a shell whistled overhead. Looking back, I saw it strike the roof of
the farm where I had left Jenkins. Poor Jenkins! I wondered if he
was still cooking those eggs! However, I had no time to speculate on
his fate, for the enemy, having located our position owing to our
own rather unnecessarily aggressive outburst of rifle fire, began to
shell us. Round after round they sent crashing into the cottages and
farms, and then, shortening their range, began to put shots just over
our ditch. Well it was that Matley had made all the men get into the
ditch from the beginning. It was a fine deep ditch, and few of the
many thousands of shrapnel bullets found their mark. Soon after the
shelling started it began to rain heavily. It was a weird experience
lying there in the ditch with the rain pouring down on us from above
and the shrapnel bullets crashing sideways like a leaden hailstorm
through the hedge. The men pulled their water-proof sheets from their
packs, and, spreading these over themselves, lay down in the ditch,
smoking unconcernedly. Now and again a wounded man whose cover had not
been sufficient would crawl by. One very fat lance-corporal I remember,
puffing along on his hands and knees as fast as his rifle and pack
would let him. He kept slipping, catching his pack in the branches, and
swearing profusely. He had been caught in the most fleshy part of his
body, and evidently was of the opinion that there was no place like
home, for from time to time he grunted, "Stretcher bearer! Stretcher
bearer! 'Ere! I've been 'it!" He was a most comic sight, and I couldn't
help laughing as he passed.
The firing went on intermittently throughout the day. At dusk we were
withdrawn, another company taking our place in the ditch. We were
formed up behind the shelter of a farm wall on the road behind, and
told we were going to be taken back into reserve for the night.
By the farm I found Mulligan, a brother subaltern. Taking me gently by
the elbow he led me into the farm kitchen, through a door beyond, and
down some cellar steps. I lit my torch to look around. The cellar floor
was heaped with broken and empty bottles and corks. On a shelf were
half-finished glasses of wine. A party of German soldiers had evidently
been in before us and helped themselves, breaking what they could
not drink. However, they had left one or two bottles intact amid the
debris, from which Mulligan and I each had a good glass of red wine,
for which I hope the owner, if he ever returns to his battered home,
will forgive us.
Coming out of the farm, much to my delight, I met Jenkins still alive,
in spite of the shell-fire. He pressed two cold, hard objects into my
hand.
"How did you get these?" I asked.
"They were them eggs I was cooking this morning," he replied; "I had to
quit when that first shell came--nearly went up, eggs and all, with it.
But I went back afterwards. The fire was out--but they was boiled all
right, if you don't mind 'em hard."
X. THE RESERVE COMPANY
After D Company had taken over our section of trench we remained on
the road behind for a time, while the authorities were deciding what
to do with us. Goyle said the question was whether we were required to
fill a gap between our right company and the Dorchesters on our left or
whether our right company and the Dorchesters between them could span
this gap and enable us to go back as reserve company into billets.
We waited in the rain for our orders. The men stood expectantly with
their rifles slung over their shoulders, their hands in their pockets,
and their greatcoat collars turned up to their ears. They said little.
Now and again one would say to another hopefully, "We're going back to
billets--ain't we, Bill?" One or two of my N.C.O.s came up and asked
me if I knew what was going to happen, and I told them the situation,
about which, like the dutiful fellows they were, they expressed no
opinion. He is a wonderful fellow on active service is Tommy Atkins.
However roughly his inclinations may be torn he never says a word, but
just does what is required of him so long as he can stand. Those men
would have gone off to fill the gap that night without a question or
thought except that it had to be done, and perhaps a "Gor blimey!" on
life in general and European warfare in particular.
However, it was to be billets that night. Goyle came up with the
order from battalion headquarters. The company fell-in in fours and
marched down the road. I don't know what it is, but there is a sort of
feeling about a body of men marching which conveys a lot to a trained
ear. In the ready click of the rifle to the shoulder and the steady
tramp of the fifty pairs of feet behind me I could read hearts full of
thankfulness as we headed down the lane towards the tiny village where
we were to billet.
