[G] _From the “Daily Chronicle” and “Daily Telegraph.”_
To-day, at dawn, our armies began a great battle, which, if Fate has
any kindness for the world, may be the beginning of the last great
battles of the war. Our troops attacked on a wide front between Lens
and St. Quentin, including the Vimy Ridge, that great, grim hill
which dominates the plain of Douai and the coalfields of Lens and the
German positions around Arras. In spite of bad fortune in weather at
the beginning of the day, so bad that there was no visibility for the
airmen, and our men had to struggle forward in a heavy rainstorm, the
first attacks have been successful, and the enemy has lost much ground,
falling back in retreat to strong rearguard lines, where he is now
fighting desperately. The line of our attack covers a front of some 12
miles southwards from Givenchy-en-Gohelle, and is a sledge-hammer blow,
threatening to break the northern end of the Hindenburg line, already
menaced round St. Quentin. As soon as the enemy was forced to retreat
from the country east of Bapaume and Péronne, in order to escape a
decisive blow on that line, he hurried up divisions and guns northwards
to counter our attack there, while he prepared a new line of defence,
known as the Wotan line, as the southern part of the Hindenburg line,
which joins it, is known as the Siegfried position, after two great
heroes of old German mythology. He hoped to escape there before our new
attack was ready, but we have been too quick for him, and his own plans
were frustrated.
So to-day began another titanic conflict which the world will hold its
breath to watch because of all that hangs upon it. I have seen the fury
of this beginning, and all the sky on fire with it, the most tragic and
frightful sight that men have ever seen, with an infernal splendour
beyond words to tell. The bombardment which went before the infantry
assault lasted for several days, and reached a great height yesterday,
when, coming from the south, I saw it for the first time. Those of us
who knew what would happen to-day, the beginning of another series
of battles greater, perhaps, than the struggle of the Somme, found
ourselves yesterday filled with a tense, restless emotion, and some of
us smiled with a kind of tragic irony because it was Easter Sunday. In
the little villages behind the battle lines the bells of the French
churches were ringing gladly because the Lord had risen, and on the
altar steps the priests were reciting the splendid old words of faith.
“Resurrexi et adhuc tecum sum. Alleluia” (“I have arisen and I am with
thee always. Alleluia”). The earth was glad yesterday. For the first
time this year the sun had a touch of warmth in it, though patches of
snow still stayed white under the shelter of the banks, and the sky was
blue and the light glinted on wet tree-trunks and in the furrows of the
new-ploughed earth. As I went up the road to the battle lines I passed
a battalion of our men, the men who are fighting to-day, standing in
hollow square with bowed heads while the chaplain conducted the Easter
service. Easter Sunday, but no truce of God. I went to a field outside
Arras and looked into the ruins of the cathedral city. The cathedral
itself stood clear in the sunlight, with a deep black shadow where its
roof and aisles had been. Beyond was a ragged pinnacle of stone, once
the glorious Town Hall, and the French barracks and all the broken
streets going out to the Cambrai road. It was hell in Arras, though
Easter Sunday.
The bombardment was now in full blast. It was a beautiful and devilish
thing, and the beauty of it, and not the evil of it, put a spell upon
one’s senses. All our batteries, too many to count, were firing, and
thousands of gun flashes were winking and blinking from hollows and
hiding-places, and all their shells were rushing through the sky as
though flocks of great birds were in flight, and all were bursting over
the German positions with long flames which rent the darkness and waved
sword-blades of quivering light along the ridges. The earth opened, and
great pools of red fire gushed out. Star shells burst magnificently,
pouring down golden rain. Mines exploded east and west of Arras and in
the wide sweep from Vimy Ridge to Blangy southwards, and voluminous
clouds, all bright with a glory of infernal fire, rolled up to the sky.
The wind blew strongly across, beating back the noise of the guns, but
the air was all filled with the deep roar and slamming knocks of the
single heavies and the drum fire of the field guns.
The hour for attack was 5.30. Officers were looking at their wrist
watches as on a day in July last year. The earth lightened. A few
minutes before 5.30 the guns almost ceased fire, so that there was a
strange and solemn hush. We waited, and pulses beat faster than the
second-hands. “They’re away,” said a voice by my side. The bombardment
broke out again with new and enormous effects of fire and sound. The
enemy was shelling Arras heavily, and black shrapnel and high explosive
came over from his lines, but our gunfire was twenty times as great.
Around the whole sweep of his lines green lights rose. They were
signals of distress, and his men were calling for help.
