the position of the battery, and every day when she went out to
plough, she drove the white horse up and down, making a furrow
directly in front of the battery. When the men in the German plane saw
the white horse, they flew overhead, took a photograph of the newly
turned furrow, and turned the photograph over to their gunners. The
rest was easy.
[Illustration: A TANK GOING OVER A TRENCH ON ITS WAY INTO
ACTION]
The next day we missed three events which had become part of our daily
life. The German plane no longer hovered in the air. Our battery, for
the first time in weeks, spent a peaceful day. And in the field behind
her house, a woman with an old white horse no longer made the earth
ready for the sowing.
* * * * *
For three days now we had received no rations, and were obliged to
subsist on the food which the Boche had left behind him when he fled.
Finally, when all our plans were complete, we were notified that the
point of attack had been shifted to N----, a village about four miles
away. This practical joke we thought in extremely bad taste, but there
was nothing for it but to pack up and move as quickly as possible. We
learned that our troops at N---- had tried twice to break through the
German lines by bombing. A third attempt was to be made, and the tanks
were depended upon to open the way. Hence the change in our plans.
Early the next morning we left O----, and dashed along a road which
lay parallel with our line, and was under direct observation from the
German trenches. Owing to the fact, probably, that he was not properly
settled in his new line, the Boche did not bother us much, excepting
at one place, where we were obliged to make a run for it. We arrived
at N---- just after the tanks had been brought up. They were hurriedly
concealed close up to houses, in cuttings, and under trees.
The show was scheduled to come off the next morning at 4.30. That
night we gathered at Brigade Headquarters and made the final plans.
Each tank had its objective allotted to it, and marked out on the Tank
Commander's course. Each tank was to go just so far and no farther.
Talbot and Darwin were detailed to go forward as far as possible on
foot when the battle was in progress, and send back messages as to how
the show was progressing. Talbot also was given the task of going out
that night to make the marks in No Man's Land which would guide the
tanks in the morning.
At eleven o'clock, in the bright moonlight, Talbot, with Johnson and a
couple of orderlies, started out. They climbed over the front line,
which was at present a railway embankment, crawled into No Man's Land,
and set to work. Immediately the Boche snipers spotted them and
bullets began to whistle over their heads. Luckily, no one was hit,
but a couple of "whizz bangs" dropped uncomfortably close. The men
dropped for cover. Only Johnson stood still, his figure black against
the white snow gleaming in the moonlight.
The shells continued to fall about them as they wriggled back when the
work was done. As they reached N---- the tanks were being led up
toward the line, so that later, under cover of the darkness, they
might be taken farther forward to their starting-points.
VI
THE FIRST BATTLE
At dawn the next morning, the tanks were already lined up, sullen and
menacing in the cold half-light. The men shivered in the biting air.
One by one the crews entered the machines, and one by one the little
steel doors closed behind them. The engines throbbed, and they moved
off sluggishly.
Darwin and Talbot, with their orderlies, waited impatiently. The
moments just before an attack are always the hardest. A few batteries
were keeping up a desultory fire. They glanced at their watches.
"Only a minute to go," said Darwin. "I bet the show's put off or
something. Isn't this snow damnably cold, though!"
Suddenly a sixty-pounder in our rear crashed out. Then from all sides
a deafening roar burst forth and the barrage began. As we became
accustomed to the intensity and ear-splittingness of the sound, the
bark of the eighteen-pounders could be faintly distinguished above the
dull roar of the eight-inches. The sky-line was lit up with thousands
of flashes, large and small, each one showing, for a second, trenches
or trees or houses, and during this tornado we knew that the "Willies"
must have started forward on their errand.
As the barrage lifted and the noise died down a little, the first
streaks of light began to show in the sky, although we could
distinguish nothing. No sign of the infantry or of the tanks could be
seen. But the ominous sound of machine guns and heavy rifle-fire told
us that the Boche was prepared.
We could stand this inactivity no longer. We trudged forward through
the snow, taking the broad bands left by the tracks of the busses as
our guide, the officers leading the way and the orderlies behind in
single file.
