I asked him to tie the boche's hands, which he did with his rifle
pull-through, and we marched him down to the officers' quarters. The
officers were just preparing to eat, and were astounded at the sudden
appearance of the boche in the doorway, as we made him walk in first. We
left the prisoner and his Colt with the officers. Then we returned to
search the loft.
In the deep recess over the wall we found a French rifle, a British rifle,
several days' rations, ammunition, and a warm blanket--which Jock and I
snuggled under that night. It was a sniper's post and afforded an
excellent view of part of our lines, especially the spot at the brook
where so many of our boys "went West" in the act of getting water, and
where I had had a narrow escape.
The next morning, after reveille, a corporal and three men who had done
guard over the sniper got orders to take him to a given place, which was
about three miles behind our lines. Also they were ordered to report back
within "fifteen minutes from starting time."
We were promised a few days' rest here, but the following day, toward
nightfall, we were shelled out of the place by the boches' heavy
artillery, the "coal boxes" landing all around the place. We had scarcely
time to get out of it. Luckily enough, no one "clicked." We then moved to
trenches near La Bassee. Here also was a great number of troops
concentrating.
We had heard that our native troops from India were to hold part of the
lines near us. Also we had been told of the great work the Canadians had
done recently around this section, and we were looked upon to do the same.
It was now December, and the sleet and rain poured on us for the first few
days without cessation.
In the trenches here, in some parts we were knee deep in slush, and this
had a very dispiriting effect. It, together with the continuous downpour
of rain and sleet and Fritz's shelling--which never ceased--reduced us to
a state of positive misery. We fared badly enough, but we wondered how the
native troops (who were now on our left flank), used to a warm climate,
could stand it.
We got more tinned rations and in greater variety, here, than I can
remember ever having before. There was "Maconochie"--a soup with
directions to boil fifteen minutes before opening the tin;--which, of
course, was merely satirical. The "Maconochie" was never warmed until it
had reached our stomachs. However, it proved a very acceptable change from
our "bully beef." That is, it did when it came. It didn't come often. We
also had tins of _muckin_ (butter) which Tommy says is a very good
quality.
Another tinned product, but not a ration, reached us here. It was the
famous jam-tin hand grenade which came into use at about that time.
Preparations were now in progress for an attack of greater magnitude than
any we had yet taken part in. With a number of other scouts, I was sent
out to examine the terrain over which our men would advance. The party
was discovered by German snipers, and we ran back to our lines as fast as
we could go. A piece of a ricochet shot struck my left ankle, but only
slightly injured it on account of my heavy spats and leather shoes, so
that by having a tight bandage applied at once I was able to take part in
the attack.
Hitherto most of our engagements had been more or less surprise
affairs--that is, we would get word of the enemy just about in time to be
ready for him when the actual charge came. This time it was different. We
had been told what time we would go over at them. We had to sit around and
wait. Some of the men were carefully cleaning their rifles. Others ran
their thumbs along the edges of their bayonets. Many were writing letters.
But almost every face that I could see was pale. The greater part of them
were nervously puffing away at fags, very often unlit.
Here and there a man would glance at his watch--furtively, as if afraid it
would be thought that he was hoping the time had not yet come. Others were
swearing softly and grumbling because they could not charge at once.
Occasionally a man would joke or tell a funny story. Those who heard him
either looked as if they hadn't heard or laughed rather thinly. It is one
thing to go at them with steel and rifle, but quite another to sit around
and wait for the short blast of the whistle which sends you out to kill or
to be killed.
Our artillery was pouring shells and shrapnel upon the Huns and their guns
were replying. The combat wagons with the ammunition and the wagons with
the rations had to reach us through a curtain of fire. One hundred extra
cartridges were distributed to every man, also extra tins of "bully." I
was on my way to regimental headquarters with a message, when a shell
squarely struck a transport wagon. It was obliterated. Men were torn into
shreds. I saw the whole fore-quarters of a horse blown high into a tree
and caught there in a crotch. The stretcher bearers picked up some of the
men. Some they could not even find. I was soon back again in the firing
trench. We had gouged out little footholds to help us over the top.
At last it came--the little shrill metallic blast we had been waiting for.
