different sections of the defence we were holding. I found that Jenkins
had made a beautiful dug-out, lined it with straw, and roofed it with
some V-shaped pieces of thatch which the peasants in that part of
France use to protect their fruit. He had allowed just the right space
for me to lie down, and done everything he could think of that would
enable us to spend the night comfortably. Jenkins in private life was
a chauffeur-valet, of a fastidious, easily ruffled, and slightly
grasping disposition. However, though he would have died rather than
wear some of my old clothes, he was so well able to adapt himself to
the war that he won the D.C.M.
Having looked along the trench and moved the group sentry to a point
just near the dug-out, I settled down beside Jenkins on the straw.
Jenkins and I shared a little rum I had left over in my flask from the
day's rations, and, feeling very warm and good inside, closed our eyes.
My guardian angel was with me that evening, for I could not sleep, and
Jenkins, who could, kept grunting, which got on my nerves so near my
ear, so I decided to take some of the straw and lie down behind the
trench outside.
It was very dark, and the outline of the group sentry could just be
seen against the parapet. From where I had been in the dug-out I could
not see either of the sentries. As we were in the front line, with
nothing but a stretch of ploughland between ourselves and the Germans
and all the men in the trench were asleep, those two sentries were
pretty important. I lay there watching them with half-closed eyes. One
was resting with his head on the parapet (which is permissible as long
as the other keeps a sharp watch), but to my horror I saw the other,
after about ten minutes, turn round, sit against the parapet with his
back to the enemy, and deliberately drop his head on his arms and go to
sleep. We now had no one keeping watch over us at all, and there was
nothing to stop the Germans creeping over and bayoneting a trench full
of sleeping men. My first instinct was to march the sentry straight off
under arrest, then I remembered the penalty, and that he was only a
boy, and that it was many days and nights since the men had had proper
sleep. So I crept towards him, gave him a crack under the jaw with my
fist, which would effectively keep him awake for the rest of his turn
of duty, said, "You dare to turn round with your back to the enemy,"
and lay down again. I remember waking up uneasily every quarter of an
hour through the night and looking to see if the sentry was keeping
awake, and being reassured by a plaintive snuffling as the boy looked
ahead and rubbed his chin.
At 4 A.M. a regiment came to take over our lines, and we were sent
back in reserve. We marched back about a mile to a big empty farm,
where we were told we were going to spend the day. I had rejoined my
own company, and, as caterer for the company officers' mess, set about
getting breakfast for the five officers.
One of the latter, Edwards, was fresh out to the Front, and had not
quite got out of the way of being waited on by mess waiters. We had
sat down to the meal, which I had got ready on a table in the garden.
Edwards came up late, and found there was no tea left, so I sent him
to the kitchen to get some. Later we all wanted another cup, and I
dispatched him again, as he was the junior of the party, and I did not
see why I should do all the work. He came back and said there was no
one there; what was he to do about the tea? I said, "Make it." He said
he did not know how to. I took him gently by the arm and led him to
the kitchen to show him. When we had finished breakfast, Goyle and the
senior platoon commanders lit their pipes, while I cleared away the
things. Edwards pulled out his pipe too. But I said, "No, my boy; you
help here." I had an armful of crockery as I spoke, which I was taking
to wash up. Looking rather hurt, he followed me into the kitchen,
carrying a teaspoon. "I don't see why I should do all this," he said,
as we were washing up. "Don't you, my boy?" I said, sharply. "And do
you see any reason for me doing it?" He did not answer. "It may not
be one of the things you learnt at Sandhurst," I continued, "but when
you've been engaged in this campaign a little longer, you'll discover
that if you don't bally well shift for yourself you'll starve."
He was a good boy all the same, and got a bullet through the knee
leading his men at ----, and is a guest of the Kaiser now.
For lunch we had a Mc'Conochie. Mc'Conochie is a form of tinned stew,
and very succulent if properly cooked, as vegetables and a rich gravy
are contained in the tin. The usual way is to put the tin in a saucepan
of boiling water, let it boil for a while, and then take it out and
open it. However, that day as we were in a hurry--we had had orders to
take over the Westshires' trenches at midnight--I put the tin straight
on the fire, thinking to warm it up quicker. We were sitting round
talking when Evans suddenly exclaimed, "Gad, look at that tin!"
