A DAISY-CHAIN OF BANDOLIERS
[In this story we become acquainted with a brilliant bit of work
done by our brave little Gurkhas, fresh from India, and we learn of
a splendid achievement under a deadly fire--the sort of act for
which many of the Victoria Crosses awarded recently have been
given. The teller of this story was, at the time of writing, home
from the front. He is Private W. H. Cooperwaite, 2nd Battalion
Durham Light Infantry, a fine type of the Northerners who have done
so much and suffered so heavily in the war.]
I was wounded at Ypres--badly bruised in the back by a piece of a “Jack
Johnson.” There is nothing strange in that, and people have got used to
hearing of these German shells; but the main thing about this particular
customer was that it was the only one that burst out of eighteen “Jack
Johnsons” I counted at one time. If the other seventeen had blown up, I
and a lot more of the Durhams would not have been left alive. That same
shell killed two of my comrades.
We went into action very soon after leaving England. We had had plenty
of tough marching, and on the way we grew accustomed to the terrible
evidences of the Germans’ outrages.
In one place, going towards Coulommiers, we came across tracks of the
German hosts. They had ravaged and destroyed wherever they had passed,
and amongst other sights our battalion saw were the bodies of two young
girls who had been murdered. The men didn’t say much when they set eyes
on that, but they marched a good deal quicker, and so far from feeling
any fear about meeting the Germans, the sole wish was to get at them.
After a four days’ march we got to Coulommiers, where we came up with
the French, who had been holding the Germans back and doing fine work.
That was in the middle of September, when the Battle of the Aisne was in
full swing. On the 19th we went into the trenches, and after a spell in
them we were billeted in a house. We had settled down nicely and
comfortably, when crash came a shell, and so tremendous was the mischief
it did that we had only just time to make a rush and clear out before
the house collapsed.
It just sort of fell down, as if it was tired out, and what had been our
billet was a gaping ruin. That was the kind of damage which was being
done in all directions, and it told with sorry effect on those who were
not so lucky as we had been, and were buried in the smash. All the
cellars were crowded with people who had taken refuge in them, and they
lived in a state of terror and misery during these continuous
bombardments by German guns.
After that lively bit of billeting we returned to the trenches, and on
Sunday, the 20th, with the West Yorkshires on our right, we were in the
very thick of heavy fighting. The artillery on both sides was firing
furiously, and the rifles were constantly going. Our own fire from the
trenches was doing very heavy mischief amongst the Germans, and they
were losing men at such a rate that it was clear to them that they
would have to take some means of stopping it, or get so badly mauled
that they could not keep the fight going.
Suddenly there was a curious lull in the fighting and we saw that a
perfect horde of the Germans were marching up to the West Yorkshires,
carrying a huge flag of truce.
It was a welcome sight, and we thought, “Here’s a bit of pie for the
Tykes--they must have been doing good.” They had lost heavily, but it
seemed from this signal of surrender that they were to be rewarded for
their losses.
A large party of the West Yorkshires went out to meet the Germans with
the flag, and I watched them go up until they were within fifty yards of
the enemy. I never suspected that anything wrong would happen, nor did
the West Yorkshires, for the surrender appeared to be a fair and
aboveboard business.
When only that short distance separated the Germans and the West
Yorkshires, the leading files of the surrender party fell apart like
clockwork and there were revealed to us, behind the flag of truce,
stretchers with machine-guns on them, and these guns were set to work at
point-blank range on the West Yorkshires, who, utterly surprised and
unprepared, were simply mown down, and suffered fearfully before they
could pull themselves together.
Now, this dastardly thing was done in full view of us; we could see it
all, and our blood just boiled. What we would have liked best of all was
a bayonet charge; but the Germans were too far off for the steel, and it
seemed as if they were going to have it all their own way.
