Chapter III: Part 3

There was constant movement among the English, French, and Belgians to get away. Many of them had been brought into touch with Miss Cavell at one or other of her hospitals and they seem to have begged for her help. She had means of helping them and she did not hesitate to use them. She did not count the cost to herself. Here were men who, if taken, would most probably be shot out of hand. What could a good woman do but help them to escape? She would thereby break the German military law, but she would be faithful to the higher law of kindness.

It was afterwards told against her by the Germans that she helped 130 men to leave Belgium. We do not know whether this number is correct, but if it were halved the record would still be a proud one.

After a time the Germans began to be suspicious of Miss Cavell. Spies were ordered to watch her. One of these men, it is said, went to ask her to help him to leave the country; she listened to his story, promised to help him, and then in accordance with his “duty” he betrayed her to his higher officers. She was made a prisoner on the 5th of August 1915.

In the military prison she was closely confined and no one was allowed to see her. She was considered a most dangerous person, as indeed she was when it was a question of mercy and pity before obedience to a brutal law. The Germans tell that she made no effort to hide or excuse the fact that she had helped men to escape from the country. She had acted as she did, knowing full well that she was breaking the rule of the Germans. It was said that she fully expected to be caught some day and to suffer punishment, but that she thought it would take the form of imprisonment for a time.

There was living in Brussels at this time a Mr. Brand Whitlock who was American Minister, that is to say, he was in charge of American affairs in Belgium. As soon as he heard that Miss Cavell had been arrested, he wrote to the German officers and did all he could to get a fair trial for the lady. The Germans said that no one would be allowed to see Miss Cavell, but that she should have a trial in accordance with the soldier’s law.

Mr. Whitlock was told that Miss Cavell had said that she was “guilty”; that she had hidden in her house French, English, and Belgians who were anxious to get away from Belgium; and that she had given them money and other help, sometimes providing guides to conduct them to the frontier.

Her trial began on the 7th October, and thirty-four other prisoners were tried with her. The language used in the court was German, and when a question was put to Miss Cavell it was translated into French, with which she was familiar. She was allowed to have a lawyer to speak in her defence, but she did not see him until the day of the trial, so that his help was of no great service to her. She had, however, confessed her “fault,” so that it did not matter. She probably thought of cases in English military history where women had been found guilty of military offences and had been imprisoned; and the punishment seemed light when she thought of the young lives that she had saved and of the mothers and sisters and sweethearts who would bless her name until their dying day.

Perhaps she was as much surprised as were many other people when she was sentenced to die. Before sentence was passed upon her she was asked why she had helped soldiers to go to England. She replied quite simply that she thought if she had not done so they would have been shot by the Germans; and she considered she only did her duty to her country in saving their lives. The order of the court was that she should be shot the next morning at two o’clock.

During the following evening the American Minister made almost frantic efforts to save her life. He was nobly helped by the Spanish Minister, but all their efforts were of no avail. Mr. Gahan, the British chaplain in Brussels, was, however, allowed to see Miss Cavell in her prison.

“I found her,” he afterwards wrote, “perfectly calm and resigned. She said that she wished her friends to know that she willingly gave her life for her country and said, ‘I have no fear nor shrinking; I have seen death so often that it is not strange or fearful to me.’

“She further said, ‘I thank God for this ten weeks’ quiet before the end. Life has always been hurried and full of difficulty. This time of rest has been a great mercy. They have all been very kind to me here. But this I would say, standing as I do in view of God and eternity, I realise that patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards any one.’

“We sat quietly talking until it was time for me to go. She gave me parting messages for relations and friends. Then I said, ‘Good-bye,’ and she smiled and said, ‘We shall meet again.’”

Next morning she was shot. The place of her burial was kept secret, for the Germans feared that the Belgians would make it a rallying place for rebellion. In this way they showed that they knew they had acted not only inhumanly but foolishly.

