S.O.S. Stand to! Part 11

The t.i.tanic ducks were each of them doing similar work on every part of the line, but the particular one whose work I was able to follow then made a call on a whiz-bang battery, smas.h.i.+ng one of the guns when it first stepped upon it, and mowing the gunners down, the rest fleeing as though from the wrath to come. Many batteries and crews were similarly smashed, and then their work being done for the day, they all returned with the exception of one which lay in the German lines for about five hours, due to engine trouble. While lying there, Fritz did his d.a.m.ndest to place a mine underneath the helpless hulk, but the earnestness and the energy with which our boys at the guns worked for the preservation of their beloved behemoth, prevented him carrying out his purpose; and while the concert was in full swing all around us, the preserving messages from our guns whizzing past it in one direction, and the destructive messages from the German guns coming at it from the other direction, the tank crew quietly and industriously went about their work, repaired the engine trouble, said "ta-ta" to Fritz and waddled back home.

No returning hero from the scene of his glory ever received such a greeting as did the crews of the mighty monsters when they stepped out of the sheltering internals of their huge bowels. Clad in pants and boots, littered with grease, dirt and oil, scarred with bruises incurred as they were thrown from side to side of their armored shelter by the swaying of the thing, when they stepped from the door to the ground, the shouts and roaring cheers of ten thousand times ten thousand men thrilled them with such a thrill, that they felt fully repaid for everything that they had done that day.

The Tommies grabbed them in their arms, hugged them, slapped them on the backs and chests until the wind was fairly knocked out of them, and if we had been Frenchmen instead of Britishers, our mouths would have been covered with black grease from kisses imprinted on their cheeks.

All night long, long lines of men in gray were pa.s.sing through our sector, in some places as many as 50 of them being escorted by one soldier; German Red Cross men were carrying out our wounded, eagerly volunteering for this work in the thought that they would find favor by so doing.

After taking Pozieres and driving over the ridge and on down into the Courcelette Valley, we took up a position about 500 yards from the German front lines. Here occurred another of those remarkable escapes from the Grim Reaper's toll that won for me throughout the unit the pseudonym, "Horseshoe Grant."

Eighteen loads of ammunition were being hauled to the guns and when being unloaded, enemy fire opened up on the position, several horses were hit, the doors of the wagons were flung open and the horses, stricken with fright, galloped madly about, the sh.e.l.ls being strewn over the ground all the way to the bridge several hundred yards off,--a bridge that was a vitally important structure to us, because over it every pound of supplies and ammunition had to cross in order to get to us. I have often thought what a disaster it would have meant to us had Fritz ever got to this pa.s.sageway. The drivers finally managed to close the wagon doors and get most of them back over the bridge, but the sh.e.l.l fire had then become so heavy that "Take cover!" was ordered.

The Hun kept up the bombardment for some time and the O.C. thought it better to let the ammunition lie where it was until daylight, when he intended to have it gathered up. He did not wait for daylight; in the middle of the night we were called out to manhandle the ammunition from an improvised sled that had been built and loaded with it and hauled over the mud to the bridge. There was no slacking on that job, every man carrying two of the sh.e.l.ls--18 pounders--and when we finally got them to the guns we were allowed to turn in.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Behemoth in Battle]

Just before daylight a counter attack started and we were ordered to repel it, which we did with all the ammunition that was capable of being used; lots of it we could not use as the mud and dirt prevented; it had to be thoroughly cleaned and oiled before being fired. The battle lasted well until noon, and having accomplished our work we got a "Stand down!"

after which came the usual hurry and scurry to clean and oil our pet and get her all in readiness for the next act. There was still some ammunition left lying on the ground that had been spilled, and we were instructed to gather it in at once, clean and oil it and put it in the gun pit. While busy at this job I glanced overhead and noticed an airplane: "I believe that's a German," calling attention to it. The fellows didn't agree with me, they holding it was a British bird, and we all went on with our work. I kept my eye on it, however, for some reason, and saw it finally go over the ridge and turn, and as it turned--Kr-kr-kr-p! and a sh.e.l.l lit on the ridge 25 yards in our front; it was about an 8-incher and showered the dirt in all directions. We scurried like rabbits into our pit, emerging in a few minutes when the dirt and dust had blown away. Glancing up again I noticed the air bird turn again, and instantly another one came, this time landing near the gun pit, throwing a shower of mud and dirt on it, and causing considerable profanity for the extra work given us by Fritz. Instant orders were given us to take cover as a strafing was in sight, and we shot out of the gun pit, jumped into the trench and ran along. Two of the fellows were immediately ahead of me, Dinghy and Graham, and Graham's footwork was so slow that I jumped up on the parapet of the trench to get past him, and over the top I skedaddled toward our 30-foot dugout, which had formerly been the home of the Germans; like most of their quarters it was large, roomy and comfortable. To get to the dugout we had to go through a German gun pit which was then being used by us as a cookhouse. Just before I reached my destination a sh.e.l.l had landed squarely in this gun pit, where a number of the men were lined up waiting for supper. The effect of this sh.e.l.l was not only deadly in the extreme, but very peculiar in its action. At the right hand side corner of the gun pit was the dugout for the left section, and the right section occupied the dugout on the left hand side corner. The sh.e.l.l struck the edge of the right section dugout in which four men at the bottom were having a card game; the fuse tore its way down the steps, knocking large chunks of the steps off in its course, and down into the center of the card game, scattering the money in every direction and not injuring a single member of the party. The back lash of the deadly visitor, however, ripped the life out of the men waiting for supper at the cookhouse and the side lash of its stroke caught the men in the right hand side dugout in which were two soldiers sitting on a box, munching biscuits. One of them had the upper half of his head blown off, scattering the blood and brains over his chum, who escaped without a scratch.

