Part 8

The _Broke_ had now wrenched herself free from the German boat, which was settling down, and turned to ram another of the enemy destroyers. She missed it, but as she swung round she hit another boat with a well-aimed torpedo. Then the German boats moved off into the darkness, just as an unlucky shot found out the boiler-room of the _Broke_ and disabled her main engines.

She moved off, however, as best she could, towards a German destroyer which was on fire. As she drew near, shouts for help were heard which served to draw the _Broke_ still closer. Then the German treacherously opened fire; so also did the _Broke_; and four rounds followed by a torpedo quickly settled the enemy.

The whole fight lasted only about seven or eight minutes. For his gallant share in it Midshipman Gyles received the Distinguished Conduct Medal. He had been wounded not only in the eye but also in the right leg and the right arm.

His story was modestly told to friends who visited him in hospital. He had, like Sir Richard Grenville, “only done his duty as a man is bound to do.” He was off duty and asleep when the call came to take up positions for action, but he did not take long to summon all his wits and a little over.

The bursting of the shell which gave him his first wound “floored him,” but he was quickly on his feet again and undertook the loading of the starboard gun. It was at this moment that the “boarders” appeared, and “he guessed that the reception they received would teach Germans a lesson.”

HOW MAN MADE AN EARTHQUAKE

On the morning of June 7, 1917, the British Prime Minister got up very early, as early as three o’clock. He wished to hear an explosion on the Western Front; and although he was at his home near London he heard it too! For our men had made an earthquake and had blown up a hill which had been held by the Germans since the earlier days of the war.

The high ground which gave the Germans such an advantage in this part of the line was known as Messines Ridge; and the men who held it were fiercely determined not to lose their position. Their officers had given very definite orders on this matter. “The enemy must not get the Messines Ridge _at any price_.” So ran the stern command, and the defenders were assured that strong forces were ready immediately behind them to deal with any parties of their foes who might succeed in “breaking through.”

The British were equally determined to take Messines Ridge and had planned to _blow it up_ in order to clear the way for the advance of their guns, to straighten out a part of the line near Ypres and to gain command of the plain of Lille. The preparation for the “earthquake” took no less than a year!

Mines were driven deep down under the German front-line trenches by men from the coal districts of Britain as well as parties of stalwart Australians and New Zealanders. Their plan could not have been quite unknown to the Germans; for they too dug mines towards the British lines, and sometimes the parties of rival diggers came quite close to each other.

But the extent to which the British were prepared to go in “blasting” operations was not realised by their foes.

When the long task of digging and tunnelling was finished electric wires were placed in position; and it was arranged that the tons of explosive packed away in the earth were to be fired by the touch of a spring on a metal plate. In a dug-out some distance behind the mines a little group of men gathered together on the night of the 7th waiting for the moment at which the spring was to be touched.

A few minutes before three o’clock on the following morning the spring _was_ touched, and for a moment the watchers held their breath. Then there was a deafening quivering sound unlike any other that had been heard in the long-drawn-out din of the fighting in this greatest of all great wars. The earth opened, sending out great tongues of flame and dense clouds of smoke; then came huge fragments of rock and earth mixed with the bodies of Germans and the wreckage of their first-line system of trenches.

British infantry were posted ready for the advance. The shock of the explosion threw many of them to the ground; but in a very short time they went forward with a mighty rush and quickly captured Hill 60. There was now a general advance along the line and in many places the Germans were found to be too dazed to make any real resistance. Large numbers of prisoners fell into our hands. “This is more than human nature itself can suffer,” said a German officer to those who had captured him.

Among the prisoners were two German boys of about seventeen, who had already been in the firing line for about twelve months. A British officer said to them, “You ought to be spanked and sent home to your mothers.” The boys laughed merrily and one of them replied for both, “That is what we should like, sir, if you please.”

