinds were placed ready to fire upon an attacking party.

It seemed madness to send any attacking party against such a fortress. But the British commanders knew their work and they knew their men. They had a large store of munitions which had been collected for a long time; and they had numbers of the newest and heaviest guns placed in position for playing upon the western face of the ridge.

Besides they had ready a strong force of some of the best British troops, men who had seen long service and who had learnt many lessons in the art of war. Among these were some of the brave Canadians who were to have the post of danger for that great day.

The attack was made in the early hours of Easter Monday. For some time before the word was given to attack, the big guns had kept up a terrible fire upon the slopes of the ridge. The noise of the bombardment was deafening and was quite sufficient to make the enemy crouching in their trenches and tunnels quake with fear--as indeed many of them did.

Speaking of this terrible gunfire, a German prisoner afterwards said, “You English have never been through such a bombardment. You don’t know what it means. We do. You’d have to give in yourselves.” This fire had been kept up by the British guns for no less than a fortnight. Then the British leaders thought the time had come for the bayonet attack.

At half-past five on Easter Monday morning the word was given and the Canadians went at once “over the top.” It was a wet morning, and it was not long before they looked like scarecrows in a prairie cornfield; but they swung on laughing and cheering and joking. The rain was on their backs which was to their advantage. “Our first stretch,” said one of them afterwards, “was about 600 yards of fairly level ground of what we call ‘No Man’s Land.’ Next we came upon a maze of trenches in which we found nothing but dead men and smashed guns.

“Our first objective lay far behind these trenches, and we reached there within an hour, climbing all the way up a gentle slope. On our left front stood a village, with a haystack standing in a field to the south of it. That haystack was known to be a strongly prepared machine-gun position.”

The speaker was wounded not long afterwards and was carried off to the dressing station and thence to London. He did not see the rest of the fighting of that day. But he heard with pride how his comrades had cleared the fortress of Vimy Ridge of its German defenders; how they had pushed on in the face of machine-gun and rifle fire and had done stern work with the bayonet; and how they had finished their work completely before night came on.

The last point of the ridge to be captured was known as Hill 145. Here the Germans had a very strong machine-gun position, but after stern fighting they were at last cleared out, and the Canadians went on to finish their task. They swept over the top of the ridge and down the steep eastern slope, clearing away the last parties of the enemy and taking many prisoners.

The fighting at Vimy was afterwards said to be “the most successful single day’s work in all the operations on the Western Front since the beginning of the war.” It was successful for three reasons. First, because the artillery prepared so well for the attack; second, because the officers had learnt their lesson from that useful little plasticine model; and third, because the Canadians were among the bravest of the brave.

HEROES OF A HOSPITAL SHIP

For many months the steamer _Lanfranc_ had been employed in bringing wounded from France to England; but one evening in the spring of 1917 she fell a victim to a torpedo launched by a German submarine.

She had a crew of more than a hundred, and when she left France she had on board between 300 and 400 British wounded and about 160 Germans. Many of the latter were wounded and were being taken to England for treatment.

The vessel was struck about half-past seven in the evening when the sea was quite calm. There was a crash which shook the ship from end to end, and then a loud explosion. In a very short time the engines stopped, and the ship heeled over as if about to sink. Then she righted herself and remained steady on the surface of the water; but the torpedo had done its work and the ship was slowly sinking.

As soon as the crash of the torpedo was felt the German prisoners were thrown into a panic of terror. They rushed madly to the lifeboats, and it was only by threatening them with revolvers that the British officers were able to drive them back. They were sternly told to wait their turn, and knew that they must obey; but some of them showed the most abject fear and went down on their knees to beg for mercy.

Meanwhile, the crew and the hospital staff had quietly taken up their posts and begun the work of rescue. The wounded who were too ill or too maimed to help themselves were brought up on deck and carried first to the boats. The others remained on deck, and though many of them were sadly crippled they tried to stand to attention.

The vessel was slowly sinking and help had been summoned by wireless. But as yet there were no rescuers in sight and the first business was to get as many as possible into the boats. It was not, however, a matter of “everyman for himself.” Among the British, at least, it seemed to be “every man for his comrade.” Those who afterwards told the story of that perilous hour said that they had never seen so many examples of cheery helpfulness among British soldiers.

