THE GREAT OFFENSIVE
“Old Fritz” had struck at a vital part of the Allied front, planning
nothing less than a separation of the French and British armies. He
was attacking on a sixty-three mile front. He had “opened up” with a
terrific bombardment; it was no ordinary barrage, but one he had been
preparing for weeks. He had begun the bombardment at five o’clock, a.
m., and before noon had broken through the British line in many places.
For four or five days we waited in Mazingarbe; the whole First Canadian
Division was now standing to arms ready to go whenever they might be
needed. Every morning from four o’clock till nearly seven the Third
Brigade was “standing to” on the square, fully equipped for battle; for
it was always just before dawn that attacks were made. Fritz did not
attack on our front, but on Wednesday, the 27th, orders came for us to
march.
I left Mazingarbe at about two o’clock for our assembly area, which
was Chateau de la Haie. I arrived there about four o’clock to find
every battalion of the Third Brigade quartered in the huts about the
chateau. On learning that we were going to be here till ten o’clock, p.
m., I immediately went around to all the orderly rooms and announced
confessions. There was a tiny house on the grounds that had once been
a private oratory; the stretcher-bearers were quartered here, but on
hearing that I wished to have the use of it, they very kindly gave
it over to me for four hours. I heard confessions here for the time
allotted, then when it was time for the occupiers of the hut to prepare
for departing I stepped outside, still wearing my purple stole, and
stood under a tree, near which were tethered horses. There was a long
line of soldiers waiting. Each man walked up, told his little story,
received absolution as he stood there under the stars, then passed on
a few paces to say his penance, while the next in line moved up. For a
long time I stood there while soldiers, going and coming, passed along
the road near which the men were in line.
At midnight long lines of hooded motor lorries glided over smooth roads
from three different directions towards Acq. On coming to the point
where the roads crossed they came slowly to a stop; then thousands of
soldiers who had been sitting or standing along the roads began quickly
to “embus.”
We waited for almost an hour, till the last lorry had moved off, then
I fell in with the transport section. I could have gone in one of the
lorries, but I wished to go with the transport section as then I might
be in a better position to watch the movements of the whole brigade.
We went south, marching all through the night. It was a beautiful
moonlight night. We went up hill and down hill, and always before us
moved the long irregular line of the transport. There were vehicles of
almost every description--limbers, general service wagons, “mulligan
batteries,” the “pill cart,” (which was a two-wheeled affair with a red
cross painted on either side of the hood), mess cart, water cart, etc.
We passed through one silent moonlit village after another, sometimes
halting to rest awhile. Now and again an upstairs window opened
cautiously, and a night-capped head peeped over the window-sill at the
long line of the transport resting in the village street. Towards the
dawn we were passing through a beautiful countryside in which were
many old stone chateaux, built far back from the main road, with green
fields bordered by high trees before them.
For the past six or seven days we had not been having very much sleep,
and as daylight began to break I began to feel very weary; once or
twice while actually marching I fell asleep, only to be awakened by
falling against the man marching before me.
Often during the night, as we reached the crest of some hill, we could
see the yellow flashes of shrapnel as it burst in the air, and always
we were drawing nearer. But with the dawn we seemed to have drawn
away from the war area; for now there was neither sign nor sound of
the enemy guns. Whenever we stopped to rest, men would crawl into the
ditches or lie down near a hedge-row or an open field and go to sleep.
Once in a sunken road I noticed a number of cyclists sleeping; they
were leaning against the high banks which sloped upwards and away from
the road. There was just enough slope to the banks to see that they
were not standing. Their faces were almost black from the road dust. On
two or three bicycles were strapped large wicker baskets, and in each
basket hopped about two or three carrier pigeons. These were to be used
in an emergency.
In an open field a number of men from the transport sections were
preparing breakfast, their horses drawn up on the side of the road,
busy with their nose-bags, and the odor of frying bacon was wafted on
the morning air. We did not breakfast, as we had no rations with us.
Two general service wagons with rations for the whole battalion were to
join us farther on.
Once, on leaving a quaint little village grouped about a small, perhaps
century-old stone church, we caught a glimpse of a wide stretch of
green countryside. We had been ascending a hill for quite a distance
before coming to the village. The ground mists had cleared and the sun
was out. From different directions, but converging towards the same
point, were a number of white roads along which were moving or resting
the long, irregular lines of transport sections from many different
battalions. Just for an instant everything seemed to be changed. I
thought I was back in my own peaceful country and that I was looking at
a wonderful assembling of gipsy caravans. Up in the clear air a small
bird soared singing its blithe, carefree song. It was the first time I
had ever heard a lark. The joyous melody seemed but to emphasize the
fantasy.
Then suddenly my dream vanished and I was back to France, sitting on
the roadside on the 28th day of March, 1918, tired, sleepy and hungry,
wondering at about what time we would meet the oncoming German army!
When towards noon we entered a little town called Couturelle, word
was passed along the line that we were going to halt here. I had just
finished saying to George that I should not care to have to make the
march over again when I noticed the quartermaster of the Thirteenth
Battalion come galloping up the road, smiling and calling out: “We’ve
come to the wrong place.” He waved his crop to me as he passed, saying:
“We have to go back to the Arras area, Padre!”
I looked in wonder at George. We had left the Arras front last night
towards midnight. I had just said I should not care to make the march
over again. Now we were to do so!
We came to a halt in an open part of the village, and there we had
lunch; perhaps I should say breakfast. After the meal I went down to
the little church to make a visit. When I came back all the men were
sleeping. I then lay down in the ditch, put my haversack under my head,
and although it was the 28th of March I was soon sound asleep. In about
two hours we were awakened.