SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS
We were to take over the trenches from the West Yorkshire Regiment.
An illustration of the wonderful spy system of the Germans came under
our notice at this time. The West Yorks had no idea that any
Canadians were in Flanders, yet on the departure of a relieved German
battalion opposite them, the latter shouted across to the West Yorks
in good English, "Good-bye, West Yorks, the Canadians will relieve
you tomorrow night."
We duly relieved the West Yorks shortly after midnight. The Saxons
were in front this time and they gave us no trouble at all. In fact,
our listening patrols found a notice fixed on their wire reading, "We
will not fire if you don't. Save your ammunition for the Prussians."
We could walk up the road any time at night and never be even sniped
at. Indeed, for the three days we faced the Saxons, we had only one
casualty, a man had his brains blown out, and unfortunately it was
due to an accident caused by himself. These Saxons were certainly a
different kettle of fish to the Prussians or Bavarians.
I haven't yet mentioned that although we were an infantry battalion,
originally we were cavalry and we still kept our name, "Fifth Western
Cavalry," as designated by the yellow letters on our shoulders. It
was a big joke to our comrades of the Second Infantry Brigade, and
indeed to the whole division, and we were designated under various
titles, "The Disappointed Fifth," "The Wooden Horse Marines," "The
Fifth Mounted Foot," etc. _ad libitum_, and we were always being
chipped about it. Judge of our astonishment, when we had taken our
places in the trench and were preparing for the night's duties, a
hail came from the German trenches. We listened and in perfect
English a voice yelled, "Hello, you Fifth, what have you done with
your horses?" And in the morning, when peering across to the German
parapet through a loophole or periscope, the lookout called our
attention to something moving on the German parapet. As it grew
lighter we saw that it was a little wooden horse--a child's toy they
had probably looted from some house.
"Open fire on it someone; see what they'll do," said the lookout.
Two or three of the boys opened up on the dummy horse and knocked it
down into their trench. A roar of laughter went up from our boys a
moment or two later when the dummy reappeared, swathed in bandages
from head to tail. Fritz displayed a rare sense of humor in this
instance and we enjoyed the joke immensely.
At night those fellows would sing songs and our boys would reply.
Going along the road I could hear them jeering and chaffing and then
start singing to one another. However, on the third night the
Prussians relieved our friends, the Saxons, and the difference was
striking.
Back came our friends, the snipers, and bursts of rapid fire all
night kept one from being bored--or, I might say, kept one bored.
Several sentries at different spots on the road were killed at their
posts. At one spot a man suddenly leapt out of the darkness onto an
isolated post and tried to disarm our sentry, Mitchell, only to
receive six inches of steel in his stomach for his pains.
We were never allowed to go anywhere alone, as shots came from every
direction and it was suspected that men in civilian clothes were
sniping at the back of our lines. One day, at this time one of these
incidents was brought very close to me.
Morgan burst into the old cellar as I lay dozing in the early morning:
"What the devil do you want now?" I said irritably. For once he did
not reply in his usual manner, he was so full of his news. "What do
you think, chum, do you remember that guy that was plowing in the
field over yonder? Well, he is the devil that is responsible for the
casualties in the ration party and those sentries."
"How is that?" I asked.
"You know Lieutenant M----? Well, the other day the lieutenant
looked over at the fellow plowing and he noticed something that we
mucks never tumbled to before. Now, think it over, chum; use your
own brains; don't you remember that field was never shelled with
anything but shrapnel and light shrapnel at that?"
"God! yes," says I, "that's right."
"Well, the lieutenant got suspicious, took over a file of the kids
from the cross roads farm and goes over to investigate."
"Yes, yes, go on."
