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Transcriber's note:
Obvious printer's errors have been corrected.
The original spelling has been retained.
The illustrations' captions have been moved out of
paragraphs, and their corresponding page numbers
changed in the List of Illustrations.
THE EMMA GEES
by
HERBERT W. McBRIDE
Captain, U. S. A.
Late Twenty-first Canadian Battalion
Illustrated with Photographs and Trench Maps
[Illustration: Bouchard]
Indianapolis
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Publishers
Copyright 1918
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Press of
Braunworth & Co.
Book Manufacturers
Brooklyn, N. Y.
TO THE MEMORY OF
WILLIAM EMMANUEL BOUCHARD
Lance-Corporal
Machine Gun Section
Twenty-first Canadian Infantry
Battalion
KILLED IN ACTION, AT COURCELLETTE
SEPTEMBER 15TH
1916
In Flanders' fields the crosses stand--
Strange harvest for a fertile land!
Where once the wheat and barley grew,
With scarlet poppies running through.
This year the poppies bloom to greet
Not oats nor barley nor white wheat,
But only crosses, row by row,
Where stalwart reapers used to go.
_Harvest in Flanders_--Louise Driscoll
INTRODUCTION
When the final history of this war is written, it is doubtful if any
other name will so appeal to the Canadian as Ypres and the Ypres
Salient; every foot of which is hallowed ground to French, Belgians,
British and Colonials alike; not a yard of which has not been
consecrated to the cause of human liberty and baptized in the blood of
democracy.
Here the tattered remnants of that glorious "contemptible little
army," in October, 1914, checked the first great onrush of the vandal
hordes and saved the channel ports, the loss of which would have been
far more serious than the capture of Paris and might, conceivably,
have proved the decisive factor in bringing about a Prussian victory
in the war.
Here the first Canadian troops to fight on the soil of Europe, the
Princess Pat's, received their trial by fire and came through it with
untarnished name, and here, also, the First Canadian Contingent
withstood the terrible ordeal of poison gas in April, 1915, and,
outnumbered four to one, with flank exposed and without any artillery
support worthy of mention, hurled back, time after time, the flower of
the Prussian army, and, in the words of the Commanding General of all
the British troops: "saved the situation."
Here, too, as was fitting, we received our baptism of fire (Second
Canadian Division), as did also the third when it came over.
For more than a year this salient was the home of the Canadian soldier
and Langemarck, St. Julien, Hill 60, St. Eloi, Hooge, and a host of
other names in this sector, have been emblazoned, in letters of fire,
on his escutcheon.
Baffled in his attempts to capture the city of Ypres, the Hun began
systematically to destroy it, turning his heaviest guns on the two
most prominent structures: The Halles (Cloth Hall), and St. Martin's
Cathedral, two of the grandest architectural monuments in Europe. Now
there was no military significance in this; it was simply an
exhibition of unbridled rage and savagery. With Rheims Cathedral, and
hundreds of lesser churches and châteaux, these ruins will be
perpetual monuments to the wanton ruthlessness of German kultur.
When we first went there the towers of both these structures were
still standing and formed landmarks that could be seen for miles.
Gradually, under the continued bombardment, they melted away until,
when I last passed through the martyred city, nothing but small bits
of shattered wall could be seen, rising but a few feet above the
surrounding piles of broken stones.
Glorious Ypres! Probably never again will you become the city of more
than two hundred thousand, whose "Red-coated Burghers" won the day at
Courtrai, against the trained army of the Count d'Artois; possibly
never again achieve the commercial prominence enjoyed but four short
years since; but your name will be forever remembered in the hearts of
men from all the far ends of the earth where liberty and justice
prevail.
H. W. McB.
NEW NAMES FOR OLD LETTERS
When reading messages sent by any "visual" method of signaling, such
as flags, heliograph or lamp, it is necessary for the receiver to keep
his eyes steadily fixed upon the sender, probably using binoculars or
telescope, which makes it difficult, if not impossible, for him to
write down each letter as it comes, and as this is absolutely required
in military work, where nearly everything is in code or cipher, the
services of a second man are needed to write down the letters as the
first calls them off.