It could be heard distinctly above the roar of the artillery. The blood
surged back into the faces of the pale men. We were fighting now. It was
different from the waiting and thinking--the thinking of what we may be
leaving behind us for always.
I was the first man out of the trench--not that I was brave, but because I
had already learned that it was the last man up and the last man down who
usually are shot. I sped ahead of all the platoon; for in that lay safety.
It is a fact that men in trenches will fire at the mass in rear rather
than stop to aim at a single runner out ahead. Each man seems to feel that
he is sure to hit someone if he fires into the mass and that another will
pick off the leader.
* * * * *
We were back again in our own trenches. What had happened in the charge I
did not know. I can honestly state that my mind is a blank for the period
of time which elapsed after I ran the first fifty yards toward the
boches.
I was sitting on the fire-step. We had taken their trenches and had been
recalled after our troops from the rear had gone forward to prepare the
captured position against the counter attack which would surely come.
My chum, Jock Hunter, was sitting near me.
"Blow 'Coffee up,'" he said to me, laughing. I thought he had lost his
senses. I stared at him blankly.
"Blow 'Coffee up,'" he repeated, pointing to my side.
I glanced down at my hip. There was a battered bugle hanging from a cord
over my shoulder. I was more bewildered than ever, but I unslung the
instrument and we examined it. It was a bugle of the Potsdam Guards and
there were thirteen bullet holes in it.
Jock would not believe that I did not know how I came by the thing, and
you may find it difficult, too, to accept my statement, but it is a fact.
I do not know how I got it. The period of the charge is a slice of my life
which is completely gone from my memory. I do not know what sights I saw
nor what sounds I heard.
On our first Sunday in this position, the German artillery became quiet
about ten o'clock, and, about half an hour later, we heard strains of
music from beyond the slightly risen ground on Fritz's lines. They were
holding a Sunday service. But as soon as it was over, we were greeted with
a couple of hundred shells from their artillery, so we came to the
conclusion that the sermon must have been rotten.
The weather conditions here were so bad that a number of our fellows were
sent to the base hospital with frost-bite, or what is known now as "trench
feet." They suffered excruciating pain. I saw one fellow who had to have
his shoe cut off; the foot swelled up instantly to very great size and was
almost entirely black.
As a supposed protection against the conditions which had caused so many
cases of "trench feet" some bureau expert over in England had a supply of
rubber boots forwarded to us. I have seen many things which were useless
supplied to soldiers but never anything to equal these boots. They were so
loose and clumsy that they materially interfered with the action of
walking and they were just of a height to be entirely submerged in the
trench mud, leaving the wearer with an individual and separate bucketful
of the stuff to lift with each foot. I heard many a pair wished on the
Kaiser's feet. Big ladles with long handles also were distributed among us
to be used in scraping out the water from the trenches, and each of us
took our turn in acting as "chef," that is, ladling the water out behind
the trench wall. Occasionally where a fellow, slow in throwing it over,
would hold the ladle up a few seconds too long--ping!--a bullet would go
through it. If we wanted to sit down the only thing we could do was to
place our packs and equipment on the fire-step and sit on them.
Our position was somewhat lower than that of the Germans, as they occupied
a sort of ridge. For days and nights at a time we did nothing but wait,
with an occasional raiding party or artillery encounter, with now and
again a heavy bombardment, to break the tedium.
We were sitting around in the mud one day when, all of a sudden, a heavy
rifle and machine-gun fire swept along our trench. Then we heard a dull
muffled roar as if some tremendous weight, padded heavily with bales of
cotton, had fallen a great height. That is the only way I can describe the
sound. Instantly, I wondered what had happened. I do not suppose it was a
second later before I knew, but it seemed as if it were a full minute. The
earth seemed to rock. There was a swashing, hissing noise. Mud, water, and
stones poured down all around us. Muddy water cascaded into our trench.
Clambering out of it and through a storm of bullets, we made for our
reserve trench. Many of our men fell in the act of fleeing for shelter.
This was the result of the Germans having dammed up their own trench which
was filled with water, and dug tunnels in our direction as far as they
possibly could without our being aware of it. They opened the dams just
after commencing the firing. Their intention was to catch with the fire
those that escaped drowning, and thus annihilate us, so that they could
break through our lines at this point. No doubt it was a clever ruse,
but--it did not work.