"The blighter's starting, himself, now," said Talbot, as a four-two
landed a hundred yards away, and pieces of earth came showering down
on our heads. Then another and another fell, each closer than the one
before, and instinctively we quickened our steps, for it is difficult
to walk slowly through shell-fire.
The embankment loomed before us, and big splotches of black and yellow
leaped from its surface. The deafening crashes gave us that peculiar
feeling in the stomach which danger alone can produce. We scrambled up
the crumbling, slaggy sides, and found when we reached the top that
the sound of the machine guns had died away, excepting on the extreme
left in front of B----, where the ordinary tap of ones and twos had
developed into a sharp crackle of tens and twenties. By listening
carefully one could feel, rather than hear, the more intermittent
bursts from the rifles.
"There's one, sir," shouted one of the orderlies.
"Where?"
"Half-right and about five hundred yards ahead."
By dint of straining, we discovered a little animal--or so it
looked--crawling forward on the far side of the Hindenburg Line.
Already it was doing a left incline in accordance with its
instructions, so as to enfilade a communication trench which ran back
to N----. The German observer had spotted her. Here and there, on each
side of her, a column of dirt and snow rose into the air. But the
little animal seemed to bear a charmed life. No harm came to her, and
she went calmly on her way, for all the world like a giant tortoise at
which one vainly throws clods of earth.
As it grows lighter, we can now see others in the distance. One is not
moving--is it out of action? The only motion on the whole landscape is
that of the bursting shells, and the tanks. Over the white snow in
front of the German wire, are dotted little black lumps. Some crawl,
some move a leg or an arm, and some lie quite still. One who has never
seen a modern battle doubtless forms a picture of masses of troops
moving forward in splendid formation, with cheering voices and
gleaming bayonets. This is quite erroneous. To an observer in a post
or in a balloon, no concerted action is visible at all. Here and there
a line or two of men dash forward and disappear. A single man or a
small group of men wriggle across the ground. That is all.
"Well, they haven't got it in the neck as I supposed," said Darwin.
"Remarkably few lying about. Let's push on."
"All right," Talbot assented. "If you like."
We crawled over the top of the embankment and continued down the side.
About two hundred yards to the left, we saw one of the tanks, with her
nose in the air. A little group of three or four men were digging
around her, frantically. We rushed over to them, and found that the
Old Bird's 'bus had failed to get over a large pit which lay in the
middle of No Man's Land, and was stuck with her tail in the bottom of
the ditch. Here occurred one of those extraordinary instances of luck
which one notices everywhere in a modern battle. The tank had been
there about ten minutes when the German gunners had bracketed on her,
and were dropping five-nines, all of them within a radius of seventy
yards of the tank, and yet no one was hurt. Finally, by dint of
strenuous digging, she started up and pulled herself wearily out of
the pit.
[Illustration: _Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._
A TANK HALFWAY OVER THE TOP AND AWAITING THE ORDER TO ADVANCE
IN THE BATTLE OF MENIN ROAD]
Suddenly, Darwin shouted:--
"Look here, you fellows! What are these Boches doing?"
Looking up, we saw about forty or fifty Germans stumbling over their
own wire, and running toward us as hard as they could go. For a moment
we thought it was the preliminary step of a counter-attack, but
suddenly we discovered that they carried no arms and were attempting
to run with their hands above their heads. At the same time something
occurred which is always one of the saddest sights in war. One hears a
great deal about the "horrors of war" and the "horrors" of seeing men
killed on either side of one, but at the time there is very little
"horror" to it. One simply doesn't have time to pay any attention to
it all. But the sad part was that the German machine gunners, seeing
their men surrendering, opened a furious fire on them. There they
were, caught from behind, and many of them dropped from the bullets of
their own comrades.
Twenty or thirty of them came straight on, rushed up to the pit where
the tank had come to grief, and tumbled down into this refuge.
Evidently, they knew of the British passion for souvenirs, for when
our men surrounded them, the Germans plucked wildly at their own
shoulder straps as if to entreat their captors to take the shoulder
straps instead of anything else!
