[Frontispiece: Harold Baldwin]
"Holding the Line"
By
SERGEANT HAROLD BALDWIN
Of the First Division, Canadian
Expeditionary Forces
_With Illustrations and Diagrams_
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1918
Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1918
Published, February, 1918
_Copyrighted in Great Britain_
W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
Dedication
With deep affection and reverence, I humbly dedicate these
reminiscences to the memory of the best pals that ever lived, and who
shared with me the joys and sorrows of those never-to-be-forgotten
days in France and Flanders when we held the line, and who have paid
the supreme price--
_Major Campbell
Captain Scanlon
Major Hopkins
Private Skerry
Private Shields
Private Hood
Private Small
Private (Runner) Jocelyn
Private Ruth
Private Wellbelove
Captain Meikle
Captain Curry
Major Tanaille
Captain McGee
Lieutenant Mundell_
Prefatory Remark
When war's alarm sounded in Canada, like many thousands of young men,
the spirit of adventure was strong within me and here was an
opportunity, as I thought, to kill two birds with the same
stone--gratify my love of adventure and serve the Empire at one and
the same time.
I have endeavored to give an exact picture of my surroundings, with
its accompanying feelings and sensations, from the time I stepped
into the ranks until I got my final Blighty, and if my word picture
will have the effect of making any man get into khaki, I will be more
than repaid, because the cause of the world's liberty demands the
active cooperation of every able-bodied man who can get into the game.
There may be a protest in the minds of some against the swearing
habit of the soldier. I firmly believe that if he were deprived of
the power to express himself profanely when occasion seemed to
warrant, his efficiency would be materially hampered. And,
therefore, I have no apology to make. Even the chaplains have been
known to swear quite violently at times.
Since beginning the work of putting my data into book form, the
United States has accepted the gauntlet of battle thrown down to her
by German militarism, and the prospect of American lads and British
Tommies fighting shoulder to shoulder in the cause of democracy and
the world's freedom has inspired me with a new hope and faith in the
outcome, and I am resting content in the unshakable belief that when
the might of the Greatest Republic gets into action, the murderous
tiger of German autocracy, with its fangs dripping blood from the
lives of countless innocent victims, will in short order receive its
final death thrust.
_Chicago, January, 1918_ H.B.
Introductory
While adventure of every kind and character abounds on all sides in
the trenches, in billets and in the rear of the front line, yet the
grim seriousness of the business soon possesses a man with but a
single idea in life, especially when in the vicinity of No Man's
Land--to get the Hun and get him as quickly as he can.
In these pages I have but lightly touched on the awfulness in the
sections of country over-run by the human devils. I have two reasons
for so doing: First, because I do not believe it lies in the power of
human ken to adequately describe the inferno created by the Hun, and,
secondly, if I were to devote my lines solely to that phase of my
life while in active service, every page should be deeply edged in
black, because--"I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word would
harrow up thy soul."
Such is not my purpose. I am blest by nature with the most intense
optimism and this spirit has never deserted me but once; and I think
under the same strain it would have taken leave of any man; and since
I returned from the front I am more than ever determined that for the
balance of my time on earth I shall endeavor to radiate optimism
whenever and wherever I can. I think I will live the longer for so
doing, and maybe those who come within the zone of my voice and my
pen may also be the better for the dissemination of my love in the
joy of living.
Therefore, the purpose I have undertaken has been to faithfully
relate my experiences, and those of my chums, from the point of view
of one who looks at the brighter side of life while undergoing the
most severe test of grit and endurance that ever tried mortal men.