"He reaches the fellow plowing and something in the man's face told
him that he had hit it right. Well, you know that straw he had wound
around the plow handles and down to the mold board? Well, shoved
down in the straw was one of those damned Mauser carbines; you
remember the kind the A.S.C. used in Africa? Well, the minute the
lieutenant laid his hand on the plow handle, the bloke's face turned
ashy gray, and when he grabbed the carbine the dog turned green and
flopped down with funk, and then the lieutenant was sure of his man."
A light dawned on me as Morgan stopped for want of breath, as there
came back to me the memory of the dead sentry I found when I went to
relieve him at that very cross roads.
"For God's sake! What did they do with the cur?"
"Well, I don't know for sure, but it's a safe guess, as they have
taken his horses for transport work and you can bet he will do no
sniping forevermore."
This was only one of many instances where Germans use all sorts of
devices to "get" our boys in the back.
Our billet came in for the German gunners' attention next day and a
woman walking up the road was killed. Such a scene of heart-rending
grief on the part of the woman's husband and children I do not want
to see again.
Carrying barbed wire at night over that awful mud and by those gaping
craters was our task and this time it was dangerous work as we were
exposed constantly. We were in for five days of it this trick. Big
Bill Skerry seemed to fit naturally into dangerous jobs and Bill was
the non-com. in the barbed wire gang. His duties took him out in
front every night in No Man's Land and his work together with the
gang was to repair the wire, set up new wire, cut the enemy's wire,
and generally do his damndest to cause Fritz trouble with his own
wire.
I was standing in the trench, resting after one of our journeys, when
a big figure hoisted itself over the parapet and dropped by my side.
It was Bill.
"Hello, Bub," said he, "what do you think of this?" showing me the
side of his jersey and pants. A machine gun had narrowly missed
cutting him to pieces and the whole of the left side of his clothes
was simply riddled; his escape was nothing short of miraculous; in
fact, it was uncanny. Bill silently rolled a cigarette and smoked
awhile without saying anything. Suddenly, with a "So long, Bub,"
("Bub" was my pet name with all my intimates) Bill started to mount
the parapet again.
"Where on earth are you going to now?" I asked with a gasp.
"I'm going to try and get that machine gun."
I heard and saw nothing of him until daylight, when he brushed past
me.
"Did you get the gun, Bill?"
"I didn't get the gun," he said with a grim smile, but--pointing to
his bayonet blade--"there's the gunner." Sure enough it was stained
a deep red.
Poor Bill! he was always taking chances of that kind and he always
got away with them.
During this time we fed sumptuously as we were bagging hares every
day, while potatoes, leeks, onions, etc., were still in good
condition in parts of the field.
On our last night in this billet I came almost to earning the D.C.M.
(distinguished conduct medal). I was on sentry the two hours after
midnight. One has to be very wide awake so near the line, and every
little thing that looks in any way suspicious must be investigated.
The night was quiet in our own lines, but away to the left a
tremendous cannonade and rifle firing was going on. An occasional
German souvenir would whine above my head. Things that look very
simple and plain at two o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun is
shining, have a very different appearance at two o'clock in the
morning, on the front line. At the end of my beat was a huge yew
bush, giving the place a somber, weird effect. As I was turning my
back on the bush during one of my rounds, every single hair of my
closely cropped skull rose on end, while my scalp literally crawled,
as a rustling noise came from the bush. My first instinct was to
start for the south of France, as quickly as my legs could take me,
but reason and duty came to my rescue. Still terrified, a blind fury
took possession of me at the thing that scared me. Holding my rifle
and bayonet at the "ready," I ran into the bush at the top of my
speed and lunged with all my might into its depth, being brought up
suddenly and sharply by a forked branch under my chin.
The result of my charge was a melancholy meow, and I cursed softly,
but with infinite relief at the cause of my panic. Thinking the cat
might be a good companion, I made overtures by softly calling to her,
and nothing loath she came, and when dawn broke a small figure in
khaki might have been seen strolling slowly up and down the road,
with a huge black cat alternately dodging between his legs and
rubbing her sleek hide against his muddy puttees.