Part 4

It is my opinion, although, of course, I have no authority for it, that the German artillery have been supplied with contour maps of the route to Paris, with the ranges marked from hill to hill. Directly they reached an incline and faced us on another they let fly right on top of us straight away. They certainly had not time to find the range by the ordinary methods. I was wounded by a bullet from a shrapnel. It is very poor stuff, and very ineffective. The bullet that hit me ought ordinarily to have gone right through my hand. I lay for about an hour and a half on some corn, with the shrapnel bursting over me all the time. The bullets were absolutely spent, and when they dropped on my clothes they only singed them; others I stopped with my hands as they fell: _Quartermaster-Sergt. Hinton, 17th Batt. Royal Field Artillery_.

A Disturbed Dinner

Two days ago, our troop, consisting of twenty-eight men, was billeted in a farmyard. We were trying our best to make up a bit of a dinner by collecting potatoes, carrots, etc., when a shell struck the roof of the building and set it on fire. Fortunately the only casualty was a wounded horse, although several of the men got shaken up a bit. The only thing that worried us was that we lost our dinners, because I can tell you we had to get out of it quickly--it was a bit too warm for Tommy Atkins. The country here is thick with woods, which makes it very dangerous for cavalrymen. We are fighting side by side with the French troops and we get on very well together. Lots of them speak good English: _Pte. Martin, 16th Lancers_.

Petrol Power

The war is a petrol war. Every thing is done by machinery, and victory is to the man who has the most petrol. One is much impressed by this. The aeroplanes have by now rendered ordinary scouts obsolete. They go ahead of us and find out everything about the Germans. One hears the hum of their engines daily. It was quite exciting at one place when three of our planes chased a very fast German one. One of our fellows put a bullet through his petrol tank, forced him to come down, and made him prisoner. We make war in a most extraordinary way nowadays. The other day ---- and I met at headquarters and had a cup of tea together during an hour I had off. He said he felt mischievous and would love to have a go at some Uhlan patrols who were only about a dozen miles off. So he jumped into his car and drove off. A few hours later he returned to have a first-class dinner at an hotel near headquarters, having killed a Uhlan and nearly taken two more prisoners: _A Dispatch-Rider_.

“Crackers!”

I expect the Germans thought they had a snip. Their army is very poorly looked after. You can’t help feeling sorry for some of the poor beggars--they are almost starved to death, and give themselves up in scores. This war is nothing but an artillery duel, and the country for miles is very wooded, which makes it harder for us, because we cannot see them till we are almost on top of them, and then they have first plonk at us. The Kaiser’s crack regiment, the Prussian Guards, went crackers before we were out a fortnight. There was a pretty dust-up. We caught them coming across an open field. We let them come within 200 yards of us, and then we let go. We almost wiped them clean out. It was an awful sight when we finished. Those who weren’t killed ran for their lives. I expect they are in Berlin by now: _Private R. Homewood_.

A Near Shave

I was out with the Austin car convoying three motor-lorries with supplies for a cavalry brigade, when we were pounced upon by a bunch of German cavalry, who took us prisoners, and took everything I had except the clothes I was wearing. All our men, twenty in number, including an officer, were put back to a wall and kept there with an armed guard. I was made to turn the motor round. They put eight Germans in the car, and I had an officer with a revolver pointing at my head standing on the step. They then made me reconnoitre the villages for two hours, looking for the positions of the British troops, which they did not find, but they went mighty close at one time. Upon returning to the same spot we were put in the middle of a line of German cavalry, about 6000 strong, and taken up a steep hill to a plateau on top. As soon as it became daylight they were spotted by our cavalry and artillery, who made short work of them; but they kept us right in their fighting line to the very last, when they bolted and left us: _Private H. L. Simmons, of Addlestone_.

“Poor Old Bones!”

I look an awful picture. My clothing is torn to shreds. I have lost all my buttons, and it is dreadful cold at nights, but I cuddle up against the horses for warmth. Our horses are terrified, mad, but my two seem a bit at ease when I lie down beside them at night. If I leave them for a minute there is no pacifying them. You would die of laughing if you saw me now. I am writing this across the horse’s belly. He is too tired to rise, but he gives me such knowing looks at times. He is a proper chum. He is a grey, and you should see the mess I have made trying to discolour him. He has tar mixed with moss rubbed over him. Every kind of dust and dirt I could get has been rubbed on him. I have to laugh when I look at him, and the officer this morning nearly had a fit. Of course, there is a humorous side to everything. We would never live if there wasn’t. The noise is deafening. You can’t hear your mate speak unless he shouts in your ear. The bursting of the shells is appalling, but poor old “bones” lies here as if he was in the stable at home. He is dead beat, and so am I, but there is no actual rest here; it is only a lull: _A Private of the Scots Greys_.

