We occupied an exposed position on the left of the Aisne, and one
night we only escaped being wiped out by mere chance, combined with
as fine a deed of heroism as I have ever heard of. There was a man
of the Manchester Regiment who was lying close to the German lines
terribly wounded. He happened to overhear some conversation between
German soldiers, and, being familiar with the language, he gathered
that they intended to attack the position we held that night. In spite
of his wounds he decided to set out to warn us of the danger, and he
set out on the weary tramp of over five miles. He was under fire from
the moment he got to his feet, but he stumbled along in spite of that,
and soon got out of range. Later he ran into a patrol of Uhlans, but
before they saw him he dropped to earth and shammed being dead. They
passed by without a sign, and then he resumed his weary journey. By
this time the strain had told on him and his wound began to bleed,
marking his path towards our lines with thin red streaks. In the early
morning, just half an hour before the time fixed for the German attack,
he staggered into one of our advanced posts, and managed to tell his
story to the officer in charge before collapsing in a heap. Thanks to
the information he gave, we were ready for the Germans when they came,
and beat them off; but his anxiety to warn us had cost him his life.
The doctors said that the strain had been too much for him, and next
day he died: _A Corporal of the Northumberland Fusiliers_.
“He Saved Others”
We were working in touch with a French corps on our left, and early
one morning we were sent ahead to this village, which we had reason to
believe was clear of the enemy. On the outskirts we questioned a French
lad, but he seemed scared and ran away. We went on through the long
narrow street, and just as we were in sight of the end a man dashed
out from a farmhouse on the right. Immediately the rifles began to
crack in front, and the poor chap fell dead before he reached us. He
was one of our men, a private of the ----. We learned that he had been
captured the previous day by a party of German cavalry, and had been
held a prisoner at the farm, where the Germans were in ambush for us.
He guessed their game, and though he knew that if he made the slightest
sound they would kill him, he decided to make a dash to warn us of what
was in store. He had more than a dozen bullets in him. We buried him
next day with military honours. His identification disc and everything
else was missing, so that we could only put over his grave the tribute,
“He saved others.” There wasn’t a dry eye among us when we laid him to
rest in that little village: _A Corporal at the Aisne_.