SAPPING AND MINING: THE “LUCKY COMPANY”
[In blowing up bridges, repairing the ravages of the enemy, in
throwing pontoons over rivers, and in countless other ways, the
Royal Engineers have contributed largely to the success of the
British operations in the war. These splendid men, known a century
ago as the Royal Sappers and Miners, have not only worked with the
greatest energy since the war began, but they have also seen some
hard fighting. This story of Sapper William Bell, 23rd Field
Company, Royal Engineers, gives a picture of the many-sided
operations of the magnificent corps whose mottoes are “Everywhere”
and “Where right and glory lead.”]
Sheer hard work was the order of the day for our chaps from the time I
landed in France from an old Irish cattle-boat till the day when I was
packed off back to England suffering from rheumatic fever.
We worked excessively hard, and so did everybody else. Wherever there
was an obstacle it had to go, and the infantry themselves time after
time slaved away at digging and clearing, all of which was over and
above the strain of the fighting and tremendous marching. It was a rare
sight to see the Guards sweeping down the corn with their
bayonets--sickles that reaped many a grim harvest then and later.
It was during the early stage of the war that bridges were blown up in
wholesale fashion to check the German advance, and the work being
particularly dangerous we had some very narrow escapes. A very near
thing happened at Soissons.
We had been ordered to blow up a bridge, and during the day we charged
it with gun-cotton, and were waiting to set the fuse until the last of
our troops had crossed over. That was a long business, and exciting
enough for anybody, because for hours the men of a whole division were
passing, and all the time that great passing body of men, horses, guns,
waggons and so on, was under a heavy artillery fire from the Germans.
At last the bridge was clear--it had served its purpose; the division
was on the other side of the river, and all that remained to be done was
to blow up the bridge. Three sections of our company retired, and the
remaining section was left behind to attend to the fuse.
Very soon we heard a terrific report, and the same awful thought
occurred to many of us--that there had been a premature explosion and
that the section was lost. One of my chums, judging by the time of the
fuse, said it was certain that the section was blown up, and indeed it
was actually reported that an officer and a dozen men had been killed.
But, to our intense relief, we learned that the report was wrong; but we
heard also how narrowly our fellows had escaped, and how much they owed
to the presence of mind and coolness of the officer. It seems that as
soon as the fuse was fired the lieutenant instinctively suspected that
something was wrong, and instantly ordered the men to lie flat, with the
result that they were uninjured by the tremendous upheaval of masonry,
though they were a bit shaken when they caught us up on the road later.
This incident gives a good idea of the sort of work and the danger that
the Royal Engineers were constantly experiencing in the earlier stages
of the war, so that one can easily understand what is happening now in
the bitter winter-time.
An Engineer, like the referee in a football match, sees a lot of the
game, and it was near a French village that we had a fine view of a
famous affair.
We had been sent to the spot on special duty, and were resting on the
crest of a hill, watching the effects of the enemy’s field-guns.
Suddenly in the distance we saw figures moving. At first we could not
clearly make them out, but presently we saw that they were Algerian
troops, and that there seemed to be hosts of them. They swarmed on
swiftly, and took up a position in some trenches near us.
The Algerians, like our Indian troops, hate trench fighting, and long to
come to grips with the enemy. We knew this well enough, but we realised
the peril of leaving cover and advancing towards an enemy who was very
close, and who was sweeping the ground with an uncommonly deadly fire.
Putting all fear aside, remembering only their intense desire to come to
grips, giving no thought to what must happen to them, the Algerians with
enthusiastic shouts sprang from the trenches and bounded, like the sons
of the desert they are, across the shell-swept zone that separated them
from the annihilating gunfire of the enemy.
What happened was truly terrible. The Algerians were literally mowed
down, as they charged across the deadly zone, and for a piece of sheer
recklessness I consider that this attack was as good--or as bad--as the
charge of the Light Brigade.
The Algerians were cut to pieces in the mad attempt to reach the German
batteries, and the handful of survivors were forced to retire. To their
everlasting credit be it said that, in withdrawing under that terrible
fire, they did their best to bring their wounded men away. They picked
up as many of the fallen as they could and slung them across the
shoulder, as the best way of carrying them out of danger.
I shall never forget the scene that met my eyes when we returned to the
village. Women were weeping and wringing their hands as the survivors
carried their wounded through the streets--for the French are deeply
attached to their Colonial troops--and the men of the place were nearly
as bad; even some of our chaps, who are not too easily moved, were
upset.
