Part 5

Lyddite, shrapnel, common siege, and other sorts of shells were bursting all around us. The fumes from the terrible lyddite were sickening--we were spitting up yellow stuff three days afterwards. Some of the shrapnel bullets hit our chaps pretty badly, but some were harmless. One fell red-hot across my fingers, but its force was expended. Shortly afterwards a big lump of shell plunged into the earth a few inches from my face. Then every other shell that came seemed to strike the earth a few inches above my head, knocking lumps of earth and stones all over me. I gave up all hope of ever seeing England again, and so did everyone, so I said just a wee fervent prayer, and keeping low down I managed to scribble what I really thought would be the last line to my sister in my pocketbook. Then I remembered that I still possessed half a cigarette, so I managed to strike a match and finish that just as my look-out man saw the German infantry advancing on us about 800 yards away. I can tell you we gave them a warm reception. The German artillery were busy just then trying to drop shells into our artillery, and we gave the German infantry the very best of our attention. Our men simply mowed them down with rifles and machine guns. Still the Germans came on like great waves. My men acted admirably, taking steady aim every time until the fields in front of us were covered with lines and heaps of German dead and wounded: _Sergt. J. Williams, Highland Light Infantry_.

Scared Gun-Horses

What impressed me most was a battery of artillery under fire. It dashed up to a point that had been marked by a stake with a number on it by the officer who was responsible for allocating the positions. Just as it stopped the Germans, who seemed to have the position to a hair’s-breadth, sent shells shrieking around the battery. The horses got frantic and began prancing and kicking out in terror. The drivers held on like grim death, but the poor animals could not be pacified, and at last they dashed off in the direction of the German lines with the guns. The drivers stuck to their posts and did all they could to restrain the mad horses. Meanwhile a party of new men with horses were brought out and dashed off in pursuit. They caught up soon, and rode alongside to get hold of the runaways. It was no use, however, and now they came within range of more German guns, and the shells were bursting overhead, making the poor animals madder than ever. There was nothing for it but to shoot the mad animals, and this was done after some difficulty. Then it was necessary to take out the dead team and put the new one in, while German shells were dropping around. Half of the men were hit, but they meant to stick to their posts, and not all the Germans in the field could have driven them away. Just as they were getting the guns away a party of German infantry came on the scene, but by that time our battalion had moved out to cover the withdrawal of the guns, and we gave the Germans as much as they could stand: _A Corporal, Northamptonshire Regiment_.

A Cameron Man

We retired into a wood, and it was here that I got put out of action. I was struck with a piece of shell, and I fell, thinking it was all over with me. The shell had struck my pack, and I was not injured in the least, but the strange thing was that I could not find my pack. The straps on it had been broken. I then got up, and had not gone twenty yards when I got what seemed like a terrible blow on the left thigh with a big forehammer. Looking down, I saw that my kilt was all blood, and I realized I was knocked out. I tried to get up, but my old leg would not come. I saw my chance and seized it. An ammunition pony came flying past me, and I made one desperate jump at it. I did not look for the reins: I got hold of something, and I was pulled right across an open space between the woods. My God, it was something terrible coming over that open ground. The enemy had been waiting for our advance across it all day. This was where most of our fellows fell. The bullets were dropping like hail, shells were bursting all around us, and it was worse than hell, if anything could be. A few got across, but how many I cannot say, for when I got this length I dropped. I never saw the old pony afterwards: _Pte. Brooks, Cameron Highlanders_.

The Cold Steel

We fixed bayonets and clambered out, and somehow got together some kind of formation and rushed towards the hedge. All we could see was a few strange uniforms a quarter of a mile away. Away we went, and one of our officers was bowled over straight away, whilst many on my right and left dropped out. We shouted out our slogan, and went at them as fast as we could. At last we arrived with a yell at the ditch where the German riflemen were concealed, and they fired at us point-blank, but not one of us went down. Then we went at them with the steel, and the Germans being six feet below us, they had no chance. When we had each “done” our man we had to jump over the ditch and on towards the German guns. We were running like hell, when all of a sudden machine guns poured into us from both sides, knocking dozens of us over in heaps. The officers gave the word to retire, and we came back at a run. When we came to the trench we had already jumped we found that we had not killed all the Germans in it, and as we passed over it again we were shot at, and my pal was nearly bayoneted. We got back, and did not do much good. We killed a few hundred Germans, it is true, but we lost one hundred and fifty men! The Germans will do anything to get away from the cold steel: _A Cameron Highlander, at the Aisne_.

“Is This Death?”

