and where we stood. For once in a way the dog neglected shells, and
searched for bully-beef leavings among the tins thrown aside by the
battery drivers. We were not absolutely safe. The Boche shells were
fitted with instantaneous fuses, and after each burst bits of jagged
iron flew off at right angles to points as far distant as 700 yards. As
we turned to go a piece whistled over our heads and hit one of the Red
Cross waggon lead-mules. The poor beast dropped and brought down his
frightened, kicking, companion mule also. The drivers had released them
by the time Major Veasey and I came up. The wounded mule found his
feet, and was led a few yards away. A horrible tear, 8 inches long,
showed a smashed jawbone and cheekbone; he moved his head from side to
side in his pain. "I shall have to shoot him," said the major, loading
his revolver. The mule stared dully as the major approached, but drew
back sharply when he saw the revolver. The driver could not hold him
properly, and the first bullet-hole was not the half-inch to an inch
below the forelock that means instantaneous death. The poor animal
fell, but got up again and staggered away. The major had to follow and
shoot again.
We struck off in a more northerly direction on our way back to Nurlu,
searching for the forward section of B Battery that had been told off
to work in conjunction with a certain Infantry battalion. We met
Wheater, who was commanding the section, and he told the major that he
had not taken his two guns farther forward, because the battalion
commander had gone off in a hurry without giving him instructions,
without even telling him the line the infantry had reached.
"How long have you been here?" asked the major pointedly.
"Three hours, sir."
"Well, my dear fellow, you certainly should have taken your guns
farther forward by now, battalion commander or no battalion commander.
You've got a mounted orderly, and you could have sent him back to
Brigade Headquarters, informing them of your new position. Then you
could have got into touch with the infantry and asked them for targets.
It's useless staying here."
The arrival on horseback of the major-general commanding the Division
attacking in this portion of the front turned the conversation. Not
long appointed to his present command, the General during the March
retreat had been the senior Infantry brigadier in our own Division. He
was a particularly able and resourceful soldier; his first demand was
for information regarding the work done by our forward guns. The major
told him that Wheater's section remained where it was because of the
neglect of the battalion commander.
The General listened quietly, and cast a keen eye upon Wheater, "You
can take your guns up in safety to Guyencourt, and you'll find plenty
to shoot at there. Tell any one who wants to know that your
instructions come direct from the Divisional commander.... And don't
rely too much on battalion commanders. Very few battalion commanders
know anything about artillery. It's a pity, but it's a fact." He
responded with dignity to our salutes, and rode off, followed by his
attendant staff officers and the grooms.
The major got more and more tired of the walking. It was half-past two
now, and we were both pretty hungry. The dog seemed as frisky and
energetic as when he chased the shells at breakfast-time. We passed a
big dressing station; a wheeled stretcher stood outside. "As we didn't
take a train ride, should I push you back in that, major?" I inquired
with due seriousness. Major Veasey smiled, and we started on the last
mile and a half.
There were prospects, we learned when we got back to Nurlu and read the
reports received by the adjutant, of another move forward for the
batteries.
"This looks like bringing the waggon lines over the canal," said the
adjutant, showing the major the following wire from the staff
captain:--
"Good spring at V 201 b 2.7. Water-cart filling-point being
arranged. Approaches good for water-carts. Troughs now in order
at V 202 c 8.5."
Another message of the same tenor, having to do with gun repairs, ran--
"No. 347 light shop moves to Moislains to-morrow. Will undertake
quick repairs. Longer jobs will be sent back to Nos. 124 B----
and 192 F----."
A third telegram supplied a reminder that the spiteful Boche still
had time to leave devilish traps for the unwary--
"Advanced guard --th Division found small demolition charges in
Nissen hut at W 123 b 8.9, and mined dug-out W 129 d 3.2."
"Yes," remarked Major Veasey, "we are certain to move again to-night.
The wise man will take a lie down until tea-time." And he hied him to
the wire bed in the guard-room.
* * * * *
At 8.15 that night Wilde and I, the Headquarters party, and the dog,
having waited an hour and a half for the orderly that Major Veasey had
promised to send back to guide us to a new headquarters, settled in
some old German gun-pits, scooped out of a lofty chalk bank. Our march
had brought us through Lieramont and beyond the shell-mauled cemetery
where the Boche in his quest of safety had transformed the very vaults
into dug-outs.
