Jerry put down still another barrage. There were no trenches handy and I
spent a nasty half-hour in a ditch on the side of the track. When you
have once been strong it is awful to lie in a ditch and quiver like a
jelly when shells are falling fifty yards away. I am going all to pieces
and my imagination is killing me. Last night I was alone inspecting the
wire when for some hellish reason I saw a picture of myself disabled by
a bullet and lying for hours until I bled to death—days it would have
been, for my vitality is tremendous. For several minutes I couldn’t
move, covered with a clammy sweat and paralysed with fear.
Great wind-up to-day—the Huns are expected to make their last effort for
Calais to-morrow. Every available man working on battle positions, and
all guns fired a counter preparation on German roads. If they _do_
attack seriously it will be the end of my diary.
_July 18._ Worked like devils all last night and then spent an awful
hour before dawn, standing to and waiting for the attack. Every time an
odd shell came over we held our breath and waited for the crash of the
general bombardment. The strain was terrific and my stomach felt as if I
had eaten a whole live jelly-fish. The attack didn’t come—24 hours’
reprieve!
_July 19._ Another day of feverish activity, work, and strain. I have
been thinking of Piccadilly Circus and wonder if they realise how very
near they are to the end. Reconnoitred an old farm with a view to
erecting a Brigade H.Q. there in event of retreat to Reserve Line. Why,
Heaven knows, as if they _do_ attack there will be no one to
retreat—except, of course, the Brigade H.Q. with their trouser-presses,
etc. Derry came back to us and is going to take over this work.
Did very well in the line at night, and completed wire to Right Brigade
in spite of heavy shell-fire.
_July 20._ Words fail me—a new officer has arrived and I am going to
have a rest, at least a comparative one, on the Reserve Line.
After starting the parties I spent the night advising the P.B.I. on
trench drainage and got soaked up to the waist. Got three hours’ sleep
in my soaking clothes as German attack is still expected. I wish it
would come—the strain of waiting is terrible.
_July 21._ Life is getting quite enjoyable again. Spent the night
handing over to new officer. The company has received four more Lewis
guns which, I think, shows better than any words how well we did in the
retreat.
_July 22._ Filthy wet day, spent in taking over Reserve Line from T.O.,
who returns to Horse-Lines. The threat of attack still hangs over us in
a state of suspended animation.
_July 23._ Poured all day; soaked and fed up.
_July 24._ Day goes on leave, so I took over his work in the line,
chiefly concrete pill-boxes. Thus ends my rest. Blessed is he that
expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed. Did a good night’s
work under a beautiful moon and met the Major in the morning before dawn
to reconnoitre some wire.
_July 25._ Derry went sick again, so we are now as badly off as ever.
Doing four men’s work and had a very rushed day. Why the _devil_ don’t
they send us reinforcements?
_July 26._ Four hours’ sleep and off up the line again—the first
Americans came within a few miles of the line to-day. I think we have
just about weathered the storm without them.
_July 27._ Four hours’ sleep, then spent the morning on Brigade H.Q.,
afternoon on the Reserve Line, paid the company, and spent all night on
wiring and completion of No. 1 Pill-box.
_July 28._ Our sister company went over last night to destroy wire for a
raid. They collared two Huns, so that the real raid never came off and
was unnecessary. Good work.
_July 29._ Completed No. 2 Pill-box. Work well on with Brigade H.Q. and
put up 300 yards of wire at Reserve Line. Two of our drivers and three
of the best horses were killed last night. It is difficult to make
comparisons where all men are so wonderful, but as an example of the
purest form of stolid courage I think the limber driver is unique. In a
place like this there is never more than one decent road, and in
consequence it is packed from dusk to dawn with every conceivable form
of wheeled transport. Food, water, ammunition, guns, wire, and
everything else which the linesman needs, must pass along this solitary
lane, and the German knows it. The shell-fire is seldom heavy, as the
line knows it, but it is persistent, wearing, and of the most deadly
accuracy. A very favourite trick is to shell some point on the road and
thus compel traffic to wait. In five minutes they know that there will
be a solid column of wagons on the far side of the block, and then they
lengthen range—preferably with shrapnel. Then it is like all hell let
loose. Half a dozen shells among those crowded limbers can do the most
terrific damage, and men and horses go down together in a welter of
blood and flying red-hot steel. Mules and horses go mad, and scream and
kick, the harness breaks, they climb into the limbers, ammunition
explodes, and in a few seconds there is nothing but a mass of wreckage
in the ditch and the cries of wounded men and dying horses.