As many letters of the alphabet have sounds more or less similar, such
as "S" and "F," "M" and "N" and "D" and "T," many mistakes have
occurred. Therefore, the ingenuity of the signaler was called upon to
invent names for certain of the letters most commonly confused. Below
is a list of the ones which are now officially recognized:
A pronounced ack
B " beer
D " don
M " emma
P " pip
S " esses
T " tock
V " vick
Z " zed
The last is, of course, the usual pronunciation of this letter in
England and Canada, but, as it may be unfamiliar to some readers, I
have included it.
After a short time all soldiers get the habit of using these
designations in ordinary conversation. For instance, one will say: "I
am going over to 'esses-pip seven,'" meaning "Supporting Point No. 7,"
or, in stating the time for any event, "ack-emma" is A.M. and
"pip-emma" P.M.
As the first ten letters of the alphabet are also used to represent
numerals in certain methods of signaling, some peculiar combinations
occur, as, for instance: "N-ack-beer" meaning trench "N-12," or
"O-don" for "O-4."
"Ack-pip-emma" is the Assistant Provost Marshal, whom everybody hates,
while just "pip-emma" is the Paymaster, who is always welcome.
Thus, the Machine Gunner is an "Emma Gee" throughout the army.
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I Headed for the Kaiser 1
II Straight to the Front 12
III In the Midst of a Battle-Field 31
IV Eight Days In 47
V At Captain's Post 60
VI Our Own Cheerful Fashion 74
VII Sniper's Barn 83
VIII Getting the Flag 99
IX Hunting Huns 111
X A Fine Day for Murder 126
XI Without Hope of Reward 133
XII The War in the Air 143
XIII The Battle of St. Eloi 150
XIV Fourteen Days' Fighting 166
XV Blighty and Back 179
XVI Out in Front Fighting 187
XVII Down and Out--For a While 209
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing page
Bouchard _Frontispiece_
French Hotchkiss Gun Firing at Aeroplane 11
Hotel Du Fauçon 29
Light Vickers Gun in Action Against Aircraft 34
French Using an Ordinary Wine Barrel on Which a Wagon Wheel
Is Mounted to Facilitate the Revolving Movement to any
Desired Direction 45
French Paper War-Money, Issued by the Various
Municipalities. Every Town Has its Bank of Issue. There are
Practically no Coins in Circulation 56
Canadians with Machine Gun Taking Up New Positions 65
Wytschaete Map 85
Highlanders with a Maxim Gun 97
A Light Vickers Gun in Action 108
Canadian Machine Gun Section Getting Their Guns into Action 118
Canadian Soldiers in Action with Colt Machine Guns 128
British Machine Gun Squad Using Gas Masks 137
German Aeroplane Trophy--Jules Vedrine Examining the Machine
Gun 145
St. Eloi Map 153
Lewis Gun in Action in Front-Line Trench 166
Canadian Machine Gunners Digging Themselves into Shell-Holes 177
A Shell Exploding in Front of a Dug-in Machine Gun 189
Hollebeke Map 195
Lewis Machine Gun Squad Observing with Periscope at Hill 60 203
Removing the German Wounded from Mont St. Eloi 212
THE EMMA GEES
CHAPTER I
HEADED FOR THE KAISER
The following somewhat disjointed narrative, written at the
solicitation of numerous friends, follows the general course of my
experience as a member of the Machine Gun Section of the Twenty-first
Canadian Infantry Battalion. Compiled from letters written from the
front, supplemented by notes and maps and an occasional short
dissertation covering some phase of present-day warfare and its
weapons and methods, it is offered in the hope that, despite its utter
lack of literary merit, it may prove of interest to those who are
about to engage in the "great adventure" or who have relatives and
friends "over there." The only virtue claimed for the story is that it
is all literally true: every place, name and date being authentic. The
maps shown are exact reproductions of front-line trench maps made
from airplane photographs. They have never before been published in
this country.
I am sorry I can not truthfully say that the early reports of German
atrocities, or the news of Belgium's wanton invasion impelled me to
fly to Canada to enlist and offer my life in the cause of humanity.
No, it was simply that I wanted to find out what a "regular war" was
like. It looked as though there was going to be a good scrap on and I
didn't want to miss it. I had been a conscientious student of the
"war-game" for a good many years and was anxious to get some real
first-hand information. I got what I was looking for, all right.
