THE BATTLE OF FLEURBAIX . . .
Next morning it was "going in" with a vengeance. We did not enter the
same trenches where I had been a few days previously, but about a mile
farther south. These trenches were our "home" for over three months,
so let me try and describe how they were built and looked to us on that
day of entry. In this part of the line, near the borders of Belgium,
you cannot dig down, the soil is so marshy, so the trenches are what is
known as _breastwork_. They are built _up_ about six feet from the
level of the ground, a solid wall of sand-bags, ten to twenty feet
thick. This will stand the hit of all but the heaviest shells, but is
an unmistakable target if the enemy artillery have observation at all.
The support and front line trenches were divided every two hundred
yards, by communication-trenches, built in the same way, except that
the communication-trench had _two_ sides. These communication-trenches
were distinguished by such names as "Pinney's Ave.," "V. C. Ave.,"
which latter was supposed to be built on the spot where Michael O'Leary
won the first Victoria Cross of the war. Others were called "Bond
Street," "Brompton Ave.," and "Mine Ave."
Later on my brigade held the length of trench that included all these,
from Mine Ave. to Bond Street, over one thousand yards; but for the
battle and the first ten days we only held about three hundred yards,
using the three communication-trenches--Pinney's, Brompton, and V. C.
I had a good deal of apprehension as the brigade marched in,
remembering the reception our reconnoitring party had received. If
"Fritz" had spotted a score of us he could not well avoid noticing a
thousand, though we were broken into little parties of six, that moved
along the gutter in single file. But he must have been asleep this
day, for the "change over" was completed with little attention from him
in the way of shells.
Leading up to "Pinney's Ave.," there was a short length of
communication-trench very appropriately called "Impertinence Sap," for
it was merely a ditch, three feet deep, floored with "duck boards." I
could never get the reason why this trench was built. It only afforded
protection for one's legs, which is the part of the body one would
rather be hit in if one must be hit at all. The goose-flesh always
crept around my head when I walked along this sap, for, strange to say,
my head seemed to be the most valuable part of me, and at night the
machine-gun bullets used to whistle through the low hedge that ran
alongside it and frequently struck sparks from the flints on the old
road just a yard or two away. I suppose I used that sap two hundred
times, always with misgivings, for I have seen more than a score of men
punctured along its length.
[Illustration: "Us--Going In".]
All these parts were unhealthy. The _Rue de Bois_, the street that ran
parallel to the firing-trench, about a thousand yards behind the front
line, was always under indirect machine-gun fire, yet was,
nevertheless, used regularly every night by our transports. It was
surprising how few mules were killed. Many times have I skipped, as
the bullets struck sparks around my feet.
After a while we got to know that "Fritz" had a regular cut-and-dried
system in the shelling of these trenches. He always took Mine Ave.,
Brompton Ave., and Pinney's Ave. alternately, and we later on saved a
number of lives by having a sentry at the entrance to these
communication-trenches to give warning to use the other trench while
this one was being shelled. Weeks later I worked out the enemy's
bombardment system more thoroughly, and had such notices as this
posted: "Pinney's Ave. dangerous on Mondays, 2 to 6 P. M.," "V. C.
unhealthy Tuesday afternoons," and so on. I know I saved my own life
several times by watching "Fritz's" _times and seasons_. I am quite
sure that each battery "over yonder" had a book that laid down a
certain number of rounds to be fired at a certain range on Mondays, and
so on for every day in the week. And every relieving battery would
take over this "book of instructions." Of course there were times when
"Fritz" "got the wind up" (lost his nerve), and then he would shell
anything indiscriminately. The god of the German is _Method_, and his
goddess _System_, and it hurt his gunners sorely when we tried
something new, and made him depart from some long-predevised plan.
However, these were discoveries of a later date than the battle which
wiped out about 70 per cent of our strength.
We had not been two days in the trenches before we knew that we were
destined for an attack on the trenches opposite, and we had not had
time even to know the way about our own lines. Few of us had even had
a glimpse of No Man's Land, or sight of the fellow across the street
whom we were to fight.