VI. BATTLES IN BEING

_And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,--alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass...._

BYRON’S: “Childe Harold.”

_For the Colonel rides before, The Major’s on the flank, The Captains and the Adjutant Are in the foremost rank. But when it’s “Action front!” And fighting’s to be done, Come one, come all, you stand or fall By the man who holds the gun._

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.

I got a biscuit from Tibby Tennant, and was eating it when I got shot. M‘Phail was beside me, and dressed my wounds as well as he could: _Pte. Clark, Highland Light Infantry_.

Unexpected

I will tell you of a cute trick of our gunners. They got a lot of empty wagons and put them in a wood. The Germans, seeing them, thought they were our guns put out of action. They rushed out for them, and our artillery did not half scatter them, killing about four hundred: _Pte. Brown, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment_.

Turpinite

I saw some of the effects of turpinite, the wonderful French explosive, used in this war for the first time. I saw a trench full of dead Germans killed by it. They were standing right up in the trenches looking as though they were still alive: _Pte. Thompson, 2nd Dragoon Guards_.

Took Off the Roof!

I was standing within 50 yards of a house one day when a shell came and took the roof clean off; you could see the cups on the table quite plain; a clean sweep. I counted about thirty shells drop around us the same day in half an hour; we had only two horses and a man shot: _Tpr. C. McCarthy, 4th Hussars_.

Lancashire!

Fellows were being knocked out all round, and wounded were crying for help. Frequently one would say to his neighbour, “Bill, how’s ta gettin’ on?” but Bill, who had been as cheery as a cricket just before, was found to be picked off. Our ranks were so thinned that by the time we got within charging distance of the enemy’s trenches we had not sufficient men left for the charge: _Pte. Harvey, North Lancashire Regiment_.

Up Aloft!

All our troops blamed the German aeroplanes for the heavy loss which we sustained. It did not matter where we went to try and get an hour’s sleep, there would be an aeroplane over us. The Germans dropped a little disc--a sort of long tape--from their aeroplanes, about twenty yards in front of our trenches, and shortly after the Germans would start shelling us. I think it is mostly the aeroplanes which enable them to get our range so accurately as they do: _A Private of the Manchester Regiment_.

His Own Back

We were only 300 yards from a battery of German “death screechers,” which naturally opened fire into us, doing great damage. We soon silenced them, though. Worked round their flank and picked off the gunners. Please don’t think I am boasting, but I picked off eight. I had a splendid position. I was firing three hours before they hit me seriously. When I was hit I didn’t care; my rifle was smashed to atoms by a shell, but I was gloriously happy, having got my own back before being put out of action: _A Private of the Sussex Regiment_.

Sleep Through Anything

The Germans keep firing away by night as well as day, and that gives them a big pull over us, because the men in our lines find it hard to sleep with the continual shelling. Firing from your own lines doesn’t affect you in the same way, so that it doesn’t keep the Germans awake unless we bombard them. Men without sleep are not nearly so fit for fighting the next day. Not all of our chaps are kept awake. There are some who could sleep through anything: _Gunner Dyson, Royal Artillery_.

“Lucky, Considering”

My company was advancing on a wood from which the Germans were picking off our men. We were lying down firing, when from the wood was shouted, “Stop it, you are firing on your own men.” Someone said, “Cease fire,” and we did. Then a very hot fire came at us from the wood. My left-hand man was shot through the stomach, and then my right-hand man was shot through the head. It was a German who had shouted to us. Then a shell, a 96-pounder, burst over us, and a piece of it took away from me a large piece of my left side. I am lucky, considering: _Pte. J. Sullivan, South Lancashires_.

Nothing Wasted

We killed a tremendous number of them, and owing to their massed formation they were practically standing up dead in front of us. It just suited us to be plugging at them. They came on as if they thought they had nothing to do but take the lot of us, but they were surprised to find that they could not do so. The Germans shoot promiscuously, believing that their shots must hit someone. They had not the same chance of hitting us, and rarely attempted to pick out their man before they shot. I should think that in three days I fired between five hundred and six hundred rounds of ammunition, and we did not waste any; every shot was meant for someone: _Private P. Case_.