I reached the gun pit about one minute after the explosion. G.o.d in Heaven! What a sight met my eyes! The floor of the pit was strewn with the men in all directions, six of them dead and the balance fearfully wounded. I dashed out for stretcher bearers and Fritz just then started increasing his fire; he had kept an eye on the men running through the trench to the gun pit. He therefore knew that there must be a nest of us there.

In spite of the gain in the enemy's gunfire, we started our wounded pals to the officers' dugouts; most of the lads had been so severely sh.e.l.l-shocked that we had a most trying time to keep them in their stretchers. Men who have been sh.e.l.l-shocked most usually exhibit it by wanting to run off in all directions; I have seen them with wounds that ordinarily would cause them to collapse, but under the influence of the shock exert themselves with such strength and violence that it would take a couple of st.u.r.dy men to hold them. There is a trite saying that every disadvantage has a corresponding advantage and I wondered that night when I got back to the gun pit if nature intended that the advantage from this disaster was the increase in our supper ration due to the death and wounding of my soldier pals!

A few days after, we were notified we were going to drive forward another stage, and I went to the trench with the telephonist party for the purpose of making our communication as clear as possible; I was detailed especially to a.s.sist the Captain in this work.

The attack was launched at daybreak, with a ten-minute bombardment preceding, and then our fellows were up and over. As before, the tanks blazed the way, one of them pa.s.sing about 30 feet to my right just before I went over the top. As I lay in the trench, the darling old t.i.tan pa.s.sed me, leveling the wire in front, and I had then an even keener realization of what it meant for Fritz to have these monsters piling over and smas.h.i.+ng him under foot just about as a man would tread on a worm and mash it. And if there ever was one time during my entire three years of campaigning, when I felt an atom of sympathy for the gray-clad devils, it was at that moment.

But how can sympathy obtain for devils in human form?

My immediate family was strongly represented in this attack. To my right among the men who went over, were the Canadian Grenadier Guards, of which my young brother Billy was a member. This regiment had made an undying place in the annals of Canadian history in the advance on Courcelette, having out of its 950 men but 66 men left intact when the roll was called after the battle, the balance being either killed or wounded. But they achieved their objective, Courcelette!

Billy and his regiment, which had been mustered up to strength, pa.s.sed over the top within four hundred yards of me to the right. On my left, my older brother, Gordon, who was supporting a trench mortar battery in the front-line trench, was working away within 500 yards of me. I was not aware of the presence of either until a comparison of notes later on apprised me of their presence. To my right hand was Hughey and his brother Archie and to my left Jim, three brothers, all of them my first cousins.

Jim had enlisted in New Zealand, Archie in Australia and Hughey in Canada. The only relative of whose presence in the battle I was aware, was Hughey. Through a rule obtaining in the army, these three brothers took the opportunity when they got to France, to get a transfer to the Canadian army, all in the same unit. Later, however, the casualties necessitated changing them around somewhat. All three had been wounded and ga.s.sed, but were back again as full of fight as ever. We went over under the shelter of such a terrific barrage that the German front line and its occupants were practically annihilated; the work of our artillery was nothing short of wonderful. Staying there ten minutes we went on and took the second line, meeting a little more stubborn resistance as we went forward, but finally taking it. In going over between the first and second lines it was necessary to jump into sh.e.l.l holes from time to time. The men ahead of us were mostly Brandenburgers, Bavarians and Prussians. At one place I had leapt with my pal into a small sh.e.l.l hole, and over to my right was a kiltie engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with a Hun. The kiltie was an undersized chap and Fritz was about twice his size, and with a much longer bayonet, and Jock seemed to be getting a bit tired. I didn't think it wise to wait, even though I felt very certain that Jock could hold his own, and taking careful aim with my revolver I tumbled the Fritzie over. Looking then to the left I saw another kiltie in an argument with a Prussian; they were fencing with their bayonets, and a second Hun was coming up behind and again I took aim, but before I was able to get my pill started, my mate robbed me of the honor and sent his pill cras.h.i.+ng through Fritzie's head. So I turned my attention to the immediate opponent, but before I could shoot, the kiltie's body interposed in my line of vision, and when I got a glimpse of the Prussian a second later, he was in the throes of death with a bayonet in his bowels. Further over to my right, two Huns were trying to bayonet a soldier, but our man was an expert and seemed to be easily holding his own, in fact, getting the better of it a little, and I noticed a Prussian jump out of a hole, aim his rifle at our fellow, and I yelled, "Get that one, Walter!" But Walter had already seen him and started blazing at him and winged him in the shoulder; he was later gathered in among the prisoners.