The execution of Edith Cavell roused great anger throughout the world, except of course in Germany. British and French soldiers fought with greater courage with her name upon their lips. From every civilised country came protests against the shooting of a woman whose only military offence was that she had followed the promptings of a tender heart.

Her story was told in every British school and the Education Minister of France gave orders that the teachers of Paris should also tell it to their pupils. “The great and sublime figure of Edith Cavell,” he said, “stands forth among the black horrors of the war as a living image of outraged humanity.” Her death and the way it was regarded in Germany reminded the Allies once again that in fighting Germany they were fighting barbarism and the spirit which aims at “success” at any price.

In our just anger at the executioners of this noble lady let us not miss the true lesson of her splendid life and her heroic death.

She loved England first as became an Englishwoman. That was made quite clear in all that she said and did. She loved the friends of England too--all those who were fighting for the same great cause. That also was perfectly clear.

But mark once more that noble utterance spoken on the last evening of her life, “This I would say, standing as I do in view of God and eternity, _I realise that patriotism is not enough_. I must have no hatred or bitterness towards any one.”

We know that she had helped German wounded and had shown them all the care and tenderness that the sight of a suffering man could arouse in her. She did this, not because she had any desire to help the rulers of Germany whose ways she hated, but because the men were human beings.

Her kindness to German wounded and her last words which are twice quoted above were her woman’s protest against the folly and the wickedness of all war. She could put aside with a quiet smile the pompous military rule which laid down that certain things were to be done because men were living in a state of war. She followed a higher rule, the law of pity and of mercy, remembering the words of the great poet of her beloved country:

“Earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice.”

JACK CORNWELL, THE BOY WHO “CARRIED ON”

One day, in the summer of 1917, a group of people were standing before a large picture which was hung upon the wall of one of the rooms in the Royal Academy.

The painting showed a wounded sailor-boy standing on the deck of a warship near the shield of a naval gun while shells were bursting all round him, and the gun’s crew were lying dead or wounded at his feet.

“What did he do?” asked a lady after looking closely at the picture for some time. “Oh,” said a gentleman who was with her, “he just stuck it, you know.” That was all that the boy had done, “just stuck it” at the post of honour, although hurt so cruelly that he afterwards died.

But his simple action had been enough to rouse the admiration of the whole British Empire, to win for him the Victoria Cross, and to afford an example to every boy and man in the British Navy. There were many brave deeds done in the Battle of Jutland, but when Admiral Beatty afterwards made out his report it was John Travers Cornwell whom he picked out as at least one glorious example.

The boy won his Cross at the Battle of Jutland Bank, which began in the afternoon of Wednesday, May 31st, of the year 1916. This fight was one of the most important naval battles of the Great War and might have been as momentous as Trafalgar if the Germans had not retired when Admiral Jellicoe came up to the aid of Admiral Beatty with the Grand Fleet.

We can form some idea of the terrible nature of the battle from the British losses. These included six of the larger ships and eight destroyers, as well as a large number of brave British sailors. But the German losses were very much heavier, both in ships and men.

One of the British ships engaged in the fight was H.M.S. _Chester_, the crew of which included the boy John Travers Cornwell, whose age was about 16½ years. He belonged to a party whose duty it was to work one of the guns, and during the first part of the fighting he received a very bad wound.

But he stayed at his post in a most exposed position, and went quietly on with his work though the men of the gun crew fell, one by one, dead or dying around him. He was hurt again and again, but he did not give up. He stood waiting for orders with the speaking tube at his ears, until the fight was over, when he was taken tenderly below.

His captain afterwards wrote of him to his mother:--“The wounds which resulted in his death were received in the first few minutes of the action. He remained steady at his most exposed post at the gun, waiting for orders.... He felt that he might be needed--as indeed he might have been--so he stayed there, standing and waiting under heavy fire, with just his own brave heart and God’s help to support him.”

