reserved for our use. She watched us for a moment as we opened a tin
of bully beef and pulled some biscuits from our pockets, and then,
motioning to us to put these things away, began to dust the table and
lay a cloth. In a short while she had put before us a dainty lunch,
soup, boiled chicken, a stew of vegetables, coffee, and cheese. We
would have preferred our servants to have done the cooking and waited
on ourselves, so that she could look after her own people, but she
insisted on doing everything herself, bringing each dish in. We asked
her if we could do anything for her, and she drew up a methodical list
of things she wanted from a neighbouring village--coffee, rice, flour,
and oil for her lamp. I got up to get these things, and at the door
she stopped me and pressed her well-worn purse into my hand to buy the
things. I had difficulty in making her take the money back.
Outside the farm I found a party of men burying one of the company
who had been killed in the night. They had wrapped him in his coat,
and were digging a rough grave by the roadside. One of the men was at
work on a wooden cross made of two bits of board from the lid of a
ration-box. He had scrawled R.I.P. and the date in large letters, and
was laboriously tracing out the dead man's name and number.
The village where I was to get the provisions lay about half a
mile away along an open, desolate road. All along the road men lay
entrenched. The word had gone round that the enemy had withdrawn,
and most of the men were sleeping beside their rifles. Some of the
inhabitants of the village were coming back after the attack, and I
found a tiny store open where I could get the things the farmer's wife
required. On my way back I passed a wine shop, which was crowded with
peasants, all talking and drinking coffee and little glasses of rum.
I wondered what they thought of it all, and imagined they were too
bewildered to have any opinions. On all their faces were evident signs
of satisfaction at being able to return to the village. They thought
that the "_boches_" were by now probably running back hard to Germany,
and all would be over in a few days.
As I stood in the doorway three civilian youths approached, two of them
supporting a third between them. The lad in the middle looked white
and scarcely able to stand. I went up to see if I could do anything.
The two with him told me that they had found the boy lying in a field;
he had been hit in five places by shrapnel. They thought he must have
been lying there unattended for three days. The boy himself watched me
with dumb, pain-ridden eyes. Very weakly and slowly he raised his hand
to his mouth and pointed to his tongue, which was black and swollen.
"_Soif_," he whispered. Of course, he had had no water all the time.
I had him taken into a cottage and laid on a table. I got a glass of
water from a well and held it to his lips. He was too weak to raise
his head, but his friends supported him, and he drank the water slowly
and steadily. As he drank a little smile played about his lips, and
when the glass was empty, before they laid him down, he nodded his head
and smiled at me as only those smile for whom one has done some last
service and whose life is nearly done.
I made my way back to the farm with sickness in my heart. Not all
the fighting nor the strain of war had affected me as the sight of
those suffering, helpless people whose ground we were using for our
battlefield.
That night we said good-bye to the farmer's wife and pushed on beyond
the farm. We were all happy to feel we were leaving her behind the
security of our lines. As she stood at the door and watched us go there
was still the same look in her eyes as when we came--a look of sadness,
resignation, and infinite courage.
XIII. PUSHING FORWARD
An hour before dawn the men stood to their arms in the trenches, but as
the daylight grew and there was no sound or sight of the enemy, first
one man and then another got out of the trench. These being allowed to
walk about with impunity the others soon followed their example. Fires
were lit for cooking, and men spread themselves on the ground behind
the trench reading old copies of newspapers, or mending their clothes,
or cleaning their rifles. Here and there parties could be seen carrying
away corpses which had been stiff and cold behind the trench for the
last forty-eight hours. Goyle, my company commander, walked across from
his headquarters. The day before it had been impossible for him to get
to us, and messages were brought by orderlies, who crawled up on their
stomachs along a narrow ditch.
"Morning," said Goyle; "looks as though they had cleared."
"Yes, sir," I answered, "there has been no sign of anything ahead this
morning."
"I reckon that was their transport we heard, sir--they was rumbling
along a road there, sir, all the night," said my platoon-sergeant.