The horses were sent back to the waggon line and the drivers told to
bring them up again at 6 A.M.; and I was arranging the relief of the
orderly stationed on the roadside to look out for the major when the
major's special war-whoop broke cheerily through the darkness. "The
opening of the gun-pit faces the wrong way, and we have no protection
from shells--but the tarpaulin will keep any rain out," was the best
word I could find for our new quarters.
It was a moderately calm night. We four officers lay down side by side
with just our valises to soften the ruggedness of the ground. Fitful
flashes in front showed our own guns firing; high-velocity shells,
bursting immediately behind us, made us ponder on the possibility of
casualties before the night was out. But we were dog-tired, and slept
well; and by 7 A.M. the dog no longer snuggled against my feet, and we
were preparing for further departure.
"We come under the --th Divisional Artillery at 7.30, and have to
settle in Lieramont and await orders," explained Major Veasey. "They
don't want our Brigade to push on.... They say that the infantry could
have walked into Epehy without trouble, but they were too fagged. The
latest report is that the Boche is back there again."
Our chief aim when we walked back towards Lieramont was to secure
decent quarters before troops coming up should flood the village. Our
first discovery was a Nissen hut in a dank field on the eastern
outskirts. It wanted a good deal of tidying up, but 'twould serve. We
were ravenous for breakfast, and the cook got his wood-fire going very
quickly. There were tables and chairs to be found, and the dog and I
crossed the road, russet-red with the bricks from broken houses that
had been used to repair it, on a journey of exploration. Built close to
a high hedge was an extra large Nissen hut, painted with the Red Cross
sign. Inside twenty wire beds in tiers; dozens of rolls of German lint
and quantities of cotton-wool littered the floor. Outside, five yards
from the door, lay the body of a British officer. A brown blanket
covered all but his puttees and a pair of neat, well-made brown boots.
Through an opening in the hedge we came upon more Nissen huts. One of
them was divided by a partition, and would do for a mess and for
officers' sleeping quarters. Another large building could accommodate
the men, and I found also a cook-house and an office. I used chalk
freely in "staking-out" our claim, and hurried back to the major in a
fever of fear lest some one else should come before we could install
ourselves.
There were three incidents by which I shall remember our one night's
stay in Lieramont. First, the men's cook discovered a German officer's
silver-edged iron cross. One of the servants, a noted searcher after
unconsidered trifles, had found a Boche officer's overcoat in one of
the huts. He went through the pockets and threw the coat away. The
cook, coming after him, picked up the coat, and, "Blow me," said he,
"if this didn't fall out."
Also, while Major Veasey, Major Simpson, and Major Bullivant were
standing talking, a British soldier, pushing a bicycle, passed along
the road. Following him, sometimes breaking into a run to keep up, came
a plump, soft-faced German boy in infantry uniform, the youngest German
I had seen in France. "Why, he's only a kid," said Major Veasey. "He
can't be more than sixteen."
"Was ist ihr regiment?" called Major Bullivant. I took it that the
major was asking the youngster to what regiment he belonged.
The British private and his prisoner stopped. The boy Boche smiled
sheepishly, yet rather pleasantly, and said something which I didn't
understand, and don't believe Major Bullivant did either.
There was a half-minute pause. Then the practical British private moved
on, calling simply, "Come on, Tich!" The phrase, "He followed like a
lamb," became appropriate.
And I remember one further episode, not so agreeable. Major Veasey and
myself had been to call on the Divisional Artillery, under whose
orders we were now working. When we returned the dead British officer
still lay outside the Red Cross hut. But the neat brown boots had been
removed.
"By God, that's a ghoulish bit of work," said the major, angry disgust
in his face. "The man who did that is a cur."
XIV. THE FIGHT FOR RONSSOY
Sept. 16: The first autumn tints were spreading over field and tree,
and the tempestuous rains of the last few days had chilled the air; but
the weather had righted itself now, and would prove no bar to the next
advance, which it was whispered would take place on the 18th. The
American offensive at St Mihiel on the 12th had undoubtedly keyed-up
our men, and any one supposed to know anything at all was being
button-holed for fore-casts of the extent of the Allies' giant thrust
up to the time of the winter rains.
