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ON THE FRINGE OF THE GREAT FIGHT
[Illustration: COLONEL GEORGE G. NASMITH, C.M.G.]
ON THE FRINGE OF
THE GREAT FIGHT
By
COLONEL GEORGE G. NASMITH, C.M.G.
McCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART
PUBLISHERS :: :: :: TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, CANADA, 1917
McCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART, LIMITED
TORONTO
PRINTED IN CANADA
TO
MY WAR BRIDE
IN FLANDERS FIELDS
In Flanders fields the poppies grow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead, short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe.
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies blow
In Flanders fields.
JOHN MACCRAE,
(Lt.-Col.)
_By permission of the author._
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE xi
CHAPTER I.
ON THE ROAD TO A GREAT ADVENTURE 1
CHAPTER II.
ON SALISBURY PLAINS 11
CHAPTER III.
EARLY WAR DAYS IN LONDON 32
CHAPTER IV.
DAYS WHEN THINGS WENT WRONG 46
CHAPTER V.
THE LOST CANADIAN LABORATORY 62
CHAPTER VI.
THE DAYS BEFORE YPRES 70
CHAPTER VII.
THE SECOND BATTLE OF YPRES 83
CHAPTER VIII.
THE AFTERMATH OF THE GAS 107
CHAPTER IX.
THE MEDICAL ORGANIZATION OF THE BRITISH ARMY 125
CHAPTER X.
KEEPING THE BRITISH SOLDIER FIT 134
CHAPTER XI.
LABORATORY WORK IN THE FIELD 152
CHAPTER XII.
SKETCHES FROM A LABORATORY WINDOW 169
CHAPTER XIII.
PARIS IN WAR TIME 189
CHAPTER XIV.
TABLE TALK AT A FLANDERS MESS 211
CHAPTER XV.
ON THE BELGIAN BORDER 230
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Colonel George G. Nasmith, C.M.G. Frontispiece
Mechanical Transports in Salisbury Floods 16
Major-General M.S. Mercer, C.B. 64
German Barrage Fire at Night 104
French Soldiers Advancing under Cover of Liquid Fire 176
The Camouflage 208
"Home, Sweet Home"--Mud Terrace 232
British Tanks as Used in the Flanders Offensive 248
PREFACE
On April 22nd, 1915, the writer, in company with Major Rankin, saw the
Germans launch their first gas attack near St. Julien upon the section
of the line held by the French colonial troops and the first Canadian
division.
This book was written primarily for the purpose of recording this as
well as some of the other experiences of the first Canadian division
as seen from the unusual angle of a scientist, in the course of 18,000
miles of travel in the front line area. It had the secondary object of
giving the average reader some insight into what goes on behind the
lines, and the means employed to maintain the health and efficiency of
the British and Canadian soldiers in the field.
No attempt has been made to deal with the work of the real fighting
men on land and in the air; others far better qualified than I are
doing that.
If the book has no other merit, it has, at least, that of being
literally true.
ON THE FRINGE OF THE GREAT FIGHT
CHAPTER I.
ON THE ROAD TO A GREAT ADVENTURE.
It began with a wish. That takes me back to a pleasant day in early
August, 1914, and a verandah at Ravenscrag, Muskoka--a broad, cool,
verandah overlooking dancing dark waters. A light breeze stirred the
leaves and gently wafted to us the smell of the pines and the woods,
mingled with the sweet odours of the scented geranium, verbena, and
nicotine in the rock-girt garden. But my mind was far removed from the
peacefulness of my immediate surroundings: the newspaper I held in my
hand was filled with kaleidoscopic descriptions of the great European
tumult. Unconsciously I voiced aloud the thought that was uppermost in
my mind: "I would gladly give ten years of my life if I could serve my
country in this war." "Do not say that," warned my hostess, looking up
from her magazine, "for everything comes to you on a wish," and
nothing more was said of the matter at the time.
