WITHOUT HOPE OF REWARD
All the bandsmen (we had both bagpipe and bugle bands) go into the
front line with the other troops. They are unarmed, but equipped with
first-aid kits and stretchers. It is their task to administer first
aid to all wounded and then to carry or otherwise assist them back to
the dressing stations which may be anywhere from a few hundred yards
to a mile or more, depending on the ground. When a man is hit while in
an exposed place, whether in No Man's Land or behind our lines, it is
up to the stretcher-bearers to get to him at the earliest possible
moment. I have seen these men, time after time, rush to the assistance
of a stricken soldier, knowing full well that they would immediately
become the target for snipers' bullets. Personal considerations never
appeared to enter their heads. Never, in all my experience, have I
seen one of them backward in going to the aid of a wounded man. Often
they would spend hours in the effort to bring back to the lines some
soldier too badly injured to help himself; and the pity of it was
that, on many occasions, after all their self-sacrificing labor, they
would be shot down just as they were about to come over the parapet
and into the trench.
And all without hope of reward other than the love and admiration of
their comrades. There was a time, before this war, when such exploits
were considered worth the Victoria Cross. Now, however, they are
merely a matter of daily routine. Thousands of men are, every day,
performing deeds of valor, which in any other war would have brought
the highest decorations, without receiving even so much as an
honorable mention. Exposure to fire such as theorists had told us
would demoralize any army is merely a part of the day's work. Troops
go in and out of the trenches, often under artillery fire that,
according to our books, ought to annihilate them, and they do it
without thinking it anything unusual or worthy of comment other than
perhaps, in answer to a question, to remark: "Oh, yes, they shot us up
a bit in the P. & O." or "They handed us a few 'crumps' and 'woolly
bears' coming through Ridgewood." ("Woolly bear" is the name given to
a large, high explosive shell, with time fuse, which bursts overhead,
giving out a dense black smoke, which expands and rolls about in such
a manner as to suggest the animal for which it is named.) In fact,
nearly all the names invented by the soldier to describe the various
projectiles are so apt and expressive as to be self-explanatory. The
"Silent Lizzies," "Sighing Susans" and "Whispering Willies" belong to
the class of large caliber, long range naval gun shells which pass
over the front line so high that only a sort of whispering sound is
heard. The "middle heavies" with percussion fuses, which burst on
impact and give out a dense black smoke, have been called "Jack
Johnsons" and "coal boxes," but are now usually grouped under the
general designation of "crumps," because of the peculiar sound of
their explosion. They run all the way from 4.1 inch to 9.2 inch
calibers. Some of the very large shells are called "Grandmothers" or
"railroad trains." The French call them "marmites," meaning a large
cooking pot or kettle. The "whizz-bang" is just exactly what the name
would suggest: a small shell of very high velocity, which arrives and
bursts with such suddenness as to give no time for taking cover. Its
moral effect exceeds the material in the trenches, but it is deadly
along roads or in the open. Gas shells have a peculiar sound, all
their own, difficult to describe but never forgotten when once heard.
It has been described as a "rumbling" noise, but I think "gurgling" is
better. (It's a pity some one can not take a phonograph into the lines
and "can" some of these things.) When gas shells land they do not make
much noise, having a very small bursting charge; merely sufficient to
break the case which contains the gas in liquid form. They are often
mistaken, by new troops, for "duds" or "blinds," as we call shells
which fail to explode. As soon as the liquid gas is liberated,
however, it vaporizes and quickly spreads over a considerable area.
There are many kinds, but they can generally be distinguished by the
smell. Some are merely lachrymatory or "tear" shells; the gas
affecting the eyes in such a manner as to produce constant "weeping"
and consequent inability to see clearly. Others, however, are deadly
and one good breath will put a man out of action and a couple of
"lungfuls" will usually kill him.
[Illustration: British Machine Gun Squad Using Gas Masks]
About this time, I think it was December 19th, 1915, we had our first
experience with chlorine gas or "cloud gas" as distinguished from
"shell gas." The troops on our immediate left got a pretty bad dose,
but, owing to the peculiar formation of the lines and varying air
currents, we did not suffer severely from it. The lines in the Ypres
salient were so crooked that the enemy rarely attempted to use this
form of gas after the first big attack in April, 1915, as it would
frequently roll back upon his own troops. Shell gas was constantly
used, generally being fired against our positions in the rear;
artillery emplacements and such. Being well equipped with gas masks
or respirators, we suffered little harm from it.