Then we turned to the duel and blazed at one of the Prussians, being lucky enough to land him, and at the same time Sandy got in his work with the cold steel on the other Hun. Then, wiping the perspiration from his face with a swipe of his hand, he looked toward us and hollered "Gude work, laddies," and dashed on ahead.

All these scrimmages took place in less time than it takes to tell about them; everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, the cleaning-up process was going on. This was as far as I could go at this time, because I had strict orders to remain with my party there for observation purposes, the Infantry going on ahead and taking the third line.

Resistance was growing more stubborn with the advent of each successive line, but they cleaned up and started for the fourth, and it fell. It was on that day that I understood the expression "Seeing red"; there was only one thought in my mind, kill! kill! kill! kill! The wave forged ahead for the fifth German line, taking it and smas.h.i.+ng down all resistance in their way. They were in the middle of the cleaning-up process of the fifth line when the welcome sight of friend tank again hove in view, arousing cheers. They were needed just then.

CHAPTER XIII

THE FAMILY LUCK

At the fifth line the men stayed awhile, waiting for the word to take the sixth line, and our barrage was directed on this trench line so heavily, the Germans could not hold it. They left and our wave crossed over, but could not reach the much sought-for ditch, as a ma.s.sed counter-attack drove them back. Our barrage again drove Fritz back, thus converting the sixth-line trench into a No Man's Land.

The Boche made a determined effort to retain it and counter-attacked time and time again, but each try met our machine guns, rifles and grenades, together with the barrage, and a distorted heap of dead Kaiserites was added to those already in this ditch of death.

Their ranks were getting woefully thin and pale; wave after wave came up in a bull-headed effort to keep the line, and, finally, to a.s.sist the fainting Prussians, a regiment of Brandenburgers jumped to their help, and again they came. By this time the trench was literally filled with dead, dying and wounded men. Over the Brandenburgers came, one thousand strong, right in the teeth of our barrage; in ma.s.s formation they charged, and it was impossible for a bullet to miss its billet in that line. They fell like flies on a tanglefoot sheet, and back they wavered into the trench. But there was no shelter for them there, as it had ceased to be an abiding place, because their dead and wounded comrades were piled in it clear up to the brink, and there was no place for them to stoop or crouch to escape the rain of death.

Our O.C. paused awhile to see what Fritz would do further, but--nothing stirring! So, over our fellows went. The corpse-filled trench offering no attraction for shelter, the wave rolled on to the seventh line, taking it and putting up there for the night.

A few hours later Fritz made a most determined attack on the seventh line, and sorry am I to tell that they made a little headway, taking some prisoners, among them being my cousin Jim; roll call the following morning also disclosed Archie as missing. For my dear Auntie's sake it is my sincere prayer that he may yet be alive and well.

When the wave reached the first line in this drive, the trenches were filled with prisoners and orders were given to corral them in the different dugouts and rush them into the holes, but there was no need for hurrying them,--they were diving for them as fast as their legs would carry them. My brother Billy and a party was put in charge of a number of dugouts, Billy having one under his control. He did not know how many were in the dugout he guarded, but outside was a captured Prussian officer. The boys had now gone on ahead, leaving the prisoners'

escorts posted here and there along the trench to guard them. This Prussian officer was standing a few feet away from Billy, on his right, and something diverting Bill's attention from him, the Prussian officer, in strict accordance with the Prussian code of honor, seized the opportunity, grabbed a rifle, and was about to plunge the bayonet into Billy, but he turned just in time to catch him in the act and avoid him.