While in this locality we had a very warm time of it, for we were
continuously under artillery fire. We were in a remarkably good position
for seeing the battle, some of our batteries being on our right, some on
our left, and the German guns in front. It was really hot work, and when
we were not hard at it carrying out our own duties, we took cover on the
other side of a hill near the road; but some of our men got rather tired
of cover, and found the position irksome; but if you so much as showed
yourself you were practically done for. One day our trumpeter exposed
himself, just for a moment; but it was enough. He was instantly struck
and badly wounded.
At another time we were in our sleeping-quarters in a school-house, and
had an escape that was truly miraculous. We had settled down and were
feeling pretty comfortable, when the Germans suddenly started shelling
us; suddenly, too, with a terrific crash, a shell dropped and burst in
the very midst of us.
Theoretically, the lot of us in that school-house ought to have been
wiped out by this particular shell, but the extraordinary fact is that
though every one was badly shaken up, only one of our men was
wounded--all the rest of us escaped. Luckily we had the hospital men at
hand, and the poor chap who had been knocked over was taken away at once
to the doctors.
We had had a very hard, hot time, and were glad when the French came and
relieved us, and gave our division a bit of rest and change. The Germans
in that particular part were thoroughly beaten, and a batch of 500 who
were covering the retreat were captured by the French.
They had started for Paris, and were very near it when they were bagged.
I dare say they got to Paris all right. So did we, for we entrained for
the city, but stayed there less than an hour. I had a chance of seeing
something of the thorough way in which Paris had been prepared for
defence, and on my way to Ypres I noticed how extensively the bridges
that were likely to be of any use to the Germans had been destroyed. The
loss in bridges alone in this great war has been stupendous.
When we entered Ypres it was a beautiful old cathedral city; now it is a
shapeless mass of ruins, a melancholy centre of the longest and
deadliest battle that has ever been fought in the history of the world.
We had a rousing reception from the British troops who were already in
the city, and a specially warm greeting from our own R.E. men, who gave
me a huge quantity of pipes, tobacco and cigarettes from home, to divide
amongst our company.
We were soon in the thick of the fiercest and most eventful part of the
fighting. We were put to work digging trenches for the infantry and
fixing up wire entanglements. The wire was in coils half a mile
[Illustration:
[_To face p. 112._
“WE HAD A VERY WARM TIME OF IT” (p. 111).]
long, and what with that and the barbs and the weight, the carrying and
dragging and fixing was a truly fearsome job.
And not only that, but it was extremely dangerous, because we were
constantly under fire--sometimes we were fixing up wire within a few
hundred yards of the German lines. Before getting to Ypres we had
covering parties of infantry to protect us from snipers and sudden
attacks; but at Ypres this protection was rarely given, because of the
very heavy pressure on the firing line. We were ceaselessly sniped; but
on the whole our casualties were remarkably few--but we were always
known as the “Lucky Company.”
In addition to doing this hard and dangerous work, we were roughing it
with a vengeance. Our sleeping-quarters were dug-outs in a wood, and
were lined with straw, when we could get it. The enemy always make a
special point of “searching” woods with shells, and we were so situated
that we were pestered day and night by the German gunners, who were
hoping to draw our artillery fire and so locate our own batteries.
Anything like rest was utterly out of the question owing to these
artillery duels, which were the bane of our life.
Silence was essential for our work, and we used muffled mauls--our big
wooden mallets.
One moonlight night we were going to our usual duties when a shell flew
past, exploding with terrific force within ten paces of us. We took it
to be one of the Germans’ random shots, but after going a short distance
we had more shells bursting about us, and bullets whizzing, telling us
that the enemy’s snipers were at it again. Once more we justified our
nickname of the “Lucky Company,” for we had only one man hit--a fine
chap, whose fighting qualities were well known to us, so we grinned when
he said to me, after being struck on the shoulder, “I should like to
have a look at that German, Bill!”
In the moonlight we offered a first-rate target to the hidden German
snipers, and they certainly ought to have done more with us than just
hit one man; but compared with British soldiers, the Germans, with rare
exceptions, are only “third-class” shots. I have mentioned this little
affair chiefly by way of showing the constant danger to which field
engineers are exposed.
The Germans at that time had their eyes on us properly, and the very
next day they did their level best to make up for their sorry
performance in the moonlight.
We had been told off to dig trenches for the infantry on our left, and
we started out on the job. Rain had been falling heavily, the ground was
like a quagmire, and we had to struggle through marshy ground and
ploughed fields.