That day was a very quiet one with our little house-party. We made our
usual launch trip through the lakes but nobody talked much. Each was
busy with his own thoughts, wondering what England could do in the
great emergency. Could she, or could she not, save France from the
invading hosts of Germany? And deeper in each mind was the unspoken
fear, "Perhaps it is already too late to save France--perhaps, even
now, the question is 'Can England save herself?'" The great
depression in men's minds during those early days of the war when the
bottom seemed to have dropped out of life and men strove to grasp at
something upon which to reconstruct a new system of thought and life
and work, had enveloped us like a chill evening mist.
Those were ghastly days. While France, Russia and England were
feverishly mobilizing, the brave little force of Belgians was being
steadily rolled up by the perfectly equipped German war machine and
the road to France hourly becoming easier. England had commissioned K.
of K. to gather together a civilian army of three million men, and
Canada had called for one division to be mobilized at Valcartier Camp,
a place somewhere in the Laurentian Hills near the city of Quebec.
Little did any of us dream how prophetic was to be that apparently
chance remark of our hostess. But the first greeting from the maid
when we reached home that evening was, "There is a long distance call
for you, sir." The Minister of Militia had asked me to report in
Ottawa immediately. Next morning I waved my friends, "Au revoir." That
return was far from being as speedy as we expected, for my wish very
shortly came true.
The greeting of the Minister of Militia, Sir Sam Hughes, as he turned
from the desk where he sat in shirt-sleeves, with typewriters on all
sides of him, was a cordial handshake and a slap on the back. Would I
go down to the new camp at Valcartier and look after the purification
of the water supply? I was delighted to get the chance.
A short wait at the office gave me a splendid opportunity of seeing a
military headquarters office in operation. Officers of all ranks, from
Generals to Majors, hurried in one after another to obtain permission
to do this or that; prominent men anxious to do anything they might to
assist in the great crisis, crowded the office. Telephone
conversations, telegrams, cables, interviews, dictation of letters,
reading of letters aloud--to watch or listen to the incessant
commingling of all these, with the Minister of Militia as the centre
of energy, was a unique experience for me. Sir Sam cracked jokes,
dictated letters, swore at the telephone operator, and carried on
conversation with a number of persons--all at the same time. It was a
marvellous demonstration of what a man could do in an emergency, if he
happened to be the right man--the man who not only knew what needed to
be done but had sufficient force of character and driving power to
convert his decisions into practical achievements.
The following night on our return from an inspection of the new camp
at Valcartier I stood near the citadel in Quebec watching the moving
lights on the St. Lawrence far below. As I looked the flashes of a
powerful searchlight swept the river, lighting up the opposite shores
and playing upon the craft in the river. This was the first concrete
evidence I had that our country was at war; it was also a reminder
that there was even a possibility that Quebec might be attacked from
the sea.
Of the growth of that wonderful camp, of our experiences there, of the
training and equipping of 33,000 men, of the struggles for position,
and of the numerous disappointments and bitternesses because all could
not go, I will not here attempt to speak. There was a great deal to do
and to learn and the time passed quickly. It had been decided that I
was to accompany the contingent as adviser in sanitation and in charge
of the water supply, and, despite all delays and disappointments, the
day did finally come when we drove in to Quebec to board our steamer
for England.
At midnight, the Franconia slipped slowly and silently away from the
dock. Only three were there to bid us farewell--a man and two
women,--and though they sang with great enthusiasm, "It's a Long, Long
Way to Tipperary," the effect was melancholy. Imperceptibly the pier
and the lights of the city receded and we steamed on down the mighty
St. Lawrence to our trysting place on the sea. The second morning
afterwards we woke to find ourselves riding quietly at anchor in the
sunny harbour of Gaspé, with all the other transports anchored about
us, together with four long grey gunboats,--our escort upon the road
to our great adventure.
The brilliant afternoon sun of a typical Canadian Autumn day shone
down upon Gaspé basin. Idly we lounged about the decks, gazing at the
shores with their little white fishermen's cottages, or at the thirty
odd troopships, and the four grey gunboats which studded the harbour.