It was a thousand times worse than being in hell. For six days we were in the same trenches, almost at arm’s reach of the enemy. We could only steal out under cover of darkness for a drink of water. It rained all the time; but we had to make the best of it. Every day was the same as the day before--an advance at daybreak and at night; but every time we were beaten back by frightful odds. Each time we were forced back we left hundreds of our men behind, killed and wounded. Then it was the same old command, “Fall back on the trenches.” My comrades were constantly falling by my side. Day after day, and every minute during the day, German shells were falling around us like rain. We could hear them coming through the air, and we would lie low in the trenches and say, “That is another one that has missed us.” But the fatal one came without us hearing it. Thirteen of us were together, and only one lucky devil escaped. When the blow came I thought my head was taken off. I fell on my knees and put one arm up in the air, and said, “Good God, is this death?” I then put my hand on my face, and I felt the flesh, which was so badly torn. But I felt no pain. It seemed dead. I crept along the top of the trenches until I found the doctor who was with my regiment. He simply put a piece of cotton-wool over my face and laid me under a tree, as the firing was too heavy to get a proper dressing on. For five hours I lay bleeding under that tree, and the German shells were still falling about us like rain: _Pte. Kneale, Liverpool Regiment_.

Spoiled Their Appetite

“It’s a fine night for the Germans,” is what we say when it’s so dark that you could not see your finger before you, and it was just on such a night that I was nicked while serving my gun. Just about two in the morning there was a heavy rattle of rifle fire on the hill where our advance men were posted, and soon the whole camp was alive with noise and bustle as the men sprang to arms. We always sleep beside our guns so as to be ready for anything, and in five minutes we were at our posts waiting for information about the range. That came later, and then we began plugging away for all we were able. We caught sight of a mass of Germans swarming up a slope on the right to take cover in a wood there, and they didn’t know what we knew. We dropped a few shells into them just to liven things up a bit, and keep them from thinking too much about the Fatherland, but we had to be careful because some of our own chaps were posted in that wood. The Germans kept rushing along gaily, and there wasn’t the slightest sound from the wood, where our men were securely posted behind felled trees. Now the German searchlights began to play all around and the air was lit up with bursting shells, so we could see the Germans getting nearer and nearer to that wood. Suddenly the whole side of the wood was one big sheet of flame as our hidden men sent volley after volley ripping through the ranks of the advancing Germans. They were fairly staggered at the suddenness and fierceness of the fire, and before they had time to collect their wits a big body of our chaps were into them with the bayonet. Just when this little show was in full blast the Germans obliged with more limelight, and we saw it clearly. That spoiled the German appetite for breakfast in that part of the field, though from what we heard later there was no doubt that this was the point where they expected to break through, and they cleared off quickly: _A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery_.

“A Jigsaw Puzzle”

The Germans came on at a smart pace with the plan of seizing a hill on our right. At the same moment our cavalry came into view, and then the whole Guards Brigade advanced. It was really a race between the two parties who should reach the hill first; but the Germans won easily, owing to their being nearer by half a mile. As soon as their guns and infantry had taken up a position the cavalry came along in a huge mass with the intention of riding down the Irish Guards, who were nearest to them. When the shock came it seemed terrific to us in the distance, for the Irishmen didn’t recoil in the least, but flung themselves right across the path of the German horsemen. We could hear the crack of the rifles and see the German horses impaled on the bayonets of the front rank of the guardsmen, and then the whole force of infantry and cavalry were mixed up in one confused heap like so many pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: _A Guardsman, from Compiègne_.

“Erin Go Bragh!”

We are British soldiers, and proud of the name and proud to belong to the great British Empire, but in doing our duty for the glory and honour of the Empire we have always also in our minds to add, if we can, more lustre to the fair name of Erin. Our flag of green with the harp and shamrock and the words “Erin Go Bragh” is now faded and torn, but still loved and cherished. Talking about that dear old flag, I shall endeavour to describe how, at ----, when the fate of the day seemed to waver in the balance, when the ruthless enemy by sheer weight of numbers was pressing onward at every point of vantage, that faded flag turned a threatened defeat into decisive victory. On our left were the Munsters, on our right the Leinsters and Connaught Rangers. All were hard-pressed and were about to retire, when suddenly from the firing line one of our comrades rushed out flourishing the old green flag and shouting “Erin Go Bragh.” With the blood coursing fast through my veins, I watched with pride and admiration the marvellous effect produced these simple words. With a mighty cheer that seemed to rend the heavens, and that rose and swelled even above the din of battle, those hard-pressed sons of Erin charged down on the advancing enemy with fixed bayonets. The Germans were completely staggered by this unexpected turn of events when victory seemed just within their grasp, but they were given little time for hesitation, for, to slightly alter the words of a well-known Irish ballad:

_Like lions leaping at a fold, When mad with hunger’s pang, Right up against the German lines Those Irish heroes sprang._

The Germans turned and fled in all directions, completely routed and wholly disorganized. Such was the effect on the Irish Guards of the sight of their old green flag and the cry of “Erin Go Bragh”: _Corpl. Michael O’Mara, of the Irish Guards_.

