THE BRITISH VICTORY AT NEUVE CHAPELLE
[On the road from Béthune to Armentières, four miles to the north
of La Bassée, is the little straggling frontier village of Neuve
Chapelle, which first came into notice in October during the
British advance to the north of La Bassée. At that time the village
was held by the Germans, but on October 16th they were driven out
by the British. As a result of the tremendous efforts of the
Germans in trying to reach Calais we were not able to hold the
village, which again was held by the enemy at the beginning of
November. The British were driven back a short distance and for
more than four months they remained near Neuve Chapelle; then, on
March 10th they began an attack which ended in the village being
retaken by us and held. The German Westphalian Army Corps in
October and November had forced the British out of Neuve Chapelle,
but in March these troops were routed and severely punished by part
of Sir John French’s “contemptible little army.” What the battle
meant and how it was fought is told by Sergeant Gilliam, 1st
Battalion Coldstream Guards.]
The battle of Neuve Chapelle began at half-past seven o’clock on the
morning of March 10th, and ended at about half-past nine on the night of
the 12th. Earlier on the morning of that famous day our battalion was
ordered to stand to, as supports of the 1st Brigade. We were told to be
ready to turn out at ten minutes’ notice; and we _were_ ready, for we
were longing to have a settlement with the Germans, who had dug
themselves in at Neuve Chapelle, and made themselves very comfortable
and thought that no power on earth could drive them out. But we had a
big surprise in store for them, and we sprung it on them like a
thunderbolt when our massed guns roared soon after sunrise on that early
day in March. Whatever advantages the Germans might have had at the
beginning of the war we had been getting the better of them, and we were
certain that we were now much superior to the enemy in every way. We
knew that the British Army was becoming too much for them, and we were
anxious to prove it that morning, when the biggest bombardment the world
has ever known began, and along a tremendous front there came into
action hundreds of the largest and the smallest guns that we had out in
France.
I am sure that every man who was in at the beginning of this war, from
Mons to the Marne and the Aisne, as I was, till I was invalided home
wounded, will agree with me that there had been nothing like the British
artillery fire at Neuve Chapelle. It was truly fearful. Something like
five miles away, nearly five hundred British guns were bombarding the
village, the batteries being on a front four or five miles in extent, so
that there was only a few yards space between each gun. The result was
that an immense wall of fire was seen where the artillery was in
position, while the village itself was a target on which shells rained
and made havoc. Nothing could withstand that awful cannonading--houses
and buildings of every sort were shattered, and often enough a single
shell was sufficient to destroy an entire house. When we got into the
place at the end of the battle it looked as if some tremendous
earthquake had upheaved it and thrown it down in a mass of wreckage. It
was almost impossible to tell where the streets had been, and so
enormous was the power of some of the shells that were fired and burst
in the ground, that the very dead had been blown up from their
resting-places in the churchyard, only to be re-buried by the falling
walls around. The bombardment was bad enough for those who were out of
it; for those who were in it the effect of the shell fire was
paralysing. The Germans had had nothing like it, and more than one
prisoner declared that it was not war, it was murder. We didn’t quite
see how they made that out; but it was near enough for the Germans, and
we told them that we were only getting a bit of our own back for Mons.
“And,” we said, “this is only a taste of what’s in store for you. It’s
nothing to what’s coming!”
The roar of these massed guns was so deafening, and the noise of the
exploding shells was so incessant, that we could not hear one another
speak. The air was all of a quiver and you could see the heat in the
atmosphere just as you see it when looking at the horizon in a tropical
country, and as I saw it many times when we were in Egypt. The heat from
the shells made the day for all the world like a hot summer day, and the
fumes and flashes caused a strange mist that looked like rain, though
the sun was shining.
The bombardment was grand and terrible beyond description; but there was
one good thing about it, and that was that the Germans did not reply
very often--they seemed numbed and stunned--and when they did, their
fire was very slight and feeble, and so far as I could tell not one of
their shells did any serious damage amongst the British forces.
