HUNTING HUNS
During October the casualties in the Machine Gun Section were only
three wounded, McNab, Redpath and Jack Lee all getting hit on the same
day. They were sent back to England. At that time it was not
considered the proper thing for a man to go back if he could, by any
means, "carry on" and these three were all bitterly disappointed when
they found that they would have to leave the section. There came a
time, all too soon, when a "Blighty" was the finest present a man
could get; the loss of a few fingers or even a hand or foot being
considered not too high a price to pay to get out of hell for a few
months.
When the weather was very bad there was but little sniping-going on,
so we often went in and out of the lines "overland" in broad daylight.
Sunday, November fourteenth, was one such occasion. We had not been
relieved until noon by the Twentieth Battalion who had taken a very
roundabout way to get in, so I put it up to all my crowd to choose
whether we should spend several hours going around or take a chance
down the open road. They unanimously decided on the road, so I started
out ahead, with instructions for them to follow at about fifty-yard
intervals, and in this fashion we walked down at least four hundred
yards of open road, every foot of which was in plain sight of the
German lines, and got under cover of a small hill without a single
shot being fired. From this point it was necessary to cross another
small open space but, as it was partly screened by bushes and trees,
we did not consider it dangerous.
We had a redoubt concealed in the small hill mentioned and I stopped
to arrange about the relief of the gun crew stationed there. The
remainder of the party, except Charlie Wendt, continued on their way
and soon disappeared in the woods. Charlie stayed a few minutes and
then said: "I'll go on ahead, Mac, and wait for you at the Eastern
Redoubt." He started out across the field and I continued my talk
with Endersby, who was in charge of the local gun, when, all at once,
I heard some one call out: "Oh, Mac," and looked to see Wendt on the
ground about one hundred yards away waving his hand to me. Endersby
immediately ran to him and I followed as soon as I could drop part of
the heavy load I was carrying. On reaching him I found that he had
been shot through the abdomen. Just then another bullet snapped beside
us, so I told Endersby to get back to the redoubt and telephone for
stretcher-bearers, while I bandaged the wound. Charlie remarked:
"Well, they got me, but I hope you get about ten of them for me." I
assured him that we would and told him to keep his nerve and he would
come through all right. He was a very strong, clean-living young man
and I really thought he had a chance. He did not think so, saying he
was afraid the doctors would have some difficulty in patching up such
a hole. He did not cry out nor make the slightest complaint but kept
assuring me that "everything is all right."
Meantime, the sniper was keeping up a continuous fire, hitting
everything in the neighborhood but me, at whom he was shooting. It was
such a miserable exhibition of marksmanship--only about five hundred
yards distant and a bright clear day--that I told Charlie I would be
ashamed to have such a poor shot in our outfit. Any American soldier
who could qualify as a marksman would scarcely miss such a target and
a sharpshooter or expert rifleman would be forever disgraced if he
made less than the highest possible score. However, I forgave that
fellow; being a German he could not be expected to know how to shoot
straight at any range beyond three hundred meters. The shot that hit
Charlie was just a "luck shot," but that did not help much.
I tried to drag him along toward a slight depression, but it hurt him
so I desisted and waited for the stretcher-bearers. When I saw them
approaching I called a warning and had one of them crawl to us with
the small trench stretcher, on which we managed to get Charlie into a
sheltered place, where they shifted him to a long litter and started
out with him. The last thing he said was: "It's all right, Mac;
everything is all right; don't you worry."
They did all they could for him while I had to go back and get the
machine gun that he had dropped. The fellow across the way showed
perseverance, at any rate, and kept up his "schutzenfest" as long as I
was in sight but without result.
Next day we learned that Charlie had died and was buried at Bailleul.