The preliminaries can be briefly summarized. The battalion mobilized
at Kingston, Ontario, October 19th, 1914, and spent the winter
training at that place. The training was of the general character
established by long custom but included more target practise and more
and longer route marches than usual. The two things we really learned
were how to march and how to shoot, both of which accomplishments
stood us in good stead at a later date.
Leaving Kingston May 5th, 1915, we sailed from Montreal the following
morning on the _Metagama_, a splendid ship of about twelve thousand
tons. We had as company on board, several hospital units, including
about one hundred and fifty Nursing Sisters, all togged up in their
natty blue uniforms and wearing the two stars of First "Leftenant,"
which rank they hold. And, believe me, they deserve it, too. Of course
they were immediately nicknamed the "Bluebirds." Many's the man in
that crowd who has since had cause to bless those same bluebirds in
the hospitals of France and England.
We ran into ice at the mouth of the St. Lawrence and for two days were
constantly in sight of bergs. It was a beautiful spectacle but I'm
afraid we did not properly appreciate it. We remembered the _Titanic_.
Then we got word by wireless that the _Lusitania_ had been torpedoed.
I think an effort was made to suppress this news but it soon ran
throughout the ship. Personally, I did not believe it. I had had
plenty of experience of "soldier stories," which start from nowhere
and amount to nothing, and besides, I could not believe that any
nation that laid any claims to civilization would permit or commit
such an outrage. I began to believe it however when, next day, we
received orders to go down in the hold and get out all our guns and
mount them on deck. We had six guns; two more than the usual allotment
for a battalion; two having been presented to our Commanding Officer,
Lieutenant-Colonel (now Brigadier-General) W. St. Pierre Hughes, by
old associates in Canada, just a few days before our departure.
Two of the guns were mounted on the forward deck, two on the flying
bridge and two on the aft bridge. I'm not sure, to this day, just what
we expected to do against a submarine with those machine guns, but at
any rate they seemed to give an additional feeling of security to the
others on board and of course we machine gunners put up an awful bluff
to persuade them that we could sink any U-boat without the least
difficulty. Of one thing we were sure. Being a troop ship we could
expect no mercy from an enemy and we were at least prepared to make it
hot for any of them who came fooling around within range provided they
came to the surface. I was with the forward guns and, as we had
several days of pretty rough weather, it was a wet job. Our wireless
was continually cracking and sputtering so I suppose the skipper was
getting his sailing orders from the Admiralty as we changed direction
several times a day. We had no convoying war-ships and sighted but few
boats, mostly Norwegian sailing vessels, until, one night about nine
o'clock, several dark slim shadows came slipping up out of the
blackness and established themselves in front, on both flanks and
behind us. We gunners had been warned by the captain to look out for
something of the kind, but I can assure any one who has not been
through the experience that the sigh of relief which went up from
those gun crews was sincere and deep. We were running without lights,
of course, and none but the crew was allowed on deck. The destroyers
(for such they were), were also perfectly dark and we could barely
discern their outlines as they glided silently along, accommodating
their pace to ours.
Just before sunrise we dropped anchor inside Plymouth breakwater. This
was a surprise, as we had expected to land at Liverpool or Bristol.
But you may depend on it, no one made any complaint; any port in
England looked good to us. A few hours later we moved into the harbor
and tied up at Devonport Dock where we lay all day, unloading cargo.
Right next to us was a big transport just about to sail for the
Dardanelles. The Dublin Fusiliers were aboard her and they gave us a
cheer as we came in. Poor devils, they had a rough time of it down
there; but I guess by this time they think the same about us; so we'll
call it square.
It rained all day, but we finally got everything off the ship and on
the trains and pulled out about dark. No one knew where we were going.
