Some of the bravest and most daring of our men were those who carried
the messages or dispatches; and many thrilling stories can be told of
their adventures. One of the most exciting is that of four men of the
Royal Irish Fusiliers.
A certain section of ground of about a quarter of a mile in width was
swept by a fierce and continuous German fire. On either side of this
open space were British troops, one section of which was in great
danger of being surrounded by the enemy. The British officers on the
other side saw the danger and wished to warn the company and instruct
them to make a certain movement which would prevent disaster.
The buglers were ordered to give calls of warning, but these were
either unheard in the din or were not properly understood. There was no
way open but across that fire-swept space, and when other methods of
sending warning had been tried and had failed, it was decided to send a
dispatch carrier.
A call was made for volunteers for the dangerous task, and every single
man in the company expressed his willingness to go. This was more than
was wanted so coins were quickly produced, spun in the air, and by this
boyish method the volunteers were thinned down to the number required.
Then the men who had won the honour stepped forward.
The first in the line was given the message and made a desperate dash
through the hail of bullets. He ran for a short distance, then tumbled
over, and lay still. Two others advanced and commenced the race with
death. One of them stopped to lift his wounded comrade, and the other
ran on, only to fall in a few moments--dead.
A fourth man rushed out and raced across the zone of death. The bullets
flew round him and his comrades watched him with tense anxiety as he
seemed to dodge them until he came to a point at a short distance from
the British trenches. Then he fell and lay still.
But the men in the trench had seen him and guessed that he had some
message for them; otherwise he surely would not have set out on that
desperate race with death. A number of them sprang forward as one man,
eager to go to his help. They leapt “over the top” and commenced their
own gallant race. In a few moments every man of the little party was
wounded. But by this time the messenger was on his hands and knees
crawling slowly and painfully towards the British cover.
Then a second rescue party came out, in spite of the bullets which
seemed to fall thicker than ever, and in a short time they came up with
him and were able to draw him into safety. The battalion was saved,
for the required movement was instantly made which rendered the German
efforts of no avail.
Dispatch carriers on motor bicycles had many great adventures during
those stirring days, and many narrow escapes from death, while numbers
of them made the last great sacrifice in the performance of their
dangerous duty. One of these men was the means of saving a whole French
regiment which was in close touch with a British force.
It was necessary to carry a warning to the French not to venture
along a certain road where there was a German ambush. Signals were
tried by men who paid for their daring in going out into the open by
meeting their death from the bullets of German marksmen. The British
were hidden in a wood, and when the signallers had failed to carry the
necessary warning, a motor-cyclist sped out from the cover and raced
at breathless speed along the road. He had not gone far before he was
hit and tumbled over with his machine on top of him. A second messenger
followed, but in a short time he too went down. A third man came out
and began the race which he won after marvellous escapes. The message
was safely delivered to the French officer, and the company of our
Allies was saved.
The machine and clothes of the last messenger were riddled with bullets
but he himself was quite unhurt!