Our guns immediately began to get busy. In fact, too busy for our
liking, for they had not yet got the correct range. This was before
the days of total aeroplane supremacy, and the battery commander in
those days had not an observer flying above where his shells were
falling, informing him of the slightest error.
At any rate, we soon began to discover that the shells that were
bursting among us were many of them coming from behind. This made us
very uncomfortable, for we were not protected against our own
artillery-fire; and accidents will sometimes happen, do what you can to
avoid them. Our first message over the 'phone was very polite. "We
preferred to be killed by the Germans, thank you," was all we said to
the battery commander. But as his remarks continued to come to us
through the air, accompanied by a charge of explosive, and two of our
officers being killed, our next message was worded very differently,
and we told him that "if he fired again we would turn the machine-guns
on to them." I was sent back to make sure that he got the message. I
took the precaution to take back with me one of his "duds" (unexploded
shells) as evidence. At first he told me I was crazy--that we were
getting German cross-fire, and that his shells were falling two hundred
yards in front of us. I brought out my souvenir, and asked him if he
had ever seen that before. He said: "For God's sake, bury it," but I
told him it was going to divisional headquarters, and that his little
mistake had already cost several lives. This battery did not belong to
our division.
Our company commanders gathered us in small groups and carefully
explained the plan of attack. We were to take the three lines of
German trenches that were clearly discernible on the aeroplane
photograph which was shown us; the first wave was to take the first
trench, the second jumping over their heads and attacking the second
German line, the third wave going on to the third German line. When
all the Germans had been killed in the first trench, those left of the
first wave were to follow to the third line. Unfortunately this
photograph misled us, as one of the supposed trenches proved to be a
ditch, and a great number of men were lost by going too far into enemy
territory, seeking the supposed third line.
I have seen an actual photograph taken by an aeroplane during this
battle, that shows a fight going on five miles behind the German lines.
Many of the boys had sworn not to be taken prisoners, and though they
knew they were cut off, they fought on until every last one of them was
killed.
The Germans were thoroughly aware of our intentions to attack. Bad
weather made a postponement for a couple of days advisable, and there
had been so much artillery preparation that the enemy had time to get
ready for us.
Considering the short time that our own artillery had been in their
positions, and that they did not know a few days previously the range
of the enemy's positions, their work was very thoroughly done. In most
cases the wire had been well cut, and the enemy's front-line trenches
were badly smashed about.
The Germans must have had some spies behind our lines, for they knew
the actual moment of attack, and our _feints_ failed to deceive them.
Before the real attack the bombardment would cease for a moment or two,
whistles being blown, orders shouted, and bayonets shown above the top
of the parapet. The _idea_ was that the Germans would then man their
parapet to meet our attack, the artillery again opening fire on the
trench. They failed to appear, however, until we actually went over
the top, then the machine-guns and rifles swept a hail of bullets in
our faces, like a veritable blizzard.
Nothing could exceed the bravery of those boys. The first wave went
down like "wheat before the reaper." When the time came for the second
wave to go over there was not a man standing of the first wave, yet not
a lad faltered. Each gazed at his watch and on the arranged tick of
the clock leaped over. In many cases they did not get any farther than
the first wave. The last wave, though they knew each had to do the
work of three, were in their places and started on their forlorn hope
at the appointed moment.
This battle was a disaster. We failed to take the German trenches, but
it was like two other failures, the defense of Belgium and the attack
of the Dardanelles--a failure so glorious as to fill a man with pride
that he was enabled to play a part in it. In this battle we so smashed
five divisions of Bavarian guards that it was months before they got
back into the trenches. Had they gone to Verdun at that time it might
have meant its fall, as they were the flower of the German army.
In places both first and second German lines were taken, but in others
we did not get across No Man's Land.
It was not that certain companies fought better than others, but here
and there were unexpected obstacles. In one place No Man's Land was
only fifty yards across, while elsewhere it was three hundred yards.
