noticed a groom who had been waiting with his two horses since the
first time I passed the spot. At first he thought he hadn't seen a dog
that looked like a cross between an Airedale and a Belgian sheep-dog.
Then he fancied he had. Yes, he believed it had passed that way with an
R.A.M.C. major. "But those men near that ambulance car will tell you,
sir. They were playing with the dog I saw, about half an hour ago."
Yes, I was really on the trail now. "That's right, sir," remarked the
R.A.M.C. sergeant when he had helped two walking wounded into the
ambulance car. "I remember the dog, and saw the name on the collar....
He followed our major about twenty minutes ago. He's gone across that
valley to Brigade Headquarters.... I don't think he'll be long."
"What's it like up there?" asked one of the ambulance men of a slight,
fagged-looking lance-corporal of the Fusiliers, who had been hit in the
shoulder.
"Hot!" replied the Fusilier. "One dropped near Battalion Headquarters
and killed our sergeant.... I think there are five more of our lot
coming along."
There were two more places to be filled before the ambulance car moved
off. Another Fusilier, wounded in the knee, hobbled up, assisted by two
men of the same regiment, one of them with his head bandaged.
"Hullo, Jim!" called the lance-corporal from the ambulance. "I wondered
if you'd come along too. Did you see Tom?"
"No," responded the man hit in the ankle.
The ambulance moved off. An empty one took its place. It was a quarter
to two, but I was resolved to wait now until the R.A.M.C. major
returned. Three shells came over and dropped near the railway. More
walking wounded filled places in the ambulance.
The major, with "Ernest" at his heels, came back at a quarter-past two.
"Ernest" certainly knew me again. He leapt up and licked my hand, and
looked up while the major listened to my story. "Well, I should have
kept him--or tried to do so," he said. "He's a taking little fellow,
and I've always had a dog until a few weeks ago.... But"--with a
pleasant smile--"I think you've earned your right to him.... I've never
seen a dog so excited by shells.... Well, good-bye!"
He walked away, and "Ernest" started after him. I stood still in the
centre of the road. The dog turned his head as if to see whether I
meant to follow. Then he came back, and quietly lay down at my feet.
We had a joyous walk home. There were shells to scamper after, wire to
scramble through, old trenches to explore. The return of "Ernest"
brought a deep content to our mess.
* * * * *
Sept. 21: The attack which started at 5.40 A.M. was carried out by two
of our Divisional Infantry brigades; a brigade of another Division
attacked simultaneously. The object was to close with the main enemy
positions in the Hindenburg Line. Tanks were put in to break down the
opposition--sure to be met by the brigades on the left and right; and
every officer in the Division knew that if the final objectives could
be held the Boche would be compelled to withdraw large forces to the
far side of the canal. The attack was planned with extraordinary
attention to detail. Battalions were ordered not to attempt to push on
beyond the final objective; trench mortars were to be moved up to cover
the consolidation of the final positions; the reconnaissance work had
been specially thorough. Our batteries had horses and limbers in
readiness for a quick rushing up of the guns.
The earlier part of the operation went well enough, but by 8 A.M. we
knew that our two Infantry brigades were having to go all out. The
Boche machine-gunners were firing with exemplary coolness and
precision. At 8.30 the brigade-major telephoned that every gun we
possessed must fire bursts on certain hostile battery positions. The
colonel and I didn't leave the mess that morning; the telephone was
rarely out of use. At half-past ten Major Bartlett, who had gone
forward to an infantry post to see what was happening, got a message
back to say that, harassed by heavy machine-gun and rifle fire, our
infantry were coming back. Aeroplane calls for artillery fire on
hostile batteries were twice responded to by our batteries. Drysdale,
doing liaison with the --rd Infantry Brigade, reported that two
battalions had had severe losses. A buff slip from the Casualty
Clearing Station informed us that the lead driver of our brigade
telephone cart had died in hospital overnight: he had been hit just
after leaving the Headquarters position the previous evening, and was
the second Headquarters driver to be killed since Sept. 1. The only
relief during a morning of excitement and some gloom was the arrival of
three big cigars, sent by the doctor for the colonel, Hubbard, and
myself. As the colonel didn't smoke cigars, the only solution was for
Hubbard and myself to toss for the remaining one. Hubbard won.