There had been a four days' withdrawal of our Brigade to more peaceful
areas behind the line, and, praise the Saints! we had again come under
our own Divisional Artillery.
The colonel had returned, and, as usual, the first day or so after
coming off leave, appeared preoccupied and reserved. Still there was no
one like our colonel; and, in the serene atmosphere of his wise
unquestioned leadership, petty bickerings, minor personal troubles, and
the half-jesting, half-bitter railings against higher authority, had
faded away. He brought the news that the medical board in England would
not permit the C.R.A. to return to France; and the appointment of
C.R.A. had gone to the colonel of our companion Field Artillery
Brigade, now the senior Field Artillery officer in the Division--a
popular honour, because, though we thought there could be no colonel so
good as ours,--we should not have been such a good Brigade had we
admitted any other belief,--we all knew Colonel ---- to be a talented
and experienced gunner, and a brave man, with great charm of manner.
Besides, it kept the appointment in the family, so to speak. We wanted
no outsider from another Division. "You must all congratulate General
---- when you meet him," said our colonel gently.
The four days behind the line had been interesting in their way,
despite the rain-storms. We had hot baths and slept in pyjamas once
more. Some of the younger officers and a few of the N.C.O.'s had made a
long lorry trip to Abbeville to replace worn-out clothes. Major
Bullivant and the adjutant had borrowed a car to search for almost
forgotten mess luxuries; and coming back had given a lift to a _cure_,
who in the dark put his foot in the egg-box, smashing twenty of the
eggs. There had been the booby-trap in the blown-up dug-out. A chair
that almost asked to be taken stood half-embedded in earth near the
doorway. I was about to haul it away to the mess when I perceived a
wire beneath it, and drew back. Afterwards some sappers attached more
wire, and, from a safe distance, listened to a small explosion that
would have meant extreme danger to any one standing near. Also there
had been the dead horse that lay unpleasantly near our mess. Major
Veasey, "Swiffy," the doctor, our rollicking interpreter M. Phineas,
and myself all took turns at digging a hole for its burial; and there
was plenty of laughter, because old Phineas refused to go near the
horse without swathing his face in a scarf, and when wielding the pick
raised it full-stretch above his head before bringing it, with slow
dignity, to earth--for all the world like a church-bell-ringer. Two
nights in succession German night-bombers had defied our anti-aircraft
guns and brought cruel death to horses camped alongside the canal. On
the second night we had witnessed a glorious revenge. Our search-lights
had concentrated upon a Gotha, and they refused to let it escape their
glare. Then suddenly from up above came the putt-puttr-putt of
machine-guns. Red and blue lights floated down; the swift streakings of
inflammatory bullets clove the cobalt sky; with ecstasy we realised
that one of our airmen was in close combat with the invader. When the
enemy 'plane crashed to earth, a blazing holocaust, cheers burst from
hundreds of tent-dwellers who had come out to view the spectacle.
And now on the 16th of September we had pitched tents a mile south of
Lieramont, which we had left on the 9th, on the confines of a wood that
stretched down to a road and fringed it for three parts of a mile to
the village of Templeux la Fosse. Wilde and the adjutant had departed
in high spirits, and their best clothes, to catch the leave train, and
I was doing adjutant. Hubbard, a new officer from D Battery, who before
getting his commission had been a signalling sergeant, filled Wilde's
shoes. I had ridden into Templeux la Fosse to conduct a polite argument
with the officer of a Division newly arrived from Palestine on the
matter of watering arrangements. His point was that his Division had
reached the area first and got the pumps into working order, and his
instructions were to reserve the troughs for the horses of his own
Division. I argued that if our horses did not water in Templeux they
would have to do a seven-mile journey three times a day to the next
nearest _abreuvoir_. "And you can't claim the exclusive use of a
watering-point unless Corps grants special permission," I concluded.
"But Corps haven't instructed you to water here," he persisted.
"Neither have they told us _not_ to come here," I countered.
We parted, agreeing to refer the whole matter to Corps. Corps, I might
add, ruled that we should be allowed to water 200 horses per hour at
certain hours, and that the other Division should police the
performance.