After the battle the boy was taken to a hospital at Grimsby. He was attended with the greatest care, but his wounds were too severe to be cured. Cornwell had indeed been “faithful unto death.”

Before he died some one asked him what he and his mates were doing during that terrible time. “Oh,” said the dying boy, “we were just carrying on.”

HEROES OF LOOS

Let us begin with a heroine if only to remind ourselves that it was not only the British who showed the most wonderful heroism on the Western Front, but the French also, not excluding the French women and girls. When the British re-took the French town of Loos in the autumn of 1915, they found a ready helper in a French girl of seventeen years named Emilienne Moreau, who had lived there during the German occupation.

She shared the work which women did so nobly during the Great War, that of nursing the wounded. This was done under the most trying conditions, for the fighting was still going on and all was din and confusion around her. In spite of the heavy bombardment, some of the people of Loos had stayed behind in their shattered houses; and one of the first duties of our troops on entering the town was to carry terrified women and children into places of cover.

Emilienne Moreau did more than tend the wounded. She took a hand in the fighting, young as she was. The Germans fought every foot of the way, but she helped them to go. She killed no less than five of them by throwing hand grenades and using a revolver. At a later date she was decorated by a French general with the Military Cross, which might be described as the V.C. of France.

The fighting in this quarter was marked by the usual deeds of heroism which one had come to expect from British troops. At one place the British attacked, but were forced to fall back. They took shelter behind a parapet, and when they had time to think of what had happened, Captain Kerr of the R.A.M.C. looked over the top of the barrier and saw two wounded men lying in the open. The enemy were at close range and were firing heavily; but Captain Kerr took the hero’s chance, jumped over the parapet, and brought both the men to a place of safety.

Our men were gassed in this engagement, and some of the most heroic and desperate fighting was done by soldiers suffering from the effects of the hideous yellow cloud. The King’s Own Scottish Borderers were shaken by the gas and seemed to waver in their trenches. Piper Daniel Laidlaw saw this and at once jumped upon the parapet, careless of his life.

Then he marched up and down, blowing his pipes with great vigour. The men lifted their heads. The sound of the pipes seemed to rouse them to fresh efforts. They leapt from the ditch “over the top” and rushed to the attack as if driven by madness. But a bullet found Piper Laidlaw and he fell wounded. His work was done, however, and he lived to receive the Victoria Cross as a reward for his bravery.

Meanwhile, officers and men in every part of the field were “carrying on” in the most wonderful way. Lieutenant Hollwey’s business was to lay a telephone wire and to do so under heavy fire. He had not gone far before he was wounded in the leg. He took little notice of the wound and went steadily on with his work, until another bullet fractured his leg. Then he lay down and waited for no less than sixteen hours. Men were so desperately busy all round him that he refused to be helped while more important work was to be done.

Sergeant Wells immediately took charge of his platoon when the officer in command had been killed, and the men followed him to within a short distance of the German barbed wire. As they ran across the open, many were killed and wounded, and when Wells was last seen he was shouting to his men to pull themselves together and rush the German line. The fire was, however, too severe, and the men were forced to take cover; but the brave sergeant had done all that man could do and had given his life as an offering to duty.

The Germans had laid mines under the church tower of Loos and shells were bursting round it. At any moment the mines might explode and bring down the masonry upon the heads of our men. So Major Blogg of the Royal Engineers went forward through the storm of shells, found the fuse and cut it in two.

Many heroic deeds were done amongst the barbed wire in that battle. At one place the Royal Warwicks were stopped by an entanglement when they were near to the first line of German trenches. It was daylight and the men were in a very exposed place while shells and bullets whistled round them. Then Private Vickers stood up in his place and coolly cut the wire in several points so that his comrades were able to force their way through.

So the “great game” went on until Loos was finally and completely in British hands, after a brave resistance by our determined foes.