Those Uhlans

We were attacked by a brigade of German cavalry--Uhlans. We got out of the trenches and prepared to receive their attack. I caught the first horse with my bayonet, causing it to swerve so suddenly to the right that the Uhlan was pitched on his head, breaking his neck, I fancy, but not before I heard a sword whizz past my head. I did not feel at all comfortable. I also caught the second horse, but he got his hoof on my left foot, and I felt something on my chest throwing me on to the ground. What happened afterwards I don’t know, as I was unconscious for the next thirty-six hours: _Sergt. Gibson, Sussex Regiment_.

Stonewalling!

The fighting was hard at times, but only really terrible when you were groping about in the dark exposed to heavy rifle or artillery fire without the least suspicion of where it was coming from at the moment or likely to come from next. Later, when we had settled down to the work and could see what we were up against, it was child’s play, so to speak, and all you had to do was to lie in the trenches and pick the Germans off as you saw them coming on to the attack. And to pick them off is just like taking shots at a stone-finished wall. You can’t help hitting something, and every time you hit you are taking chips off the wall: _A Private of the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment_.

The Way of It

The shrapnel shells of the Germans were bursting over the trenches where we were lying, and I was struck in the foot with a piece of shell, which took the sole of my boot clean off. Five minutes later, when I was trying to help a fellow near me who had been hit in the shoulder, I was struck in the right thigh by a pellet from a shrapnel shell. I fired one more shot after that. I aimed for the driver of a German machine gun and hit him. This was my first experience of actual fighting, and I can tell you it is a funny sensation at first to see the shells bursting near and around you, to hear the bullets whistling by you, but you soon get used to it all. It tries your nerves a bit at first, but you soon get in the way of it: _Private C. D. Moore_.

Like an Exodus

We of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders took up a position facing a wood where the Germans were in strong force. As they emerged our boys met them with a raking rifle fire, which mowed them down. On they came again, and again with the same devastating result. Their bullets came whistling round us, but we were indifferent, the marksmanship being very poor. The German infantry carry their rifles under their arms, the butts resting on their hips, and they fire as they march. As the enemy poured out _en masse_ into the open it was like the exodus from the Celtic and Rangers Scottish Cup final! Man, if they were only three to one we could go through them easily, but when it comes to ten to one, strategy as well as bravery has to be considered: _An Argyll and Sutherland Highlander_.

A Long, Long Day

I rolled a cigarette, thinking the engagement finished for the time, and was making my way up the ridge ahead of my company to see how far the Germans had retired. I had gone some considerable distance when thousands of Germans reappeared on the sky-line, and of course I had to dash back to my company. Every second I expected a bullet through my back, but I was lucky and was bowled over by one which fractured my right elbow, and I broke my forearm as I fell. The Germans advanced right over me, but after taking all my grub out of my haversack they left me to my fate. I lay there until dark and it was the longest day I remember. The bullets and shells flew over my head incessantly, some only falling a few yards away from where I lay. As soon as darkness fell and the firing ceased the stretcher-bearers came out and got me away. Once or twice I sat up to see what chance I had of getting away, but the dirty devils kept on sniping at me, and I had to lie down again. I could see, however, that the ground was covered with dead Germans: _Pte. Priest, Coldstream Guards_.

Every House a Fort

We were standing close to an orchard, and some of us were killing time and quenching thirst by picking apples from the overhanging trees, when the enemy opened fire with their guns and their rifles. We were quickly formed into positions allotted to us, and advanced to the attack supported by the Irish Rifles, who were moving slowly, as their job was to cover our rushes with rifle fire. Our own artillery opened out, adding to the frightful din, and making us think we had been transported to the infernal regions. Soon we reached the village and found the Germans occupying the houses in strong force. Every house was a little fort, and the infantry were firing from the windows furiously, picking us off as we came along. In some houses they had machine guns mounted at the windows with which to sweep our line of advance. On another house a big gun was placed in position, and some of our sharpshooters were told off to pick off the men working it. This they did in a short time, and it was silenced. Seeing that, the Germans attempted to send up a new gun’s crew, but they had to pass under fire when they came out on the roof, so that our men lay there picking them off as fast as they showed their heads. That went on for over an hour, but they didn’t get their gun manned, for every man who tried it was shot down. After that they gave it up: _A Wounded Corporal_.

A Gallant Sky Pilot

We had no trenches, all that was available being head “cover,” and in some parts there was very little of that. The noise was terrible, while all the time the shells were bursting around. Occasionally when they exploded near us the shrapnel even tore our clothes. The shells, however, which did the most damage were those which burst in the air. While the action was going on we could see quite a number of the German aeroplanes operating above us. Their object was to discover our position, and when they had accomplished this they dropped some kind of powder which burst into flames as it descended and showed their artillery at what places to direct their shell fire. There was a most exciting and peculiar incident in the course of the engagement. An aeroplane hovered above our lines and then darted towards the Germans. Our artillery fired at it, and when the enemy saw it their artillery also attempted to bring it down. The machine came back in our direction, still under a heavy fire, and you can imagine our surprise when it descended amongst us and a young Frenchman stepped out of it. He had been sent to discover the position of the Germans. The frame of the aeroplane was riddled with bullets, but in spite of that fact he made several visits in the course of the evening towards the German lines: _Pte. R. Stobbie, Highland Light Infantry_.