For half-an-hour the British artillery bombarded the enemy’s first line
of trenches, and this fire to the Germans must have seemed as if hell
had been let loose, because everything that was in the line of fire was
blown away or levelled to the ground--walls, trees, buildings, sandbags,
even the barbed wire entanglements were carried away by shell splinters
and shrapnel bullets, though unfortunately some of the entanglements
escaped injury, and became death-traps for a number of our fine fellows
who were hurling themselves upon the Germans.
Perhaps I should explain, so that my story is quite clear, that Neuve
Chapelle, or what is left of it, stands on perfectly flat ground, with
plenty of enclosed gardens and orchards and some wooded country near.
The Germans had dug themselves into very complete trenches, and had
built some strong breastworks near the highroad into which they had put
a large number of machine-guns. In houses and elsewhere these weapons
had been planted, and in some places they fairly bristled. Our object
was to rout the Germans out of their trenches and houses and barricades,
and in view of the deadly nature of machine-guns and rifles the work was
bound to be long and heavy and costly. How desperate the assault was has
been shown by the losses of some of our splendid line battalions.
When the bombardment of the first line of trenches was over, the way had
been paved for the infantry, who were lying in their trenches, not far
from the village. They were waiting eagerly for the order to advance,
and when it came, they sprang out of their trenches with such shouts
that you might have thought a lot of lunatics had been let loose. They
dashed forward, and almost before it was possible to realise what had
happened they were in the nearest German trench.
Then it was, even so soon after the battle had opened, that we knew how
destructive the fire of our guns had been, for when the trench was
reached there was hardly a German left to tackle. Our shells had landed
plump into the enemy, and the result was that the trench was full of
dead and wounded Germans. The few survivors did not hesitate to explain
that they felt as if they could shake hands with themselves and to
marvel that any one of them had come out of such a fire alive.
Our men were full of joy at such an ending to their rush, full of
satisfaction to feel that they were making such a fine score, then came
one of those misunderstandings and mishaps which are part and parcel of
a fight in which the artillery cannot always see what it is doing--our
own poor fellows suddenly found themselves under the fire of our
gunners, who had started bombarding the trench again under the
impression that it was still held by the Germans.
Imagine, if you can, what it meant to be in a trench like that, at such
a time--a long narrow pit which had been knocked about by shells and was
crowded with débris and killed and wounded men, and then to be under our
own shell-fire. With unerring aim the shells came into the trench,
causing consternation, and yet a sort of grim humour. Above the cries of
the wounded and the shouts of the men came the loud voices of the
officers, saying, “What is our artillery thinking of? What are they
doing?” And at the same time doing their dead best to get their men out
of it and back to their own trenches.
The order was now given to retire to our old position, and at last the
order was carried out, but still some of our men were puzzled to know
what had taken place, and they shouted, “What’s wrong?” “What’s
happened?” and so on, while there were many cries for help and water. It
was soon seen that there had been a mistake, and the best was made of
it, though that was not much consolation for poor chaps who had been
badly mauled and knocked about by fire that was meant for the enemy.
Noon came round on that first day of the battle and the chief thing we
knew was that what we thought was finished had not been done, and we had
to start afresh; but there was no grumbling or whining. It was realised
that there had been a mistake, and it was taken in the way of British
soldiers. And we were well rewarded, for suddenly our artillery
re-started. They knew by this time what had happened, and I think they
must have felt pretty savage, judging from the nature of their fire. We
could see the destructive effects of it from our trenches, and it was a
wonderful yet awful sight to watch the Germans being blown out of their
trenches into the air, some of the bodies being shot twenty or thirty
feet high. I am not going to dwell on the havoc that was caused amongst
men; but you can imagine how dismembered parts were scattered by such a
continuous bursting of shells.
The bombardment stopped abruptly, and in the strange calm that followed
it we went off again, in just the same high spirits as before. This time
we were lucky; there was no mishap, things went well and right, and by
half-past two we had the joy and pride of knowing that we had made
ourselves masters of the first line of the German trenches.