The man-made earthquake was of course a preparation for the advance, not only of infantry, but also of the artillery. The latter had been specially anxious to move forward after the long period of fighting in one quarter. The artillery advance is thus described by one who saw it and who speaks of it as an “historic incident,” which indeed it was:

“An order passed along to all the batteries. The gun horses were standing by. They were harnessed to the guns. The limbers of the field batteries lined up. Then, half-way through the battle, the old gun positions were left behind after two and a half years of warfare in one spot.

“The drivers urged on their horses. They moved at a gallop and dashed up the slopes. The infantry stood by to let them pass, and from thousands of men, these dusty, hot, parched soldiers of ours, there rose a great following cheer, which swept along the track of the gunners and went with them up the ridge where they unlimbered and got into action again for the second phase of the fight.”[8]

[8] Philip Gibbs in the _Daily Telegraph_, with acknowledgments.

The Battle of Messines was a victory for patience. It showed also what men could do by means of organising and planning with great care. You will probably remember the little plasticine model of Vimy Ridge. There was another model made to help in the preparation for the Battle of Messines. It was much bigger than that made for Vimy, but it was built up with the same care and it was closely studied by all who were to take any part in guiding the men in this tremendous battle. Of course, the airmen were very useful in the work of making the model: and a great deal of the credit for the success of the operations at Messines is due to them.

Among those who fell in the attack delivered after the great explosion was a well-known Irish Member of Parliament, Major William Redmond. He was a Nationalist or Home Ruler, and a passionate lover of his native country, which he ardently wished to see happy and contented. In order to understand the full meaning of his death we must recall what had been happening in Ireland in recent years.

The British Parliament wished to give Home Rule to Ireland and had, indeed, passed a Bill to do so. The men of Ulster, however, did not wish to have an Irish Parliament at Dublin; and there was a great deal of unhappy ill-feeling between the two Irish parties on this matter. It was Major Redmond’s great desire that this quarrel between Irishmen should be settled. He felt and said that if he should die in battle it might help to heal the breach between the men of the two political parties and bring peace and contentment to Ireland.

During the three nights before the battle, he slept in a cellar under the chapel of a religious house known as the Hospice not far from the front line. He was very anxious to be allowed to lead “the boys” of his regiment “over the top” and had begged his superiors to allow him to do so. After a good deal of hesitation, he was given leave to charge at the head of his old battalion of the Royal Irish Regiment.

He received the news with the joy of a schoolboy who has been promised an extra holiday. “Won’t it be glorious,” he said, “to breast the sand-bags?” Then he went up to the trenches in the company of his servant, and when his men saw him they set up a cheer. “Sir,” said his servant, “this cheering is not good for you.” “I’m afraid,” said the major, with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re getting shell-shock already.”

The great explosion took place, and before the burning earth had time to descend, Major Redmond was “over the top” and the first man in the regiment to face the awful scene. Before long he fell, wounded in the leg and wrist, and he was found lying on the battlefield by stretcher bearers of the Ulster division. It was an Ulster ambulance which carried him, wounded to the death, from that awful field of battle; and it was men from Ulster who tended him in his dying moments. So he did, indeed, give his life, not only in an attempt to drive back the Germans, but also to bring peace to Ireland.

“WHEN CAN THEIR GLORY FADE?”

We have read a great deal in this little book about the courage shown by men in the heat of the fight. But it did not take the excitement of attack or defence to rouse and sustain the courage of our men. Nor were they less brave and cheerful in weakness and in pain than they were on the field of battle. Read the words of a doctor[9] at the front:--

[9] Quoted from a private letter published in the _Times_, with acknowledgments.

“We speak of brave men. Yes, these men are brave! If the people at home could see the conditions under which our fellows fight, and how they die, I swear that every head would uncover to the colours of any regiment bearing the name of a battle, because that name had been won through the blood of real heroes.

“For example, some colours will have ‘Marne’ upon them. I know what deeds were done, what lives were given, what wounds were received to have that one name so inscribed. Believe me, the Victoria Cross is won over and over again in a single day.