But this is not surprising, for the good comradeship of British soldiers is well known all over the world. There is still greater praise due to those men on the _Lanfranc_. They rose to the greater height of heroism in showing pity and mercy to the comrades of the men who had attacked a hospital ship in defiance not only of the rules of war but of the higher law of humanity.

It would have been almost excusable if in that hour the British soldiers had turned upon the Prussians or had at least shown some feeling towards them. But instead of any sign of anger or contempt we are told of the most gentlemanly kindness and courtesy.

“The behaviour of our own lads,” said a British officer, “I shall never forget.... Those who could lend a hand scurried below to help in saving friend or enemy. One man whom I saw had a leg severed and his head was heavily bandaged. He whistled to a mate to come and help a Prussian who was unable to move owing to internal injuries. Another man limped painfully along with a Prussian officer on his arm, and helped the latter to a boat.

“It is impossible to give adequate praise to the crew and staff. They were all heroes. They remained at their posts until the last man had been taken off. Some of them took off articles of their clothing and threw them into the lifeboats for the benefit of some of the sick and wounded. The same spirit showed itself as we moved away from the scene of the outrage. I saw a sergeant take his tunic off and make a pillow for a wounded German. There was a private who had his arms around an enemy trying hard to make the best of an uncomfortable position.”

The men were at last picked up by French vessels and were quickly made as comfortable as possible. It must not be forgotten that loss of life was prevented by the splendid behaviour of the men in this crisis. It is often quite as heroic to stand steady as to dash forward into the “jaws of death.”

ALONG THE “V.C. WALK”

On June 8th in the third year of the war the _London Gazette_ contained a list of no less than 29 names of officers and men to whom the King had awarded the Victoria Cross. The stories of “most conspicuous bravery” which followed the names in this list showed that the coveted Cross had never been lightly won. Heroism had now become a habit, but British soldiers seemed to have entered into a rivalry as to the amount of bravery and endurance which they could show.

Take the example of Major Lumsden in his determined efforts to bring away six captured German field guns. At first it was necessary to leave them in dug-out positions about 300 yards in advance of the position held by our troops. The enemy kept the captured guns under heavy fire, but Major Lumsden undertook the duty of bringing them within our lines. It ought not to be necessary to dwell upon the high value of such service.

He got together four artillery teams and a small body of infantry, and led them out into the open. In a short time one of the teams was badly knocked about, so the major left the others in a sheltered place and led the infantry to the spot where the guns were hidden.

In defiance of rifle, machine-gun, and artillery fire he managed to get away three of the guns, which were then attached to the teams and rushed back to our lines. After waiting for a time until other teams could be brought out Lumsden sent back two more guns, although the enemy were now quite near to him and their rifle fire was at very short range. Indeed the Germans were able to make a rush and blew up the breech of the last gun so as to prevent the British from using it against them at a later time. But Lumsden’s men drove them back again and the last of the six guns was brought in triumph within our lines.

Then there was Captain Ball of the Royal Flying Corps who had no less than forty-three German aeroplanes and one balloon to his credit. This officer’s activity and resource in the air were truly marvellous. On one occasion, when flying alone, he fought six enemy machines, on another five, and on another four, and in each fight he brought down at least one of his opponents.

One day the British airmen were engaged in bombing an enemy train when one of their pilots was forced to come down within the enemy’s lines. Lieutenant Macnamara saw German horsemen approaching him and set out to the rescue. He planed down under heavy rifle fire, and in spite of a wound in his thigh landed at about 200 yards from the damaged machine. The pilot quickly climbed on to the lieutenant’s machine and an attempt was made to rise.

Owing to his wound, however, Macnamara was unable to keep his machine straight and it turned over. As soon as it touched the ground, the two men got out from the wreckage, set fire to it, and ran to the first aeroplane, which they were able to start. And although he was weak from loss of blood the lieutenant was able to take the machine a distance of seventy miles to the aerodrome. For this gallant and adventurous rescue he was awarded the Victoria Cross.

Sergeant Harry Cator, of the East Surrey Regiment, was busily making secure the first line which had been captured from the enemy, but was greatly worried by a certain machine-gun. One after another of his men fell dead or wounded until the brave sergeant could endure it no longer. So, with only one companion, in full view of the enemy, and under heavy fire, he went out across the open to attack the machine-gun and put an end to the annoyance.