This line was piled up with the German dead, and the first thing we did
was to get to work to clear some of the bodies away, so as to make a bit
of room for ourselves to stand, keeping at the same time well under
cover in case the enemy tried to get their own back; but they had been
too badly shaken, and nothing of this sort took place. The Germans
believed that Neuve Chapelle could not be taken, as it was so strongly
fortified, and we now had a chance of seeing how much ground they had
for their belief. A particularly strong defence was the barbed wire
entanglements, which had been made uncommonly thick and complicated.
This was the reason why even our destructive fire did not cut through
the entanglements and why some of our infantry suffered so heavily. The
Liverpool Regiment lost terribly, as so many of the officers and men
were caught in the wires and had no chance of escaping from the fire
which the Germans mercilessly directed upon them. The Liverpools were
caught between the cross-fire of two German maxims as they tried to cut
through the barbed wire, just in front of the German trenches. It was
real heroism on the part of the Liverpools and it was a ghastly sight to
see the brave fellows being cut down like flies.
In our captured trench, which was nothing more than a huge grave, we
began, when we had made ourselves secure, to snatch a few mouthfuls of
food; but we had no sooner started on this pleasant task than down came
the order to prepare to advance.
“That’s right!” the men shouted. “The music’s started again! Let’s get
at the German pigs!” Not very polite, perhaps, but in this war a good
deal has been said on both sides about swine.
We sprang out of our trench and went full swing for the second
trench--there were four trenches to storm and take before our object was
accomplished. Very soon we were in amongst the Germans in the second
trench, and it was a fine sight to see them being put through the mill.
Just in front of us, amongst the enemy, the shells from our own guns
were bursting--a wonderful instance of the accuracy of modern artillery
fire--and it was fascinating to see the shells sweeping every inch of
the ground, and marvellous that human beings could exist in such a
deadly area. Every now and then in would go one of the German parapets,
and the almost inevitable accompaniment was the blowing into the air of
limbs and mangled bodies. These things were not a laughing matter, yet
often enough, as we watched a shell burst and cause havoc we laughed
outright--which shows how soon even the most dreadful of happenings are
taken as matters of course.
Now came the order for us to assault and away the infantry went, right
into the German trench, with such a rush and power that the enemy seemed
to have no chance of standing up against the onslaught.
The men of the Leicestershire Regiment hurled themselves into the thick
of the bloody fray, not once, nor twice, but five times in succession
did they rush the Germans with the bayonet--and at the end of that
tremendous onslaught they had not a single German prisoner! Never while
a German lives who survived the charges of the Leicesters will he forget
what happened in the trenches at Neuve Chapelle--and what the Leicesters
did was done by the Irish Guards. No prisoners--and no man who has been
through the war from the start will blame them, for he knows what the
Germans have done to our own brave fellows, not in fair fight, but when
they have been lying helpless on the roadside, especially in the
retreat from Mons.
The long and thrilling day was ending, darkness was falling, and we
pulled ourselves together and prepared for a lively night. We fully
expected a counter attack, but no--it seemed to be the other way about,
for on our left we had our famous Gurkhas and Sikhs, and they were
getting ready for work.
It was quite dark, about half-past nine, when suddenly there was a shout
in the German trenches, and as it rose in the night a pair of our
star-lights burst, like bright, beautiful fireworks in the sky, and
showed us what was happening. It was this--the Indians had moved swiftly
and silently in the night, they had crept and crawled up to the German
position, and before the enemy knew what was taking place the heavy
curved knife, which is the Gurkha’s pride, was at work, and that is a
weapon against which the German soldier, especially when in the
trenches, seems to have no chance whatever. It is almost impossible to
get over your surprise at the way in which these brave little Indians
cover the ground in attacking. They crawl out of their trenches at
night, lie flat on their stomachs, with the rifle and the bayonet in the
right hand, and wriggle over the ground like a snake and with amazing
speed. Having reached the enemy’s trenches they drop the rifle and
bayonet and out come the knives--and woe betide the Germans that are
within reach. The Gurkhas are born fighters, the love of battle is in
their very blood, and they fight all the more readily and gladly because
they believe that if they are slain they are sure to go to heaven. If a
German makes a lunge at him, the Gurkha seizes the bayonet with the left
hand and gets to work with the knife. The plucky little chaps get their
hands badly ripped with the German bayonets, and many came into Neuve
Chapelle with half their left hands off.