There was a creek running diagonally across in one section, too wide to
leap, too deep to ford, and the only place where it was bridged was so
_marked_ by the German machine-guns that the dead were piled in heaps
about it.
Those who actually reached the German trenches were too few to
consolidate, and the German artillery soon began to take a heavy toll
of them, knowing the range of their own trenches to a yard. So these
had to come back again, and when night fell we were back in our old
trenches--rather a few of us were; most of our division lay out in No
Man's Land.
All were not dead, but we had no men to help the wounded. We had no
stretchers, and those that were alive, unwounded, were so fatigued as
to be hardly able to stand upright. But we could not stand the thought
of the fellows out there without help, and we crawled among them,
taking the biscuits and water from the dead and giving them to the
wounded. We could only reach a few of them, and we crawled back at
daylight, cursing our impotence, and fearing what the day might bring
to these our comrades, lying helpless in full view of the brutal enemy.
The sight of our trenches that next morning is burned into my brain.
Here and there a man could stand upright, but in most places if you did
not wish to be exposed to a sniper's bullet you had to progress on your
hands and knees. In places the parapet was repaired with
bodies--bodies that but yesterday had housed the personality of a
friend by whom we had warmed ourselves. If you had gathered the stock
of a thousand butcher-shops, cut it into small pieces and strewn it
about, it would give you a faint conception of the shambles those
trenches were.
One did not ask the whereabouts of brother or chum. If we did not see
him, then it were best to hope that he were of the dead.
It were folly to look over the parapet, for nearly every shell-hole
contained a wounded man, and, poor fellow, he would wave to show his
whereabouts; and though we could not help him, it would attract the
attention of the Huns, who still had shells to spare--so that the
wounded might not fight again.
I have found the Bavarian even worse than the Prussian, and this day,
and the next, and again, did they sweep No Man's Land with machine-guns
and shrapnel, so as to kill the wounded.
When darkness came the second night, we had organized parties of
rescue, but we still had practically no stretchers, and the most of the
men had to be carried in on our backs.
I went out to the bridge, and in between machine-gun bursts began to
pull down that heap of dead. Not all were dead, for in some of the
bodies that formed that pyramid life was breathing. Some were
conscious but too weak to struggle from out that weight of flesh.
Machine-guns were still playing on this spot, and after we had lost
half of our rescuing party, we were forbidden to go here again, as live
men were too scarce.
But the work of rescue did not cease. Two hundred men were carried in
from a space less in area than an acre.
One lad, who looked about fifteen, called to me: "Don't leave me, sir."
I said, "I will come back for you, sonny," as I had a man on my back at
the time. In that waste of dead one wounded man was like a gem in
sawdust--just as hard to find. Four trips I made before I found him,
then it was as if I had found my own young brother. Both his legs were
broken, and he was only a schoolboy, one of those overgrown lads who
had added a couple of years in declaring his age to get into the army.
But the circumstances brought out his youth, and he clung to me as
though I were his father. Nothing I have ever done has given me the
joy that the rescuing of that lad did, and I do not even know his name.
He was the only one who did not say: "Take the other fellow first."
There were men who were forty-eight hours without food or drink,
without having their wounds dressed, knowing that the best they had to
hope for was a bullet. That the chances were they would die of
starvation or exposure, and yet again and again would they refuse to be
taken until we should look to see if there was not some one alive in a
neighboring shell-hole. They would tell us to "look in the drain, or
among those bushes over there." During the day they had heard a groan.
A groan, mind you, and there were men there with legs off, and arms
hanging by a skin, and men sightless, with half their face gone, with
bowels exposed, and every kind of unmentionable wounds, yet some one
had groaned. Why, some had gritted teeth on bayonets, others had
stuffed their tunics in their mouths, lest they should groan. Some one
had written of the Australian soldier in the early part of the war,
"_that they never groan_," and these men who had read that would rather
die than not live up to the reputation that some newspaper
correspondent had given them.