The man was probably right, for all through the night a rumbling of
wagons had been plainly audible along a road behind the enemy's lines.
The night before we had been attacked fiercely, but though they had
come very near us they had not been able to break through. During the
day the enemy had remained quiet, contenting themselves with sniping,
and now evidently, under cover of darkness, they had withdrawn to
another position.
"Well, I suppose we shall push on now," I said to Goyle.
"Yes, I expect so," he answered.
Our orders to advance came at four o'clock. Goyle came down to give the
necessary instructions to platoon commanders. We were to push forward
straight to our front, keeping under cover as much as possible. He said
he believed that the ground was all clear in front of us, but that it
would be as well to take precautions.
Evans and I therefore led our platoons down a ditch which led direct
to the front. We eventually came out by a large farm building which
a day or two ago had been in the hands of the Germans. It had been
known to the British troops as "the hospital," because the Germans had
hoisted a Red Cross flag on a pole on the roof. But "the hospital"
had also been used by the enemy as an observing station, and our guns
had been obliged to shell it on two or three occasions. We examined
the building with interest. The place was evidently a dairy farm on a
large scale, for three sides were cowsheds, and there was a big store
of hay. At the far end was the dwelling-house, over which the Red Cross
had been hoisted. The place had perhaps been used as a hospital, for
in the bottom room we found a long riding boot, which had been cut off
a wounded man, and a blood-soaked pair of the well-known blue-grey
breeches. However, on going up on to the roof we found the facilities
for seeing over our lines so remarkable that the shells from our guns
were evidently justly placed.
I made the tour of the farm with the doctor of the Dorchesters, who
was thinking of taking it over as a hospital himself. When we came down
from the roof we found two farm girls outside. They asked us anxiously
if it would be safe for them to stay there that night, and we assured
them it would. They said they had gone off a mile or two for two or
three days, but now they had come back to look after the cows. They
were a pair of very cool young ladies, who seemed to regard the German
occupation of their farm as no more than a heavy rainstorm, to be
avoided while it lasted, but not to be worried about once it was over.
The doctor and I went round to look at the cowsheds. The beasts were
all in their stalls, some evidently suffering a good deal from want
of milking. In the first shed we came to there was a most appalling
stench. The doctor sniffed and said he thought it was something dead.
We examined the cows that were lying down, but they were all alive.
Then the doctor made an orderly rake over all the straw. He said that
the Germans had a habit of hiding dead men under straw, if they were
vacating a place, just by way of providing a pleasant surprise for any
tired British soldiers who might make the straw their bed. However,
there were no corpses in the cowshed, and we never discovered the cause
of the smell, though it was strong and nasty enough to prevent my ever
forgetting it.
On coming out of the farm I found the Dorchester Regiment passing by.
After lying about in a trench, hardly seeing more than the men in one's
own platoon, it was quite a change to see another regiment and have
a talk to the officers about their experiences in the past few days.
It was interesting to hear how the next-door regiment had fared in
the night attack, and if they had met much opposition in gaining the
village they had been told to take. One subaltern, with a scrubby ten
days' growth of beard on his chin, grinned as though he thought he knew
me as he went by, and said: "Who'd have thought we were being brought
up to do this?"
I looked at him, and suddenly recognized a fellow who had been a cadet
with me at Sandhurst. It did, indeed, seem droll to look back on the
days when we had drilled in the same squad together and studied tactics
in the same class, without ever, I am afraid, any serious thoughts
of war. Well, anyway, now our learning was being put to the test, and
as I watched the boy now become a man march by with his company, all
muddy from the trenches, with his few worldly possessions slung from
his belt, I thought that he, at any rate, was a good advertisement for
Sandhurst.
"Where are you going--do you know?" I called.
He shrugged his shoulders and pointed away across the fields. It was
growing dusk, and I began to wonder where we were going. We had been
halted by the farm some time now. I turned back to my platoon, who
were lying on some straw against a wall. I thought I would go and find
some of the other platoon commanders and hear if there was any news.