We looked and saw it swelling itself out. The gravy had turned to
steam, and the thing was on the point of bursting. I seized the tongs
and snatched it from the fire, placing it on the table. The thing still
seemed to be swelling gently.
"Quick," said Goyle, "prick it--it will go off."
I opened my clasp knife and gave it a jab. There was a sound like an
engine-whistle, and a jet of gravy steam shot into Goyle's eye.
"Oh, oh, you blithering idiot," he shouted, dancing about the room with
his hand clapped to his eye.
I watched the tin, wondering if all the stew had turned to steam.
However, happily it had not, and we had a good meal.
After lunch I strolled across to have a look at the field-dressing
station, which was in one of the farm outbuildings.
The doctor was attending to one or two wounded who came in, but not
having a very busy time. I watched him at work for a little while. He
was wonderfully thorough considering that his ward consisted of an open
yard and his material a box of dressings, a pair of scissors, and a
bottle of iodine. He stripped off the field bandages of each man that
came in and put on fresh dressings. One fellow walked in with a bullet
straight through his chest. He was deathly pale, but he stood up while
they took off his jacket and cut his shirt away, and looked down quite
unconcerned at the blood pouring from the hole through him.
At four o'clock we were told we were wanted in the firing-line again.
Goyle made the men take off their greatcoats and advised the officers
to put away their mackintoshes.
This last piece of advice was very sound. An officer wearing a
mackintosh is a conspicuous target in a line of men, and many have met
their death through doing it. Officers will carry rifles, cover their
field-glasses with khaki cloth, wear web equipment, and take all sorts
of precautions to make themselves as like the men as possible, and
then the first time a shower of rain comes put on their mackintoshes
and forget to take them off again when they advance. They might just as
well wear surplices.
XVIII. "THE --TH BRIGADE WILL ATTACK ----"
We thought we should have to attack that day, as we knew the powers
that be were most anxious for ---- to be taken.
The regiment had been, so to speak, in the forefront of the battle for
the past two or three days; that is to say, we had not had any troops
between ourselves and the enemy, and, though the fighting had never
been of a brisk nature, nevertheless the men were feeling the strain
of constant watchfulness and going without sleep. Even if there is not
much firing it is not a restful feeling to have nothing but a stretch
of open ploughland between oneself and the enemy, and to feel one may
be called upon to advance over the ploughland at any minute. It was a
nasty stretch of open country, swept and raked from every corner by the
enemy's machine-guns, and to lie there waiting for the order to get up
and cross it was rather like sitting inspecting a stiff fence.
Greatly to our relief the Westshire Regiment had been sent up to
relieve us at 4 A.M. and we had gone back in support. We had handed
over the trenches to them without much reluctance, and with an easy
prescience that we had had our share of work, and that it was the turn
for a regiment fresh from reserve to come up and take our place.
After being relieved we were marched back to a sugar refinery a mile
behind, and here we fully expected to spend the day. The men were
issued out rations, and the officers made preparations for breakfast.
There was a nice house belonging to the manager of the sugar refinery,
and in a kitchen we found some crockery and a fire, also the caretaker
of the manager's house and his wife. The latter made us a pot of tea,
and with our morning issue of cold bacon, a tin of marmalade, and a
loaf of bread there were the materials for a good breakfast for the
five of us--Goyle, Evans, myself, and the other two platoon commanders.
Our dream of lolling round the sugar refinery all day in reserve was
early dispelled. We had barely finished breakfast when the order came
that we were to pack up and march off. We went back the way we had come
towards the line we had been holding overnight.
As we were marching along the rumour spread that we were going back
in support of the Westshires, and that there was an attack impending.
We halted in some dead ground, and lined a ditch four or five hundred
yards behind the line the Westshires were holding. As we were lying
there an orderly came up with a message which Goyle was to read and
pass on. Goyle showed me the bit of paper before folding it up again.
The message ran: "The --th Brigade will attack ---- at 10 A.M. in
support of the French attack on ---- on their right."
It was then nine o'clock, so we had an hour to wait. Goyle was much
excited by the message, and said we were certain to be sent up to swell
the Westshires' line. The men were still wearing the greatcoats they
had had on during the night, and he ordered them to be taken off and
put away in the packs. He also advised the platoon commanders to take
off their mackintoshes, which show up an officer clearly.