I had returned in time to administer the distribution of fifty-nine
remounts come from the base to replace battery horses killed by bombs
and shell-fire, or evacuated by "Swiffy," our veterinary officer, to
the Mobile Veterinary Section, as a result of the hard-going and
watering difficulties since the advance started on August 8th.
I was talking to the staff captain about the ammunition dumps he had
arranged for the coming battle, when the brigade clerk handed me a buff
slip just arrived from the Casualty Clearing Station. It stated simply
that 2nd Lieut. Garstin had died as the result of gun-shot wounds. Poor
boy! a handsome well-mannered youngster, who had come out to France
practically from school.
I finished talking to the staff captain and walked to the colonel's
tent. I told him of Garstin's death.
"Wounded last night taking up ammunition, wasn't he?" said the colonel
gravely.
"Yes, sir. He had finished the job and was coming back towards
Lieramont. Two of the men were wounded as well."
The colonel pulled out the note-book in which he kept his list of the
officers in the Brigade.
"That leaves C Battery very short of officers. You'd better
transfer--let me see--M'Whirter from 'B.' ... And ask the staff captain
if we can have an officer from the D.A.C."
A little later I sent out the following wire to B and C Batteries:--
"2nd Lieut. J. M'Whirter will be attached to C Battery on
receipt of this message. 2nd Lieut. F.E.R. Collinge of No. 1
Section D.A.C. will join B Battery to-day."
The night bristled with excitements. No. 1 Section of the D.A.C., with
two hundred horses, were camped a hundred yards from us, and at 9 P.M.
I was in their mess, talking books of the day, horses, and stage
gossip. A lull in the conversation was broken by the low unmistakable
drone of an enemy aeroplane. It sounded right overhead. "What's
happened to our anti-aircraft people?" said Major Brown, starting up
from the table. "How's he got through as far as this without any one
shooting at him?"
We waited in silence. I wondered what had become of the dog, who had
followed me, but had remained outside the trench-cover mess.
The first bomb crashed near enough to put out the candles and rattle
the glasses on the table. "That fell over there," said the padre,
pointing to behind the wood. "No, it was on this side, not far from my
horses," put in Major Brown quickly.
Three more bombs shook the ground beneath us. Then we heard more
distant explosions.
Outside we saw torch flashings in the D.A.C. horse lines, and heard
hurrying to and fro. "Swiffy" also had run down to give his aid.
So serious had been the loss of horses through bombing during the
summer of 1918 that after each fatal raid an official report had to be
forwarded and a formal inquiry held to decide whether full precautions
for the safety of the horses had been taken. At 9.30 P.M. I received
this note from Major Brown:--
"The following casualties occurred to animals of this Section by
hostile bombs at 7 P.M. on 16th inst.--
"Map location D 230, c. 97: killed, 7; wounded, 11."
Half an hour later a message from C Battery, who were a mile and a half
away along the valley, informed me that their casualties in horses and
mules numbered 19.
At two in the morning I was aroused by a furious beating of wind and
rain upon the tent. Hubbard, already in receipt of wet on his side of
the tent, was up fastening the entrance-flap, which had torn loose.
Sharp flashes of lightning and heavy thunder accompanied the squall
when it reached its height. "I hope the pegs hold," shouted Hubbard,
and we waited while the tent-sides strained and the pole wavered. The
dog growled, and a scuffling behind us was followed by the appearance,
at the back of the tent, of the colonel's head and shoulders. In his
pyjamas, drenched and shivering with cold, he struggled inside. "My
tent's down," he called sharply. "Houston's got my kit into his
bivouac.... You two fellows hop outside and hammer in the pegs....
Let's save this tent if we can.... And some one lend me a towel for a
rub down!"
Wrapped in rain-coats, Hubbard and myself faced the skirling rain. When
we slipped inside again the colonel had dried himself. I lent him a
blanket and my British warm, and he settled himself contentedly on the
ground, refusing to occupy either camp-bed.
"The annoying part," he said, with the boyish ring in his voice that
made his laugh so attractive, "is that my tent was much better put up
than yours."
The wind still blew when we got up in the morning. A valiant tale came
from "Swiffy," the doctor, and M. Phineas. They occupied a tent 'twixt
a bank and a hedge, nearer to the D.A.C. M. Phineas had held up the
pole with folds of wet canvas alternately choking him or whirling round
him, while "Swiffy" yelled for him to kneel upon the tent bottom to
keep it fast, and expected him to fetch a servant at the same time. The
doctor, enfolded by the wanton canvas in another state compartment of
the blown-about tent, was cut off from communication with the other
two, and fought the battle on his own.