The Germans hate the sight of these Indians, and those who could do so
escaped from the trench. They lost no time in going--they fled, and no
wonder, for they had suffered terribly, not only from the Indians, but
also from the Black Watch, who had been at them with the bayonets. The
Highlanders took a large number of prisoners; but the German dead were
everywhere, and the trench was packed with them--indeed, all the
trenches at the end of the battle were filled with Germans.
During the 10th and 11th we made such good progress that we had taken
three of the four trenches; then came the worst day of all, the 12th,
for on that we were ordered to take the fourth trench which the Germans
held. This was on the outskirts of the village and was strongly
fortified. There was a strong blockhouse at the back of the trench which
added greatly to the security of the position.
We were up and ready early--at half-past six--and as soon as day had
broken the guns began their dreadful booming, and very solemn they
sounded in the cold grey light, which is always so cheerless. The guns
cleared the way again and did some excellent work in smashing away the
wire entanglements and blowing up German works; then came the order to
charge.
I was not in at the actual taking of this last trench, but I was lucky
in being close enough to be able to see what was going on, and what I
saw was some of the most furious fighting in the whole of the battle.
The first charge was made with all the dash and courage of the infantry,
who had already done so well. Our men rushed gallantly at the Germans;
but so withering was the fire with which they were met and so hopeless
seemed the obstacles that they were repulsed with heavy loss, and I know
of nothing more heart-breaking to us who were watching than the sight of
these soldiers being sacrificed and suffering as they did without,
apparently, winning any success.
Again the artillery shelled the German position, then, across the ground
which was littered with our dead and dying our brave fellows charged
again. They sprang up from the shelter of their trenches, and with even
greater fury than before threw themselves upon the enemy, only to be
beaten back for the second time, by the cross fire of the machine-guns.
In spite of all these losses and the awful odds against them our men
kept their spirits up and vowed that they would still drive the enemy
completely out of Neuve Chapelle, and get their own back for Mons and
the rest of it, and so, while our artillery took up its tune again the
men got a breather, and after a bombardment which lasted at least
three-quarters of an hour there were shouts of “Now, boys, again! Let
’em have it!” And up the infantry sprang once more and dashed across the
fatal ground. The men who were nearest to me were the 2nd Black Watch,
and it did one’s heart good to see the way the kilties swung towards the
enemy’s position. But it all seemed in vain, for at this point there was
the blockhouse to be reckoned with. It was right in the centre and was a
veritable little fortress which seemed a mass of flame and sent
machine-gun and rifle bullets like hail. No troops could live or stand
against such a fusillade, and so our men had to fall back even once
more to the protection of the trenches.
By this time the position and danger of the blockhouse were known, and
our artillery got the range of it, and that having been done, the end
was merely a matter of time. A battery of British guns was trained on
the blockhouse and the fire was so accurate that the fourth shell went
through the left corner and the building was riddled with shrapnel and
put out of action.
It was about this time that our fellows spotted an observation-post on
the church in the village. As you know, churches and houses are objects
that the British always avoid firing upon if they can, though the
Germans have wantonly destroyed large numbers of both. There was the
observation-post, plainly to be seen, and as the Germans were directing
their artillery fire from it and the post was a danger and a nuisance to
us and hindered our progress, a special effort was made to wipe it out.
And the effort succeeded, for the British gunners got on it a “Little
Harry,” a shell that puts to shame even the Jack Johnsons and the Black
Marias of the enemy. “Little Harry” settled the observation-post swiftly
and finally, and then the fourth and last charge for Neuve Chapelle was
made.
And what a charge it was! It was magnificent. Every bit of strength and
courage that was left seemed to be put into it, and while the infantry
dashed on with the bayonet and put the finish to the stubborn German
resistance in the trenches and got the enemy fairly on the run, the
Gurkhas and the famous Sikhs and Bengal Lancers hurled themselves on the
flying regiments and cut them down with lance and sword.
[Illustration:
[_To face p. 302._
“THE INFANTRY DASHED ON WITH THE BAYONET.”]