While these preparations were going on I took a stroll down the ditch
to battalion headquarters, hoping to find somewhere to leave my
greatcoat instead of having to carry it. Battalion headquarters were
behind a small house at the junction of a cross-roads. Here other
people had collected--the stout officer, the doctor, and an artillery
observing officer. The artillery observing officer was in telephonic
communication with a heavy battery about two miles back, to which he
was sending back messages about possible targets and the effect of
fire. Outside the scout officer was making an early lunch off a piece
of ham which he had found in the mess-box. I joined him, contributing a
biscuit.
"The Major is an ass, you know," he said; "he will go showing himself."
He pointed to our senior major, a very gallant officer indeed, but
a man who had, as the scout officer said, an unfortunate tendency
to expose himself to fire. He was at the moment standing at the
cross-roads, beyond the shelter of the cottage, looking through his
field-glasses in the direction of the enemy's lines. The cross-roads at
which he was standing was a most exposed place. The Major was a smart,
dapper-looking man, and he stood with his legs apart, one hand holding
the glasses, the other brushing his moustache. Suddenly there was a
sharp ping; he dropped the glasses, raised his right foot sharply, and
swore. Then he came limping in.
"Curse the brutes--curse the brutes," he said, sitting on the ground
and nursing his foot; "they have shot me through the big toe."
The doctor went to the Major's assistance and the scout officer peered
round the corner of the house to see if he could make out where the
shot had come from. Presently he came back.
"I think they have got a Maxim up in that church tower, sir," he said.
There was a fine church in the town the enemy were holding, and the
tower stood high up above the other buildings.
"Have they, by Gad--the brutes," said the Major, still nursing his
injured foot, which was causing him acute pain. "Here, let me look"
he limped to the corner. A Maxim could plainly be heard firing from
somewhere in front, ping-ping-ping--ping-ping-ping.
"By Jove, I believe you are right," said the Major. "Here, just send
that gunnery officer to me."
The artillery observing subaltern came up.
"Look here, they've got a Maxim in that church tower--see, over
there--thing hit me in the foot just now. Can you telephone back and
get your guns to it?"
"Yes, sir," said the gunnery subaltern.
Soon four heavy guns were playing on the church tower, and the tower
crumbled. So are churches and other things destroyed in war time.
It was now nearly ten, and we returned to our trench. Soon bullets
came whistling overhead, and we knew the attack had been launched.
We lay low in the dug-outs waiting till we were wanted. Knowing the
ground, I could picture clearly what was going on in front, and I did
not envy the Westshires their task. I could imagine them getting out
of their trenches and advancing in line over that murderous stretch of
ploughland. When we had been in the trenches they were then leaving
we had hardly dared show our noses above them; but now the Westshires
had the order, and out they had to go, and forward. Phzz-phzz-phzz.
The bullets began to come over more quickly, and we could hear the
answering fire of the Westshires. It may have been half an hour that we
lay there, and then a hot, dusty figure crawled round the corner of the
trench.
"Is the Captain of B Company there?"
"Yes, I'm here," Goyle answered.
The new arrival squatted down in the trench. It was the Adjutant of the
Westshires. He pulled out his pouch and started to fill his pipe. His
hands shook so that he could hardly get the tobacco into the bowl. I
shall never forget the way he breathed--hard, noisy gasps. The man was
evidently at breaking-point.
"How is it going?" Goyle asked.
"Oh, it's hell," the Adjutant of the Westshires answered.
"It is impossible to expect men to advance over such ground. We have
only got about twenty yards. We have had a hundred down already--Leary
and Blake are gone--Jones and Barty wounded. It is no good--they can't
carry on. Look here; what I came back for was, would you send an
officer with me, so that I can show him where we want your men? Our
fellows are rather shaken. I think it would be a good thing if they
would close up behind. One never knows what might happen."
I could read the Adjutant's thoughts. He dreaded lest his men should
break. He knew if they had to advance farther they would be shot down
like rabbits. Poor man, he as Adjutant of the regiment was responsible
for the men's lives and conduct. The regiment was in danger of being
wiped out. No wonder his hand shook, and he breathed in great gasps.