After a few steps across that fire-swept zone, the sergeant’s companion was killed; but Cator went doggedly on, picking up a Lewis gun and some ammunition on the way. In time he came to one end of the enemy trench and worked himself into a position where he could cover the machine-gun which he had marked out for his own. Nor was it long before the whole of the gun crew as well as the officer were accounted for. Then the sergeant went over to the gun, put it out of action, and brought away the officer’s papers. But before he returned to our own lines he went back to his Lewis gun and covered a bombing party which was able to work along the trench and to capture 100 prisoners and five machine-guns.

Sergeant Sifton of the Canadian Battalion did similar work during a trench attack. He charged a machine-gun single-handed, killing all the crew, and then gave up his life in holding off an enemy attack while his own platoon was gaining a desired position. Another sergeant named Steele of the Seaforths reversed the order by carrying a machine-gun well in advance of our line and was the chief means of keeping it intact during a strong attack by the enemy.

Corporal Cunningham of the Leinster Regiment was in command of a Lewis gun section on the most exposed flank of our attack. His men came under heavy fire and suffered badly, and he was almost alone when at last he was able to bring his gun into action. A party of twenty Germans came on to the attack. Cunningham worked off all his ammunition upon them and then standing up in full view of the enemy commenced throwing bombs. He was wounded and fell to the ground, but picked himself up and went on fighting until his bombs were exhausted. Then he made his way back to our lines with a fractured arm and other wounds. He was taken to hospital, where he died a little later from the effects of his wounds.

Corporal George Jarratt was one of the noble army who during the war directly gave his life to save others. He had been made a prisoner with some wounded men and placed with them in a dug-out. On that same evening the enemy were driven back by our troops and the British bombers began an attack upon the dug-outs. A hand grenade fell into the hollow where Jarratt was lying, and he deliberately placed his feet upon it so as to break the force and direction of the explosion that followed and save the men who were lying at a little distance from him. He succeeded in his intention, but received injuries from which he died before he could be removed with the others who owed their lives to his ready devotion.

Here is another war picture of a stirring kind, the central figure of which was Private Michael Heaviside of the Durham Light Infantry. In the early dawn a wounded man was seen in a shell-hole in No Man’s Land about forty yards from the enemy’s line. He was making signals of distress and holding up his empty water-bottle.

It was impossible at the moment to send out a stretcher party, for this particular spot was unusually “unhealthy”; but Heaviside at once volunteered to carry food and drink to the wounded man, in spite of the heavy fire. So he set out on his heroic errand and managed to reach the shell-hole unhurt to find the wounded man almost mad with thirst and suffering great pain from a severe wound. He had lain there for four days and three nights and the arrival of Heaviside was the means of saving his life. Later in the day the rescuer was able to finish his work of mercy by taking out a stretcher party and bringing the wounded man into a place of safety.

There are many stories of thirst on the battlefield, but few so touching and appealing as this. Surely our men will never forget that early dawn and the faint cries from the figure in the shell-hole weakly waving a water-bottle as a signal of dire distress. The scene would make a splendid subject for a great painter.

Private Jensen of the Australian Imperial Forces suddenly appeared before a party of 45 Germans behind a barricade which also sheltered a machine-gun. He had a bomb in one hand, and taking another from his pocket with his other hand he drew out the pin with his teeth. With both arms raised he threatened the party of cowering men before him and managed to convey to them the fact that they were surrounded. By this bold front he induced the party to surrender. He then sent one of his prisoners to another party of Germans “with orders to surrender,” which, strange to say, were promptly obeyed.

Meanwhile, another party of British troops came up and began to fire upon the captured Germans, not knowing that they had surrendered. Thereupon Jensen stood on the barricade regardless of danger and waved his helmet to prevent unnecessary slaughter of his prisoners. Then the Australian’s company of captives was brought in, to the great delight of his comrades.

Second-Lieutenant Baxter of the Liverpool Regiment spent two nights engaged in the very useful and dangerous work of cutting barbed wire before the German trenches. He was so close to the enemy’s line that he could hear the men speaking; but as he went on with his work he held a bomb in his left hand, ready to throw at the first sign that he had been discovered.

On one occasion, his bomb slipped and fell as he was cutting the wire with his left hand. He picked it up although he knew that it might explode at any moment, for the pin was out, unscrewed the base plug, took out the detonator, and smothered it in the soil. In this way, at the risk of losing his own life, he prevented an alarm being given and saved many lives among his own party.