The struggle to keep the tents from collapsing was crowned at 6 A.M. by
the urgent and peremptory order from Division: "All tents in the
Divisional forward area are to be struck before dawn."
It was an order that breathed an understanding fear of the inquisitive
eyes of enemy aerial observers. But if the G.S.O. who issued the order
really knew----
* * * * *
Under cover of the darkness the Brigade moved up 6000 yards to secret
positions for the morrow's battle. We were behind our own infantry once
again, and it was to be a big advance. We had come over forty miles
since August 8 in a series of three-to eight-mile leaps; for the third
time the battalions had been brought up to something like strength, and
they were full of fight. In the mud and slime of the Somme and
Flanders in 1916 and 1917, when each advance was on a narrow front and
ceased after a one-day effort, I always marvelled at the patient,
fatalistic heroism of the infantry. A man went "over the top"
understanding that, however brilliant the attack, the exultant glory of
continuous chase of a fleeing, broken enemy would not be his; and that,
should he escape wounds or death, it would not be long before he went
"over the top" again, and yet again. But this open fighting had changed
all that. It showed results for his grit and endurance to the humblest
"infanteer." And remember, it was the civilian soldier--unversed in
war, save actual war--who accepted and pushed home the glorious
opportunities of achievement that these wondrous days offered.
The colonel and I mounted our horses at eight o'clock, saw C and D
Batteries begin their march, and called upon the new C.R.A. in his
hut-headquarters at Lieramont. He was genuinely pleased at being
congratulated upon his appointment, and, I remember, produced for me a
Havana, come straight from London. Both the General and the
brigade-major had good things to say of the dog, who was now definitely
known as "Ernest"--chiefly because I had said "Hullo" to call him so
many times that inevitably one recalled Mr Frank Tinney and his mode of
addressing his stage assistant.
From Lieramont the colonel and myself rode eastwards two miles and a
half. The road was crowded with waggons and horses, returning in
orderly fashion from delivering ammunition. In the distance guns
boomed. When we got to the _pave_ the colonel said we would walk across
country the rest of the way. Our horses had only been gone a couple of
minutes when the colonel suddenly halted and exclaimed, "I've let
Laneridge go back with my steel helmet."
"Should we wait a few minutes on the road, sir?" I responded quickly;
"Laneridge is likely to come back and try to catch you.... Of course he
doesn't know where our headquarters will be."
For answer the colonel stood in the centre of the road and shouted with
studied clearness--"Laneridge!... Laneridge!"
We tried a joint call, and repeated it; but there was no sound of
returning hoofs.
One curious result followed. An infantry soldier, who had passed us,
came back and, in a north-country accent, asked, "Beg pardon, sir, but
did you call me?--my name's Laneridge, sir."
"No," said the colonel, "I was calling my groom."
The man passed on. "That's a really striking coincidence," remarked the
colonel. "Laneridge is not a common name."
After waiting five minutes we continued our walk, and crossing a valley
dotted with abandoned gun-pits and shallow dug-outs, came to a
shrub-covered bank from which a battery was pulling out its guns.
"Our headquarters will be here," said the colonel succinctly. "Hubbard
has been sorting things out. There are dug-outs along the bank, and I
expect we shall find something in the trench down there."
Hubbard had indeed found a place for the mess in the trench, while he
pointed to a cubby-hole in the bank that would do for the colonel, and
to another shelter, a yard high from roof to floor, in which he and I
could lie down. The telephone lines to the batteries and to Div. Art.
were laid. He was ready for the battle.
Zero hour was at 5.20 A.M. The battery commanders had received the
operation orders during the afternoon. I reported our arrival to the
brigade-major; and not worrying much about some hostile 'planes that
seemed to be dropping bombs in the neighbourhood of the front line, we
turned in.
At 1.30 A.M. the telephone near my head buzzed. I heard the colonel
say, "Are you troubled by gas?"
"Haven't noticed any, sir."
"You had better have your box-respirator ready. It seems to be coming
in a cloud down the valley."