It was dawn now, but clouded and storm-swept. A few airmen came out
with the wind tearing at their wings, but could see nothing in the
mist and driving rain. I went down to the outer ramparts of Arras. The
suburb of Blangy seemed already in our hands. On the higher ground
beyond our men were fighting forward. I saw two waves of infantry
advancing against the enemy’s trenches, preceded by our barrage of
field guns. They went in a slow, leisurely way, not hurried, though
the enemy’s shrapnel was searching for them. “Grand fellows,” said
an officer lying next to me on the wet slope. “Oh, topping!” Fifteen
minutes afterwards groups of men came back. They were British wounded
and German prisoners. I met the first of these walking wounded
afterwards. They were met on the roadside by medical officers,
who patched them up there and then before they were taken to the
field hospitals in ambulances. From these men, hit by shrapnel and
machine-gun bullets, I heard the first news of progress. They were
bloody and exhausted, but claimed success. “We did fine,” said one of
them. “We were through the fourth lines before I was knocked out.”
“Not many Germans in the first trenches,” said another, “and no real
trenches either after shelling. We had knocked their dug-outs out, and
their dead were lying thick, and the living ones put their hands up.”
All the men agreed that their own casualties were not high, and mostly
wounded.
_The Next Day._
By three in the afternoon yesterday the Canadians had gained the whole
of the ridge except a high strong post on the left, Hill 145, which
was captured during the night. Our gunfire had helped them by breaking
down all the wire, even round Heroes’ Wood and Count’s Wood, where it
was very thick and strong. Thélus was wiped utterly off the map. This
morning Canadian patrols pushed in a snowstorm through the Farbus Wood,
and established outposts on the railway embankment. Some of the bravest
work was done by the forward observing officers, who climbed to the top
of Vimy Ridge as soon as it was captured, and through a sea of heavy
barrage reported back to the artillery all the movements seen by them
on the country below.
In spite of the wild day, our flying men were riding the storm and
signalling to the gunners who were rushing up their field guns. “Our
60-pounders,” said a Canadian officer, “had the day of their lives.”
They found many targets. There were trains moving in Vimy village, and
they hit them. There were troops massing on the sloping ground, and
they were shattered. There were guns and limbers on the move, and men
and horses were killed. Beyond all the prisoners taken yesterday by the
English, Scottish and Canadian troops, the enemy losses were frightful,
and the scenes behind his lines must have been and still be hideous in
slaughter and terror.
The Battle of Arras is the greatest victory we have yet gained in this
war and a staggering blow to the enemy. He has lost already nearly
10,000 prisoners and more than half a hundred guns,[H] and in dead and
wounded his losses are great. He is in retreat south of the Vimy Ridge
to defensive lines further back, and as he goes our guns are smashing
him along the roads. It is a black day for the German armies and for
the German women who do not know yet what it means to them. During last
night the Canadians gained the last point, called Hill 145, on the Vimy
Ridge, where the Germans held out in a pocket with machine guns, and
this morning the whole of that high ridge, which dominates the plains
to Douai, is in our hands, so that there is removed from our path the
great barrier for which the French and ourselves have fought through
bloody years. Yesterday, before daylight and afterwards, I saw this
ridge of Vimy all on fire with the light of great gunfire. The enemy
was there in strength, and his guns were answering ours with a heavy
barrage of high explosives.
[H] Increased to 19,343 prisoners and 257 guns on 2nd May.
This morning the scene was changed as by a miracle. Snow was falling,
blown gustily across the battlefields and powdering the capes and
helmets of our men as they rode or marched forward to the front.
But presently sunlight broke through the storm-clouds and flooded
all the countryside by Neuville-St. Vaast and Thélus and La Folie
Farm up to the crest of the ridge where the Canadians had just fought
their way with such high valour. Our batteries were firing from many
hiding-places, revealed by the short, sharp flashes of light, but
few answering shells came back, and the ridge itself, patched with
snowdrifts, was as quiet as any hill of peace. It was astounding to
think that not a single German stayed up there out of all the thousands
who had held it yesterday, unless some poor wounded devils still
cower in the great tunnels which pierce the hillside. It was almost
unbelievable to me, who have known the evil of this high ridge month
after month and year after year and the deadly menace which lurked
about its lower slopes. Yet I saw proof below, where all the Germans
who had been there at dawn yesterday, thousands of them, were down in
our lines, drawn up in battalions, marshalling themselves, grinning at
the fate which had come to them and spared their lives.
[Illustration: THE GREAT EXPLOIT OF E. 11: TORPEDOING AN ENEMY VESSEL
OFF CONSTANTINOPLE.
_Reproduced by permission of “The Illustrated London News.”_]