It was by now nearly ten o'clock. The village itself consisted of two
farms and half a dozen cottages, and the Adjutant was disposed to say
that it was hardly worth billeting the men in view of the lateness of
the hour and the possibility of their having to turn out at short
notice. He suggested they should lie down in a field. However, Evans
and I guaranteed to have all the men in billets within a quarter of
an hour and to make ourselves personally responsible for knowing
where they all were and turning them out at short notice if required.
The Adjutant, who was merely taking up the point of view proper to
adjutants of not wanting to run the risk of any company being caught
napping, was agreeable to this, and off we started.
To be able to billet a company quickly is a question of practice. The
eye quickly gets trained to know what amount of men will go into what
space and the look of likely places. To stow away 200 men in a tiny
village of two farms and four cottages would at first seem a difficult
task, especially when a certain amount of the space has already been
taken up by different details attached to battalion headquarters. Barns
are the first things to look for, and we were lucky in finding two,
which each held fifty men. The French barns always have plenty of straw
in them, and make warm, snug lying. An empty stable took another fifty
men, and an outhouse twenty-five; the remaining twenty-five had to be
content with a sort of porch which ran along a wall. These last we were
subsequently able to transfer to the barn on finding there would just
be room for them. The process of billeting the men did not take more
than the quarter of an hour we had estimated, one of us going ahead to
explore, the other following with the men and standing at the entrance
to the barn or outhouse, counting them in and flashing his torch into
the interior to show the way.
Having got the men under cover, we looked about for a place for
ourselves. Goyle had been offered a mattress in the kitchen of the
farm where the Colonel and Adjutant were making their battalion
headquarters. He was also no doubt going to have some of the Colonel's
supper, and might be considered arranged for for the night. But there
was no room for four hungry subalterns at battalion headquarters.
We had received our day's rations and were expected to look after
ourselves. Four sergeants were using the kitchen of the other farm,
and of the cottagers only one, from a light in the window, looked as
though it was inhabited. Evans and I pushed our way into this but found
the kitchen already occupied. Six Tommies were sitting round the stove
watching a stew simmer in a pan. They did not belong to our company,
but were some of the headquarters details. The cottage was certainly
theirs by right of annexation, and Evans and I turned to go out.
"Beg pardin, sir," said one of the men; "but there's another room at
the back." This was extremely kind and hospitable of the man, as the
little class distinctions between officer and man are to a certain
extent preserved on active service, and the Tommy who has found a nook
likes to keep it to himself just as much as the officer.
Evans and I accepted the invitation and went to inspect the other room.
We found a comfortable cottage bedroom with two large four-post beds.
The old woman to whom the cottage belonged and her husband said we were
welcome to the use of the beds, and the sight of them was so tempting
that I am afraid we did not trouble to inquire where she and her old
man would sleep.
Jenkins, my servant, and the other two platoon commanders being then
found, we put a stew of bully beef and vegetables on the fire, and,
having eaten this, doubled up on the two beds.
Impossible to describe the joy of throwing off our wet boots and coats,
stretching ourselves on the mattresses, and pulling a blanket up to our
chins. We were soon all fast asleep.
After six hours real rest we woke feeling fit for anything. When we
went out into the lane we found Jenkins in the middle of preparations
for breakfast. He had dragged a table outside the cottage, discovered
two chairs and two packing-cases, and laid four places with a
miscellaneous assortment of knives and forks. For breakfast we had some
fried ration bacon, a small and carefully apportioned wedge of bread
each from the only loaf to be found in the village, coffee, and a tin
of marmalade.
The company passed the day in converting a ditch into a trench.
Although they were supposed to be resting in reserve, the men needed
no urging to dig. The day before they had come under shrapnel fire
when they were fortunately in a fine natural trench, but the memory
of the murderous hail of bullets which had swept over their heads
was sufficiently vivid to make them all anxious to provide themselves
with equally good cover against a second attack. Each man worked away
individually for himself, digging away into and under the ground
until he had scooped a little burrow in which he would be secure from
shrapnel, no matter how accurately it burst over the trench. As the
men finished their burrows to their satisfaction they lay down in
them, pulled out their pipes and cigarettes, and smoked, watching with
complacent interest the efforts of neighbours who had roots or rocks or
other difficulties in the soil to contend with.