Never have I seen a man so cruelly strained. He grew calmer as he sat
there, and presently Goyle sent me back with him.
The Adjutant of the Westshires was quite calm as we returned to the
firing-line. We found the Colonel of the regiment sitting on the ground
behind a wall. He held a message in his hands. "Look there!" He read
out the message to the Adjutant.
"The --th Brigade will continue their attack on ---- at 11.30 A.M. The
attack will be pressed home at all costs."
Both men looked at each other. They knew they had received the
regiment's death warrant. No attack could succeed over such ground.
The Colonel looked at his watch. I looked at the little iron-grey man
sitting there waiting for the hour when he was to send his regiment to
their doom. Then the Adjutant took me quietly, and showed me the places
where he wished our men to come up. He was quite calm now as we peeped
round the corner of a house at the lines which had to be taken at all
costs. The firing had stopped now. The Westshires were lying out in
the ploughland at the point they had reached. The Germans lined their
trenches waiting for them to move.
But the time never came. Ten minutes later a staff officer had come up,
inspected the ground, and cancelled the second order for the attack.
XIX. BY THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH
We were moved to the village very suddenly. There was no reason that we
could see for the move. However, this transpired later. It was getting
dusk when we reached the village. A and C Companies were sent at once
up to the firing-line, and B and D Companies were lined along a ditch
in support. The ditch had been prepared for habitation by the regiment
who had held it before. At one point they had thrown some boards across
the ditch and made a house underneath. This proved a very welcome
shelter when later it came on to rain. We lay in the ditch for an hour
or two listening to the last shells before nightfall, from one of our
heavy batteries, singing overhead. The shells were sent in groups of
three, and we could plainly hear each, whizz-whizz-whizz, chasing each
other through the air, perhaps not more than twenty yards apart. We
were comfortable enough where we were, and idly speculated on what
errand of destruction the shells were bent. They sounded nasty great
things to have coming in the wrong direction, and we wished the Germans
joy of them.
About eight I felt hungry, and got out of the trench to have a look
round. I had two tins of Mc'Conochie in my haversack, which I put in
a pan of boiling water. Across a field to the front I saw a farm, and
decided to go over and explore. In the field there were two or three
curious heaps of straw, which proved to be the burial piles of dead
cows, killed by shell fire, and covered over by the farmer in this
rather ineffective fashion. The cows were getting smelly, and I did not
stay long looking at them. I found the farm occupied by two old men and
an old woman. One of the old men, over eighty, they told me, had taken
to his bed and lain there with the shutters up for three days. He was
half-dead from fright, and could not be induced to move. The old woman
said they had had Germans billeted in the farm a week before. They had
treated her and her old husband none too gently, driving them out of
the house while they made soup in her cauldron. She had managed to
hide one or two little bits of bread, and was making supper off a crust
and some coffee. She put the fire at my disposal for getting supper
ready for Goyle and the other officers in the company. They all came
across a quarter of an hour later, Evans with a great possession--a tin
of cocoa. There was plenty of milk to be had from the farm--indeed, it
was a godsend to the old people to get a man to milk their cows--and
we soon had a beautiful jug of thick, steaming cocoa. We then prepared
the Mc'Conochie, and what proved to be our last meal all together was a
good one.
It was getting late when we had finished, and we had to hurry back to
the support trench. On the way, as I was going along at a quick trot,
I came head over heels over a big object and nearly impaled myself on
a spike. Apart from the smell of the cow, it was really most dangerous
lying out there at night-time, and I sent a party of men back to bury
it.
The trenches we were to take over lay just beyond the village along the
crest of a slope. The section my company was responsible for ran just
in front of three haystacks. A company extended away to our right, and
the Dorchester Regiment continued the line to our left. The officer of
the regiment we were relieving said to me: "You see those stacks--well,
I should keep clear of them; the enemy have them set." I nodded, very
tired at finding myself back in the firing-line, where we had been
almost continuously for ten days, and not particularly interested in
what the enemy had set or what they had not. In fact, as soon as I had
seen the men distributed along the trench, and had given one or two
orders about its improvement, I made straight for the centre stack,
pulled as much hay as I could out of the side of it, rolled myself up,
and went to sleep.