The only training camp we had heard of in England was Salisbury Plain
and what we had heard of that place did not make any of us anxious to
see it. The First Canadian Division had been there and the reports
they sent home were anything but encouraging. Our men were nearly all
native-born Canadians and "Yankees," and they cracked many a joke
about the little English "carriages," but they soon learned to respect
the pulling power of the engines. We made ourselves as comfortable as
possible with eight in a compartment, each man with his full kit, and
soon after daylight the train stopped and we were told to get out. The
name of the station was Westerhanger but that did not tell us
anything. The native Britishers we had in our crowd were mostly from
"north of the Tweed" so what could they be expected to know about
Kent. For Kent it was, sure enough, and after a march of some two or
three miles we found ourselves "at home" in West Sandling Camp. And
how proudly we marched up the long hill and past the Brigade
Headquarters, our pipers skirling their heartiest and the drummers
beating as never before. For we were on exhibition and we knew it. The
roads were lined with soldiers and they cheered and cheered as we came
marching in. We were tired, our loads were heavy and the mud was
deep, but never a man in that column would have traded his place for
the most luxurious comforts at home.
There came a time when we hated that hill and that camp as the devil
hates holy water, but that Sunday morning, marching into a British
camp, with British soldiers, eager to keep right on across the channel
and clean up Kaiser Bill and feeling as though we were able to do it,
single-handed--why, the meanest private in the Twenty-first Canadians
considered himself just a little bit better than any one else on
earth.
Thus we came to our home in England, where we worked and sweated and
swore for four solid months before we were considered fit to take our
place in the firing-line. All that time, from the top of Tolsford
Hill, just at the edge of our camp, we could see France, "the promised
land"; we could hear the big guns nearly every night, and we, in our
ignorance, could not understand why we were not allowed to go over and
settle the whole business. We marched all over Southern England. I
_know_ I have slept under every hedge-row in Kent. We dug trenches one
day and filled them up the next. We made bombs and learned to throw
them. We mastered every kind of signaling from semaphore to wireless,
and we nearly wore out the old Roman stone roads hiking all the way
from Hythe to Canterbury. We carried those old Colt guns and heavy
tripods far enough to have taken us to Bagdad and back.
But, oh, man! what a tough lot of soldiers it made of us. Without just
that seasoning we would never have been able to make even the first
two days' marches when we finally did go across. The weaklings fell by
the wayside and were replaced until, when the "great day" came and we
embarked for France, I verily believe that that battalion, and
especially the "Emma Gees," was about the toughest lot of soldiers who
ever went to war.
(Emma Gee is signaler's lingo for M. G., meaning machine gunner.)
It must not be inferred that our four months in England were all work
and worry. Personally, I derived great pleasure from them. We were
right in the midst of a lot of old and interesting places which figure
largely in the early history of England. Within a mile of our camp was
Saltwood Castle, built in 499 by the Romans and enlarged by the
Normans. It was here that the conspirators met to plan the
assassination of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury, only sixteen miles
away, and which we had ample opportunities to visit. Hythe, one of the
ancient "Cinque Ports," was but a mile or so distant, with its old
church dating from the time of Ethelbert, King of Kent. In its crypt
are the bones of several hundred persons which have been there since
the time of the Crusaders, and in the church, proper, are arms and
armor of some of the old timers who went on those same Crusades. Among
numerous tablets on the walls is one "To the memory of Captain Robert
Furnis, Commanding H. M. S. Queen Charlotte: killed at the Battle of
Lake Erie: 1813"--Perry's victory. About three miles away was "Monk's
Horton, Horton Park and Horton Priory," the latter church dating from
the twelfth century and remaining just about as it was when it was
built. Then there was Lympne Castle, another Roman stronghold; Cæsar's
Plain and Cæsar's Camp, where Julius is said to have spent some time
on his memorable expedition to England; and, within easy reach by
bicycle, Hastings and Battle Abbey where William the Norman defeated
Harold and conquered England. The very roads over which we marched
were, many of them, built by the Romans. Every little town and hamlet
through which we passed has a history running back for hundreds of
years. We took our noon rest one day in the yard of the famous
"Chequers Inn," on the road to Canterbury. We camped one night in
Hatch Park, where the deer scampered about in great droves. On Sundays
we could charter one of the big "rubber-neck" autos and make the round
trip to Margate, Ramsgate, Broadstairs, Deal and Dover.
[Illustration: _Photo by Western Newspaper Union_
French Hotchkiss Gun Firing at Aeroplane]
But, just the same, when we were told, positively, that we were going
to leave, there were no tears shed. We had gone over there to fight
and nothing else would satisfy us.