Contents
CHAPTER
I Answering the Call
II En Route to Valcartier
III Canada's War Camp
IV Soldiers in the Making
V Crossing the Atlantic
VI Land Ahoy
VII Salisbury Plain
VIII Life in the English Camp
IX Getting Ready to Go
X Leaving for France
XI Landing in France
XII My Baptism of Fire
XIII In the Front Line
XIV Saxons and Prussians
XV Training for Runner
XVI By the Wayside
XVII Steenvoorde
XVIII Ypres
XIX Battle of Ypres
XX Hell Let Loose
XXI Hanging On
XXII Here They Come
XXIII Fighting for Our Lives
XXIV The Boches Balked
XXV Fun and Fury
XXVI Yser
XXVII The Fun of It
XXVIII Leaving Yser
XXIX More Hell
XXX The Last Fight
XXXI The Aftermath
XXXII In Heaven
XXXIII Back to Earth
XXXIV Home
Epilogue
Illustrations
Harold Baldwin ... Frontispiece
The Bull-Dog Behind the Flag
The Remains of a Once Prosperous Village
Instruments of War and Peace Working Side by Side
Our Nest (Dugout) Is on the Right
Meals Are Any Time When One Is Hungry
What a First-Line Trench Looks Like
German Shell Exploding Near British Battery
A Monster British Gun
Moving a Gun into Position
A Winterly Morning
Writing to the Old Folks at Home
What Is Left of Ypres Cathedral
There Are Leisure Hours Even in the Front Trench
Cleaning-Up Time
Diagram No. 1
Diagram No. 2
The Yser Canal
Two Tommies Talking It Over
Ready for a Raid on the Enemy's Trenches
The Raiding Party Going to "Give 'Em Hell"
The "War Twins"
Feeling Good in Blighty
Holding the Line
CHAPTER I
ANSWERING THE CALL
One sunny day in the early part of August, 1914, a little man with a
bronzed face and a dingy set of overalls walked into the armories in
Saskatoon, the wonder city of Saskatchewan. He was the author of
this tale.
"Hello, Shorty, what brings you here? Hey, fellows, here's our
mascot." This was the greeting I got from one of the recruiting
sergeants.
I had come straight from the harvest field, a journey of eighty miles
on horseback and train, without a coat, with well ventilated
overalls, equally well-worn shoes and an unshaven chin, and my
spirits sank perceptibly as I realized the contrast between my shabby
five-feet-four and the classy-looking recruits gathered in the
armories.
However, like the rest of the Englishmen in Canada who had answered
the call I was determined, if it was humanly possible, to go overseas
with the first contingent of twenty thousand men, and I duly
presented myself for enlistment. My attestation was taken and I was
sent to the doctor, being duly warned that I would have to pass the
final test at Valcartier, Canada's first great war camp.
When I entered the examining room my spirits took another drop as I
saw the magnificent bunch of tall, stalwart fellows who were awaiting
their turn. I felt like a pigmy and almost turned tail then and
there. "Now or never," I thought, as I stepped up to the doctor.
"What do you want, Bub?"
"To enlist, sir."
"Forget it," he said, "you are too short."
I lacked just two inches of the required height. He gave me the
once-over and was a little taken aback when he found my weight was
one hundred and forty pounds.
I also thought I would clinch my case by telling him, without winking
an eye, that I had served with the First Battalion of the North
Staffordshire Regiment in England for four years, which was a
battalion of the regular army, and that as they had thought
sufficiently well of my stature to sign me up, a Canadian volunteer
battalion could not in reason be any more particular than one of the
Imperial Army. The falsehood is on record there today in my
attestation papers and I'm not in the least ashamed of it.
"Well," said he, "you are as fit as any man, but they are sticklers
about the height. I'll tell you what I'll do, you may leave with the
boys for Valcartier and that will bring you two thousand miles nearer
England. As you are determined to go anyway, part of your trip will
be at the government's expense."
I felt as if I had grown two inches when he said this. I got into
the ranks at once and commenced drilling with the rest of the boys
until we left for Valcartier.
It was a nasty wet night when we left Saskatoon, but a record crowd
turned out to see that wild band start for the Great Adventure. Few
of us had relatives there; the majority of us were Britishers who had
left the Old Country to try our luck in the new land; but many were
veterans of other wars who wanted to get into the game again, some
had encircled the world in their wanderings, homesteaders, railway
men, clerks--every walk of life was represented.
Ardent patriotism for the Old Flag and all that it stood for was the
prompting motive of the rush to get into the First Canadian Division,
but there was also the spirit of adventure strong within every man.
The mayor and city council and other government officials were
present to bid us the soldier's farewell, "Good-bye, Good Luck, and
Godspeed," and the train pulled out amid such a roar of cheering that
the "Girl I Left Behind Me" was fairly drowned in the waves of
departing cheers.