I was awakened by a sharp blow in the back. Looking up I saw Evans
drawing his foot back to give me a second and harder kick.
"Get up, you blithering fool," he said; "your men are out all over the
place."
I jumped to my feet, and, fastening my belt as I ran, dashed for the
trench. I owed a lot to Evans for waking me. As Evans said, the men
were all walking about outside the trench. I got them in immediately,
and was preparing to follow when I thought of my bed, and went off to
fetch it. One never knew when the next chance of leaving the trench
might come. I was bending down, gathering a good armful of hay, when
there was a report, a sensation like red-hot iron running through one,
followed by acute pain, and I pitched head-forward into the hay. I
had been hit. Very frightened and hurt, I crawled as fast as I could
round to the side farthest from the enemy and sat down. I examined my
wounds--a bullet through each leg. The shots were low down and did
not look very serious. They hurt infernally, and I made a mental note
to call the next man who said he never noticed he had been hit in the
heat of an action a liar. I examined the wounds. Were they serious
enough to warrant a visit to the field-dressing station and a possible
return to England? I hoped devoutly they were. An attempt to stand
soon satisfied me, and I fell down again, much relieved. All these
thoughts were a matter of seconds; in the meanwhile there was a good
deal going on round the stack. An enemy battery was playing round it
with high-explosive shrapnel. The shells burst first one side, then the
other, in front, behind, in all directions. The noise was deafening,
and the lead in the air was just like a hailstorm; however, it was
a stout stack, and kept me dry, though I confess I doubted getting
away alive. After a few minutes the firing stopped, and, throwing
myself on my side, I rolled as fast as I could for a support trench.
I pitched head-first into the trench and landed on the top of two
privates who were sheltering in the bottom expecting more shrapnel
over at any minute. They were not expecting me, and thought their
last hour had come when I fell on top of them. Getting our breath,
we all three cursed each other. Then, seeing I was an officer, they
became respectful. I explained I was wounded, and they helped me off
with my puttees and bound up the wounds with the first-aid bandage
which I ripped from my coat. In the meanwhile word was sent back for
stretcher-bearers. As the firing had stopped these came up immediately,
lifted me out of the trench, put me on a stretcher, and started off
with me. We had to go down a road in full view of the enemy. For some
providential reason they never fired at us, though I was about the last
wounded man to be brought down that road. Halfway down the road the
stretcher-bearers began to show signs of feeling my weight. I coaxed
them on a few more yards, but when they came to the lee of a cottage
they put me down and shook their heads; another bearer came to the
rescue, and with the extra help the party proceeded. A hundred yards
more brought us to a cottage which was being used as a field-dressing
station. The cottage was beginning to fill, and wounded men lay about
all over the floor.
"Oh, Gawd! Oh--! ----ooh!!"
"Shut up, can't yer?" a man shouted from the far corner of the room.
"I've got a 'ole in me big enough to put yer 'and in," the sufferer
explained, and began again to groan and swear.
"Got a cigarette, mate?" A man deathly pale on a stretcher held out his
hand to a comrade who was slightly wounded and standing beside him.
The latter extricated a Woodbine from a crumpled packet and passed
it down. The man on the stretcher lit the cigarette and puffed at it
phlegmatically. It was doubtful whether he would live, and though he
did not know this, he knew he must not have anything to eat or drink
for many hours.
About fifteen or twenty of us were lying on the floor of a cottage.
Outside, four or five hundred yards up the street, a lively fight was
in progress for the possession of the village. After the firing-line
the cottage seemed a haven of peace and safety.
"Hullo, they've got you."
"Morning, Doctor."
A young fellow, fresh from his training at a hospital, was standing
beside me. He was our regimental doctor, and I'd always thought of him
as a lucky fellow who rode on a horse when we were on the march, got
his rations regularly at all times, and during a scrap enjoyed the
security of the extra few hundred yards which he was supposed to have
between his dressing-station and the firing-line. Well, here he was to
look after me, anyhow.
"Got a bit of work to do to-day, Doctor," I said as he bound me up.
"Yes," he answered, adjusting a blanket as a pad under me, "there, just
keep in that position and the bleeding will soon stop." He turned to
the man next me.