I lay for half an hour with my arms around the neck of a boy within a
few yards of a German "listening post," while the man who was with me
went back to try and find a stretcher. He told me he had neither
mother nor friend, was brought up in an orphanage, and that no one
cared whether he lived or died. But our hearts _rubbed_ as we lay
there, and we vowed lifelong friendship. It does not take long to make
a friend under those circumstances, but he died in my arms and I do not
know _his_ name.
There was another man who was anxious about his money-belt; perhaps it
contained something more valuable than money. I went back for it,
stuffing it in my pocket, and then forgot all about it. When I thought
of it again the belt was gone, and the owner had gone off to hospital.
I do not know who he was, and maybe he thinks I have his belt still.
One of the most self-forgetful actions ever performed was by Sergeant
Ross. We found a man on the German barbed wire, who was so badly
wounded that when we tried to pick him up, one by the shoulders and the
other by the feet, it almost seemed that we would pull him apart. The
blood was gushing from his mouth, where he had bitten through lips and
tongue, so that he might not jeopardize, by groaning, the chances of
some other man who was less badly wounded than he. He begged us to put
him out of his misery, but we were determined we would get him his
chance, though we did not expect him to live. But the sergeant threw
himself down on the ground and made of his body a _human sledge_. Some
others joined us, and we put the wounded man on his back and dragged
them thus across two hundred yards of No Man's Land, through the broken
barbed wire and shell-torn ground, where every few inches there was a
piece of jagged shell, and in and out of the shell-holes. So anxious
were we to get to safety that we did not notice the condition of the
man underneath until we got into our trenches; then it was hard to see
which was the worst wounded of the two. The sergeant had his hands,
face, and body torn to ribbons, and we had never guessed it, for never
once did he ask us to "go slow" or "wait a bit." Such is the stuff
that men are made of.
It sounds incredible, but we got a wounded man, still alive, eight days
after the attack. It was reported to me that some one was heard
calling from No Man's Land for a stretcher-bearer, but I suspected a
German trap, for I did not think it possible that any man could be out
there alive when it was more than a week after the battle and there had
been no men missing since. However, we had to make sure, and I took a
man out with me named Private Mahoney; also a ball of string. We still
heard the call, and as it came from nearer the German trenches than
ours we knew they must hear as well. When we got near the shell-hole
from which the sound came I told Mahoney to wait, while I crawled round
to approach it from the German side. I took the end of the ball of
string in my hand, so as to be able to signal back, and from a
shell-hole just a few yards away I asked the man who he was and to tell
me the names of some of his officers. As he seemed to know the names
of all the officers I crawled into the hole alongside him, though I was
still suspicious, and signalled back to my companion to go and get a
stretcher.
As soon as I had a good look at the poor fellow I knew he was one of
ours. His hands and face were as black as a negro's, and all of him
from the waist down was beneath the mud. He had not strength to move
his hands, but his "_voice was a good deal too strong_," for he started
to talk to me in a shout: "It's so good, matey, to see a real live man
again. I've been talking to dead men for days. There was two men came
up to speak to me who carried their heads under their arms!"
I whispered to him to _shut up_, but he would only be quiet for a
second or two, and soon the Germans knew that we were trying to rescue
him, for the machine-gun bullets chipped the edge of the hole and
showered us with dirt. In about half an hour Mahoney returned with the
stretcher, but we had to dig the poor fellow's limbs out, and only just
managed to get into the next hole during a pause in the machine-gun
bursts. To cap all, our passenger broke into song, and we just dropped
in time as the bullets pinged over us. These did not worry our friend
on the stretcher, nor did the bump hurt him, for he cheerfully shouted
"Down go my horses!" We _gagged_ him after that and got him safely in,
but the poor fellow only lived a couple of days, for blood-poisoning
had got too strong a hold of his frail body for medical skill to avail.
His name I have forgotten, and the hospital records would only state:
"Private So-and-so received [a certain date]; died [such a date].
Cause of death--tetanus."