Chapter III: Part I: The New "ubique" (3)

_July 14._--The "intense" bombardment began at 3.20 a.m.; the infantry attack was launched five minutes later. Even to attempt to describe this bombardment is beyond me. All that can be said is that there was such a _hell_ of noise that it was quite impossible to give any orders to the guns except by sending subalterns from the telephone dug-out to shout in the ear of each sergeant in turn. The battery (in company with perhaps a hundred others) barraged steadily, "lifting" fifty yards at a time from 3.25 till 7.15 a.m., by which time some 900 rounds had been expended and the paint on the guns was blistering from their heat. We gathered (chiefly from information supplied by the Child at the O.P., who got into touch with various staffs and signal officers) that the attack had been very successful. About 7.30 things slowed down a little and the men were able to get breakfast and some rest--half at a time, of course.

At midday cavalry moved up past us and affairs began to look really promising. Slept from 3 to 5 p.m., then got orders to reconnoitre an advanced position in front of Acid Drop Copse. (It may here be noted that from our first position this very copse was one of our most important targets at a range of nearly 4000 yards.) Chose a position, but could see that if and when we do occupy it, it is not going to be a health-resort. And, owing to the appalling state of the ground, it will take some driving to get there. Had a really good night's rest for once. Battery fired at intervals all night.

_July 15._--Attack continued. By 10.30 a.m. our guns had reached extreme range and we were forced to stop. (We started at 2700 in this position.) News very good: enemy much demoralised and surrendering freely. Practically no hostile shelling round us now--in fact, we are rather out of the battle for the moment. After lunch formed up the whole battery and thanked the men for the splendid way that they had worked. Shoon, whose arm has got worse, sent under protest to hospital. Desperately sorry to lose him.

In the afternoon switched to the left, where we are apparently still held up, and fired occasional salvos on Martinpuich. Ditto all night.

_July 16._--Everybody much concerned over a certain Switch Trench, which appears to be giving much trouble. Fired spasmodically (by map) on this trench throughout the day. In the evening all guns removed to a travelling Ordnance Workshop for overhaul--they need it. Late at night received orders to dig the Acid Drop Copse position next day, and occupy it as soon as the guns are sent back.

_July 17._--Took all officers and practically every man up to new position at 7 a.m. and started to dig. Shells all round us while we worked, but still no damage. This is too good to last. In the afternoon went out with George (another B.C.[11] in the brigade), the Child, and a telephonist to look for an O.P. whence to see this infernal Switch Trench. After a while parted from George, whom we last saw walking _forward_ from the villa, pausing occasionally to examine the country through his glasses. We learnt afterwards that he spent a really happy afternoon in No Man's Land carrying various wounded infantrymen into comparative safety! For which he has been duly recommended.

[11] Battery Commander.

Got into the old German second line (taken on the 14th), and found that it had been so completely battered by our bombardment that its captors had been obliged to dig an entirely new trench in front of it. This part of the world was full of gunner officers _all_ looking for an O.P. for Switch Trench. Returned to Acid Drop Copse about 5 p.m. and found that the digging had progressed well. Marched the men back to the old position, where they got tea and a rest. Teams came up about 8. Packed up and moved forward. Ground so desperately heavy that it became necessary to put ten horses in a team for the last pull up the hill to the position. Got all guns into action and twenty-one wagon loads of ammunition dumped by 11 p.m.--no casualties. Work of the men, who were much worn out, beyond all praise.

The noise in this place is worse than anything previously experienced. Being, as we are now, the most advanced battery in this particular sector, we get the full benefit of every gun that is behind us--and there are many. Moreover, the hostile artillery is extremely active, especially in the wood, where every shell comes down with a hissing rush that ends in an appalling crash. About midnight the Boche began to put over small "stink" shells. These seemed to flit through the air, and always landed with a soft-sounding "phutt" very like a dud. One burst just behind our trench and wounded a gunner in the foot. Found it impossible to sleep, owing to the din.