We gave two or three of the wounded Germans some cigarettes and a
drink of water. They were then told to find their quickest way to the
rear. Like other German prisoners we had seen, they went willingly
enough. German discipline obtains even after a man has been made a
prisoner. He obeys his captors with the same docility with which he
had previously obeyed his own officers. Left to themselves, and
started on the right road, the prisoner will plod along, their
N.C.O.'s saluting the English officers, and inquiring the way to the
concentration camp. When they find it, they usually appear well
pleased.
The Old Bird's tank moved on.
"I suppose everything's going all right," said Talbot. "Suppose we
move on and see if we can get some information."
"Yes, or some souvenirs," Darwin replied with a laugh.
We pushed on slowly. Three tanks which had completed their job were
coming back and passed us. A little later we met some fellows who were
slightly wounded and asked them how the battle was going. Every story
was different. The wounded are rarely able to give a correct version
of any engagement, and we saw that no accurate information was to be
gleaned from these men.
We had been out now for an hour and a half and still had no news to
send back to Headquarters. We knew how hard it was for the officers
behind the lines, who had planned the whole show, to sit hour after
hour waiting for news of their troops. The minutes are like hours.
"My God, Darwin, look!" Talbot cried. "Something's happened to her.
She's on fire!"
In the distance we saw one of our tanks stuck in the German wire,
which at that point was about a hundred yards thick. Smoke was
belching from every porthole. A shell had registered a direct hit,
exploding the petrol, and the tank was on fire. We dashed forward
toward her.
A German machine gun rattled viciously. They had seen us. An instant
later, the bullets were spattering around us, and we dropped flat. One
man slumped heavily and lay quite still. By inches we crawled forward,
nearer and nearer to the blazing monster. Another machine gun snarled
at us, and we slid into a shell-hole for protection. Then, after a
moment's breathing space, we popped out and tried to rush again.
Another man stopped a bullet.
It was suicide to go farther. Into another shell-hole we fell, and
thought things over. We decided to send a message, giving roughly the
news that the Hindenburg Line and N---- had been taken. An orderly was
given a message. He crawled out of the shell-hole, ran a few steps,
dropped flat, wriggled along across the snow, sprang to his feet, ran
another few steps, and so on until we lost sight of him.
A moment or two later we started across the snow in a direction
parallel with the lines. Behind an embankment we came across a little
group of Australians at an impromptu dressing-station. Some of them
were wounded and the others were binding up their wounds. We watched
them for a while and started on again. We had gone about fifty yards
when a shell screeched overhead. We turned and saw it land in the
middle of the group we had just left. Another shell burst close to us
and huge clods of earth struck us in the face and in the stomach,
knocking us flat and blinding us for the moment. A splinter struck
Talbot on his tin hat, grazing his skin. Behind us one of the
orderlies screamed and we rushed back to him. He had been hit below
the knee and his leg was nearly severed. We tied him up and managed to
get him back to the Australian aid-post. Two of the original four
stretcher-bearers had been blown up a few minutes before. But the
remaining two were carrying on with their work as though nothing had
happened. Here he was bandaged and started on his way for the
dressing-station.
Far across the snow, we saw three more tanks plodding back toward the
rear. Little by little, we gained ground until we reached a more
sheltered area where we could make greater speed. We were feverishly
anxious to know the fate of the crew of the burning tank. "Whose tank
was it?" was on every tongue. We met other wounded men being helped
back; those with leg wounds were being supported by others less
seriously wounded. They could tell us nothing. They had been with the
infantry and only knew that two tanks were right on the other side of
the village.
A moment or two later, Talbot started running toward two men, one of
whom was supporting the other. The wounded man proved to be the
Sergeant of the tank we had seen on fire. We hurried up to him. He was
hurt in the leg. So, instead of firing questions at him, we kept quiet
and accompanied him back to the dressing-station.
Later we heard the tragic news that it was Gould's tank that had
burned up. None of us talked much about it. It did not seem real.
