On October 25 we had not yet received any help from the inundation. Our
troops were in dire need of rest, and the enemy was tightening his grip
along the entire front. New reinforcements were coming up to fill the
gaps in his ranks; our scouts warned us that fresh troops were marching
upon Dixmude by the three roads of Eessen, Beerst, and Woumen.[46] We
had to expect a big affair the next day, if not that very night. It came
off that night.
About 7 o'clock the Gamas company went to relieve the men in the
southern trenches. On their way, immediately outside the town, they fell
in with a German force of about the same strength as themselves, which
had crept up no one knew how. There was a fusillade and a general
_melee_, in which our sailors opened a passage through the troop with
bayonets and butt-ends, disposing of some forty Germans and putting the
rest to flight.[47] Then there was a lull. The splash of rain was the
only sound heard till 2 a.m., when suddenly a fresh outbreak of
rifle-fire was heard near the Caeskerke station, right inside the
defences. It was suggested that our men or our allies, exasperated by
their life of continual alarms, had been carried away by some reckless
impulse. The bravest soldiers admit that hallucinations are not uncommon
at night in the trenches. All the pitfalls of darkness rise before the
mind; the circulation of the blood makes a noise like the tramp of
marching troops; if by chance a nervous sentry should fire his rifle,
the whole section will follow suit.
Convinced that some misunderstanding of this kind had taken place, the
Staff, still quartered at the Caeskerke railway station, shouted to the
sections to cease firing. As, however, the fusillade continued in the
direction of the town, the Admiral sent one of his officers, Lieutenant
Durand-Gasselin, to reconnoitre. He got as far as the Yser without
finding the enemy; the fusillade had ceased; the roads were clear. He
set out on his way back to Caeskerke. On the road he passed an ambulance
belonging to the brigade going up towards Dixmude, which, on being
challenged, replied: "Rouge Croix."[48] Rather surprised at this
inversion, he stopped the ambulance; it was full of Germans, who,
however, surrendered without offering any resistance. But this capture
suggested a new train of thought to the Staff: they were now certain
that there had been an infantry raid upon the town; the Germans in the
ambulance probably belonged to a troop of mysterious assailants who had
made their way into Dixmude in the night and had vanished no less
mysteriously after this extraordinary deed of daring. One of our
covering trenches must have given way, but which? Our allies held the
railway line by which the enemy had penetrated into the defences,
sounding the charge.... The riddle was very disturbing, but under the
veil of a thick damp night, which favoured the enemy, it was useless to
seek a solution. It was found next morning at dawn, when one of our
detachments on guard by the Yser suddenly noticed in a meadow a curious
medley of Belgians, French Marines, and Germans. Had our men been made
prisoners? This uncertainty was of brief duration. There was a sharp
volley; the sailors fell; the Germans made off. This was what had
happened:
Various versions have been given of this incident, one of the most
dramatic of the defence, in the course of which the heroic Commander
Jeanniot and Dr. Duguet, chief officer of the medical staff, fell
mortally wounded, with several others. The general opinion, however,
seems to be that the German attack, which was delivered at 2.30 a.m.,
was closely connected with the surprise movement attempted at 7 o'clock
in the evening on the Eessen road and so happily frustrated by the
intervention of the Gamas company. It is not impossible that it was
carried out by the fragments of the force we had scattered, reinforced
by new elements and charging to the sound of the bugle. This would
explain the interval of several hours between the two attacks, which
were no doubt the outcome of a single inspiration.
"The night," says an eye-witness, "was pursuing its normal course, and
as there were no indications of disturbance, Dr. Duguet took the
opportunity to go and get a little rest in the house where he was
living, which was just across the street opposite his ambulance. The
Abbe Le Helloco, chaplain of the 2nd Regiment, had joined him at about
1.30 a.m. The latter admits that he was rather uneasy because of the
earlier skirmish, in which as was his habit, he had been unremitting in
his ministrations to the wounded. After a few minutes' talk the two men
separated to seek their straw pallets. The Abbe had been asleep for an
hour or two, when he was awakened by shots close at hand. He roused
himself and went to Dr. Duguet, who was already up. The two did not
exchange a word. Simultaneously, without taking the precaution of
extinguishing the lights behind them, they hurried to the street.