But this plan was frustrated, Evans and the others were nowhere to be
found. I asked my sergeant if he knew where the rest of the company
was. He said he did not. It was my business, of course, not his, to
know, and he--wretched man--having been asleep, knew this perfectly
well. After a search round the farm I came to the conclusion that the
company had gone off somewhere and that I was left. Here was a pretty
kettle of fish. Goyle would not thank me for losing a whole platoon.
The company must be found again at once. The difficulty was they might
have gone off in any direction. I questioned the men. Some thought
they had seen the captain going back the way we had come; others had
seen nothing. To go back the way we had come would probably be putting
oneself too far back if wanted. I eventually decided to cut straight
across a field and reach a road which would take me to the same village
as the Dorchesters were going to. In this way I should have them
between myself and the enemy, and so eliminate the risk of being cut
off, and also should be moving along towards the enemy in the same
direction as presumably my company was moving.
It was by now quite dark, and, crossing the field, we nearly fell into
an empty trench which the Germans had held. The most noticeable thing
about the trench was the murderous field of fire it afforded. The
trench had evidently been sighted by a past master in the art of war.
On reaching the road I decided to stay there for a while until some
one came along from whom I could ask questions. It was rather jumpy
work to be isolated by oneself with a platoon without quite knowing
where one was. To my great relief, after a few minutes a company
from my regiment came along, followed by Goyle at the head of my own
company, and I was able to join up. It appeared that in the interval
since we had parted the company had been ordered to entrench themselves
in three different places, and then moved on again, and so, as Goyle
did not seem to mind once I had joined up again safely, I was very glad
I had missed all the unnecessary excitement. It was characteristic of
Goyle that he never found fault with anything his subalterns did unless
it led to trouble. As I had got there all right somehow, and not been
wanted in the meantime, he did not blame me for getting lost.
We marched along for a little way down the road, and then swung to
the right down another road, which led through a straggling village.
The cottages were all in darkness, but they looked very inviting, and
I think each man wished heartily that he was going to sleep in one
instead of marching on into the night.
After passing through the village we came out on to a straight road
flanked by two deep ditches. After going a few hundred yards along this
road we were told to halt, climb over the ditch, and entrench. This we
did.
When all was snug and compact for the night Goyle and I went back to
the village to let the Dorchesters know what we had done. We found
several of the officers in the kitchen of a small wine shop. They had
got a fire going, and were making coffee, and this, with a bottle of
rum found in the cellar, and the remains of the day's rations, promised
an excellent supper. I had some bread and cheese left in my haversack,
and shared this with Goyle; we were given a mug of coffee each, and
joined the others at the table. After the excitements of the evening
the coffee and rum were welcome. As we were having supper I heard some
groans, and suddenly noticed a huge Uhlan lying flat on his back in
the corner. He was breathing with difficulty, and every now and then
seemed to be trying to wriggle along the floor. One of the Dorchester
officers told me that the man had been found in a ditch and brought in
by our men. He was shot straight through the stomach. They had sent
up for the doctor, but the latter was unable to come down that night.
Supper proceeded smoothly, uninterrupted by the groans of the Uhlan,
who was only half-conscious, but at times evidently in great pain.
"I say," said one of the Dorchesters' officers, "I propose sleeping
here. I don't much fancy having that fellow in the room all night."
It was then decided to move the Uhlan to an empty house opposite, where
he died by himself, and was found on his knees, with his head contorted
between them in a last effort to rise, in the morning.
XIV. IN FRONT OF LA BASSÉE
At daybreak the order came to advance. A and C Companies were to form
the firing-line, B and D Companies were to be in support. We formed the
right of the brigade, and had to get in touch with the Westshires, who
were on the left of the --th Brigade, on our right. The initiative of
the attack rested with A and C Companies; our task was to follow behind
over the ground they had gained and be ready to come up into line with
them should they lose many men or find themselves hard pressed. The
enemy we knew to be holding a group of houses about 700 yards away.