At one o'clock it became clear that our infantry could not hope to do
more than consolidate upon their first objective. There was no prospect
of the batteries moving forward, and at 1.30 the colonel told me to
send out this message to all batteries--
"Gun limbers and firing battery waggons need not be kept within
2000 yards of gun positions any longer to-day."
Major Veasey called on us at tea-time, and the talk ran on the
possibilities of the next few days' fighting. "The Boche seems bent on
holding out here as long as he can," said the major. "I think he's
fighting a rear-guard action on a very big scale," said the colonel
thoughtfully. "Our air reports indicate much movement in his back
areas.... And most of his artillery fire is from long range now."
"Let's hope it continues in that way," went on the major, filling his
pipe. "If only he'd stop his beastly gas shells it wouldn't be so bad.
It's not clean war. I'd vote willingly for an armistice on gas shells."
"Are you improving your accommodation at the battery?" asked the
colonel. "We're likely to be here a few days, and we must make as much
protection as we can."
"We've got quite a decent dug-out in the bank to sleep in," answered
Major Veasey, getting up to go, "but our mess is rather in the
open--under a tarpaulin. However, it's quite a pleasant mess. Bullivant
and Simpson came to dine last night, and we played bridge till eleven."
I had sent out the S.O.S. lines to batteries, and we had sat down to
dinner a little earlier than usual, owing to the desirability of
showing as little light as possible, when the telephone bell rang. I
put the receiver to my ear.
A strong decided voice spoke. "Is that the adjutant, sir?... I'm
Sergeant ---- of D Battery, sir.... Major Veasey has been badly
wounded."
"Major Veasey wounded," I repeated, and the colonel and Hubbard put
down knives and forks and listened.
"Yes, sir, ... a gas shell came into the mess. Mr Kelly and Mr Wood
have been wounded as well.... We've got them away to the hospital,
sir.... Mr Kelly got it in the face, sir.... I'm afraid he's blinded."
"How was Major Veasey wounded?"
"In the arm and foot, sir.... Mr Wood was not so bad."
"There's no other officer at D Battery, sir," I said to the colonel,
who was already turning up the list of officers in his note-book.
"Tell him that the senior sergeant will take command until an officer
arrives," replied the colonel promptly, "and then get on to Drysdale at
the infantry. I'll speak to him.... I don't like the idea of Veasey
being wounded by a gas shell," he added quickly. Depression descended
upon all three of us.
The colonel told Captain Drysdale to inform the Infantry brigadier what
had happened, and to obtain his immediate permission to go to the
battery, about half a mile away. "You've got a subaltern at the waggon
line.... Get him up," advised the colonel, "the sergeant-major can
carry on there.... Tell the General that another officer will arrive as
soon as possible to do liaison."
The colonel looked again at his note-book. "We're frightfully down in
officers," he said at last. "I'll ask Colonel ---- of the --rd if he
can spare some one to take on to-night."
"I hope Veasey and Kelly are not badly wounded," he said later,
lighting a cigarette. "And I'm glad it didn't come last night, when
there were three battery commanders at the bridge party. That would
have been catastrophe."
That night the Boche rained gas shells all round our quarters in the
sunken road. Hubbard and myself and "Ernest" were not allowed much
sleep in our right little, tight little hut. One shell dropped within
twenty yards of us; thrice fairly heavy shell splinters played an
unnerving tattoo upon our thick iron roof; once we were forced to wear
our box-respirators for half an hour.
At 11.30 P.M. the colonel telephoned from his hut to ours to tell me
that new orders had come in from the brigade-major. "We are putting
down a barrage from midnight till 12.15 A.M.," he said. "You needn't
worry. I've sent out orders to the batteries.... Our infantry are
making an assault at 12.15 on Doleful Post. It ought to startle the
Hun. He won't expect anything at that hour."
XVI. THE DECISIVE DAYS
Sept. 22: It was as the colonel expected. The Boche took our hurricane
bombardment from midnight to 12.15 A.M. to be an unusually intense
burst of night-firing; and when our guns "lifted" some six hundred
yards, our infantry swept forward, and in a few minutes captured two
posts over which many lives had been unavailingly expended during the
two preceding days. Sixty prisoners also were added to their bag.