HOW MOORHOUSE BROUGHT IN HIS REPORT

The railway at Courtrai was a very important part of the German lines of communication; but it was not out of reach of the Allied airmen. Orders were sent out that the line at this place was to be destroyed and W. B. R. Moorhouse was chosen to do the work.

His machine was a biplane and he was to go alone so as to be able to carry as much ammunition as possible. The risks did not trouble him, for he was of the type of airman that asks for risk as a kind of spice to the adventure.

Off he flew, and before long he came within sight of the junction at Courtrai. After a while, he switched off his engine and descended to a height of about 250 feet above the ground. By this time he had been sighted by the German gunners and riflemen, and at this low altitude he made an easy mark.

Carefully guiding his machine to a position above the railway points, he let fall a large bomb. It hit the mark at which he aimed and he knew that he had done enough damage to delay the German movements for some time. Then he began to think about his return.

He turned the nose of his machine skywards and began to climb. Up, up he went, while the bullets whistled and the shells burst around him. But one of the bullets found its mark. He was struck in the thigh and it was not long before he knew that his wound would cost him his life. But he had his report to make and he pulled himself together for the last effort.

It was hard to go on that lonely journey. Blood was flowing from his wound, and twice he felt everything turn black and cold sweats break out upon him. But he stuck gamely to his task and managed somehow to keep the control of his craft.

The distance back to his own lines was about forty miles, and in spite of his wound he landed easily and without mishap. Then he made his report to those who had sent him out, and only just in time; for it was necessary to carry him off to the hospital, where he died after a short time. The Cross was afterwards awarded to him for this feat of endurance and courage.

LORAINE’S FIGHT IN THE AIR

The airmen might be described as the “eyes of the army.” They go up over the enemy’s lines and find out what is going on; then they come back--if they escape the guns of the enemy--and make their reports to the British officers.

One day in November 1915, Captain Robert Loraine set out with an observer to do some work of this kind. He was well used to the task and had found out many things of great use to the commanding officers.

After a time he saw an enemy machine ahead of him and moved quickly within range. Both machines opened fire at the same moment, and blazed away at each other for some time. Then Loraine’s gun and that of his companion both got out of order, and the two men were at the mercy of the Germans.

But only for a short time; Loraine’s companion managed to get his gun to work again, and kept up a brisk reply to the German fire. All at once the German “bus” dived, and Loraine dived after it. Then a flame leapt up from the enemy aeroplane and in a moment it was falling to the earth, a burning wreck.

Loraine rose once more and in a few moments saw another German plane ahead of him. His observer was by this time almost frozen, but the two men took the risk and chased the new foe with the intention of giving battle. The German paused as if to make off, then accepted the challenge, and the battle was joined.

It lasted for about five minutes, and then the German pilot was hit and the second machine fell to the ground. By this time Loraine’s observer was feeling very much warmer and ready to deal with any number of enemy aircraft.

All at once, however, the engine of the British machine gave out. There was nothing for it but to come down to earth and that within the German lines! This was done without mishap, and then the two men pushed their machine towards the British lines, keeping a sharp lookout meanwhile for enemy snipers.

By and by they came to the place where the second German aeroplane had fallen. They found that the pilot was dead and his companion very severely wounded. Loraine stayed long enough to take from the German machine all that might prove useful to himself, and then set out again to take his “prisoner” to hospital. The strange little party reached the British lines without further adventure and the German was soon in the hands of the British Red Cross.

He was carefully tended, and when he had been made as comfortable as possible he asked how soon he would be taken to be tortured!

Loraine’s adventure was typical of the kind of work that went on in the air during all the operations of the Western Front. As in the days of King Arthur of olden story--

“Every morning brought a noble chance.”

“A GLORIOUS BAND”

“The Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood-red banner streams afar:
Who follows in His train?”

The words of the old soldiers’ hymn must often have come into the minds of our brave men as they fought and died to win freedom for the world. And, indeed, they were doing no less than this; for all men knew that if the Germans were not beaten there would be no more real freedom for mankind.

