THE BATTLE OF AMIENS
It was a wonderful sight that met the eye as George and I left Boves
that evening and turned our steps towards the battle-ground. The
artillery had assembled, and on all sides were great guns in cuttings
of embankments or hidden in woods, or camouflaged in the open. At
times the roads were blocked with the heavy lines of traffic, but as
we drew nearer the line the movement was not so great; yet coming
through fields and woods were the huge, clanking tanks. There must
have been at least one hundred of them careening along up hill and
down dale. Nothing seemed to be able to stop their unwieldly bulk.
I learned afterwards that great bombing planes had swooped low over
Fritz’s trenches, making a great noise so as to deaden the sounds of
the assembling tanks.
I did not sleep at all that night. Indeed, very few slept, for during
the night the troops were taking their place for the assault and it was
not till 2:10 a. m. that the assembly was complete.
At 4:10 a. m., August 8th, a terrific crash of heavy and light guns
broke the silence of the dawn on a twenty-mile front. I had never
before been in a great battle and was not prepared for action on such
a stupendous scale. The earth seemed to be rocking. The full-leaved
tree-tops of Gentelles Wood behind us twisted and broke, as shells from
our back areas shrieked their way towards Fritz’s line.
I stood for awhile waiting for Fritz’s “come back,” but the Germans had
been so completely surprised by the unexpected bombardment that their
artillery gave but a very faint-hearted reply. On seeing this we felt
that victory was assured. I did not have long to watch the tide of
battle, for presently a long line of stretcher-bearers, their burdens
raised shoulder high, told me my work was to begin.
All day long I walked up and down among the wounded, hearing
confessions, giving Holy Communion, anointing those mortally wounded,
and taking messages for dear ones at home. Among the dying were many
Germans, and a number of these were Catholics. I knew only one sentence
in German: “Sind sie Katholisch?” “Are you a Catholic?” but it was
sufficient, for I understood when the reply was “Yes,” or “No.” When
a German would say he was a Catholic, I would put on my stole, open
my little ciborium, hold up the Sacred Host, and then I would look at
him. Always his two hands would fold, and I would wait kneeling by his
side till he had finished his act of contrition; then I would give him
Holy Communion. It was a beautiful sight to see the tears of gratitude
come into the eyes of those dying Germans after they had received their
Lord; and after I had anointed them, invariably they reached out and
gripped my hand before passing out. Many lads were ushered up to the
gates of heaven that day.
The following morning George and I went up to Caix. My own brigade was
now out of the fight for a while, but I was following with the Second
Field Ambulance. For a long time we waited on the side of the road, as
the place we intended to hold for an advanced dressing station had not
yet been taken. About 1:10 p. m. I stood on a hill and watched the men
of the First Brigade come up into action. An Irish chaplain whom I had
once met at St. Michael’s Club was riding behind them. He told me that
he had just given them a general absolution.
All that afternoon, and late into the evening, I worked with the Second
Field Ambulance. A great number of wounded passed through. Once some
enemy airplanes swooped low and dropped bombs amongst us, but they
failed to kill any one. We were now in open warfare, and for the first
time I saw the cavalry in action. They came cantering across an open
field, their spears, held at their sides, pointing heavenwards, ribbons
fluttered from the long handles, and the burnished points flashed in
the sunlight.
That evening I was relieved by Father Locharay and I found a small
dugout where I got a few hours of sleep.