But the enemy was only surprised--not done with. This was ground that
had been a leaping-off place for his mighty rush in March 1918. Close
behind lay country that had not been trod by Allied troops since the
1914 invasion. He counter-attacked fiercely, and at 5.10 A.M. a
signaller roused me with the message.
"Our attack succeeded in capturing Duncan and Doleful Posts, but failed
on the rest of the front. S.O.S. line will be brought back to the line
it was on after 12 midnight. Bursts of harassing fire will be put down
on the S.O.S. lines and on approaches in rear from now onwards. About
three bursts per hour. Heavy artillery is asked to conform."
I telephoned to the batteries to alter their S.O.S. lines, and told the
colonel what had been done. Then I sought sleep again.
After breakfast the brigade-major telephoned that the Division
immediately north of us was about to attempt the capture of a strong
point that had become a wasps' nest of machine-gunners. "We have to
hold Duncan Post and Doleful Post at all costs," he added. All through
the morning messages from Division artillery and from the liaison
officer told the same tale: fierce sallies and desperate
counter-attacks between small parties of the opposing infantry, who in
places held trench slits and rough earthworks within a mashie shot of
each other. About noon the Germans loosed off a terrible burst of fire
on a 500-yards' front. "Every Boche gun for miles round seemed to be
pulverising that awful bit," "Buller," who had gone forward to observe,
told me afterwards. "My two telephonists hid behind a brick wall that
received two direct hits, and I lay for a quarter of an hour in a
shell-hole without daring to move. Then half a dozen of their
aeroplanes came over in close formation and tried to find our infantry
with their machine-guns.... I got the wind up properly." Our batteries
answered three S.O.S. calls between 10 A.M. and 1 o'clock; and,
simultaneously with a news message from Division stating that British
cavalry had reached Nazareth and crossed the Jordan, that 18,000
prisoners and 160 guns had been captured, and that Liman von Sanders
had escaped by the skin of his teeth, came a report from young Beale
that Germans could be seen massing for a big effort.
I passed this information to the brigade-major, and our guns, and the
heavies behind them, fired harder than ever. Then for an hour until 3
o'clock we got a respite. A couple of pioneers, lent to us by the
colonel, who had shown himself so sympathetic in the matter of the lost
dog, worked stolidly with plane and saw and foot-rule, improving our
gun-pit mess by more expert carpentering than we could hope to
possess. The colonel tore the wrapper of the latest copy of an
automobile journal, posted to him weekly, and devoted himself to an
article on spring-loaded starters. I read a type-written document from
the staff captain that related to the collection, "as opportunity
offers," of two field guns captured from the enemy two days before.
But at 3.35 the situation became electric again. The clear high-pitched
voice of young Beale sounded over the line that by a miracle had not
yet been smashed by shell-fire. "Germans in large numbers are coming
over the ridge south of Tombois Farm," he said.
I got through to the brigade-major, and he instructed me to order our
guns to search back 1000 yards from that portion of our front.
"Don't tell the batteries to 'search back,'" broke in the colonel, who
had heard me telephoning. "It's a confusing expression. Tell them to
'search east,' or 'north-east' in this case."
By a quarter to four the telephone wires were buzzing feverishly. More
S.O.S. rockets had gone up. The enemy had launched a very heavy
counter-attack. Our over-worked gunners left their tea, and tons of
metal screamed through the air. Within an hour Drysdale sent us most
inspiring news.
"The infantry are awfully pleased with our S.O.S. barrage," he said
briskly. "As a matter of fact, that burst you ordered at 3.40 was more
useful still, ... caught the Germans as they came out to attack....
They were stopped about 150 yards from our line.... They had to go back
through our barrage.... It was a great sight.... The dead can be seen
in heaps.... Over twenty Boche ran through our barrage and gave
themselves up."
Drysdale had more good news for us twenty minutes later. Two companies
of a battalion not attacked--they were to the right of the place to
which the enemy advanced--saw what was happening, dashed forward along
a winding communication trench, and seized a position that hitherto
they had found impregnable. They got a hundred prisoners out of the
affair.