There was one day in the month of September of the year 1916 when the King granted no less than twenty Victoria Crosses. Some of them could not be worn by the brave men who had won them for they had been “faithful unto death”; and their medals were sent to those whom they had left behind to mourn for them and to rejoice when they forgot their sorrow that they had died so nobly.

The newspaper on the following morning was a matter for gladness and sadness; for it contained a splendid record of heroic deeds which made one feel proud to be a Briton.

There was the brave story of Major Loudoun Shand of a Yorkshire regiment. He led an attack upon an enemy trench and his men were met by such a severe machine-gun fire that at first they were dazed and hesitated. But the major leapt first upon the parapet of the trench, and then turning helped some of his men to scramble up. The others followed and then fought bravely and well, the major calling words of cheer to them as they pressed on, driving the foe before them.

Then he received a fatal wound. “Prop me up,” he said to one of his men, and they supported him against the wall of a trench. There he sat, bleeding to death; but his voice was heard loud and clear to the last, urging and cheering on his men, that they might play their part as he himself had done.

Then there was Lieutenant Cather of the Royal Irish Fusiliers, who seemed to covet honour as some men wish for gold. After a severe fight he searched the wide space between the front lines of trenches which was known as “No Man’s Land,” looking for wounded men. All the time the space was swept by the guns of the enemy and at each step he risked his own life.

But on he went, searching, and listening for the groans of the wounded. He found three men and brought them in, one after the other. Then he gave up the task for it was midnight and even he needed rest. But at eight o’clock the next morning he was at work again.

He brought in yet another man who had spent the night in the open, wounded and lonely; and he carried water to others though the ground was again swept by the enemy’s terrible fire. At half-past ten that morning he went out yet again to carry water to a wounded man, and this time he was killed.

“Greater love hath no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Second-Lieutenant Bell of a Yorkshire regiment found that a certain machine-gun troubled his company greatly during an attack. So he crept up a trench with two other daring men, rushed across the open under heavy fire, and made for the machine-gun. The gunner was shot and the three men then threw bombs at the gun until it was completely wrecked. A little later Bell met his death in the course of duty, and laid down his arms like a “very gallant gentleman.”

Sergeant-Major Carter of the Royal Sussex was eager to be in the post of honour. With a few men as keen as himself he worked his way to the enemy’s second line of trenches. The men were all forced back to the first line, but on the way they captured and destroyed a machine-gun which was worrying their comrades. Then Carter looked about for more work and was soon busily engaged in carrying wounded men to places of safety. As he was performing this work of mercy he was mortally wounded and died in a few minutes.

Corporal Sanders of a West Yorks regiment was another eager spirit who was cut off with a company of thirty men from the rest of the regiment. He quickly placed his men so that they could defend themselves. Then he made up a bombing party and urged his little band to hold out at all costs and not to give themselves up as prisoners.

The men remained in their position during the whole of the next night, and on the following morning they were attacked by the enemy. The Germans made two bombing attacks in strength, but both were beaten off. Sanders’ men held out all that day, and were not relieved until they had stood their ground for no less than thirty-six hours.

During all that time the men had neither food nor water. The water in their bottles was given to the wounded in the true British manner, which, you may remember, was followed by Sir Philip Sidney. The corporal brought back nineteen of his party to the British trenches when at last he was relieved.

Gunner Cooke of the Australian Infantry showed that he was a true son of Britain, able to fight and to die with the best. He was ordered with his gun and gun-team to a very dangerous part of the line. Putting his horses to the gallop he quickly took up the position allotted to him. He came under heavy fire, as he had expected, and his men soon fell around him one by one. At last he was the only man left, but he “stuck it” like a hero, working his gun single-handed and doing good shooting. Then he was observed and help was at once rushed out to him. His friends found him dead at his post, one more hero of the glorious band who counted honour first and left safety to take care of itself.