They had given us a surprise, and a bad one; but we had a worse in
store for them--we also had machine-guns, and they were handy, and we
got them to work on the dirty tricksters and fairly cut them up. The
whole lot seemed to stagger as our bullets showered into them. That was
one of the cowardly games the Germans often played at the beginning of
the war; but it did not take the British long to get used to them, and
very soon the time came when no risks were taken, and the stretcher
dodge was played out.
That Sunday brought with it some heavy fighting, and some very sad
losses. There was with us an officer whose family name is very
particularly associated with the Durham Light Infantry, and that was
Major Robb, as good and brave a gentleman as ever breathed.
After that proof of German treachery he received information that the
Germans meant to attack us again; but Major Robb thought it would be
better to turn things about, and let _us_ do the attacking. I dare say
he was burning to help to avenge the losses of the West Yorkshires, the
poor fellows who were lying dead and wounded all around us.
To carry out an attack like that was a desperate undertaking, because
the Germans were six hundred yards away, and the ground was all to their
advantage. It rose towards them, and they were on the skyline, so that
it became doubly difficult to reach them.
Well, the order was given to advance, and we got out of our trenches and
covered most of the distance in good order. Bit by bit we made our way
over the rising ground towards that skyline which was a blaze of fire,
and from which there came shells and bullets constantly.
There could be no such thing, of course, as a dash, however swift,
towards the skyline; we had to creep and crawl and make our way so as to
give them as little to hit as possible; but it was terrible--too
terrible.
We fell down under that deadly blast, and though I am not a particularly
religious man, I’ll own that I offered up a prayer, and the man on my
left said something of the same sort too. Poor chap! He had scarcely got
the words out of his mouth, when over he went, with a bullet in his
neck, and there he lay, while those of us who were fit and well kept up
and crept up.
At last we were near enough to the skyline to give the Germans rapid
fire, and we rattled away as fast as we could load and shoot, till the
rifles were hot with firing. After that rapid fire we crept up again,
and it was then that I saw Major Robb lying down, facing us, and smoking
a pipe--at least he had a pipe in his mouth, just as cool as usual. He
sang out to my platoon officer, “How are you feeling, Twist?”
Lieutenant Twist answered, “Oh, I’m about done for.” I looked at him and
saw that he was wounded in the chest and arm. We had to go on, and we
could not take him back just then.
The lieutenant had scarcely finished speaking when I saw Major Robb
himself roll over on his side. A poor lad named Armstrong, with four
more of our men, crept up to attend to the major, but a piece of
shrapnel struck the lad on the head and killed him--and other men were
falling all around me.
There was no help for it now--we had to get back to our trenches, if we
could; that was our only chance, as the Germans were hopelessly greater
in number than we were. So we made our way back as best we could, and we
took with us as many of the wounded as we could get hold of.
Time after time our men went back for the wounded; but, in spite of all
we could do, some of the wounded had to be left where they had fallen.
We got back, the survivors of us, to the trenches, and we had hardly
done so when we heard a shout. We looked up from the trenches, and saw
Major Robb on the skyline, crawling a little way.
Instantly a whole lot of us volunteered to go and fetch the major in;
but three were picked out--Lance-Corporal Rutherford, Private Warwick,
and Private Nevison.
Out from the trenches the three men went; up the rising ground they
crawled and crept; then, at the very skyline, Rutherford and Nevison
were shot dead, and Warwick was left alone. But he was not left for
long. Private Howson went to help him, and he actually got to the ridge
and joined him, and the two managed to raise the major up; but as soon
as that had been done the officer was shot in a vital part, and Warwick
also was hit.
More help went out, and the major and Warwick were brought in; but I
grieve to say that the poor major, who was loved by all of us, died soon
after he reached the trenches.
That furious fight had cost the Durhams very dearly. When the roll was
called we found that we had lost nearly 600 men, and that in my own
company only one officer was left. This was Lieutenant Bradford, one of
the bravest men I ever saw. At one time, when we had lost a young
officer and a man with a machine-gun, Lieutenant Bradford worked the
gun himself. I am sorry to say that he was killed in another battle
later on.