He was not only one of the most popular men in the section, but was
the first we had had killed and we all felt very much depressed. I got
a permit to go to Bailleul to see whether or not he had been properly
buried and there made my first acquaintance with the G. R. C. We had
often seen those letters, followed by a number, on the crosses, in
trenches, in cemeteries or along the roads, but none knew what they
meant. At Bailleul I found the head office of the "Graves Registration
Commission" and, within five minutes, knew where Wendt was buried and
the number of his grave. This wonderful organization undertakes to
furnish a complete record of the burial place of every soldier. Where
suitable crosses have not been provided, they furnish one, bearing an
aluminum plate showing the name, number, regiment and date of death
wherever this information is available. Now they have gone even
further and are compiling a photographic record of all known graves so
that relatives, writing to the Commission, can secure not only a
verbal description but an actual photograph of the loved one's grave.
I went back and began to plan ways and means of "getting" Charlie's
ten boches, but a day or two later something happened to alter my
scheme to a certain extent.
At that time, our ration parties were going out just before daylight,
as we had no communication trench and had to cross the open and
exposed ground behind our line. The two, who went from one of the
guns, however, Dupuis and Lanning, were a little bit late, so that it
was light when they started out. About fifty yards down the road was
a bend, afterward called the Devil's Elbow. From this point, they were
in plain sight from the enemy line and, no sooner had they reached the
Elbow than a sniper fired and got Lanning through the lungs. As he
fell, Dupuis knelt down to assist, when he received a bullet through
the head, killing him instantly. One of our detachment of
stretcher-bearers (composed of the members of our pipe band) was
located but a few yards away and, without hesitation, one of the
"Scotties" dashed out to help the fallen men. He was instantly shot
down, as were three others in succession, who attempted to get to the
spot. By this time an officer arrived and prevented more of the men
from running out. This officer, by crawling carefully down a shallow
ditch alongside the road, managed with the assistance of a sergeant to
recover all the bodies. Four were dead and two wounded, one of whom
died a few hours later. These stretcher-bearers were unarmed and wore
the broad white brassard with the red cross conspicuously displayed on
their sleeves. The sniper was only about one hundred yards distant
and could not possibly have failed to see this mark.
Then and there I registered a silent vow that these men, to paraphrase
Kipling:
". . . should go to their God in state:
_With fifty file of Germans, to open them Heaven's
gate._"
Later, I was to see other and worse happenings along that same road,
but, at that time, I considered this as about the limit.
The officer who had done such splendid work in recovering the wounded
men was himself killed about an hour later, together with one of his
sergeants and two men, by a shrapnel shell. He was the first officer
we had lost in the battalion, Lieutenant Wilgress, and had been very
popular, with officers and men alike.
It was a sad day for us, that twenty-seventh of November, 1915, and
yet it was one of those days when "there is nothing to report from the
Ypres salient."
[Illustration: Canadian Machine Gun Section Getting Their Guns Into
Action.]
Next day I asked and received permission to go back a few miles to a
sniper's school, where I got a specially targeted rifle, equipped
with the finest kind of a telescopic sight. I only remained long
enough to sight it in and get it "zeroed" and was back again in front
that same night.
"Zeroing" a rifle is the process of testing it out on a range at known
distances and setting the sights to suit one's individual
peculiarities of aiming. Having once established the "zero" the
marksman can always figure the necessary alterations for other ranges
or changed conditions of wind and light.
From that time on, I "lived" in Sniper's Barn. It made no difference
whether the battalion was in the front line or in billets, I was there
for a purpose and I accomplished it. When the guns were in the front
or in support, we had one mounted in the hedge and kept the rifle
handy. Bouchard, with a large telescope, and I with my binoculars,
scanned everything along the enemy's front and behind his lines. We
knew the ranges, to an inch. If one or two men showed, I used the
rifle; if a larger number, the machine gun.
Prior to this time, during all the very bad weather, we had ample
opportunities to shoot individual Germans from our Sniper's Barn
position but had refrained because our own men were also necessarily
exposing themselves daily, and to have started a sniping campaign
would have done us no particular good and would certainly have
resulted in additional deaths on our side. It seems that the troops
opposed to us up to this time had been Saxons who were quite well
satisfied to leave us alone provided we would do the same by them. Of
course we did shoot them occasionally when they became too careless
and exposed themselves in groups, but that was perfectly legitimate
machine-gun work and taught them a well-needed lesson. Now, however, a
different breed of Huns had come in and they had started the dirty
work. They were Bavarians alternating with Marines, and we soon
learned that for genuine low-down cussedness the Marine had them all
beaten, although the Bavarians and Prussians were pretty bad.