Private Faulds, of the South African Infantry, went out with a bombing party under Lieutenant Craig which tried to rush forty yards of open ground between the two front trenches. The men at once came under very heavy rifle and machine-gun fire, and several of them were almost instantly killed or wounded. Lieutenant Craig was badly hurt and lay midway between the trenches in open ground.

Faulds was now back in his own trench, and looking out saw the officer lying on the ground. Without the loss of a moment, he leapt over his own parapet followed closely by two comrades as unselfish as himself. It was full daylight and the open space between the trenches was still swept by heavy fire; but the wounded officer was carefully lifted and carried safely “home.”

Two days later Faulds performed a similar act of unselfish heroism. At this time the fire across the open space between the trenches was so severe that stretcher-bearers were not allowed to go out to pick up the wounded, as it meant certain death for them. But Faulds leapt over the parapet, picked up a man, brought him safely in, and then carried him for half a mile to a dressing station. Private Jackson, of the Australian Infantry, did similar work of the noblest kind, and even went out to help in bringing men under cover after one of his arms had been blown off!

Private McFadzean belonged to the Royal Irish Regiment and gave an example of the most devoted courage and readiness ever reported in the annals of war.

One day he was in a trench with a number of his mates and was opening a box of bombs before an attack. The box slipped down in the crowded trench, some of the bombs fell out, and the safety pins of two of them were dislodged. When the pin is out the bomb goes off after a certain fixed time.

Without a moment’s hesitation, McFadzean threw himself on top of the bombs. There was a loud explosion and the brave man was blown to pieces; but he had fallen in such a way that the explosion spent itself in killing him only. Another man was injured, but McFadzean’s devotion had saved the lives of all the men in the trench.

Then there was Drummer Ritchie of the Seaforth Highlanders who, without instructions, climbed upon the parapet of the enemy’s trench and sounded the “Charge” under heavy machine-gun fire. He did not do this because he wished to make a stirring picture, but because the men with him, having lost their leaders, were beginning to waver and fall back. The sound of the drum-beat rallied them once more and they sprang forward to the attack as though following the lead of the bravest of officers. The same drummer afterwards showed great coolness and courage in carrying messages from one company to another across the fire-swept “No Man’s Land.”

Private Veale of the Devon Regiment heard that a wounded officer was lying between the two front trenches. He went out in search of him, and found him lying amidst growing corn about fifty yards from the enemy’s line. The wounded man was too heavy for Veale to carry, but he dragged him to a shell-hole, went back to his trench for water, and at the risk of his life took it out to the wounded man.

When he came back again he asked for help to carry the wounded man in and two of his comrades volunteered to go out with him. One was killed in a few moments and the fire was so severe that the other men went back to await a better opportunity. At dusk, Veale and two others went out yet again, and saw an enemy patrol approaching. Veale ran back and brought out a Lewis gun with which he covered his companions while they brought the wounded officer “home.”

These are only a few episodes out of numberless examples.--

“They bowed their necks the death to feel.
Who follows in their train?”

THE WORK OF THE MINE-SWEEPERS

The British Isles are surrounded by very shallow seas in which are taken enormous quantities of fish that are good for food. In the work of catching these fish large numbers of men are employed, especially in the North Sea fishing-ground known as the Dogger Bank, where the water is very shallow.

These North Sea fishermen come from the East Coast counties not only of England but also of Scotland, right away to the most northerly parts. Their work is very hard and dangerous, but it makes them strong, brave, self-reliant, and able “to go anywhere and do anything.” It is from the families of such men as these that we get most of our merchant sailors and the “Jack Tars” of our great Navy.

When the chiefs of our Navy wanted men and boats for mine-sweeping and for catching submarines they turned to our North Sea fishermen. They took great numbers of the fishing trawlers and their crews and set them to perform these very dangerous tasks. Some of them were sent far away to the Eastern Mediterranean on the same duty. Other trawlers were drawn from the West Coast fisheries, and the men of Devon share with the men of the Eastern counties the credit for much dangerous work well done.