A Midnight Move

One night when it was unusually wet and miserable and dreary, and some of us had got all the humps that ever were seen on a camel’s back, the Assembly sounded, and we were paraded at midnight. We fell in, glad to have something to take us away from our miserable surroundings. We didn’t know what the move was when we were marched out into the darkness, but we didn’t care much so long as it was warming work. We tramped through weary swamps and soaking wet fields for nearly five miles, and then we were halted near to a line of German trenches, while scouts went on ahead and the remainder of the force was being conducted to its assigned position. Just when some of us felt like having the creeps all over because of the uncanny stillness of everything, a rifle shot rang out, followed by others, and then there was a regular volley. We lay down quickly and tried to peer into the darkness to see something to aim at. There was nothing: and then their artillery opened fire all along the line. Shells kept bursting all over us, and our horses began to get restive. By now the whole of our attacking force was in position, and our artillery opened fire at the points where the attack was to be delivered. The order to advance was given quietly, and we sprang to our feet with right good will. Some of us went down again jolly quick under the German fire, but we kept moving on, and by that time the Germans were losing the range. We were supported by an infantry brigade that had to clear a line of trenches on the right. The four battalions opened out in extended order and pressed slowly towards their goal. Men dropped quickly, dotting the line of advance, but in less than half an hour our lads were ready for the tiger-spring that never fails. The Germans met them with a heavy rifle fire as they climbed the last slope, and when they got to the top they were assailed by twice their number of infantry armed with the bayonet. At one point the line broke, and our lads fell back in some confusion. Reserves were pressed forward to feed the fighting line, and the advance began again. Once more the Germans were too heavy for our chaps, and again they were forced back. They halted for a little to take a rest and then began again. They dashed up the slope like wild cats and closed with the Germans, who were by this time getting tired of it. There was no falling back this time, and though it was very hard work indeed, the whole line of trenches was cleared and the Germans sent flying: _A Trooper of the 15th Hussars_.

A High Ordeal

I was on picket duty, and it was just after midnight when the men ahead fell back reporting strange sounds all along the front. At the same moment we heard rustling in the bushes close by, and as there was no response to the challenge we fired, thus giving the alarm in the sleeping camp. Out of the bushes the enemy’s advanced guard rushed, but we held them in check until we deemed it wise to fall back on the camp with a report of the enemy’s strength and disposition. We reckoned there was at least a whole German army corps attacking, supported by endless bodies of cavalry and ten batteries of guns, besides hundreds of machine guns. When we got back to camp we found everything was in apple-pie order for the fight. The men were standing to their arms, and though some of them were cursing a lot at being roused from their sleep and vowing what they would do to the chuckle-headed pickets if it turned out to be a false alarm, they were ready to do their duty like men. They hadn’t long to wait for the Germans, who were really close on our heels. On our way back we had heard our artillery open fire and saw the shells bursting along the German lines. At the same moment the Germans, who seemed to realize that their surprise was no surprise at all, opened fire with their artillery right along the front, and their searchlights were playing all round like so many will-o’-the-wisps. Their searchlights were useful to us, because they enabled us to see something of their strength as they advanced. Soon we saw coming out of the inky darkness a long line of white faces, and in response to the quick order we fired right into them. The first line wavered for a moment or two, part of it was blotted out, but the line of reserves behind filled up the gaps and the front line advanced again, seeming not to heed the heavy hail of bullets we were pouring into them. Within about one hundred yards of our trenches the first line of advancing Germans flung themselves flat on the earth, fixing bayonets, while the second fired over their heads, and yet a third line was pushing forward men to fill the gaps of the second line where our fire tore through. Then the first line rose and the second fixed bayonets also. Finally, they all came sweeping forward with the bayonet and threw themselves right on to our trenches. We poured one terrible volley into them as they came on, but all the devils in hell would not have stopped them. Our front ranks gave way slightly before the fierceness of the attack and the weight of men hurled at them, but the recoil was only temporary. We steadied ourselves, and while they were standing still for a moment to take breath and dress their ranks for another rush we went at them with the bayonet and hurled them over the trenches down the hill again. It was in this rush that I got run through with a bayonet, but as I lay on the ground doing my best to forget the pain in the exultation of victory, I saw our lads chase them across country in fine style, and I knew from the cheers all along the line that we were beating them back: _A Sergeant of the Worcester Regiment_.

VII. WHAT THE SOLDIER SEES

_On came the whirlwind--like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest blast: On came the whirlwind--steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke; The war was waked anew._

SIR WALTER SCOTT’S: “Waterloo.”

_With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory._

SOUTHEY’S: “The Battle of Blenheim.”