“They are brave. What if you were to see how the wounded act after the excitement of a battle? They suffer their wounds, great and small, without a murmur; they get their wounds dressed and give consent to have their limbs amputated just as if they were going to have their hair cut.

“They are gloriously brave. Men who have been in the thick of the fight all day, seen their chums wounded and killed, their own lives not worth a second’s insurance, still cook their food and go off to sleep, and, most wonderful of all, go back to the thick of it next day.

“It is Sunday. In the evening we had a service in a barn. A great crowd of the officers and men collected. The scene was very impressive, with the place only lit with camp candles, the soldiers rough and dirty with the work of war, some of them just returned from the trenches and others going there the same night--some who in all probability would be dead before another night came. The men sang heartily, but when the prayer for dear ones at home was being offered there were few dry eyes among those brave men who faced death daily.”

The war made even little children careless of death. Here is a pretty little story from Italy. An Alpino came to a ruined house where three little girls were plucking roses while shells moaned and fizzed over their heads. They offered him some of their flowers, and he suggested they should go and stay with his little daughter in Italy out of harm’s way. “Oh, no,” they said, “thank you very much, but papa is fighting near here--and besides, the roses would all die.”

“THE HEART OF A LION”

The morning of Saturday, July 7th, 1917, was beautifully bright, a perfect English summer morning with a cloudless sky. The people of London made haste to finish the morning’s work, looking forward to as pleasant a week-end as war-work and thoughts on war would permit.

But before they left their places of business they had an experience which few quiet Londoners had ever expected to pass through. Something happened which for a time seemed to blot out the light of the sun and which brought death and destruction into the very heart of the ancient city.

Suddenly the word was passed along, “An air raid!” and in many places there was a rush for cover. The city had been raided before and many lives had been lost among people in the streets.

In a very short time the boom of the traffic was hushed; but now the boom of the guns was heard and the terrifying crash of falling bombs. For about twenty minutes the strange fight went on. Then silence fell and people looked out to see the enemy squadron of aeroplanes.

It consisted of about twenty machines which kept in more or less close formation and could be distinctly seen as if poised over the Thames. At the height at which the squadron was flying it looked like a covey of wild duck or geese flying over a moor.

Londoners learnt later in the day how the enemy was headed off and driven to the coast after having caused a number of deaths and done a great deal of damage. And a few days later the story was told of Lieutenant Young of the Royal Flying Corps who had, as his officer said, “the heart of a lion.”

He was one of the British air squadron which went up to chase off the enemy from what they called “the fortress of London.” He flew almost by himself right into the middle of the German squadron, and both he and his observer at once opened fire upon the enemy. The Germans replied and Young’s machine was literally pelted with bullets on all sides.

But there was no retreat for the young British airman. “He flew straight on,” wrote the officer in command, “until he must have been riddled with bullets. The machine then put its nose right up into the air and fell over and went spinning down into the sea from 14,000 feet.”

The brave boy was entangled in the wires of his machine and though a patrol boat dashed out to the rescue he could not be saved. The observer shared the same fate and the same glory.

For it was a glorious death to die for the mother city of the Empire and to fall upon the sea which knits that Empire together, but which no longer serves England

--“in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house Against the envy of less happier lands.”

IN MEMORIAM

_P. M. and A. C. D., killed in action, 1915._

Let pride with grief go hand in hand: They join the hallowed hosts who died In battle for their lovely land: With light about their brows they ride.

Young hearts and hot, grey heads and wise, Good knights of all the years foregone, Faith in their England in their eyes, Still ride they on, still ride they on!

By altars old their banners fade Beneath dear spires; their names are set In minster aisle, in yew-tree shade: Their memories fight for England yet.

Let pride with grief go hand in hand, Sad Love with Patience side by side; In battle for their lovely land Not vainly England’s sons have died!

And well may pride this hour befit; For not since England’s days began More fiery clear the word was writ: Who dies for England dies for Man!

HELEN GRAY CONE.

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.