The morning passed quietly, but at noon the enemy sent several shells
over the ground where we were. One of these shells struck one of the
cottages, crumpling it like a matchbox. I happened at the time to be
back in the cottage where we had slept, helping Jenkins to concoct a
stew for lunch. It was pitiful to see the terror of the old peasant
woman and her husband, who sat dumbly in their kitchen, waiting for
one of the great projectiles to come and wreck their home. As each
shell fell the old woman lifted her hands and gave a little pitiful
gasp. It was all more than she could understand, and no efforts of
Jenkins or myself could calm her. However, they were a brave old
couple, and as soon as the shelling was over busied themselves getting
us potatoes and carrots for our stew from a store they had in a loft.
They were delighted with a tin of army bully beef which we gave them
for themselves. Except for this old couple, the farms and cottages were
deserted, and I rather wondered why they had remained. Probably because
they were too frightened and bewildered to do anything else.
Just before dusk we heard the dull report of a heavy gun in the
distance. _R-rump_--CRASH--a shell burst a quarter of a mile to our
right. Again the gun boomed, and again the dull "_R-rump_," followed
by a loud explosion and cloud of mud and earth in the same place. The
men stirred uneasily in their dug-outs. They knew what it was--60 lb.
high-explosive melinite. It was no joke like shrapnel, this. If the
enemy happened to turn a few on to us we should be blown to bits. It
was an anxious time listening to the gun and waiting for the shells to
explode. But they did not seem to be swinging round in our direction,
and darkness found us all still safe. At eight the order came for the
company to go back into the firing-line.
XI. A NIGHT ATTACK
After twenty-four hours in reserve it was our turn to go back into the
firing-line and relieve A Company. We took over A Company's trenches at
dusk, Goyle going with each platoon commander, showing him his section,
and giving orders about the posting of groups and improvement of cover.
My section of trench had already been worked on by the company we took
over from. The officer before me had scooped out a dug-out for himself
at one end and lined it with straw. This I marked off for my own use,
and then went along the line to see that all the men were busy. By the
time I had inspected the trench and put out an advanced post it was
quite dark, and I settled myself down in my own dug-out with a pious
hope that the night would remain fine and we should all be able to pass
it comfortably. There was no sound from the front, and it looked as
though we should be undisturbed. One by one the stars came out, the
night grew colder, and I pulled on my greatcoat. It was weird lying
there in the darkness, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, with only the
dark shapes of the men on each side and the occasional tinkle of an
entrenching tool against a stone to remind one that one was taking part
in a great war. I wondered what my friends at home were doing, thought
of dances at the Ritz and the happy days when one dressed for dinner,
and smiled to think what a funny sight I must look tucked up for the
night in a ditch.
As I lay there I heard far away on the right the sound of rifle fire.
Were they our troops or the French? Perhaps it was one of our divisions
which we had been told was swinging round on our flank. So the division
had done its march and was fighting now. I was glad we were not. It was
much better to lie peacefully in a ditch. Fighting meant seeing one's
pals killed--crawling about, peering forward with tired eyes--worry,
anxiety, with, of course, always the fever of excitement. But we had
all had a full share of excitement, and were not sorry to lie still
until we were wanted. Hullo! The sound of firing was drawing nearer
and swelling in volume. That must be the brigade on our right engaged.
Ah! There were two sharp shots from the farm where the next company lay.
"Pass along the word for every man to stand to," I called, jumping to
my feet.
"Sergeant X," I said to the N.C.O. next to me, "go down the trench and
see that every man is awake."
Pht! pht! pht!
I ducked down into the trench. Half a dozen bullets came singing
through the edge. There was sharp firing now on our right. The next
company was evidently engaged. Away beyond the rifle fire had swelled
into one big crash of sound. Suddenly a hot fire broke out in front
of us. To the left I heard our two Maxims, like watchdogs, barking
viciously. It was a night attack, then--the enemy had come up to have a
go at us.
"Quick--get into the trench and line along to your left. Where do you
want me?"
I looked up and saw Mulligan hurrying his men into my trench. He had
been sent up with his platoon from the reserve company to strengthen
the line.
"Anywhere you like, old boy," I called back; "but I should get down out
of that quick." The bullets were literally singing round him.
Our men were now all standing up to the parapet, firing into the night.
I craned forward, trying to see in the darkness. A bullet lopped a
branch off my ear, and I withdrew my head hurriedly.