The Unexpected

We were in a field when the Germans dropped on us all of a sudden as though from the sky. The first hint we had of their presence was when a battery of guns on our right sang out, dropping shells into a mob of us who were waiting for our turn at the washtub--the river. We all ran to our posts in response to bugles, and by the time we all stood to arms the German cavalry came into view in great strength all along the left front. As soon as they came within range we poured a deadly volley into them, emptying saddles right and left, and they scattered in all directions. Meanwhile their artillery kept working up closer on the front and the right, and a dark cloud of infantry showed out against the sky-line on our front, advancing in formation rather loose for the Germans. We opened on them, and they made a fine target for our rifle fire, which was very well supported by our artillery. The fire from our guns was very effective, the range being found with ease, and we could see the shells dropping right into the enemy’s ranks. Here and there their lines began to waver and give way, and finally they disappeared: _A Wounded Guardsman_.

No Love Lost

It’s very little love indeed there is lost between us and the Germans, and when they get to grips with Irish soldiers they don’t get much chance of saving their skins. The things the Germans do in Belgium are ten times worse than anything you ever heard tell of in ’98, and there’s few Irishmen can stand what they’ve done without wanting to tear them to bits in good, honest fighting. We saw the Irish Guards give the Germans a fine basting at Compiègne, and we were proud of the way they behaved. When they came back to our lines after it was over they had a grand cheer from all of us, and the French troops, who were nearer to the fight and saw it better than us, weren’t behindhand in giving our boys a good pat on the back. It would have done your heart good to see the Frenchmen standing up in their trenches and shouting like mad as the Guards passed by. The poor chaps got shy and sick of all the fuss that was made over them. They didn’t like the idea that it was their first time on active service and that they were only babies at fighting, and there was many a row in the camp that night over men saying fine things about the Guards, and reminding them of the fact that they never had had any battle honours before that day: _Private P. Heffernan_.

“Up, Guards,” and at ’Em?

Shrapnel began to burst around us, and the Guards had to prepare to engage the cavalry now creeping closer. Suddenly the cavalry remounted their horses, and came crashing down on our chaps. “Now, Guards!” was all the officer in command said, but his men knew what he meant, and they braced themselves for the tussle. They lined up in the good old British square that has proved a terror to European armies before, and the front ranks waited with the bayonet, while the men inside kept blazing away at the advancing horsemen. They came closer and closer, and the earth seemed to shake and quiver beneath their rush. “Steady!” was all the commander of the Guards said, and he said it in a dull way, as though he were giving a piece of advice to some noisy youngsters who had been making a row. The men answered not a word, but they set their teeth. Then the crash came. Steel met steel, and sparks shot out as sword crossed bayonet. The game of the Germans was to ride down our ranks, but they didn’t know that that trick won’t work with British troops, and the Guardsmen kept their ground, in spite of the weight of men and horses. The Germans came to a dead stop, and just then they got a volley from the centre of the square. They broke and scattered, and then they got another volley: _A British Guardsman_.

Clearing Them Out

The Germans held a position on the hills in front of us, and their infantry had trenches just below them. Their shells started to drop on us. We rushed along. We were getting mowed down, but we had to shift them, as the officer said they were there long enough. How they missed me I do not know. We got to about 100 yards of their trenches, when the general passed the word up that the brigade would fix bayonets and charge, taking the time to “go” from the bugle. It was an anxious time waiting for the moment. I said to myself, and a lot more the same, “This is my last rush, but I will fight for my life to the last.” The bugle sounded at last, and we made a dash for it. The men were falling each side of me. I was doubled up. We made a bit of a cheer, but it was more like a groan. There was only about half of us got there. When I got to their trenches I made a sort of a dive at it with my bayonet leading, and it stuck in one of them, in the chest. We killed and wounded the lot, but we found that they had a trench running backward, and a lot escaped by that way. We stopped in the trenches a while to get our wind, and we shook each other by the hand, and I said, “I will never be hit after that,” and was confident of it. And I thanked God from my heart for being alive: _Pte. Grace, Northumberland Fusiliers_.

Steady, Boys, Steady!