They had got stuck in the German wire. A crump had hit them and fired
the petrol tank. That was the end. Two men, the Sergeant and another,
escaped from the tank. The others perished with it. We tried to
comfort each other by repeated assurances that they must all have lost
consciousness quickly from the fumes of the petrol before they
suffered from fire. But it was small consolation. Every one had liked
Gould and every one would miss him.
We waited at Brigade Headquarters for the others to return. A Tank
Commander from another Company was brought in, badly wounded and
looking ghastly, but joking with every one, as they carried him along
on a stretcher. His tank had been knocked out and they had saved their
guns and gone on with the infantry. He had been the last to leave the
tank, and as he had stepped out to the ground, a shell exploded
directly beneath him, taking off both of his legs below the knee.
The last of the tanks waddled wearily in and the work of checking-up
began. All were accounted for but two. Their fate still remains a
secret. Our theory was that they had gone too far ahead and had
entered the village in back of the German lines; that the infantry had
not been able to keep up with them, and that they had been captured.
Two or three days afterwards an airman told us that he had seen, on
the day of the battle, two tanks far ahead of the infantry and that
they appeared to be stranded. Weeks later we attacked at the point
where the tanks had been, and on some German prisoners whom we took,
we found several photographs of these identical tanks. Then one day,
when we had stopped wondering about them, a Sergeant in our Company
received a letter from one of the crew of the missing machines, saying
that he was a prisoner in Germany. But of the officers we have never
heard to this day.
We sat around wearily, waiting for the motor lorries which were to
take some of us back to B----. Years seemed to have been crowded into
the hours that had elapsed. Talbot glanced at his watch. It was still
only eight o'clock in the morning. Again he experienced the feeling
of incredulity that comes to one who has had much happen in the hours
between dawn and early morning and who discovers that the day has but
just begun. He had thought it must be three o'clock in the afternoon,
at least.
The lorries arrived eventually, and took those who had no tanks, back
to B----. The others brought the "Willies" in by the evening.
VII
THE SECOND BATTLE
Ten days had now elapsed since that day when we had gone back to B----
with the officers and men who had survived. We had enjoyed every
minute of our rest and once more were feeling fit. The remainder of
the Company had been divided up into crews. The "Willies" themselves
had had the best of care and attention.
Most important of all, to the childish minds of that part of the
British Army which we represented, we had given another concert which
had been an even greater success than the first. The Old Bird and
Borwick had excelled themselves. We were convinced that something was
wrong with a Government that would send two such artists to the front!
They should be at home, writing "words and music" that would live
forever.
Toward the end of the week, plans for another attack were arranged.
This time it was to take place at C----, about five miles north of
N----. We were told that this was to be a "big show" at last. Part of
the Hindenburg Line had been taken, and part was still in the hands of
the enemy. It had been decided, therefore, that this sector of the
line, and the village behind it, must be captured. Our share in the
business consisted of a few tanks to work with the infantry. Two of us
went up three days before to arrange the plans with the Divisional
Commander. We wandered up into the Hindenburg Line as close as we
could get to the Boche, to see what the ground was like, and to decide
if possible on the routes for the tanks. In the line were innumerable
souvenirs. We found the furniture that the Germans had taken out of
the villages on their retirement, and had used to make their line more
comfortable.
We found, too, an extraordinary piece of engineering. A tunnel about
ten miles long ran underneath the whole of the Hindenburg Line. It was
about thirty or forty feet down, and had been dug, we heard, by
Russian prisoners. The tunnel was about six feet wide and about five
feet high. It had been roughly balked in with timber, and at every
twenty yards, a shaft led out of the tunnel up into the trench.
Borwick found a large mirror which he felt could not be wasted under
the circumstances. He could not resist its charm, so he started
lugging it back the six miles to camp. It was very heavy and its charm
had decreased greatly by the time he reached camp and found that no
one could make any use of it.
The day of the attack was still undecided, and in order to be quite
ready when it should come off, we left B---- with the tanks one
evening and took them up to Saint-L----, a little place about three
thousand yards away from the Hindenburg Line. Here we staged them
behind a railway embankment, underneath a bridge that had been
partially blown up. This was the same embankment, as a matter of fact,
behind which, four or five miles away, the Australian dressing-station
had been established in the last battle.