Now I am going to leave the Valley of the Aisne and get round to
Flanders, where we found ourselves near Ypres, faced by a big force of
Germans.
Again we were with our friends the West Yorkshires--they were on our
right, and on our left we had the East Yorkshires, so that there were
three North-country regiments together. Near Ypres we soon had to carry
out a smart bit of work which, in a way, proved very pathetic. The
Durhams were ordered to take a small village, and we went for it. We
reached a farmhouse, and there we found about a score of women and
children. Some of our men were sent into the house, but they could not
make the women and children understand English. The poor souls were
terrified; they had had to do with Germans, and as they were not
familiar with our uniforms they thought we were Germans too--another lot
of the breed from which they had suffered so much.
We fetched Captain Northey to explain things to the women, and as he
entered the house a shell burst near him and took off part of one of his
trouser-legs, but without hurting him. The captain took no notice of
this little drawback, and into the house he went, and made the women
understand that we were English troops; and I can assure you that when
they realised that they simply went wild with joy, and hugged and kissed
us.
We had gone out to learn, if we could, something about the enemy’s
strength, and we got to know that there were about 30,000 Germans in
front of our brigade, and that they were entrenched.
The Sherwood Foresters, who were in reserve to us, were ordered to
relieve us, and it was wonderful to see they way in which they came into
the village we had taken, smoking cigarettes as if they were doing a
sort of route-march, although they came right up against a hail of
bullets, with the usual shells. In face of such tremendous odds they had
to retire; but, like good soldiers, they prepared another lot of
trenches near the village, and later on we went into them.
In such fighting as this war brings about there are many, many sad
incidents, and one of the saddest I know of occurred at this particular
village. There was a fine young soldier named Matthews, who came from
West Hartlepool, I think it was. He was struck by shrapnel, and we saw
that he was badly hurt. We did what we could for him, but it was clear
that he was mortally wounded, and that he knew it. His last thought was
for home and wife, and he said he would like his cap-badge to be sent to
her, to be made into a brooch. I believe that a comrade, who was also a
neighbour of his, undertook to do this for him.
It was my good fortune to see the little Gurkhas rout the enemy, who had
attacked them, and to give the Germans a most unpleasant shock.
The Germans had been shelling the East Yorkshires, who were now on the
right of the Durhams. The enemy had the range almost to an inch, and the
effect of the shelling was terrible. Hour after hour this shelling was
kept up pitilessly, and the German aeroplanes--“birds,” we called
them--swooped about and saw the havoc that was being done. This sort of
thing went on till after dark, and the Durhams wondered if any of the
East Yorkshires were left.
There was a surprise in store for us at dawn next day when we awoke, for
the East Yorkshires’ trenches were full of Gurkhas, who had slipped in
during the night. The Germans knew nothing of this. All they knew was
that their shells had been pounding on the East Yorkshires for hours,
and doubtless they had satisfied themselves that no troops on earth
could stand such a gruelling.
The Germans came on pretty confidently, after dawn, to the position of
the East Yorkshires--came on in a cloud. That was after we had repulsed
an attack on ourselves, but not finally, owing to the vast numbers of
the Germans. Perhaps they expected to find the trenches filled with
English dead and wounded, and certainly to us it seemed as if the
trenches must be in that condition, for the Gurkhas let the Germans come
on without showing a sign of life.
The Germans gave enough warning--as they always do. Bugles sounded, and
they rushed on, shouting and yelling; but still there was no sound from
the trenches, no sign of life was seen. Even we, who had a fine view of
the trenches, could see nothing. We were intensely interested, though we
had plenty of hard work to do ourselves in firing at the enemy.
When the Germans got to within about forty yards of the trenches on our
left, the little brown fellows, who had been lying so low, sprang up and
simply poured over the tops of the trenches. That performance was one of
the most extraordinary things seen in the war. The Gurkhas never even
attempted to fire; they just seemed to roll over the ground, gripping
their long, curved knives.
