Late in the afternoon of November 5th, the 27th (City of Winnipeg)
Battalion, under Lieutenant-Colonel P. J. Daly, D.S.O., left Hill 37
and began the weary tramp along the duckboard trail to the front line.
The village of Passchendaele was to be captured by the 2nd Canadian
Division on the morrow, and all along the Corps front soldiers, weary
with long days in the trenches, were being replaced by fresh men. The
relief of the 29th Battalion was completed early in the evening, but the
move to the assembly position was not made for several hours, Colonel
Daly contenting himself with establishing a line of posts some fifty
yards in advance of the front line, to intercept any inquisitive Hun.
Soon after midnight the men moved to the assembly, and by 3 a.m. the
gathering was complete and the troops resting in the mud after their
long tramp from the reserve area.
The night was very dark, and, though the enemy did not spare his
artillery, few casualties were caused. On the left of the 27th Battalion
lay the troops of the 31st, and on the right those of the 26th. Their
objective this time was the village of Passchendaele itself, and the men
were pleased because it was their part to attack the real objective of
the whole offensive, after the stubborn preliminary operations of the
26th and 30th of October.
Promptly at 6 a.m. our barrage came down, 150 yards in advance of our
front line, and from there it advanced, at a rate of 100 yards in eight
minutes, with our men close behind. The morning was dull and overcast,
and the attack appeared to be a complete surprise, the assailants
following so close upon the curtain of shell-fire that they were amongst
the enemy and using their bayonets freely before the surviving Germans
had recovered from the whirl of flame and explosions that had so
suddenly enveloped them.
The German front line of defence consisted of fortified shell-holes,
and many of the machine-guns established there were knocked out at once
by our heavy fire; the occupants stood no chance against our men with
the bayonet, and the Canadians swept over with scarcely a halt, catching
up the barrage and reaching the outskirts of Passchendaele town just
behind it. The troops holding the enemy's main line before the village
had no desire to try conclusions with the owners of those free-swinging
bayonets, and without hesitation they bolted, unfortunately for
themselves, arriving in the middle of the ruined town simultaneously
with our barrage, which had been arranged to play on this portion of the
objective for a double space of time. But strong emplacements amongst
the masonry still gave our men pause.
On the left flank of the 27th Battalion a German machine gun, surrounded
by uncut wire and broken, reinforced walls, formed an ideal point for
stubborn defence. The flanking platoon charged this position three
times, and on each occasion was driven back. The assaults were met by
the point-blank fire of the machine-gun, and by bullets from riflemen in
the ruined houses along the main street of the village. Then, while his
platoon brought as heavy rifle and Lewis gun fire as possible to bear
upon the emplacement, Private Robertson crossed the open line of fire
alone, and running round the flank of the position, leapt the barbed
wire and got in with his bayonet among the garrison. He had bayoneted
several men before the gun crews had gathered their wits to meet the
sudden onslaught, and his furious fighting daunted the remainder. They
fled, nothing left them but the instinct of self-preservation. But
Robertson did not intend to let them escape--he had been told too often
at his training camp that his aim in life, nay, his whole ambition and
purpose, should be centred on the elimination of the Bosche. Seizing
the captured gun, he swung it about and opened fire on the running men,
killing most of them before his platoon had arrived at the position he
had captured so gallantly. Then, bearing the captured gun with him, he
continued on his way towards the final objective, the eastern outskirts
of the town, meeting with several opportunities to use his new weapon
and wasting none. The troops followed him down the main Passchendaele
street, past the broken church, mopping up the enemy's strong points
among the masonry as they advanced, and taking few prisoners. About each
damaged machine-gun and every ruined cottage they left German dead,
almost every man killed with the bayonet.
Little further resistance was encountered. The enemy had no taste for
the brand of fighting in vogue, and our snipers, passing through the
foremost line, lay out in advance of our busy troops, harassing points
of possible hostile observation, and making an end of many Germans who
sought refuge in the woods behind the town. But the enemy's shell-fire
was intense and destructive. With his range noted to a nicety from his
previous occupation of our new line, he pounded the unfortunate village,
occasionally revenging himself for our successful shooting with a burst
of shrapnel just in advance of our line.
During the consolidation, Private Robertson had been busy with his new
machine-gun, but, seeing two of our men lying wounded well in advance of
the line, he abandoned the gun and without hesitation went forward to
bring them in. He got in successfully enough with the first man, but now
the Germans, stiffened by reinforcements, had returned on their tracks
and were establishing posts behind every available piece of cover. In
spite of a veritable storm of bullets, Robertson went out again. He
fell before reaching the second man--he was probably hit--but picking
himself up, he continued his way, and secured his wounded comrade.
Slipping on the sticky mud, nearly exhausted, he stuck to his man, and
had put him down close to our own line, when an unlucky shell exploded
near by, killing him instantly. He did not live to know the honour he
had won, but the men of his battalion who fought through Passchendaele
village will not forget him.
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