Two more S.O.S. calls went up before dinner-time, but a day of
tremendous heavy fighting ended with our men in glorious possession of
some of the hardest-won ground in the history of the Division.
"If we can hold on where we are until really fresh troops relieve us we
shall be over the Hindenburg Line in three days," said the colonel
happily, as he selected targets for the night-firing programme.
He had written "From receipt of this message S.O.S. lines will be as
follows--" when he stopped. "Can't we shorten this preliminary
verbiage?" he asked quizzically. "Castle made this opening phrase a
sort of tradition when he was adjutant."
"What about 'Henceforth S.O.S. lines will be'?" I replied, tilting my
wooden stool backwards.
"That will do!" said the colonel.
And "henceforth" it became after that.
For two more days we carried on this most tiring of all kinds of
fighting: for the infantry, hourly scraps with a watchful plucky foe;
for the gunners, perpetual readiness to fire protective bursts should
the enemy suddenly seek to shake our grip on this most fateful stretch
of front; in addition to day and night programmes of "crashes" that
allowed the gun detachments no rest, and at the same time demanded
unceasing care in "laying" and loading and firing the guns. And with
the opposing infantry so close to each other, and the front line
changing backwards and forwards from hour to hour, absolute accuracy
was never more necessary. The Brigade had had no proper rest since the
early days of August. The men had been given no opportunity for baths
or change of clothing. Our casualties had not been heavy, but they were
draining us steadily, and reinforcements stepped into this strenuous
hectic fighting with no chance of the training and testing under actual
war conditions that make a period of quiet warfare so valuable. And yet
it was this portion of "the fifty days," this exhausting, remorseless,
unyielding struggling that really led to the Boche's final downfall. It
forced him to abandon the Hindenburg Line--the beginning of the very
end.
I was going to write that it was astonishing how uncomplainingly, how
placidly each one of us went on with his ordinary routine duties during
this time. But, after all, it wasn't astonishing. The moments were too
occupied for weariness of soul; our minds rioted with the thought,
"He's getting done! Let's get on with it! Let's finish him." And if at
times one reflected on the barrenness, the wastefulness of war, there
still remained the satisfying of the instinct to do one's work well.
The pioneers had done their very best, and made quite a house of our
mess, even finding glass to put in the windows. I don't know that the
old wheeler understood me when I emphasised this thoroughness of the
pioneers by adding, "You see, we British always build for posterity";
but before we went away he began to take a pride in keeping those
windows clean.
On Sept. 25 we heard without much pleasure that we had come under
another Divisional Artillery, and were to retire to our waggon lines by
nightfall. "I'd rather stay here a few days longer and then go out for
a proper rest," said the colonel, taking appreciative stock of the
habitations that had arisen since our occupation. "I'm afraid this
order means a shift to another part of the line." And it was so. Our
Brigade was to side-step north, and the colonel and the battery
commanders went off after lunch to reconnoitre positions. An Australian
Field Artillery brigade came to "take-over" from us, and I yarned with
their colonel and adjutant and intelligence officer while waiting for
our colonel to return. I told them that it was ages since I had seen a
'Sydney Bulletin.'
"I used to get mine regularly," said their adjutant, "but it hasn't
come for ten weeks now. I expect some skrim-shanker at the post-office
or at the base is pinching it.... I'm going to tell my people to wrap
it up in the 'War Cry' before posting it. I know one chap who's had
that done for over a year. No one thinks of pinching it then."
One of the Australian batteries was late getting in, and it was
half-past seven before the colonel and I, waiting for the relief to be
complete, got away. The Boche guns had been quiet all the afternoon.
But--how often it happens when one has been delayed!--shells fell about
the track we intended to take when we mounted our horses, and we had to
side-track to be out of danger. When we arrived at Headquarters waggon
lines it was too late to dine in daylight; and as Hun bombers were on
the war-path, our dinner was a blind-man's-buff affair.