"They're all awake, sir," said Sergeant X, as he returned to his place
beside me.
"So it seems," I answered, as the din from our rifles swelled into a
deafening volume. "Here, mind where you are pointing that gun," I said
to the man on my left, as he brought down a bit of the hedge in front
of my nose in his effort to get off five rounds in as many seconds.
"No. 5 platoon are running short of ammunition," the word came down the
trench.
"Tell No. 6 to pass along any they have to spare and save their fire as
much as possible," I ordered.
It was going to be a tight business this, with the enemy's fire growing
hotter every minute and our ammunition supply running short.
Again the message came down, "No. 5 platoon are running short of
ammunition."
I looked at Sergeant X. We had already sent men back for fresh supplies.
"I'll go back, sir," said Sergeant X. It seemed impossible for him to
get out of the trench and cross the bullet-swept open ground. Still, it
was the only thing to be done. I nodded.
Grasping his rifle, he turned to clamber out of the trench. Just as he
was going a voice from behind called, "Where will you have this, sir?"
There was a thump behind, and two men rolled over into the trench
dragging a box of ammunition after them. They sat up and mopped
their foreheads. "Lord! it's like hail out there," said one of them
breathlessly, "and that stuff weighs about a ton," pointing to the box
of ammunition.
"Well, come on, mate," and back they went out of the trench to the rear
for more.
Sergeant X and I wrenched the lid off the box of ammunition and started
passing the bandoliers down the trench.
"Pass these right along to No. 5 platoon," I ordered.
A second box was brought up by two more panting men. I distributed the
contents among my own platoon. This put a better complexion on things.
With plenty of ammunition we had nothing to fear, but the anxiety had
been great. The sensation of running short of water in the desert is as
nothing compared to that of running short of ammunition in action.
"They're getting closer, aren't they?" I said to Sergeant X, listening
to the enemy's fire.
"I think they are, sir," He refilled his magazine and bent once more
over the rifle.
"By gad! did you see that flash--they are only a hundred yards off.
Here, give me that." I took the rifle from a man next me who had been
wounded, and laid it, with the bayonet fixed, on the parapet in front.
At the same time I drew my revolver and put it ready for use by my
other hand. It was getting exciting this--quite pleasantly so.
"What do we do if they charge--get out and meet 'em?" I asked. My
sergeant had had more experience of action than I, and I felt I could
well afford to ask his advice.
"Just stay where we are, sir," he answered; "but they won't do that;
they don't like these"--he tapped his bayonet. He was a splendidly
calm fellow, that sergeant, and it was good to feel him firm as a rock
beside me. All men, N.C.O.s, officers, and privates, instinctively lean
towards each other when the corner is tight.
For the next five hours the firing continued, sometimes dying down,
sometimes swelling to a sharp volley. Ammunition boxes arrived and
were emptied. There were moments of acute anxiety when the supply
seemed running short. Each man was told to keep fifteen rounds by
him at all costs to meet a charge. Sergeant X bent steadily over his
rifle, pumping lead into the dark patch where the enemy appeared to
be. Sometimes I could hear guttural voices and harsh words of command,
somewhere away there in the blackness the enemy were lying. I could see
clearly for about forty yards. Would masses of dark shapes suddenly
appear? They should have ten rounds from the rifle, then six from the
revolver, and then the bayonet would be left. Furtively under cover of
the parapet I lit a cigarette, and holding it well screened from the
front, puffed big satisfying gasps. All the while the rifles rattled
like the sharp ticking of a clock.
The firing grew quieter, and from the front there was now only an
occasional shot. I suddenly felt sleepy, as though lulled by the rattle
of the rifle fire. I sat down a moment on the edge of my dug-out.
"Mr. Mulligan's compliments, and could you tell him the time, sir?" I
pulled myself together with a start. By Jove, I had nearly been asleep.
"What's the time, sergeant?" I asked. There was no reply. Sergeant X
was nodding as he stood, arms folded over his rifle. He, too, as the
firing died down had been overcome by sleep. I sent back the time to
Mulligan, each man passing the message to the man next him.
"Mr. Mulligan's compliments, and would you like a biscuit, sir?" A
biscuit was pressed into my hand which had come the same way as the
message.