Enframed by the lighted doorway, they at once became a target; a volley
brought them down in a moment. Dr. Duguet had been struck by a bullet in
the abdomen; the Abbe was hit in the head, the arm, and the right thigh.
The two bodies were touching each other. 'Abbe,' said Dr. Duguet, 'we
are done for. Give me absolution. I regret ...' The Abbe found strength
to lift his heavy arm and to make the sign of the cross upon his dying
comrade. Then he fainted, and this saved him. Neither he nor Dr. Duguet
had understood for the moment what was happening. Whence had the band of
marauders who had struck them down come, and how had they managed to
steal into our lines without being seen? It was a mystery. This
fusillade breaking out behind them had caused a certain disorder in the
sections nearest to it, who thought they were being taken in the rear,
and who would have been, indeed, had the attack been maintained. The
band arrived in front of the ambulance station at the moment when the
staff (three Belgian doctors, a few naval hospital orderlies, and
Quartermaster Bonnet) were attending to Dr. Duguet, who was still
breathing. They made the whole lot prisoners and carried them along in
their idiotic rush through the streets. Both officers and soldiers must
have been drunk. This is the only reasonable explanation of their mad
venture. We held all the approaches to Dixmude; the brief panic that
took place in certain sections had been at once controlled. The
improbability of a night attack inside the defences was so great that
Commander Jeanniot, who had been in reserve that night, and who, roused
by the firing like Dr. Duguet and Abbe Le Helloco, had gone into the
street to call his sector to arms, had not even taken his revolver in
his hand. Mistaking the identity and the intentions of the groups he saw
advancing, he ran towards them to reassure them and bring them back to
the trenches. This little stout, grizzled officer, rough and simple in
manner, was adored by the sailors. He was known to be the bravest of the
brave, and he himself was conscious of his power over his men. When he
recognised his mistake it was too late. The Germans seized him, disarmed
him, and carried him off with loud '_Hochs!_' of satisfaction. The band
continued to push on towards the Yser, driving a few fugitives before
them, and a part of them succeeded in crossing the river under cover of
the general confusion. Happily this did not last long. Captain Marcotte
de Sainte-Marie, who was in command of the guard on the bridge,
identified the assailants with the help of a searchlight, and at once
opened fire upon them.[49] The majority of the Germans within range of
our machine-guns were mown down; the rest scattered along the streets
and ran to cellars and ruins to hide themselves. But the head of the
column had got across with its prisoners, whom they drove before them
with the butt-ends of their rifles.[50] For four hours they wandered
about, seeking an issue which would enable them to rejoin their lines.
It was raining the whole time. Weary of wading through the mud, the
officers stopped behind a hedge to hold a council. A pale light began to
pierce the mist; day was dawning, and they could no longer hope to
regain the German lines in a body. Prudence dictated that they should
disperse until nightfall. But what was to be done with the prisoners?
The majority voted that they should be put to death. The Belgian doctors
protested. Commander Jeanniot, who took no part in the debate, was
talking calmly to Quartermaster Bonnet. At a sign from their leader the
Boches knelt and opened fire upon the prisoners. The Commander fell, and
as he was still breathing, they finished him off with their bayonets.
The only survivors were the Belgian doctors, who had been spared, and
Quartermaster Bonnet, who had only been hit in the shoulder. It was at
this moment that the marauders were discovered. One section charged them
forthwith; another fell back to cut off their retreat. What happened
afterwards? Some accounts declare that the German officers learned what
it costs to murder prisoners, and that our men despatched the dogs there
and then; but the truth is, that, in spite of the general desire to
avenge Commander Jeanniot, the whole band was taken prisoner and brought
before the Admiral, who had only the three most prominent rascals of the
gang executed."
Another very interesting account of this episode has been communicated
to us by M. Charles Thomas Couture, chauffeur to Commander Varney.