Christmas, 1915, was a quiet day on our front, both sides being
apparently willing to "lay off" for a day. There was no firing of any
kind and both our men and the enemy exposed themselves with impunity.
Aside from this, however, it was the same as any other day. There was
none of the visiting and fraternizing of which we heard so much on the
previous Christmas. The Germans opposite us had a number of musical
instruments and on that night and on New Year's Eve they almost sang
their Teutonic heads off.
January passed quietly. By this time we had become so accustomed to
the mud and rain that I doubt if we would have been happy without
them. In spite of all the difficulties, we managed to get our rations
and _mail_ every day. The regular shelling had become a part of our
daily life, and the constantly growing list of killed and wounded we
accepted without comment. The Machine Gun Section was gradually losing
its original members and replacing them by drafts from the infantry
companies. It was simply a case of "Conditions continue normal in the
Ypres salient," to quote the official reports. We now maintained two
strafing guns, shifting about from one position to another whenever an
opportunity offered to harass the boche.
That winter, 1915-16, was what they call a "wet winter," that is, it
rained continually and rarely got cold enough to freeze. With the
exception of a light flurry in late November and a fairly heavy snow
about the first of March, we never saw any of the "beautiful." A few
times there was frost enough to make thin ice, but never enough to
enable us to walk on top of the mud which was from six inches deep in
the best parts of the trench to thigh deep in the worst. We had no
rubber boots at the start but got some late in the winter.
A peculiar affliction, first noticed during this war, is what is known
as "trench feet." Where men are required to remain for long periods
standing in cold water and unable to move about to any great extent,
the circulation of blood in the lower limbs becomes sluggish and,
eventually, stops. The result appears to be exactly the same as that
caused by severe frost-bite; in fact it _is_ freezing without frost,
(I don't know why not, if you can cook with a fireless cooker), and,
in severe cases, amputation is necessary.
While the Imperial troops on our flank suffered considerably from this
dreaded affliction, we had but few cases, although our position was
infinitely worse than theirs, we being in lower ground. Probably the
average Canadian is better able to stand the cold and wet than the
native-born Briton. We had but one case in the Machine Gun Section and
that was not severe.
As a preventive measure, whale oil was issued with positive orders
that every man must, at some time during each twenty-four hours,
remove his shoes and socks and rub his feet with this oil. I never did
think the oil was anything but just an excuse to make the men rub as
that in itself would be sufficient to restore the circulation. At any
rate, when the oil gave out, we still kept up the rubbing game and
there was no noticeable change in the result.
Another hitherto unknown disease which developed during that season
was what is commonly known as "trench fever." The victim's temperature
runs up around one hundred and three and he is affected with lassitude
and general debility and it requires from three weeks to a month in
hospital to put him in shape for duty. The medical officers use a
Greek name for this fever, which, translated, means, "a fever of
unknown origin" but the colloquial designation is "G. O. K.," (God
only knows). It is rarely, if ever, fatal. I never heard of any one
dying of it.
Then there is a sort of skin affection; a "rash," which is said to be
caused by eating so much meat, especially fats, without taking
sufficient exercise. A few sulphur baths at specially prepared places
behind the lines soon eradicate this trouble.
Really dangerous diseases are extremely rare. Typhoid fever is almost
unknown, pneumonia is seldom heard of and even rheumatism, which one
would naturally expect to be prevalent, is by no means common. The
ratio of sickness, from all causes, was far below that in any of the
training camps in this country although never, in Canada, England,
Flanders or France, did we have as comfortable quarters as are
furnished for all the troops here. But we _did_ have at all times,
plenty of good warm woolen clothing and an abundance of substantial
food. Cotton uniforms, underwear or socks are unknown in any army
except that of the United States. Perhaps you can find the answer in
that statement.
During February an almost continuous fight was waged for a small
length of trench on our left, known as the International Trench,
because it changed hands so often. It culminated, March second, with
the Battle of the Bluff, by which British troops took and held this
line. We were in support, as usual, and suffered rather heavily from
shell fire. This was the beginning of the spring offensive, and from
that time on we caught it, hot and heavy, for four solid months.