Go through that and worse twice a night, every night for a month and
more, and at the end when you take the reins in the evening your hand
will quiver and your feet will tremble in the stirrups. And still they
go without a murmur, night after night, until a merciful shell shall
take them too, and they leave the saddle for ever. Each night they see
the last night’s wreckage, and, if times are very bad, the unburied
bodies of their one-time pals grinning at the stars until Time and the
rats have done their work. And always they know their time will come, so
that to me at least it is an eternal marvel how they find the strength
to go. Perhaps some thought of home, some pride of England drives them
on, or the memory of some dearly loved, dead officer sitting quietly on
a mule among those shrieking shells and telling them not to leave their
horses. But who can tell?—they do it, and England gains!
One thing is certain, they get no medals, for there are no Staff
Officers along these howling roads at night.
_July 30._ For the first time since we have been here our billets were
heavily shelled this afternoon. I had great wind-up, as I was upstairs
in my canvas bath and two or three splinters came through the wall.
There are some Americans near us, and as this was their first touch of
shell-fire it was quite amusing to see them falling over each other in
their efforts to get away across the fields. Beryl, our terrier bitch,
presented us with seven puppies of every breed and colour—the little
harlot!
The Americans had their first night in charge of an infantry working
party and I went up to their line to have a look at them. It was a
pathetic sight, and when they came back in the morning they reported
being shelled off the job and that half the men’s clothes were cut to
pieces by shrapnel. Combination of wind-up, imagination, and loose
barbed wire on a dark night.
_July 31._ Put up 500 yards of wire at Reserve Line. Second party of
Americans arrived. Bosche plane came over very low in the evening and
spotted our billets and the guns round us. He got away through terrific
machine-gun fire, but we heard later that he came down over the lines in
flames—poor beggars!
_Aug. 1._ Billets shelled again, and thought we were hit several times.
Another daring Bosche came over in the evening but was brought down over
the lines. Our sister company pulled out of the line to prepare for an
attack, so again we are doing a two-Brigade front.
_Aug. 2._ Got soaked to the skin scrambling round Right Brigade trenches
and was quite worn out as I had to wear my respirator, all the
time—ghastly night, with continuous shell-fire and casualties all over
the place.
_Aug. 3._ Had great difficulty in getting material, as they shelled our
dump all night long. It is very hard to order men to go to a place when
you know that it is being steadily shelled, and yet the work has to be
done. So much easier for the Staff, who just say, “Do it,” and then
leave the details and the casualties to me. At 3.30 a.m. met the Major
and took him round the line to see our troubles. Coming back alone——
_Aug. 4._ ——over the ridge just before dawn I got dead in line with a
German M.G. firing straight down the road. I don’t think it was clear
enough for them to see me, but the bullets whizzed past first on my left
side and then on my right. I had to lie down for several minutes and
watch them kicking up sparks on the road a few yards ahead—most
unpleasant, and I found it another indication that my nerves are slowly
giving out.
_Aug. 5._ Heavy barrage in reply to a raid by the Division on our right
interfered with work and caused several casualties among the carrying
parties.
_Aug. 6._ The men had a night’s rest, but I was out all night with two
sappers laying out tapes and notice boards in preparation for the attack
on the 8th. Several times we had to go well out into No Man’s Land, and
once I was quite lost for about half an hour.
_Aug. 7._ Was out all night trying to get some work out of the
Americans, but found it a hard job as they are not yet accustomed to
working under shell and machine-gun fire, and are very nervous. Among
our own men I would have considered their behaviour rank mutiny, but I
kept them at it until 3 a.m. and got 150 yards done. Have never been so
unpopular or so violently cursed in my life before.
