The Belgian Headquarters Staff had probably decided that its front on
the Ostend road was too excentric, and that the line of the Yser would
form a more solid epaulement. And in this case our diversion on Beerst
was not quite useless, since it had secured the orderly retreat of the
Belgian troops; but, on the other hand, as a result of this diversion
and of the reinforcement of the German troops, De Mitry had been unable
to maintain himself at Thourout; the Turcos had returned to Loo, and the
rest of the French cavalry was obliged to follow the movement. The whole
of the ground in front of Dixmude lay open to the enemy, who, reinforced
by fresh contingents and the heavy artillery from Antwerp, released by
the capitulation of the city, prepared in all security to renew the
attack upon our positions in combination with a parallel action on the
lines of the Lower and Middle Yser. In order to understand clearly what
follows, it will be necessary to remember that the defence of Dixmude
and of the Yser, and, in the event of the forcing of the Yser, the
defence of the railway from Caeskerke to Nieuport were closely
connected, and that Pervyse and Ramscappelle lead to Furnes as well as
Dixmude, Pollinchove, or Loo.
A new disposition of the Allied forces was required under the new
conditions. During the night of October 19 the Belgian Meiser Brigade
passed under the Admiral's orders; on the 20th at 11 o'clock the first
"saucepan" fell upon Dixmude. "Up to this date," writes Captain X., "77
shrapnel, with their queer caterwaulings, were the only presents the
enemy had sent us. But during the course of the 20th the big shells
began to rain upon us, and their first objective was, of course, the
church. At the fifth or sixth the beautiful building was on fire."[36]
And we had no observer there. In preparation for the bombardment, we had
worked all night at the trenches. Those nearest to the enemy had been
provided with parapets and barbed wire entanglements, dug down to a
depth of I metre 70 cm., and strongly roofed. But all the internal
defences remained to be organised, notably the railway embankment, where
the "big niggers" were falling in showers. One evening when his company
was in reserve, after forty-eight hours in the trenches, Lieutenant A.
was ordered to take up a position there. He had been on guard there
three nights before; he knew by experience how dangerous this spot was,
and, less for his own sake than for the 250 men under his charge, he
thought it his duty to speak out.
"'There are no trenches on the railway slope, Commander,' he remarked
to Captain V.
"'I know that.'
"'Oh, very well, sir.'
"And smiling to encourage his men," added the eye-witness who reported
this dialogue, "he went off to a post as exposed as a glacis."
With such officers, Dixmude was better defended than if it had had a
triple line of blockhouses. The men, who were worthy of their leaders,
had soon grown used to the racket of the shells. The damage they do is
not in proportion to the noise they make, "for one can see them coming,
and they are heralded by a creaking sound, as of ungreased pulleys,"[37]
wrote a Marine to his family, adding ingenuously: "All the same, anyone
who wants to hear guns has only to come here." Indeed, the noise was
stupendous: 420, 305, and 77 were thundering in unison. As we had no
heavy artillery to reply, we had to wait patiently for the inevitable
attack which follows after the ground is cleared. Then the 72-m. guns of
our six groups would be able to have their say. Unfortunately on our
right the ravages caused in the Belgian trenches by the storm of German
artillery had made it impossible for our allies to hold their position;
this being duly notified in time, the Admiral sent four of our companies
to replace them. Scarcely were they installed, when the German attack
began. Sure of themselves and of victory, they had adopted the close
formation of their first onslaught, with machine-guns in the rear, the
veterans on the two wings, the conscripts in the centre and in front,
the latter with rapt, ecstatic faces, the former swelling with the pride
of former victories, all united by the same patriotic ideal, marching
rhythmically, and singing hymns to the national God. The majority were
young men, hardly more than boys. Later, in the trenches, when the
Marines fell upon them, they knelt down, clasping their hands, weeping,
and begging for quarter. But here, in the excitement of the _melee_,
elbow to elbow and sixteen ranks deep, they had but one colossal and
ferocious soul. They were swinging along with a slightly undulating
movement when the fire of our machine-guns struck them, true sons of
those other barbarians who linked themselves together with chains, that
they might form a solid block in death or in victory. An aroma of
alcohol, ether, and murder preceded them, as it had been the breath of
the blood-stained machine. Our men allowed them to approach within a
hundred yards. To the shouts of _Vorwaerts!_ ("Forward!") from the
enemy's ranks we answered abruptly by the orders "Independent fire!
Continuous fire!" given by officers and petty officers. Behind their
parapets, amidst the buzz of bullets and the bursting of shrapnel, the
Marines did not miss a single shot. "We'll do for you!" yelled the
gunners, catching the contagious fever of battle. The Germans came on
steadily, but the mass was no longer solid. The dislocated machine was
working with difficulty. It uttered its death-rattle at the foot of the
trenches in the network of barbed wire where the survivors had rolled
over. At 8 o'clock in the evening three blasts on a whistle, strident as
a factory hooter, put an end to the work of the monstrous organism.
The battle had been raging for six hours in the night. Once more we
were the victors, but at what a price! Dixmude, which the enemy's heavy
artillery had battered incessantly during the attack, was not yet the
"heap of pebbles and ashes," the line of blackened stones, it was
presently to become, but its death agony had begun. Innumerable houses
had been gutted. The entire quarter round the church was on fire. The
rain, heavy as it was, could not extinguish the flames kindled by
incendiary bombs. A projectile struck the belfry of Saint Nicolas at the
hour of the Angelus; the great bell, mortally wounded, uttered a kind of
dying groan, the vibrations of which quivered long in space. "Poor
Dixmude!" cried a sailor; "your passing bell is tolling." Happily, the
population was no longer on the spot. The Burgomaster had given the
signal of exodus, and all had obeyed it, stricken to the heart, with the
exception of the Carmelites and some dozen laggards and stubborn
spirits, such as the old beadle described by M. T'Serstevens, who lived
in a little gabled house with barred windows on the Grand' Place, and
who, pipe in mouth, used to bring the keys of the church to visitors. He
mumbled the rude Flemish dialect of the coast, and was tanned by the
sea-wind. "The church, the house, the Place, the old man, were all in
harmony: all embodied the unique soul of Mother Flanders," and all were
destroyed at the same time; the old man was unable to disengage himself
from his house, of which he seemed but a more animated stone than the
rest.
[Illustration: (Newspaper Illustrations)