The ground sloped gently back from these houses to the outskirts of
the town. My company, B Company, under Goyle, had been extended during
the night, in a field to the right of the road, and had thrown up a
low earthwork parapet. We now lay behind this while A and C Companies
pushed through us to the front. The parapet proved none too high,
for as soon as the men in front showed themselves a brisk fire came
from the enemy in the houses. We all lay flat on the ground, and the
bullets came phzz-phzz over us, missing us, as it seemed, by an inch
or two. There is an old military adage that the man who thinks each
bullet he hears is going to hit him is making active service a torture
to himself. Now, it is all very well to preach the value of being
philosophical in warfare and to recommend the man under fire not to
think about being hit, but that peculiar sharp little whistle which a
bullet makes as it passes one's ear takes a good deal of getting used
to, and one's first instinct as one hears it is to slide as deep and
far into the ground as possible. We all lay there with our noses flat
in the earth, wondering how the fellows in front were getting on and
when it would be our turn to get up. The opportunity came pretty soon,
for, as the company in front seemed to be held up by the enemy in the
houses, Goyle decided to send round a flanking party, and sent off No.
7 and 8 platoons to work their way round on the right. This plan proved
successful, and A Company was able to get ahead. Goyle now signalled
for the two platoons, which had remained with him, to advance. We rose
and moved forward in extended order for 300 yards and then lay down
again.
After a few minutes Goyle exclaimed:
"Hullo!--our fellows have reached the houses." Looking through my
glasses, I saw some of our men in the gardens of the houses, and as
there was no fighting going on the Germans had evidently withdrawn.
Goyle decided that we would push on, and told Evans and me to join up
by the houses with two platoons which had gone round by the flank. We
were to search the houses thoroughly, and take up a line on the other
side of them. On our way forward we came on the results of some work we
had heard going on during the night. Just before we reached the houses
we found three men from the Westshires in a ditch. One was dead, the
others too badly hit to crawl. It appears they had been sent out on
patrol the night before, and, coming on the German lines, had got shot
down. As I had been out on patrol myself on the other side of the road
the same night, I reflected that my patrol had been lucky to escape the
same fate.
The two wounded men had been lying there for some time, and were very
glad to be found. The worst side of patrol work is the risk of not
being found or it not being possible to bring wounded men in. We sent
the two wounded men back to the ambulance, and asked for a party to
be sent up to bury the other. I took the dead man's rifle myself. It
was very bloody and nasty, but I felt it would be a good companion,
as apart from a rifle and bayonet being twice as useful as a revolver
and sword (no one carries the latter), a rifle is also a very good
disguise for an officer. If he is holding his rifle, as the men always
do, at the trail in an advance, he is indistinguishable to the enemy.
Especially was this the case at one time, when the enemy had got
used to looking out for a gentleman with a revolver in one hand, a
walking-stick in the other, and a pair of field-glasses slung round
his neck, advancing slightly ahead of the line of men, and waving
instructions to them with the stick. Nowadays the wise officer keeps
well in a line with his men, and gives as few indications by hand
signals to halt or advance, etc., as possible.
I got most of the blood off the rifle with some grass, and, armed with
it and the bayonet, I felt much more secure as we made our way through
the houses. The Germans had evidently spent a day or two round the
houses, for just behind we found a straw-lined ditch, which they had
slept in and partially converted to a trench. We lined this ditch,
which gave good cover against stray bullets, and waited for further
orders. While we were waiting, Edwards, who had charge of the flanking
party, pushed out to the right to get in touch with the Westshires,
and Evans and I went back to have a look at the houses and see if the
enemy had left any souvenirs behind. One of the buildings was the
village wine shop, and a party of German officers had evidently used
it as their headquarters for the night. They appeared to have had a
rare time in the place. Half-emptied glasses of wine had been left on
the bar counter and on the table; bottles and glasses lay smashed on
the floor; every bottle from the shelves behind the bar had been taken
down and either drunk or broken and the contents spilt over the floor.