Two of these trawlers would set out side by side to “sweep” the sea in a part where mines were supposed to have been laid. A rope was attached to the vessels and when a mine was brought to the surface it was exploded by gunfire. The aeroplane was often of great use in work of this kind. It ought not to be necessary to insist on the dangerous character of this work. It required all the courage which might have won the V.C. and this was shown during every hour of the day and night. As a West Country skipper said one day, as he stood on the bridge of his trawler in the Eastern Mediterranean, “What would King Garge ’ave done without these ’ere trawlers?” What indeed?

“These ’ere trawlers” were also largely used for netting submarines. The nets used were made of steel and some of them were about a hundred miles long! They were run out from trawler to trawler so as to make a kind of open-work steel wall below the surface of the water. Each trawler carried a gun both fore and aft; and when a submarine was caught in the net it was raised to the surface and promptly dealt with by the expert naval gunners who had been allotted to each trawler or by an attendant destroyer or seaplane.

A well-known writer and poet tells a story which shows what dangers the submarine hunters were called upon to face:

“On a few occasions, the hunters have themselves been trapped. Three men, taken off a trawler by a submarine, endured an eighty hours’ nightmare under the sea that shattered the mind of one and left lasting traces on the other two. Again and again, revolvers were put to their heads and they were ordered, on pain of death, to tell all they knew of our naval plans.

“They saw a good deal of the life on a German submarine and noted that the German crew on this boat at any rate were very ‘jumpy,’ too jumpy even to take a square meal. They munched biscuits at odd moments at their stations.

“On the third morning they heard guns going overhead, and watched the Germans handing out shells to their own guns. Finally a torpedo was fired and they heard it take effect. Then they emerged into the red wash of dawn, and saw only the floating wreckage of the big ship that had been sunk; and amongst the wreckage a small boat. They were bundled into this; told they were free to go to England or Nineveh; and the submarine left them--three longshore fishermen, who had passed through the latest invention of the modern scientific devil, two who could still pull at the oars, but the other too crazy to steer.”[5]

[5] Mr. Alfred Noyes in the _Daily Telegraph_, with
acknowledgments.

* * * * *

Here is a skipper’s account of his exciting experience in a mine-sweeper off the entrance to the Dardanelles:

“One night we went with lights out up to the Narrows. They let us get right in and as we turned round to take our sweeps up, one of our number was blown up. Then they peppered us from each side from 1½ to 2 miles.

“We heard cries for help. I said, ‘We shall have to do the best we can and go back and pick up.’ There was no waiting, no saying, ‘Who shall go?’ As soon as I called for volunteers three jumped in. I kept the vessel as close as I could to shelter the boat. I did not think any would come back, but they did come back. No one was hit and I said, ‘Now we’ll get the boat in.’ Just as we got the boat nicely clear of the water, along came a shot and knocked it to splinters.

“I shouted, ‘All hands keep under cover as much as you can,’ and I got on the bridge and we went full steam ahead. I could not tell you what it was like with floating and sunken mines and shots everywhere. We got knocked about, the mast almost gone, rigging gone, and she was riddled right along the starboard side. One of the hands we picked up had his left arm smashed with shrapnel.”[6]

[6] From the _Times History of the War_, with acknowledgments.

“I am afraid,” said an English statesman in the House of Commons, “that I cannot do justice to all that I feel about the work of these men. It is little known to the public. They do not work in the presence of great bodies of men, to admire and applaud them for their gallantry. Small crews in stormy seas suddenly brought face to face with unexpected peril, they never seem to me to fail. No danger, no difficulty is too great for them. The debt of this country to them cannot be counted.”