He lunged with his bayonet, catching the dastard in the left shoulder, and while tugging to get it out, the prisoners started rus.h.i.+ng up the steps of the dugout, and Bill was forced to let go of the rifle; as he did so, the weight of the gun pulled the bayonet downward, ripping through the Prussian's black heart. Bill then took a bomb--he had eight of them--and let them go one after another into the dugout. Although fighting for his life, he knew if he faltered for a moment he would be lost, and he did not lose his head for a second; he realized that if he let any of these bombs leave his hand and reach the dugout in sufficient length of time before it exploded, they would seize them and hurl them back at him, or else escape this particular bunch who were trying to get him and who were strung on the steps leading down into the dugout. So, in the midst of the sc.r.a.p he kept his nerve and his head, not letting a single bomb leave his hand until he was dead certain the time had expired and that the moment it struck the top step of the dugout, their mission of destruction would have been accomplished. This done, he yanked his rifle out of the officer's shoulder and jumped to the entrance of the pit for any others that might have escaped his fusillade of grenades. None came.

"Billy, take those prisoners out of the dugout," sang out the Sergeant-Major, "and get them to the rear, and tell the rest of the boys to do the same."

"I don't know how many are there, sir."

"I'll take a look and see," and the Sergeant-Major jumped into the dugout. In a moment he reappeared. "There are nine killed and three wounded. Round up these three and get them to the rear and get over the top as fast as you can."

Billy did so, catching up with his pals at the third line trench. When he got to the sixth line, a sh.e.l.l exploded in front of him, hitting him in the thigh and dislocating his hip bone, besides giving him a painful flesh wound. He was knocked unconscious and thrown into a sh.e.l.l hole.

The hole was almost filled with water, but the horseshoe luck of the Grant family was with him; when he fell in his head was just out of the water.

There he lay for eight hours, when the moaning of a wounded pal, three or four feet away, roused him and he pulled himself over to him; his pal's leg had been shattered from the knee down and Billy, in spite of his own condition, managed to drag him for some distance toward the dressing station, hopping on his left foot as he went and then resting a bit. Finally the pain became too great and he could go no further; every nerve and fiber of his aching body was at the breaking point of utter exhaustion, and the pain of the gangrene in his wound, inspired by the mud and dirt, gave him his finis.h.i.+ng touch and he dropped. Bill's pal then took up the struggle; he tottered to his sound foot and dragged him to the dressing station, where he dropped beside him.

The tremendous rush of wounded men waiting for treatment made it necessary for them to take their turn, and it was three-quarters of an hour before they could either of them get attention; the German wounded were treated in turn along with our own men, no favors being shown. This is in marked contradistinction to the untold and unspeakable brutality exercised upon our wounded prisoners in the German lines.

In due time they were carried to the rear by German prisoners, and then to England through the medium of the base hospitals and casualty clearing stations.

It is with pardonable pride I can say that they were not long in the hospital before they got word they were to receive a medal for their magnificent work.

Billy's splendid physical condition rapidly brought him through, although it was five months before he was really himself again, and he has since then gone back to the lines, where he was again wounded and in the hospital, and has again gone back and is still doing his bit.

On the following morning, I returned to the battery.

CHAPTER XIV

THE DEAD Sh.e.l.l[1]

A late September mist, more hazy than foggy in its character, enveloped the line following a heavy deluge of nearly two days that had poured almost a foot of water in our trenches, and in some spots where holes had formed in the trench-bed the water came gurgling over the knee. On the whole, however, conditions were very much less worse than wading in the water up to one's waist, which was our common lot in the earlier days of the war. As one of our wags had it, "Mud under me, water around me and h.e.l.l above me."

[Footnote 1: _A dead sh.e.l.l is one that explodes at a predetermined time after it strikes--from one minute to several hours._]

For nearly a month Fritz had been inordinately busy with his "dead"

sh.e.l.ls; we had no rest from his activities. If there was an interval of time when we were not being served with the "dead" messages, the hiatus was filled with whiz-bangs and gas. Whichever his fancy dictated, for us it was the Devil's choice.

Following orders, under the friendly shelter of night's curtain, I was leading my squad to our gun positions in the front line, about three miles distant, and in slipping and sliding over the muddy ground, pitted with holes in such a manner as to suggest to one's mind that the earth's surface had been scourged with an attack of elephantine smallpox, we could not help chuckling, in spite of the discomforts of our journey, at the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of a c.o.c.kney Tommy: "Strike me pink, Sergeant, but Fritz would think we was his pals if he only saw this goose-step work." This was an allusion to the fas.h.i.+on we had to employ in picking our steps on the lookout for holes. In this region the fair face of nature is distorted in every conceivable way with holes and ditches, some of the holes big enough to engulf a house, and it is no mere desire to avoid the water in these holes that compels us to pick our steps in this h.e.l.l-swept part of the world; it is the first law of nature, self preservation, for many a poor lad has been done to death in them by drowning.