This was bad enough in all conscience, but to help to fill the cup of
our misery the German snipers got at us, and gave us what was really a
constant hail of bullets. We floundered on, doing our dead best to reach
a certain wood. After floundering for some time, we were ordered to
halt. By that time we had reached the wood, and the fire was truly
awful.
Behind our tool-carts we usually fasten a big biscuit-tin, which is a
big metal case, and as the sniping became particularly furious, four of
our men bolted for shelter behind the biscuit-tin. I don’t know what it
is in the British soldier that makes him see the humour of even a fatal
situation, but it happened that the rest of us were so tickled at the
sight of our comrades scuttling that we burst out laughing.
But we didn’t laugh long, for shells as well as bullets came, and we saw
that the Germans were concentrating their fire upon us. They were going
for all they were worth at the wood, and our only chance of safety lay
in securing cover. We made a dash for the trees, and I sheltered behind
one.
Then an extraordinary thing happened. A shell came and literally chopped
down the tree. The shell spared my life, but the tumbling tree nearly
got me. Luckily I skipped aside, and just escaped from being crushed to
death by the crashing timber.
The firing was kept up for a long time after that, but we went on with
our work and finished it, and then we were ordered to occupy the
trenches we had just dug. We were glad to get into them, and it was
pleasant music to listen to our own infantry, who had come into action,
and were settling the accounts of some of the German snipers.
Later on we were told to get to a farmhouse, and we did, and held it for
some hours, suffering greatly from thirst and hunger, in consequence of
having missed our meals since the early morning. Some of our tool-carts
had been taken back by the infantry, and this was a far more perilous
task than some people might think, for the carts are usually filled with
detonators, containing high explosives like gun-cotton, and an exploding
shell hitting a cart would cause devastation.
The farmhouse was ranked as a “safe place,” and we reckoned that we were
lucky to get inside it; but it proved anything but lucky, and I grieve
to say that it was here that my particular chum, an old schoolmate, met
his death. We had scarcely reached the “safe place” when the cursed
shells began to burst again, and I said to myself that we were bound to
get some souvenirs. And we did.
My comrades had brought their tea to a hut, and I went there to get my
canteen to take to the cookhouse. No sooner had I left the hut than I
heard a fearful explosion. One gets used to these awful noises, and I
took no notice of it at the time; but shortly afterwards I was told that
my chum had been hit, and I rushed back to the hut. Terrible was the
sight that met me. Eight of our men were lying wounded, amongst them my
friend. With a heavy heart I picked him up, and he died in my arms soon
afterwards. Two other men died before their injuries could be attended
to--and this single shell also killed two officers’ chargers.
It was soon after this that I went through what was perhaps my most
thrilling experience. Again it was night, and we were engaged in our
usual work, when suddenly we heard the sound of heavy rifle fire.
Throwing down our tools, we grabbed our rifles. We had not the slightest
idea of what was happening, but looking cautiously over the parapet of
the trench which we were working on, we could dimly see dark figures in
front, and took them to be Germans.
We were ordered to fire, the word being passed from man to man to take
careful aim; but owing to the darkness this was not an easy thing to do.
We fired, and instantly we were greeted with terrific shouting, and we
knew that the Germans were charging. Not an instant was lost. With fixed
bayonets, out from the trench we jumped, the infantry on our right and
left doing the same.
Carrying out a bayonet charge is an experience I shall never forget. One
loses all sense of fear, and thinks of nothing but going for and
settling the enemy. For my own part I distinctly recollect plunging my
bayonet into a big, heavy German, and almost instantly afterwards
clubbing another with the butt of my rifle. It was only a short fight,
but a very fierce one. The Germans gave way, leaving their dead and
wounded behind them.
When the charge was over we went back to our trenches, taking our
wounded with us. Our company’s casualties numbered about a dozen, the
majority of the men suffering from more or less serious wounds; but we
were pretty well satisfied, and felt that we had earned our sleep that
night.
The next day I had another close shave, a shell bursting very near me
and killing twelve horses belonging to the 15th Hussars, who were on
patrol duty.
After seven weeks of this famous and awful fighting at Ypres, I was
taken ill with rheumatic fever--and no wonder, after such work, and
sleeping in such places as we were forced to occupy. After a spell in
the hospital at Ypres, I was moved on from place to place, till I made
the final stage of the journey to England.
A remarkable thing happened during one of the heavy bombardments that we
endured. A shell came and fell plump in the midst of us, and it really
seemed as if we were all doomed. But the shell did not explode, and on
examining the cap, it was found to bear the number “23.” That, you will
remember, is the number of my own company, so you can understand that we
felt more justified than ever in calling ourselves the “Lucky Company.”