When we first began on them it was no unusual occurrence to have from
ten to twenty good open shots a day. The ranges averaged about six
hundred yards and as I was using a specially targeted Ross rifle,
equipped with the latest Warner & Swazey sight, and as I had spent
many years in learning the finer points of military rifle shooting, I
am very much afraid that some of them got hurt. For about a month we
kept it up, the "hunting" getting poorer every day until finally the
few German snipers working along the front were safely ensconced in
carefully prepared dug-outs. A boche cap above the parapet was a rare
sight, but we had our hundred, all right; and then some; for, as
Bouchard said: "We'd better get a little pay, in advance before they
'bump _us_ off.'"
Several times in later days similar events occurred and in each case
swift and terrible retribution was meted out to the criminal enemy.
They shot down our stretcher-bearers, engaged in their noble work of
trying to save the wounded, but we took bloody toll from them whenever
this occurred, using unusual methods and taking desperate chances,
sometimes, to drive the lesson home.
On one occasion our observers had reported a large gathering of the
enemy at a place called Hiele Farm, about eight hundred yards from our
position and I had laid two guns on them when, through our telescope,
I discovered that it was a burial party assembled in a little cemetery
just behind the farm buildings and telephoned to the officer in charge
that I did not intend to shoot up any funeral. Within a few minutes
came word than an enemy sniper had shot and killed one of our most
popular stretcher-bearers and had also fired several shots into the
wounded man whom he was bringing in, killing him also. Then, without
hesitation, I ordered both guns to open up and we maintained an
intermittent fire on that place until long after dark. We could see
numbers of Germans lying about on the ground. I have never regretted
it.
Then, the day before Christmas, 1915, while the Twentieth Battalion
was occupying the front line and we were back in the redoubts of the
supporting line, I was up in the gun position at "S-P-7," the redoubt
just in rear of the point where the slaughter of November
twenty-seventh had taken place, when a boche shell dropped directly
in the dug-out which was my home when in the front line. It killed two
men, one I remember was named Galloway, and wounded several others. I
was so close that I could see everything that happened. One of the
wounded was in such bad shape that the only possible chance to save
his life was to get him back to a dressing station without delay. The
communication trenches were washed out and the only way was down that
ill-fated Devil's Elbow road. The officer in command called for
volunteers to carry the man out, remarking that, as it was Christmas
Eve, he did not think even a German would shoot at a wounded man or
unarmed stretcher-bearers. All hands offered to go and two were
chosen. The officer went with them and they started down the road. The
minute they reached the fatal bend, where they came in sight of the
German lines, a shot rang out and down went the first man. Another
shot and the second was down, while a third dropped the officer, who
was trying to assist the fallen. I could see each shot strike in the
water alongside the road and could tell just about the spot from
whence they came so, although we had absolute orders never to fire
from that position unless attacked, I immediately swung the gun around
and commenced to "fan" that particular spot, at the same time calling
to our signaler to get the Sixteenth Battery on the wire and call for
S. O. S. fire. (Each yard of enemy line is covered by the guns of some
one of our batteries which, when not firing, are kept "laid" on their
particular section of parapet.) Within a few moments the battery
opened up but not before at least a half dozen machine guns in our
front line had been hoisted upon the parapets and were ripping
Heinie's sand-bags across the way. During this proceeding the wounded
men were recovered from the road, but, unfortunately, both the
volunteer carriers and the man originally wounded had died. The
officer, although painfully injured, recovered.
In retaliation for this trick, our heavy guns wiped out at least five
hundred yards of German trench. It was the most artistic job of of
work I have ever seen. From a point approximately two hundred and
fifty yards on either side of this murderer's nest we utterly
destroyed every vestige of a parapet. How many of the assassins we
killed will never be known, but our hearts were filled with unholy joy
when we could distinguish bodies or parts of enemy's bodies among the
debris thrown up by one of the big 9.2 shells.