In the course of the wire we came across a shell-hole with a mule and
three rotting Frenchmen in it, and the Americans were very worried that
they had not been buried!
Poor devils, they have a lot to learn.
THE MERRYWAY ATTACK
The events that follow are necessarily somewhat confused, both from
their own nature and from the fact that I was not able to set them down
until some ten days after they occurred. They fell out somewhat as
follows:—
The Merryway had once been a decent road, but after the fighting in June
there was little left but a shattered track running at right angles to
the main lines of trenches. The Huns had pushed out a very considerable
salient on both sides of this track, and as their ground was rather
higher than ours they were able to make life very unpleasant for every
one around them.
With the threat of more German attacks still hanging over us and the men
quite worn out, the Staff decided that we must keep up our morale by
trying to lower that of the Huns. An attack on the Merryway Salient was
decided upon as the best way of doing this.
Accordingly one Infantry Brigade and one Field Coy. R.E. went over on
the night of August 8th, and under cover of a terrific bombardment
surprised the Germans and gained practically all their objectives. All
was quiet for two days, the Field Coy. put up quantities of barbed wire
and the Staff went to sleep to dream of medals.
The morning of the 11th was cold and misty, and to our great
consternation the Huns delivered a very heavy counter-attack. This was
quite successful, and we were all driven back with the exception of one
post which held out on the Merryway. Here about 30 Huns got held up
against our wire and all surrendered, although most of the men wanted to
shoot, because we were too weak to find an escort. However we sent them
back with two men, but seeing that our flanks were gone and how weak the
escort was, they strangled the two men and joined the fight. Everything
was now completely mixed up, the gray-coated figures were all around,
and odd groups of men were fighting detached battles for their own skins
against heavy odds. Our telephone wire was cut, and rockets were useless
because of the mist; the casualties were heavy, and it looked as if the
line would go. Then I saw Bradley, a fearsome sight, with a piece of his
scalp hanging over his ear and his face covered with blood, trying to
collect some men. I joined him, and we got a few together and went
forward again. In technical language I suppose we led a charge or
counter-attack, but it never struck me in that way at all, and I’m sure
we had no clear idea what we intended to do.
Bradley was mad, and we went at the first group of Huns we saw. There
was a tussle, we killed two and the rest surrendered. Bradley collared
one of these himself, a poor miserable kid not more than twenty, and I
remember the sight of him put heart into us all.
In all we got forward about two hundred yards and got in touch with the
Merryway post, although, of course, we were still a long way behind our
original line.
This restored the line a little, and instead of pushing through the gaps
on either side of us the Huns hesitated a little and finally dug in
about 50 yards away. All the infantry officers were killed and every one
was out of touch, so that the Huns were not followed up. During the day
reliefs came up, and at night Brigade reported that we held a line of
posts in touch with one another about half-way between our first and
second positions.
I went up with a few men and some material to try to consolidate the
position, but when I got to Merryway post everything was in absolute
chaos and there was only a sergeant and six men in the post and
absolutely at their last gasp. Apparently they had been attacked again
during the day, and had only just kept off the Huns after suffering
heavy casualties from trench mortars. It was obvious the Huns thought a
lot of this post, and I felt sure they would try to take us during the
night. I put all my men on and tried to strengthen the place with
sandbags, and made it a little deeper by lifting some bodies out of the
bottom. I had 19 men with 150 rounds each and 1 Lewis gun with several
thousand rounds—this I placed at the end of the trench to fire up the
track.