The surface of the water was rippled by a light breeze and all was
quiet and peaceful in the shelter of that sunny haven. Even the gulls,
gorged with the waste food from the ships, swam lazily about or
flapped idly hither and thither.
My gaze had fixed itself upon the nearest of the lean, grey gunboats.
As I watched, the sleeping greyhound seemed to move; in another moment
the seeming illusion gave way to certainty--it _was_ moving; gradually
its pace accelerated and it slipped quietly out toward the open sea. A
second gunboat followed, then a third, all making for the open.
Immediately we were all excitement, for the rumour had been current
that we might be there for several days. But the rumour was speedily
disproved as the rattle of anchor chains became audible from the
transports nearest the harbour mouth, and one by one they followed
their little grey guides; and so, at three of the clock on October the
third, 1914, the First Canadian Contingent with guns, ammunition,
horses and equipment, left Gaspé en route to the great war.
Gradually method evolved itself out of apparent chaos. Three gunboats
took the lead and the transports fell into line about a thousand yards
from one another, so that eventually three lines were formed of about
a dozen in each and the whole fleet moved forward into the Atlantic.
The shores of Gaspé, dotted with white cottages; yellow stubble
fields; hills red and purple with autumnal foliage--these were our
last pictures of Canada--truly the last that many of us were ever to
see, and we looked upon them, our hearts filled with emotions that
these scenes had never given rise to before. Our ruddy Canadian
emblem, the maple leaf, gave its characteristic tinge to the receding
shores--a colour to be seen often on the field of battle, but never in
the foliage of a European landscape.
We were making history; the great epoch-making enterprise of our young
country was taking place--an undertaking that would go down in the
annals of the Empire of Great Britain as a great incident of the
period when the young cubs raced to the assistance of the old lion in
her hour of need--this we realized. And yet it was hard to realize
that we were actually fortunate enough to be taking part in an
expedition, the like of which never was before, and probably never
will be again. Never before had there been gathered together a fleet
of transports of such magnitude--a fleet consisting of 33 transports
carrying 33,000 men, 7,000 horses and all the motors, waggons and
equipment necessary to place in the field not only a complete infantry
division, and a cavalry brigade, but in addition to provide for the
necessary reserves.
At night we steamed along like phantom ships. All windows and port
holes were carefully screened so that one might walk the deck and see
not a single ray of light to reveal the whereabouts of the
accompanying vessels.
Off Newfoundland as our three lines of ships were ploughing along,
about a mile and a half apart, we picked up H.M.S. "Glory" which took
a position about ten miles away on our right. Our ship, the
"Franconia," the flagship of the fleet, had the headquarter staff, the
90th Regiment of Winnipeg, and a number of nurses on board, and she
held place in the centre of the middle line.
How an orderly fleet could be immediately dis-organized was well
demonstrated one morning when our whistle blew sharply several times
"Man Overboard." As we slowed down, with throbbing engines reversed
churning the ocean into foam, we could see the tiny speck (a man's
head) floating by. While our lifeboat was being lowered and the man
was being rescued, the three lines of transports buckled and the ships
see-sawed to right and left in their efforts to avoid collisions.
The man proved to be a painter who, unobserved, had fallen off the
"Royal Edward" in front of us, and but for the vigilance of the
lookout on our ship, would undoubtedly have perished.
There seemed to be about a thousand nurses aboard the Franconia--the
real number was about a hundred but they multiplied by their ubiquity;
they swarmed everywhere; sometimes they filled the lounge so that the
poor Major or Colonel could not get in for his afternoon cup of tea.
The daily lectures for officers, particularly on subjects like
"artillery range finding" had an abnormal fascination for the nurses
while subjects like "the Geneva Convention" and "Hygiene" which they
might have found useful held little attraction for them. Such is the
perversity of the nurse when given the rank of an officer and freed
from all hospital restraint. At the concerts few officers could obtain
seats and a few of us were mean enough to wish that it would get rough
enough to put some of the nurses temporarily down and out. The nurses
were in a doubly fortunate position in that they could demand the
rights of both officers and women, according to which happened to be
advantageous at the moment.