We were too far off to see exactly what sort of expression came on the
Germans’ faces when the trenches, which were supposed to be choked with
dead and wounded Britons, vomited these Indian warriors; but we saw the
whole shouting, yelling line of Germans pull up sharp.
The Germans made a half-hearted effort to come on, then they wavered
badly, and well they might, for by this time the little Gurkhas were on
them with fury, and the blades flashed like lightning about the mass of
startled Germans.
Stunned by the unexpectedness and swiftness of the Indian onslaught,
terrified by the deadly wielding of the knives, the Germans made no real
effort to withstand the rush from the trenches, and they broke and ran
like rabbits, throwing down their rifles as they scuttled, with the
Gurkhas leaping after them and doing fearful execution.
It was truly great, and as the victorious little warriors came back we
gave them a cheer that was a real hurrah. We were as pleased as the
Gurkhas were, and they showed their joy as they came back wiping their
knives. They seemed all grin and knife as they returned, and we felt all
the better for it, too, especially as we gave the broken, flying Germans
a heavy peppering.
Only the Germans who were behind got away, or had a chance. Those in
front, who had had to meet the Indians’ swift, fierce spring, were done
for as soon as the curved blades were whirling amongst them.
I had had a pretty good innings by this time, and had escaped serious
injury, but I was very soon to be bowled out. The Durhams were
supporting the West Yorkshires, who had been badly cut up. We received
word that the West Yorkshires had run short of ammunition, and that
fresh supplies were urgently wanted. We advanced with supplies, and
found that we had to cover about fifty yards of open ground. The Germans
had got the exact range of this open ground, so that it was impossible
to advance over it, except singly. The shell and rifle fire was
particularly heavy, and it seemed as if nothing could live on that
exposed stretch.
One by one we made a dash across that awful space towards the trenches
where the Yorkshiremen were hungering for fresh ammunition, and each of
us carried a full bandolier for the Tykes. A good many of our men fell,
but a lot got through and took part in a very strange bit of work.
I got through myself, after being blown down by the force of a shell
explosion near me--thank Heaven it was the force and not the shell
itself that knocked me over for the moment! It was terrible going, for
we soon found, after we began to make the journey, that we could not
quite reach the Yorkshires’ trenches.
There were some haystacks on the open ground, and we dodged behind them
and dashed from one to the other, every dash meaning a shower of bullets
from the Germans.
There was still the last fifty yards I have mentioned to be covered; but
now it meant almost sure destruction to be seen, so we threw the
bandoliers to the end man in the trenches, the man nearest to us; but a
full bandolier is a heavy thing, and there was not much chance of taking
aim. We were almost at our wits’ end, but we tried another way. We made
a sort of daisy-chain of several bandoliers, and paid this out as best
we could towards the trenches.
The nearest man in the trench--a plucky chap he was--slipped out and
made a dart for the end of the chain. He just made a mad grab and got
it. Then he dashed back to his trench, and it seemed as if the business
was all over, and that the daisy-chain would be safely hauled in; but to
the grief of all of us the chain broke when a few yards of it had been
pulled in.
This was a dreadful disappointment, but still something had been done,
some rounds of ammunition, at any rate, had been got into the trenches,
and we were determined that the Tykes should have some more. We had to
wait a bit, for as soon as the Yorkshireman had shot back to his trench,
the ground that he had scuttled over was absolutely churned up by
shells, and if he had been caught on it he would have been blown to
rags. We lost no time in making other efforts, and at last the
ammunition was safely delivered to the West Yorkshires in the trenches,
and they did some rattling good business with it.
I have mentioned “Jack Johnsons,” and I want to speak of them again by
way of finish. It was at Ypres that I was bowled out. These “J.J.’s”
were falling heavily, but many of them were what you might call
dumb--they didn’t speak. As I have said, I counted eighteen as they
came, and out of the whole of that number only one exploded. But it was
enough. I have already told you what happened to two of my comrades, and
as for myself it settled me for the time being by badly bruising my
spine and back.
And that’s the reason why I was invalided home.