_July 18._--At 4 a.m. the hostile bombardment seemed so intense that, fearing a counter-attack, I got up to look round. Was reassured by Angelo, who had already done so. Beyond the fact that the wood was being systematically searched with five-nines, there was nothing much doing. Returned to bed, but still failed to sleep.

Fired at intervals throughout the day at various spots allotted by Brigade H.Q. Having no O.P. had to do everything from the map. Men all digging when not actually firing: position now nearly splinter-proof. A most unnerving day, however. A Hun barrage of "air-crumps" on the ridge in front of us by the Cutting, another one to our right along the edge of the wood, many five-nines over our heads into the dip behind us, and quite a few into Acid Drop Copse on our left rear.

In the afternoon we had half a dozen H.E. "pip-squeaks" very close at a moment when there were three wagons up replenishing ammunition. One burst within four yards of the lead horses--and no damage. This _cannot_ last. Orders for a big attack received at 4 p.m. At 5 counter-orders to the effect that we are to be relieved to-night. Fired continuously till about 8.30, then packed up and waited for the teams, which arrived about 9.

We were just congratulating ourselves on our luck, it being then rather a quiet moment and three out of the four teams already on the move, when a big "air-crump" burst straight above our heads, wounding the sergeant-major in the thigh. Put him up on the last limber and sent the guns off as fast as they could go--ground too bad to gallop. Two more shells followed us down the valley, but there were no further casualties. At the bottom missed the Child: sent to inquire if he was at the head of the column--no. Was beginning to get nervous, when he strolled up from the rear, accompanied by the officers' mess cook.

"Pity to leave these behind," he observed, throwing down a kettle and a saucepan!

Nervy work loading up our stores and kits on to the G.S. wagon, but the enemy battery had returned to its favourite spot by the Cutting, and nothing further worried us. Marched back to the wagon line (about five miles). Much amused by the tenacity with which one of the sergeants clung to a jar of rum which he had rescued from the position.[12] At the wagon line collected the whole battery together, and while waiting went across to see the sergeant-major in the dressing-station. Am afraid, though it is nothing serious, that it will be a case of "Blighty" for him. A very serious loss to the battery, as he has been absolutely invaluable throughout this show.

[12] This jar was afterwards found to contain lime-juice!

Marched to our old bivouac at the swampy wood, but were allotted a reasonable space outside it this time. Fell into bed, beat to the world, at 3.30 a.m.

_July 19._--Much to do, though men and horses are tired to death. Moved off at 6 p.m. and did a twenty-mile night march, arriving at another bivouac at 2 a.m. Horses just about at their last gasp. Poor old things, they have been in harness almost continuously throughout the battle bringing up load after load of ammunition at all hours of the day and night.

_July 20._--Took over a new position (trench warfare style) just out of the battle area as now constituted, and settled down to--rest.

* * * * *

The above is an accurate, though, I fear, far too personal record of the doings of one particular unit during a fortnight's continuous fighting. It is in no way an attempt to describe a battle as a whole. That is a feat beyond my powers--and, I think, beyond the powers of any one actually engaged. Thinking things over now, in the quiet of a well-made dug-out, I realise that the predominant impressions left upon my mind, in ascending order of magnitude so to speak, are: dirt, stink, horrors, lack of sleep, funk--and the amazing endurance of the men. In the first article of this series I wrote: "But this I know now--the human material with which I have to deal is good enough." It is. I grant that our casualties were slight (though in this respect we were extremely lucky), and that compared with the infantry our task was the easier one of "standing the strain" rather than of "facing the music." But still, think of the strain on the detachments, serving their guns night and day almost incessantly for fourteen days on end. In the first week alone we fired the amount of ammunition which suffices for a battery in peace time for thirty years! They averaged five hours' sleep in the twenty-four, these men, throughout the time; and they dug three separate positions--all in heavy ground. Nor must one forget the drivers, employed throughout in bringing up ammunition along roads pitted with holes, often shelled and constantly blocked with traffic.

The New Ubique begins to be worthy of the Old.