The 90th Regiment "the little black devils" of Winnipeg was a very
fine body of men indeed; they were drilled by the hour on the decks,
and were given lectures. They entertained themselves in their spare
time by getting up boxing bouts and concerts. The antics of a bear cub
and a monkey, the battalion mascots, amused the men for many hours at
a time.
One night the officers gave a dinner party. The first plan was to
invite no nurses at all. Then other counsels prevailed and invitations
were to be given to a limited number. As this would have caused all
sorts of petty jealousies and heart burnings, a compromise was
effected by--asking them all.
The dinner was a great success. An eight-piece band, for which the
instruments had been purchased the day before we left Quebec, had been
practising assiduously on the upper deck for days with effects of a
most weird character, and there made its first public appearance. With
the aid of a pipe band it helped to drown the popping of corks and the
various other noises due to the consumption of many bottles of
champagne and hock. The dinner was followed by a dance and the nurses
were allowed to stay up till midnight instead of being chased to bed
at the usual hour of ten o'clock.
One of the unique and most interesting occasions of the trip was when
the famous battle cruiser, the "Queen Mary" came up about dusk one
evening and ran through our lines amid great excitement. This was the
battle cruiser that had not long before converted the German cruiser
"Emden" into a mass of twisted iron in a few minutes. As she steamed
slowly by she presented one of the finest spectacles I have ever seen.
Somehow nothing in the world looks as efficient for its particular job
as a battle cruiser; it is the personification of power and beauty.
One morning at six o'clock a light was discovered in the distance.
Someone said it was the light-house off Land's End. So it proved. By
eight o'clock we could make out clearly the coast of Cornwall. As the
land grew nearer the famous Eddystone Lighthouse came into view, and,
making a great sweep around it, instead of running for Southampton as
we all had expected, we headed for Plymouth. A number of torpedo
boats, commonly called "Ocean Lice," accompanied us for the last few
miles, as a protection against submarines.
The approach to Plymouth was wonderfully soothing. The hills covered
with beautiful foliage in shades of brown and olive green were a most
restful change from the monotony of the sea. A marked contrast to the
peacefulness of the countryside were the fortifications everywhere
visible commanding the approach to perhaps the most strongly fortified
port in Southern England. With the possible exception of Sydney,
Australia, Plymouth is said to be the most beautiful harbour in the
Empire. One could well believe it.
Tugs puffed out to meet us, pilots climbed aboard, and we slowly
steamed up the long sinuous channel, past Edgecombe to Davenport. All
the warships being built or equipped, the forts, the training ships
and the docks, indeed every point of vantage was thronged with
cheering crowds of people,--civilians, soldiers and sailors. Cheer
after cheer from our Canadian soldiers responded to those from our
English friends as we slowly made our way up the channel. It seemed as
though everybody had gone crazy.
It was a never-to-be-forgotten reception; we felt that we were indeed
a part of the Empire in spirit as well as in name. About three o'clock
we came to anchor, and during the afternoon ship after ship followed
in and anchored alongside. At night we crowded up even closer to give
the late-comers room. For the first time on our trip the vessels were
all brilliantly illuminated, the bands played, the giddy ones danced,
and all were happy to be once again in sight of solid land. At dinner
the commandant, Col. Williams, made a speech and called for three
cheers for our Captain, and never, I suppose, did any other Captain
receive such hearty cheers and such a tremendous "tiger." It was the
culmination of a marvellous and historic trip.
The trip to Salisbury by motor next day was a dream--a dream of hedges
and great trees meeting over-head; of hills and valleys with little
thatched cottages and villages nestling in them, of beautiful estates
and sheep, of quaint old English farms, of ancient towns and villages.
Through Ivy Bridge and Honiton to Exeter, where we stopped to see the
beautiful old Cathedral, so warm and rich in colouring and passing by
one long series of beautiful pictures, in perhaps the most charming
pastoral landscape in the world, we came to the white-scarred edge of
the famous Salisbury Plain.