Two chairs lay broken, and all the pictures were smashed, presumably
by cockshies with bottles and glasses. From the look of things the
officers must have all been extremely drunk.
While we were in the wine shop the order came for us to close up on
A Company, who had pushed some distance forward. The ground at this
point sloped up to some more cottages and farm buildings which lay at
the top of the rise. A and C Companies had worked their way through
the cottages and lined out beyond them facing the outskirts of the
town. They were unable to go any farther, as the ground in front was
a dead flat stretch of root crops, which the Germans could sweep with
rifle and machine-gun fire. The cottages in front to a certain extent
covered the advance up to this point, but not completely, as Mulligan,
in charge of the right platoon of the next supporting company,
discovered to his cost. We were advancing in extended order up the
rise, my company being well protected by the cottages, but Mulligan
had a gap in the buildings in front of him. About half-way across the
field he evidently came into range of a German machine-gun. The gun
opened a brisk fire, and in as many seconds twenty of his men were
down, Mulligan himself getting a bullet through the shoulder, and his
servant, who was beside him, being killed. From an infantryman's point
of view a Maxim is like water to a mad dog. It will stop him when
nothing else will. There is something particularly deterring about the
sound of a Maxim, with its ping-ping-ping-ping as it sweeps down a line
of advancing troops, spurting lead like a hose-pipe. The great art from
an infantryman's point of view is to locate these guns, and avoid going
over ground they cover. It is, humanly speaking, hopeless to try to
advance straight against them. Word soon goes along a line, "They've
got a Maxim along that road," or "Machine-guns are on that corner of
the field or gap in the hedge," and the road, or corner of the field,
or gap in the hedge is avoided like a plague spot accordingly.
After we had lain behind the cottages on the rise for a little while,
the commander of A Company sent back to say he would like a platoon
from the supports sent up to him. Goyle told me to take up No. 6.
Hutson, who was commanding A Company, was a capital fellow to work
under, and was moving about behind his trenches giving directions
to the men as coolly as if he had been on manœuvres instead of only
separated by a root field from the first line of the German army.
He showed me the bit of trench he wanted my platoon to occupy, gave
some instructions about putting out an advanced post, and said the
officers of A Company were having a stew cooked in the kitchen of one
of the cottages, if I would care to come in when it was dark and all
was straight for the night. He said he did not think we should try to
advance any farther that night, but hold on where we were.
I lined my men out along the section of trench I was to occupy, which
had mostly still to be made, and got them to work. It was growing dusk,
and buildings along the outskirts of the town were standing out clearly
against the sky-line. Just in front of us was what appeared to be a
large factory. As I watched I saw a shell crash against the roof of the
factory, followed by another and another. Soon flames sprang from a
corner of the building, but still the shells were sent against it, and
in ten minutes the whole building was ablaze.
Our guns stopped firing when the smoke and fire showed they had done
their work. Dark figures could be seen running about from point to
point silhouetted against the flames. Our men fired at the figures, and
made jokes about the discomfiture of the enemy, who could not move now
without being shown up by the flames, while they themselves were secure
in the darkness.
Then as I watched I saw a very dashing piece of work on the part of
the enemy, for up galloped a section of horse artillery right into the
firing-line, unlimbered, and opened fire. Their target was soon plain:
a row of haystacks just behind our lines. In five minutes these stacks,
too, were blazing merrily, and our lines were lit up as clearly as the
Germans'.
The whole scene made a wonderful stage battle effect, with the two
rival lines of trenches and the flames behind each shooting luridly to
the sky.
Later Hutson came up to me.
"By Jove!" he said, "my young subaltern did a good bit of work just
now. You know when those German guns started on our stacks. Well, he
got three men with buckets, filled 'em at a pump, and dashed at the
first stack and tried to put it out. A bit of a fireman, to get to work
like that while the object he was trying to extinguish was still under
shell fire."
I am glad to say that the deed of the young subaltern referred to was
mentioned in dispatches and that he received the D.S.O. and the three
men with him the D.C.M.
XV. A NIGHT PATROL