A daring German spy came into the British lines dressed in the uniform of a Scots Grey. He inquired the whereabouts of the Scots Greys; but his speech betrayed him, and on being stripped he was found to be wearing German underclothing: _Pte. A. Prescott, 1st King’s Liverpool Regiment_.

A Good Night

One night when I was out in Belgium it came on to rain, and I went home with a sergeant in the Belgian Lancers and slept in a lovely feather bed, and started off again for my destination after having a good breakfast and a deep drink of rum and coffee: _A Bombardier of the Royal Artillery_.

A Far View

We flew at 5000 feet, and saw a sight which I hope it will never be my lot to see again. The woods and hills were literally cut to ribbons all along the south of Laon. It was marvellous watching hundreds of shells bursting below one to right and left for miles, and then to see the German guns replying: _A Member of the Royal Flying Corps_.

Brave Women

The French women seemed to think that the best cure for shrapnel or bullet wound was a bottle of wine and a raw egg. After the Wednesday fight the women brought hot potatoes and new bread right into the trenches and firing line. I can assure you they are the bravest women I have ever met: _Rifleman Fisher_.

Fatherly

You would be surprised to see the enthusiasm of the people here. The little kiddies run towards you and put their hands in yours, just like my little kiddies at home. You can see little boys doing men’s work. I noticed one chap (he would not be more than ten years old) with a pair of horses, and he was ploughing all on his own: _A Private of the Royal Field Artillery_.

Proud Indeed!

I brought back on my lorry a wounded bombardier, and when the doctor told him that he would have his right leg and an arm amputated he did not seem to trouble a bit, but went on chatting and joking with us as if it were an everyday occurrence. He is only eighteen years old. As they were taking in the ambulance he said, “It’s not much to look forward to, but my mother will be proud of me”: _Corpl. Hollyer: Army Service Corps_.

Wilted!

With their front files dressed in uniforms taken from the killed and wounded of an English regiment, a German corps attempted to surprise an English battalion. As they approached, the English commander, becoming suspicious, gave the order to fix bayonets, whereupon the Germans shouted, “Nein, nein! Leedle mistake! Ve vos not Shermans; ve vos der Vilts.” The British then charged with bayonets and the Germans “wilted”: _A Sergeant-Major, of Colchester_.

Enjoying Ourselves

Villages are nearly empty as we come to them, cats, dogs, and a few fowls being all that are left. Doors are open and the dinner things left on the tables, and people crying. There is plenty of fruit everywhere. The people left give one anything, and are very kind to us in every way. We are really enjoying ourselves very much, and take a very hopeful view that the Germans will soon realize that they have bitten off more than they can chew: _Private G. Brown_.

Held Up!

In a village we passed through the baker was working all night making bread, and all the time he was working the Germans were standing over him with revolvers. At a farm we passed the farmer said they stole thirty of his racehorses. These horses, of course, would be no use to the Germans as draught or saddle horses, and it is not an unreasonable supposition that they were commandeered for food: _Pte. A. Forbes, Gordon Highlanders_.

Not So “Swanky”

Their prisoners aren’t near so swanky as they were at first, when they used to move about as though the British soldiers weren’t fit to be seen with. Now they’re glad to fall into our hands, and if they see the uniform at all they surrender without further trouble. They’ve all got Government news-sheets containing all sorts of stories, and they say that these are distributed every day. Perhaps they get them instead of grub, and if that’s the case it would account for the half-fed appearance of so many of the prisoners: _Pte. Taylor, Rifle Brigade_.

Undaunted

A few days ago I witnessed a most exciting incident. A French staff officer went up in an aeroplane and the Germans opened fire on him. Shots went wide at first and then all around him. He didn’t mind that, but turned about again and once more ran the gauntlet. Then the Germans started again, but that didn’t stop him. He turned once more and came back before making off to headquarters with information as to where the Germans were: _Drill-Instructor Anderson_.

“Rotten Luck”

We are all putting up in farms on account of our horses being under cover from the aeroplanes, which have done a lot of damage. The 9th had just got in from a good hard day, when a big shell came into their yard and killed ten men and wounded four. Who would have expected that, after getting away from the firing line all safe? Of course, they might have been stray shells trying to find our artillery. But then it is what you may call rotten luck: _Pte. Robinson, 18th Hussars_.

Near Shaves

I saw some brave things done. “Tanker” Gillespie endeavoured three times, at great risk, to aid a comrade who had been seriously wounded. The first time he got up a bullet grazed his head, and I saw him rubbing it with rather comical grimness, and then seizing hold of his rifle, the barrel of which had nearly all been blown away, and firing; three or four shots at the Germans. He tried a second time to reach his comrade, but again had to duck, and the third time he succeeded, only to find that the poor fellow had died. In returning to his place, “Tanker” was struck by a bullet which took away some of the hair on his head, and he had to retire: _Pte. McMahon, Gordon Highlanders_.