About 11.30 we were shelled heavily without sustaining casualties, and
immediately afterwards a crowd of infantry—about 100 I think—made a dash
at us, chiefly down the old track. The Lewis gun opened at once, and I
was terrified to find that the Huns had a gun on our flank which was
shooting straight at our gun and right into the trench. The gunner was
killed at once and Cox wounded, so that the gun was silent. Then the
infantry sergeant took it and was shot dead immediately. I shouted to
the men to keep shooting at the infantry in front and I took the Lewis
gun myself and turned it round at the German gun. I waited for him to
shoot, and then fired at the flash and silenced him. I noticed that the
men’s firing had died down, and on looking to the front I was relieved
to see that the first attack was beaten off—we must have killed a lot,
as they were right against the skyline—and there were a lot of them
moaning about in front. I felt certain we could hold them if we could
keep their gun quiet, so for the next twenty minutes we worked like
fiends to raise some protection across the open end of the trench. Then
they came again in a sudden rush, but I must have damaged their gun, and
without that to help them we could turn our gun right into them and
easily held them off. A small party sneaked close up to us on the left
away from the gun and threw some bombs right into us, blowing an
infantryman to bits and wounding a sapper. Then they shelled us steadily
for half an hour and got one of the look-out men in the shoulder—another
rifle useless. At this point we had our one piece of luck—found a rum
jar with just enough in it to give each man a mouthful—it put new heart
into us and helped us more than twenty reinforcements. Everything went
quiet for a time, and in thinking things over I had an awful job to keep
myself under control. The men were wonderful, but there were only 13 of
us left and fully 200 Huns all round. During the lull Cox died in my
arms—he was very game, but just before the end he sobbed like a child:
“My wife and kiddie, oh God! sir, what’s going to happen to them?—poor
kid, poor kid.” And so he died.
Shortly afterwards they came at us again, and thank God none of us
realised how many there were. On the right where the gun was we held
them off again, but we were hopelessly outnumbered, and a German officer
and a small party actually got into our trench at the other end. I heard
the row and, leaving the gun with Willis, was just in time to see a man
kill the officer with his bayonet and the others cleared off again. They
were very close all round us now, and as we could see nothing I told the
men to keep their ammunition and then split them up, some to shoot
forward and some to shoot back. I was frightened that we should be
bombed, and surely enough they started, but the throwing was rotten.
And then once more they tried us. A bomb came right in the trench and
laid out two more men, splashing me with blood. We shot like fiends and
the gun was nearly red-hot, but they were too many. About eight men got
into the trench and then we all went mad. It would be impossible for me
to give an accurate description because there was just one fierce wild
tussle, they trying to get at Willis and that blessed gun and we trying
to keep them off. We were too mixed to shoot; they used a sort of
life-preserver and we used our bayonets taken off the rifles. A German
about my own size slipped into the trench behind me and I just turned in
time to duck under a swing from his preserver. What I was doing I shall
never know, but by instinct I got my left hand on his throat, and before
I knew what had happened I had got the bayonet dagger-wise a good six
inches into his chest. He went down without a groan. There was no one in
front of me and I turned to find a big Hun with his back to me and a
life-preserver raised to hit McDonald, who had his back to the Hun, over
the head. If I had had sense I would have stuck the bayonet into his
back, but I was absolutely wild and dropped it. Before the Hun could
strike I got my hands on his throat and we fell down together. I fell
underneath but got on top and pressed until I thought my fingers would
break. He was terribly strong and once scratched a great piece out of my
left cheek. Gradually he weakened, and I kept my fingers on his throat
until he died.
Much the same thing had happened to all the other men except one, who
got badly mauled about the head and died shortly afterwards. For a
moment I felt we could fight the whole German army, especially when I
saw McDonald smash in a German head with the rum jar. Now the survivors
were shouting for help, but that blessed Willis (ex jail-bird) was
sitting with the gun out in the open, regardless of everything, swearing
like hell, and none of the Huns seemed anxious to accept the invitation.
We were all clean crazy, and I even had a job to keep the men in the
trench. McDonald said something about Cox’s missus, and wanted to kill
ten of the “bloody bastards.”
During the whole of that bloody night my hardest job was to restrain the
men in that moment of semi-victory; for it was still two hours until
dawn. Nine out of the nineteen of us were either dead or dying, and all
the rest of us were damaged in some way. Throughout the whole night I
had never thought of anything but death. Relief, I knew, was
impossible—if we surrendered they would kill us, and I never dreamed
that we could really hold them off till dawn. Writing now, it would be
easy to imagine impressions which I never really experienced, but I can
safely say that throughout the whole night I calmly regarded myself as a
dead man. It seemed quite natural that I should be, and I can’t remember
that I had the slightest regret. It even seems now that in some queer
way I was distinctly happier and more tranquil than I had ever been in
my life before. I felt nobler, mightier, than any human being on earth,
and death seemed welcome as the only fitting end. Recalling some of my
previous entries on the subject of war, I cannot understand my feelings
on this occasion and can only repeat that it was so—perhaps something of
“The stern joy which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel.”