Here we spent two or three days tuning up the machines, and many of
our leisure moments in watching a howitzer battery which was just
beside us. This was fascinating. If you stand by the gun when it is
fired, you can see the shell leave the muzzle, and watch the black
mass shoot its seven or eight thousand yards until it becomes a small
speck and finally vanishes just before it hits the ground.
We also made an interesting collection of German and English
shell-cases. These cases are made of brass, and the four-fives,
especially, in the opinion of some people, make very nice rose-bowls
when they are polished, with wire arranged inside to hold the
blossoms. Weird music could be heard issuing from our dugout at times,
when we gave an impromptu concert, by putting several of these
shell-cases on a log of wood and playing elaborate tunes on them with
a bit of stone.
All this merry-making came to an end, though. One day we received word
that the attack was to come off the next morning. Then began the
preparations in earnest and the day went with a rush. At this part of
the Hindenburg Line, it was very easy to lose one's way, especially
at night. The tanks were scheduled to start moving up at ten o'clock.
Talbot and the Old Bird, with several men, set out at about eight, and
arranged for marks to guide the machines.
We had just reached a part of the Hindenburg Line which was now in our
possession, and were near an ammunition dump, when shells began to
fall around us. They were not near enough to do us any harm, and we
continued our work, when one dropped into the ammunition dump and
exploded. In an instant the whole dump was alight. It was like some
terrible and giant display of pyrotechnics. Gas shells, Verey lights,
and stink bombs filled the air with their nauseous odors. Shells of
all sizes blew up and fell in steely splinters. The noise was
deafening. Cursing our luck, we waited until it died down into a red,
smouldering mass, and then edged up cautiously to continue our work.
By this time, Borwick's tank came up, and he emerged, with a broad
smile on his face.
"Having a good time?" he asked genially.
There was a frozen silence, excepting for his inane laughter. He made
a few more irritating remarks which he seemed to think were very
funny, and then he disappeared inside his tank and prepared to follow
us. We had gone ahead a couple of hundred yards when we heard bombs
exploding, and looking back we saw the tank standing still, with
fireworks going off under one of her tracks. Presently the noise
ceased, and after waiting a moment we strolled back. As we reached the
tank, Borwick and the crew came tumbling out, making the air blue with
their language. They had run over a box of bombs, the only thing that
had survived the fire in the ammunition dump, and one of the tracks
was damaged. To repair it meant several hours' hard work in the cold
in unpleasant proximity to the still smouldering dump. Over Talbot's
face spread a broad smile.
"Having a good time?" he asked pleasantly of Borwick.
Infuriated growls were his only answer. He moved on with his men,
while Borwick and his crew settled down to work.
The night was fortunately dark. They went slowly forward and brought
the route almost up to within calling distance of the Germans. The
Verey lights, shattering the darkness over No Man's Land, did not
disclose them to the enemy. Suddenly, a Boche machine gun mechanically
turned its attentions toward the place where they were working. With a
tightening of every muscle, Talbot heard the slow whisper of the gun.
As it turned to sweep the intervening space between the lines, the
whisper rose to a shirring hiss. The men dropped to the ground,
flattening themselves into the earth. But Talbot stood still. Now, if
ever, was the time when an example would count. If they all dropped to
the ground every time a machine gun rattled, the job would never be
done. So, hands in his pockets, but with awful "wind up," he waited
while the soft patter of the bullets came near and the patter
quickened into rain. As it reached him, the rain became a fierce
torrent, stinging the top of the parapet behind them as the bullets
tore by viciously a few inches above his head. Then as it passed, it
dropped into a patter once more and finally dropped away in a whisper.
Talbot suddenly realized that his throat was aching, but that he was
untouched by the storm. The men slowly got to their feet and continued
their work in silence. Although the machine gun continued to spatter
bullets near them all through the hours they were working, not once
again did the men drop when they heard the whisper begin. The job was
finally done and they filed wearily back.