It was a wonderful swirl of fighting. This time the blockhouse was
stormed by the 2nd Middlesex and the Royal Irish Rifles.
All at once the guns had finished, and with wild cheers the old
“Die-Hards” and the Irishmen rushed to the German trench and would not
be driven back. By about half-past three the blockhouse was taken, and
then it was seen that it had been defended by no fewer than half-a-dozen
machine-guns and two trench mortars, to say nothing of rifles. These
weapons and thousands of rounds of ammunition were captured and the
Germans who had not been killed were found hiding under cover as best
they could and they were thankful to surrender.
While this splendid piece of work was being finished our Indians on the
left were doing heavy execution. The Bengal Lancers were driving the
fleeing enemy straight through the village, if that could be called a
village which was now an almost shapeless mass of burning and smoking
ruins. And spies and snipers had to be searched for in the shattered
buildings, while we had to leave the captured trenches for two reasons,
because they were filled with dead, and at any moment we might be blown
out of them by mines which the Germans had laid. So we had to set to
work, even while the fight was being finished, to construct new
trenches, and we worked hard on these so as to make ourselves secure in
case of a counter attack.
It was not long before we saw the victorious Indian cavalry returning.
At about six o’clock we heard the thud of horses’ hoofs, and looking up
from the new trenches that we were making we saw the Bengal Lancers
coming back from their pursuit and rout of the Germans. They had chased
the enemy right through the village and into a big wood on the other
side of Neuve Chapelle, and what they had done was shown by their
reddened lances and the helmets and caps that were stuck on the steel.
There were about six hundred of these fine horsemen and not one of them
had less than two trophies on his lance, while I saw one of them with no
fewer than eight skewered on, and he was smiling all over his dark
handsome face. So were the rest of them--they were all delighted with
the success that had crowned their work, and we cheered them mightily
and laughed too, for somehow we couldn’t help doing both.
Meanwhile we were being shelled from a spot which we could not locate
for some time, then we learned that the firing came from a fort on the
left of the village which was known as Port Arthur. We were in the
direct line of fire from it, and our position became very uncomfortable.
The Germans who were in Port Arthur were a plucky and stubborn lot, for
they refused to surrender when they were asked to do so, and declared
that they would not cave in either for British or French or Russians.
That showed a fine and right spirit, but at last these chaps had to
stop, because our gunners got two or three “Little Harrys” into Port
Arthur, and it came tumbling down about the defenders’ ears.
It was now dark, past nine o’clock, and it seemed that the enemy was a
long time making up his mind to attack us; but at about twenty minutes
past the hour they began firing with their artillery. The very first
shell they sent came right into my two sections of trenches, and killed
one man and wounded half-a-dozen of us, including myself. The poor
fellow who was killed had his head completely taken off his shoulders.
I helped to bandage the other five before I troubled about myself. Then
I looked around again and found that the Germans were well into the
night attack; but they never got within fifty yards of our trenches.
What happened after that I am not able to tell you. I was sent to the
field ambulance to have my wounds dressed, then I learned that I had got
two shrapnel bullets in me, one in the left thigh and one on the other
side, to keep it company.
In the ambulance train I went to Béthune, then on to Boulogne, then, on
a Sunday afternoon--the 14th of March--I landed at an English Channel
port and once again had experience of the care and kindness of friends
and nurses in the hospitals at home.
For the second time I had been sent home wounded from the front. I was
proud enough when I felt that I had tried to do my duty in the glorious
rearguard fighting after Mons and in the battles of the Marne and Aisne;
but I was prouder still to know that I had shared in the victory of
Neuve Chapelle, in which we got our own back, with a lot of interest,
from some of the finest troops of Germany.
THE END
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] Colonel Gordon was twice reported killed; but it was definitely
ascertained, later, that he was a prisoner of war.
[2] I saw the “eighth” man not far from the spot where he and his
comrades were standing when the shell burst. He had been wounded by
shell splinters on the head, which, when I saw him, was bandaged. The
effect of the explosion, he said, was terrible. He declared that the
German warships were flying the British white ensign, and that he
could distinguish their flags quite clearly.--W. W.