The colonel had been told that we should be required to fight a battle
at our new positions on the 27th, and already the batteries had
commenced to take up ammunition. But when--the Hun aeroplanes having
passed by and candles being permissible in our tents--the brigade
clerk produced an order requiring us to have two guns per battery in
action that very night, I considered joylessly the prospect of a long
move in the dark.
"They expect us to move up to-night, sir," I told the colonel, handing
him the order brought by a motor-cyclist despatch-bearer about eight
o'clock.
"Oh!" said the colonel--and the "Oh!" was a _chef-d'oeuvre_ of irony.
Then he wrote a masterly little note, perfect in its correctness, and
yet instinct with the power and knowledge of a commander who had a mind
of his own. He wrote as follows, and told me to hand the message to the
returning despatch-rider:--
"Ref. your B.M. 85 dated 25th Sept., I regret that I shall not
be able to move one section per battery into action to-night.
"I was late in returning from my reconnaissance owing to delay
in fixing position for my Brigade Headquarters; did not get the
order until eight o'clock, and by that time batteries had
started moving ammunition up to the positions. All available
guides had gone up with the ammunition waggons.
"My batteries will be prepared to fire a barrage by dawn on 27th
Sept.
"In confirmation of my telephone conversation with B.M. to-day
positions selected are as follows:--"
The message closed with the map co-ordinates of the positions chosen
for our four batteries, and with a request for the map location of the
Divisional Artillery Headquarters, to which the note was sent.
Next day, the 26th, was a day of busy preparation. We learned that, for
the first time, we should be in active co-operation with an American
Division. The infantry of the British Division we were working under
had been told off to protect the left flank of the American Division.
The object of the attack was the capture of the last dominating
strong-posts that guarded a section of the Hindenburg Line, immediately
north of the section for which our own Divisional infantry had battled
since Sept. 19. The enemy was to be surprised. Our guns, when placed in
position, had to remain silent until they began the barrage on the
27th. That morning, therefore, topographical experts busied themselves
ascertaining exact map locations of the batteries' positions so as to
ensure accurate shooting by the map. The point was emphasised by the
colonel, who wrote to all batteries:--
"Battery Commanders are reminded that as barrages on morning of
27th will be fired without previous registration of guns.
"THE LINE LAID OUT MUST NOT BE ENTIRELY DEPENDENT ON COMPASS
BEARING. Check it by measuring angles to points which can be
identified on the map. All calculations to be made by two
officers working separately, who will then check each other.
"Every precaution must be taken not to attract the attention of
the enemy to batteries moving forward into action. Nothing to be
taken up in daylight, except in the event of _very_ bad
visibility."
The colonel rode over to see the C.R.A. of the Division to whom our
Brigade had been loaned. After lunch he held a battery commanders'
conference in his tent, and explained the morrow's barrage scheme.
"Ernest," the dog, spent a delighted frolicsome hour chasing a Rugby
football that some Australians near our waggon lines brought out for
practice. Hubbard went on to the new positions to lay out his telephone
lines. I occupied myself completing returns for the staff captain.
By five o'clock I had joined the colonel and Hubbard at the new
positions. Our only possible mess was a roofless gun-pit not far from a
road. The colonel and Hubbard were covering it with scrap-heap sheets
of rusty iron, and a tarpaulin that was not sufficiently expansive.
Further down the road was a dug-out into which two could squeeze. The
colonel said Hubbard and I had better occupy it. He preferred to sleep
in the gun-pit, and already had gathered up a few armfuls of grasses
and heather to lie upon. Manning and the cook had discovered a hole of
their own, and the two clerks and the orderlies had cramped themselves
into a tiny bivouac.
The final fastening-down of the gun-pit roof was enlivened by heavy
enemy shelling of a battery four hundred yards north-east of us.
Several splinters whistled past, and one flying piece of iron, four
inches long and an inch wide, missed my head by about a foot and buried
itself in the earthen floor of the mess. "That's the narrowest escape
you've had for some time," smiled the colonel.
Ten minutes later the brigade clerk brought me the evening's batch of
Divisional messages and routine orders. This was the first one I
glanced at:--
"Wire by return name of war-tired captain or subaltern, if any,
available for temporary duty for administration and training of
R.A. malaria convalescents. Very urgent."
XVII. WITH THE AMERICANS