It was therefore almost with a feeling of annoyance, of having been
cheated of something, that I saw the first streaks of gray beyond
Kemmel. I thought they would still make a last effort and waited, but we
shivered in vain. In the semi-light we managed to get an odd shot at
some of them who had been behind us as they went round to the front—we
shot two or three more this way. Then I left my sergeant in charge and
went back for a crawl to see what I could find. It was almost light now,
and after about half an hour I came across a picket. They firmly
believed we were all dead, and said so, and once more that odd feeling
of annoyance returned. I remembered that during the night I had
visualised the Brigade report on the whole business: “Their Lewis gun
was heard firing until early in the morning but it was impossible to
reach them.”
However, I went back, left some fresh men in the post and brought my
fellows out, leaving orders for the dead to be brought down during the
day if possible. As we went back past Brigade I dropped in to report.
The General had apparently been up all night and looked very worried. He
insisted on seeing the men. They were lying in the mud outside, bleeding
and swearing—an awful but a sublime picture. He was deeply moved, and
several times under his breath I heard him say, “Marvellous, marvellous,
wonderful.” Afterwards, I was told that there were tears in his eyes
when he went back into the dug-out. He has had an awful time, poor
beggar.
_Aug. 12._ Had my face dressed and slept like a baby during the day. At
night Brigade reported once more that we held a line of connected posts,
and again we went out to try to strengthen them. My party started to
wire the Merryway post and barricade the road, and Day went forward with
a party on the right. When he got forward to where our wire should have
been he found a German party well dug-in—fully 100 yards more forward
than they were expected to be. They turned a gun on Day’s party and
threw about a dozen bombs at them but he got all his fellows back with
only two casualties, and these were brought in later. On my side the
covering party were so nervous as to be absolutely useless, so I sent
them back, and after that my own revolver was the only cover which the
men had.
I was crawling about some 50 yards in front of the party when a light
went up and I spotted three Huns crouching in a shell-hole with a
machine-gun. I had no bombs, so I went back and told the infantry
officer, but he wouldn’t do anything. We ceased work about 25 yards away
from them.
We found the mutilated body of an infantry officer who was killed on the
11th and brought it in.
On calling at H.Q. on the way back we were informed, as we now knew to
our cost, that our posts were all much farther back than was at first
thought, and in some places the Huns were even on the near side of our
wire. But for our great good luck in getting bombed we should probably
have gone out and wired between the German outposts and their main line.
I have seldom known the line to be in a more chaotic state, and I think
one more attack would just about put us beyond the count. Every one is
nervous, and no one knows where anybody else is.
_Aug. 13._ Went out after dusk with an infantry subaltern to try to get
in touch with a post reported to be on the left of the Merryway post. We
groped about without success and eventually saw about 20 figures moving
about in one of the camps behind us. They were not more than 30 yards
away, so we took them for men from the post we were in search of and did
not challenge. Presently they began to move away down the hedge towards
the German lines, and my companion remarked that they were going a long
way forward, as a German post was known to exist at the corner. Almost
immediately afterwards they began to run and disappeared into a trench
about 50 yards away. Soon after this we found our own post, and they
reported having no men out and having seen no one! There was only one
possible conclusion—we had been in close touch with a strong German
patrol which had been moving about with the greatest audacity at least
50 yards behind our lines. Very unpleasant to think about.
Then we took a few of the better men and went out on a hunt, but found
nothing. It was impossible to wire because of very frequent lights and
heavy machine-gun fire. On the right of the track we could find neither
Huns nor our own people, and it appears that Brigade H.Q. don’t really
know anything about the situation at all. It _is_ in a mess. About 3
a.m. the Huns put down a heavy barrage but didn’t come over.
_Aug. 14._ Had a night in bed—the third in six weeks. Heard that my
infantry friend was killed, just after I left, by our own shrapnel
bursting short.