"Mr. ----'s compliments to Mr. Mulligan, and would he care for a piece
of cheese?" I wrapped a piece of cheese in a piece of paper and sent it
back.
So we kept passing messages to one another all through the night, and
no man slept. With the enemy a hundred yards away it was advisable
they should not; but, like Sergeant X and myself, each, once the
fierce strain of firing had passed, found the inclination wellnigh
irresistible.
At last the dawn broke, and we saw the ground clear in front of us.
XII. THE FARM IN THE FIRING-LINE
A farm lay behind our trench. Just in front of the farm there ran a
wooden fence. This fence had been loopholed and banked with earth, and
was now held by a platoon of infantry. Trenches ran to the right and
left in continuation of the fence, and were manned by the remaining
platoons of the company. For two days now the enemy had attacked the
farm, and all through the past night bullets had come smack-smack
against the walls, like heavy hailstones. It was a fair-sized farm
built round a yard, three sides grain lofts and cattle sheds and the
remaining side a dwelling-place. The company commander, the company
sergeant-major, the stretcher-bearers, and others who were attached to
company headquarters were standing about in the yard. One or two of
the men had their coats off and were shaving and washing in buckets of
water.
As there had been no firing since dawn, and the enemy had evidently
withdrawn after their unsuccessful attack during the night, Evans and I
left our platoons and came into the farm.
Goyle, like the wise company commander he was, made no comment on our
having left our trenches, relying on us to know when we ought to go
back, and said that there was a room in the farm which the farmer's
wife had set apart for the officers, and that we should find some food
inside. This room, which was evidently the best parlour, was approached
through the kitchen which opened on the front door.
Never shall I forget the sight as I opened the front door and looked
into the kitchen. The small stone-flagged room was filled with
civilians. These were evidently peasants from outlying cottages who
had left their homes when the fighting began and flocked to the farm
as a central place of refuge. At a wooden table sat a party of four
women, two with children. One woman was weeping bitterly. The others
were trying to console her. All were drinking from bowls of soup. The
farmer's wife was stirring a fresh pot of soup over the stove. She
was a fine-looking woman, with proud, sad eyes. Seeing Evans and me
standing at the door, she beckoned to us to come in, and gave us each
a cup of soup. Beside the stove sat an old, old man, his head resting
against his hand, staring fixedly before him.
Sometimes he moaned gently. He sat like this all day, refusing to talk
to anybody, or to eat anything, or to be comforted. The farmer's wife
told us that the day before a shell had hit his cottage and killed his
horse. He was the village carrier. The horse was perhaps as old as
himself--as horses' years are measured--still it had been his companion
and means of livelihood, and now it was taken from him. He could not
understand it all--why the shell had come to wreck his home and kill
his horse. He just sat there moaning and staring before him. We turned
away. Neither we nor the farmer's wife could do anything. But with
the weeping woman at the table it might be different. The farmer's
wife thought that we, being British officers, could do something. She
brought the woman up to us and she told us her tale. Her husband, it
seemed, had been hit by a bullet while working in his field. He now
lay out there wounded. She could not say she was sure if he was dead,
but could we go and get him in. They had fired at her when she tried
to go out to him. It was terrible to feel he was still lying there. We
asked where the field was and then looked at each other helplessly.
It lay in no man's land, between ours and the German lines. Perhaps
at night, but for the rest of the day, no--we could do nothing. While
we were drinking our soup two more refugees came in: a broken-looking
middle-aged peasant, with red-rimmed eyes and thin shambling legs, and
his wife. He was clinging round his wife's neck, tears pouring from
the red-rimmed eyes. He, too, like the old peasant by the stove, was
speechless; his wife told us that the Germans had taken him and made
him march in front of them for three days.
She repeated the words "_trois jours_," her voice shaking with passion.
The farmer's wife set the couple at the table and gave them soup from
the pot. I wondered that she, too, did not join in the general weeping;
but she went quietly and sadly about her work, saying little, giving
food and drink to the afflicted people who had come to her kitchen,
tending her pots and pans and fire. She asked no questions about the
enemy, where they were or when we should drive them from the farm. She
showed no signs of the night of terror she must have passed as the
fight raged about her house. It was as though she stood for the spirit
of France, proud to suffer for her country, confident in the prowess of
her men, and patient and undoubting that they would succeed.