Mingling with the roar of the artillery and the clitter-clatter of the
machine guns and the sharp snap of the rifles were the hoarse cries
of the half maddened Bulgars, whose officers ever drove them on to
the death that came quick and hot from the British trenches. Men of
splendid physique they were that faced our hail of lead, cheering in
a sort of wild euthanasia of battle, with bugles and trumpets blowing
defiant challenge as in the knightly days of the tourney. They did not
know, many of them, whether they were attacking French, British or
Turk, but unquestioning, unthinking, they came on with a fearlessness
of life deserving of a better cause, leaping into our trenches and
falling back dead with a bullet in the throat or a bayonet wound in the
breast or with head blown off by one of our shells.
But it was, "for all our grim resistance," a hopeless kind of struggle.
Sooner or later that unceasing stream of men issuing out of the narrow
defile must sweep us back. Always the enemy returned to the charge,
undeterred by heavy losses, undismayed by our deadly gun and magazine
fire. The line held, and to their cheers we answered with our own
cheers, and to their cries we gave back answer with our own cries, and
if sometimes the thin line faltered the shouts of officers and men,
"Stick it, jolly boys! Give 'em hell, Connaughts!" brought new life and
new strength.
In the end we gave the enemy his dearly bought line of trenches and
slowly fell back to our second line of positions, where the remainder
of the divison joined up and helped us to beat off the sustained
attacks, which lacked naught in violence. All day the Bulgars
alternately bombarded and charged us. There seemed to be thousands and
thousands of them. They gave us no rest at night. Wherever we stood
they rained an unceasing fusillade of shell upon us and followed each
rafale up with a determined infantry attack.
Outnumbering the Tenth Division in the proportion of at least eight to
one, they were obstinately bent on its destruction at whatever cost to
themselves. Their artillery far exceeded ours in weight of metal, but
in effectiveness there was no comparison. Almost all our shells told,
while many of theirs did no more than splinter the rocks yards away. So
Monday, December 6, was passed with the Tenth Division mightily pressed
but still well able to hold its own. Tuesday the 7th was an exact
replica of the previous day.
The Bulgars heavily bombarded our line; then sent forward strong
storming parties before whom we recoiled a little, but no more. The
division never lost its cohesion, and it gave ground only at the rate
of two miles a day, which is a proof, if any were needed, of the
splendid rearguard action that this much outnumbered force fought. Our
artillery kept them in sufficient check to give us all the respite we
needed, and the rifle fire of the different regiments bit gaping wounds
in the enemy mass that helped to throw them into temporary confusion.
Teodorow, the Bulgarian General, is a great believer in the German
method of attack. He reckons no loss in men is too great if the
objective be gained. The objective in this case was the decimation
of the Tenth Division, and under his orders the Bulgars charged and
charged until the snowdrifts over which the battle was fought were
black with the recumbent forms of his men.