When all was ready, Baxter led the left wing of the storming party and was the first man to leap into a German trench. He spent some time in bombing dug-outs and then he was lost sight of. He was given up as dead and the V.C. was afterwards handed to his relatives.

Lance-Corporal Welch of the Royal Berkshire Regiment won the coveted medal not only for bravery but also for making good use of his wits. He was first of a party to leap into a trench which was captured largely owing to his dogged fighting. Four of the Germans got away and raced across country at breakneck speed. Welch leapt out of the trench and gave chase with an empty revolver in his hand. Under the influence of the weapon the men were persuaded to give themselves up. What they said when they learnt that the revolver was unloaded is not reported.

Private White of the Royal Lancashire Regiment made excellent use of a telephone wire and won the V.C. by his skill and resource. An attempt was being made to cross a certain river with three British pontoons--flat-bottomed boats used for transport or for placing end to end to form a bridge. The boats came under very heavy fire and the men of the first two were bowled over one after the other. The third in which White was standing fared no better, and when it reached mid-stream every man except himself was either dead or wounded.

White now found that he was not able to control the pontoon single-handed; so he tied a telephone wire to the forepart, jumped into the water and towed the boat to the shore. In this way he saved the life of an officer and brought to the other side of the river a number of rifles as well as valuable stores.

There were countless instances of the capture of machine-guns by men who rushed forward from our ranks and shot the German gunners. One of these daring men was Sergeant-Major E. Brooks of the Oxford Light Infantry who on one occasion was taking part in a raid on the enemy’s trenches.

The front rank was checked by a German machine-gun at close quarters. Brooks was in the second rank, but he made his way through the first, rushed towards the gun, killed one of the gunners with his revolver and the other with his bayonet, and so terrified the rest of the crew that they made off without loss of time. Then Brooks turned the German machine-gun on the retreating foe, and used it with good effect for some time. When he had done all the useful work he could do, he carried off the gun to the British lines.

MIDSHIPMAN GYLES AND THE GERMAN BOARDERS

Modern naval guns are of very long range; and in most of the fights on the sea the enemy ships were several miles apart.

In the Battle of the Falklands the fighting was at a range of about nine miles. When the Battle of Jutland Bank began Beatty’s cruisers were about eleven miles from the leading ships of the Germans. When the _Queen Elizabeth_ was at the Dardanelles her gunners said that they could “land on a penny at 15,000 yards.”

But in the little fight off Dover on the night of April 20, 1917, British and German ships came close together, and there was a struggle with a boarding party as in the “good old days” of the story books. Moreover, a brave British boy played a very prominent part in this older type of fighting.

Half an hour after midnight, two British destroyers, _Swift_ and _Broke_, came up with six German ships of the same kind. The latter opened fire at 600 yards and were instantly answered by the _Swift_. Then Commander Peck quickly made up his mind to ram the first German destroyer and drove straight for her.

The Germans were steaming at high speed, the night was pitch dark, and the _Swift_ missed her mark. But she torpedoed another enemy boat and then went in hot pursuit of the first. The German got away and without firing another shot made off into the darkness with the _Swift_ after her at full speed.

Meanwhile the _Broke_ (Commander Evans) had launched a torpedo at the second boat, which hit her. Then he swung round and rammed the third boat at full speed. After that the fight was at closest range.

The gunners of the _Broke_ swept the decks of the boat which had been rammed amidships. The two remaining German destroyers opened a heavy fire, and before long the crews of the foremost guns of the _Broke_ were reduced from eighteen men to six. On the forecastle Midshipman Donald A. Gyles was in charge; and though he had been wounded in the eye as soon as he came on deck, he did all he could to keep his guns in action.

Then a number of Germans climbed up over the forecastle of the _Broke_ and jumped down upon her deck. They were rushing aft, shouting loudly, when they were met by Gyles, revolver in hand, and half blinded with blood from the wound in his eye.

A big German seized him by the wrist and tried to take his revolver from him, but a well-aimed blow from a petty officer made the man loosen his hold. He dodged round to take the middy in the rear; but a British gunner promptly ran him through with his cutlass. Two of the Germans then tumbled over and pretended to be dead; and in a few breathless moments the rest were hustled over the side. The “dead” men were then secured.