I was on picket duty, and it was just after midnight when the men
ahead fell back reporting strange sounds all along the front. At the
same moment we heard rustling in the bushes close by, and as there was
no response to the challenge we fired, thus giving the alarm in the
sleeping camp. Out of the bushes the enemy’s advanced guard rushed,
but we held them in check until we deemed it wise to fall back on the
camp with a report of the enemy’s strength and disposition. We reckoned
there was at least a whole German army corps attacking, supported by
endless bodies of cavalry and ten batteries of guns, besides hundreds
of machine guns. When we got back to camp we found everything was in
apple-pie order for the fight. The men were standing to their arms,
and though some of them were cursing a lot at being roused from their
sleep and vowing what they would do to the chuckle-headed pickets if it
turned out to be a false alarm, they were ready to do their duty like
men. They hadn’t long to wait for the Germans, who were really close
on our heels. On our way back we had heard our artillery open fire and
saw the shells bursting along the German lines. At the same moment the
Germans, who seemed to realize that their surprise was no surprise at
all, opened fire with their artillery right along the front, and their
searchlights were playing all round like so many will-o’-the-wisps.
Their searchlights were useful to us, because they enabled us to see
something of their strength as they advanced. Soon we saw coming out
of the inky darkness a long line of white faces, and in response to
the quick order we fired right into them. The first line wavered for
a moment or two, part of it was blotted out, but the line of reserves
behind filled up the gaps and the front line advanced again, seeming
not to heed the heavy hail of bullets we were pouring into them. Within
about one hundred yards of our trenches the first line of advancing
Germans flung themselves flat on the earth, fixing bayonets, while
the second fired over their heads, and yet a third line was pushing
forward men to fill the gaps of the second line where our fire tore
through. Then the first line rose and the second fixed bayonets also.
Finally, they all came sweeping forward with the bayonet and threw
themselves right on to our trenches. We poured one terrible volley
into them as they came on, but all the devils in hell would not have
stopped them. Our front ranks gave way slightly before the fierceness
of the attack and the weight of men hurled at them, but the recoil was
only temporary. We steadied ourselves, and while they were standing
still for a moment to take breath and dress their ranks for another
rush we went at them with the bayonet and hurled them over the trenches
down the hill again. It was in this rush that I got run through with a
bayonet, but as I lay on the ground doing my best to forget the pain in
the exultation of victory, I saw our lads chase them across country in
fine style, and I knew from the cheers all along the line that we were
beating them back: _A Sergeant of the Worcester Regiment_.