THE FAMILY LUCK
At the fifth line the men stayed awhile, waiting for the word to take
the sixth line, and our barrage was directed on this trench line so
heavily, the Germans could not hold it. They left and our wave crossed
over, but could not reach the much sought-for ditch, as a massed
counter-attack drove them back. Our barrage again drove Fritz back, thus
converting the sixth-line trench into a No Man's Land.
The Boche made a determined effort to retain it and counter-attacked
time and time again, but each try met our machine guns, rifles and
grenades, together with the barrage, and a distorted heap of dead
Kaiserites was added to those already in this ditch of death.
Their ranks were getting woefully thin and pale; wave after wave came up
in a bull-headed effort to keep the line, and, finally, to assist the
fainting Prussians, a regiment of Brandenburgers jumped to their help,
and again they came. By this time the trench was literally filled with
dead, dying and wounded men. Over the Brandenburgers came, one thousand
strong, right in the teeth of our barrage; in mass formation they
charged, and it was impossible for a bullet to miss its billet in that
line. They fell like flies on a tanglefoot sheet, and back they wavered
into the trench. But there was no shelter for them there, as it had
ceased to be an abiding place, because their dead and wounded comrades
were piled in it clear up to the brink, and there was no place for them
to stoop or crouch to escape the rain of death.
Our O.C. paused awhile to see what Fritz would do further, but--nothing
stirring! So, over our fellows went. The corpse-filled trench offering
no attraction for shelter, the wave rolled on to the seventh line,
taking it and putting up there for the night.
A few hours later Fritz made a most determined attack on the seventh
line, and sorry am I to tell that they made a little headway, taking
some prisoners, among them being my cousin Jim; roll call the following
morning also disclosed Archie as missing. For my dear Auntie's sake it
is my sincere prayer that he may yet be alive and well.
When the wave reached the first line in this drive, the trenches were
filled with prisoners and orders were given to corral them in the
different dugouts and rush them into the holes, but there was no need
for hurrying them,--they were diving for them as fast as their legs
would carry them. My brother Billy and a party was put in charge of a
number of dugouts, Billy having one under his control. He did not know
how many were in the dugout he guarded, but outside was a captured
Prussian officer. The boys had now gone on ahead, leaving the prisoners'
escorts posted here and there along the trench to guard them. This
Prussian officer was standing a few feet away from Billy, on his right,
and something diverting Bill's attention from him, the Prussian officer,
in strict accordance with the Prussian code of honor, seized the
opportunity, grabbed a rifle, and was about to plunge the bayonet into
Billy, but he turned just in time to catch him in the act and avoid him.
He lunged with his bayonet, catching the dastard in the left shoulder,
and while tugging to get it out, the prisoners started rushing up the
steps of the dugout, and Bill was forced to let go of the rifle; as he
did so, the weight of the gun pulled the bayonet downward, ripping
through the Prussian's black heart. Bill then took a bomb--he had eight
of them--and let them go one after another into the dugout. Although
fighting for his life, he knew if he faltered for a moment he would be
lost, and he did not lose his head for a second; he realized that if he
let any of these bombs leave his hand and reach the dugout in sufficient
length of time before it exploded, they would seize them and hurl them
back at him, or else escape this particular bunch who were trying to get
him and who were strung on the steps leading down into the dugout. So,
in the midst of the scrap he kept his nerve and his head, not letting a
single bomb leave his hand until he was dead certain the time had
expired and that the moment it struck the top step of the dugout, their
mission of destruction would have been accomplished. This done, he
yanked his rifle out of the officer's shoulder and jumped to the
entrance of the pit for any others that might have escaped his fusillade
of grenades. None came.
"Billy, take those prisoners out of the dugout," sang out the
Sergeant-Major, "and get them to the rear, and tell the rest of the boys
to do the same."
"I don't know how many are there, sir."
"I'll take a look and see," and the Sergeant-Major jumped into the
dugout. In a moment he reappeared. "There are nine killed and three
wounded. Round up these three and get them to the rear and get over the
top as fast as you can."
Billy did so, catching up with his pals at the third line trench. When
he got to the sixth line, a shell exploded in front of him, hitting him
in the thigh and dislocating his hip bone, besides giving him a painful
flesh wound. He was knocked unconscious and thrown into a shell hole.
The hole was almost filled with water, but the horseshoe luck of the
Grant family was with him; when he fell in his head was just out of the
water.
There he lay for eight hours, when the moaning of a wounded pal, three
or four feet away, roused him and he pulled himself over to him; his
pal's leg had been shattered from the knee down and Billy, in spite of
his own condition, managed to drag him for some distance toward the
dressing station, hopping on his left foot as he went and then resting a
bit. Finally the pain became too great and he could go no further;
every nerve and fiber of his aching body was at the breaking point of
utter exhaustion, and the pain of the gangrene in his wound, inspired by
the mud and dirt, gave him his finishing touch and he dropped. Bill's
pal then took up the struggle; he tottered to his sound foot and dragged
him to the dressing station, where he dropped beside him.
The tremendous rush of wounded men waiting for treatment made it
necessary for them to take their turn, and it was three-quarters of an
hour before they could either of them get attention; the German wounded
were treated in turn along with our own men, no favors being shown. This
is in marked contradistinction to the untold and unspeakable brutality
exercised upon our wounded prisoners in the German lines.
In due time they were carried to the rear by German prisoners, and then
to England through the medium of the base hospitals and casualty
clearing stations.
It is with pardonable pride I can say that they were not long in the
hospital before they got word they were to receive a medal for their
magnificent work.
Billy's splendid physical condition rapidly brought him through,
although it was five months before he was really himself again, and he
has since then gone back to the lines, where he was again wounded and in
the hospital, and has again gone back and is still doing his bit.
On the following morning, I returned to the battery.