“THE PADRE”

The army or navy chaplain was usually known as “the padre,” and the use of the familiar name (which means “the father”) shows how these brave men had won the hearts of the soldiers. This is not surprising for the chaplains were not only to be found at “the back of the front,” but shared many of the dangers faced so bravely by the fighting men of the first line.

“We have a chaplain,” wrote one, “who comes up into the front line every day no matter how dangerous and rough things may be; in fact he always makes for the most dangerous places on principle.

“One day, during a very hot bombardment, instead of leaving the trenches, the ‘padre,’ as he is called, strode up and down the line, cheering and helping.... All the men worship him. I shall try to find out his name, but at present he is ‘the padre,’ the simplest, finest gentleman I have ever met, and he has stood the test.”

The presence of a man whose religion made him absolutely fearless must have been very helpful to those whose duty it was to do the fighting. One of the chaplains, at least, laid down his life while engaged in this work of encouragement. He was in the danger zone for some time doing all he could to cheer his men. Then he made his way to the ambulance car and sat down near to it to say good-bye to some of his comrades, for he was going home for a time on leave. Suddenly a great shell burst close by and he was so badly wounded that he died shortly afterwards.

Another chaplain, the Reverend Edward Noel Mellish of Deptford, won the V.C. for deeds of great heroism. Our men had made a push and had captured a portion of the German front trench. But the German fire made the space between the two lines a very field of death. For three days there was heavy fighting in this quarter, and there were many casualties among the British soldiers.

The chaplain took upon himself a duty which was not part of his regular work. He had watched man after man fall wounded in that fire-swept belt of land, and he made it his business to go out to help them. During the first day he brought in no less than ten men who had been wounded. As soon as he reached them he did what he could to dress their awful wounds and to revive them. Three men were killed as he tended them. But he brought in the others to a place of safety.

That night the company to which he was attached was relieved and another took its place. But the chaplain did not leave his post. During the next day he went on with his work and brought in no less than twelve men! When night had fallen on the third day, he got together a party of volunteers and led them out to rescue the wounded. Many poor fellows were brought into a place of safety.

Chaplain Parham won the Military Cross for work of a similar character in Gallipoli during August 1915. He was attached to a brigade which took part in an attack on the Turks at Suvla during which the shrubs on the battlefield were fired by shells. With the help of his servant he rescued many wounded men and carried them to a place of safety beyond reach of the flames. On the next day he got together from his own brigade a party of volunteers to act as stretcher bearers; and the devoted little band did excellent work in bringing in the wounded under heavy fire.

Another chaplain, Father Finn, lost his life at the Battle of the Landing on the 25th of April 1915.

“Father Finn,” wrote a correspondent, “was one of the first to give his life in the landing at Sedd-ul-Bahr. In answer to the appeals that were made to him not to leave the ship (the _River Clyde_), he replied, ‘A priest’s place is beside the dying soldier,’ whereupon he stepped on to the gangway, immediately receiving a bullet through the chest.

“Undeterred, he made his way across the lighters, receiving another bullet in the thigh, and still another in the leg. By the time he reached the beach he was riddled with bullets, but in spite of the great pain he must have been suffering he went about his duties speaking words of consolation to the dying men. It was while in the act of helping one of his men that he was killed by the bursting of a shell.”[7]

[7] From a letter published in the _Times History of the War_,
with acknowledgments.

LIEUTENANT ROBINSON AND THE ZEPPELIN

Warneford caught his Zeppelin in Belgium because it was flying low just before getting near to its shed. In the late summer of 1916, a young English airman brought down another of these airships when it was flying high over London to avoid the fire from the anti-aircraft guns.

There were many air raids on the capital during 1915 and 1916 and a great deal of damage was done. The time chosen for these visits was usually the dead of night, when there was no moon and very little wind. People got used to saying to each other, with a kind of thrill, “This is a good night for a raid.” And at one time most people went to bed fully expecting to be called up some time after midnight for an adventure of a kind which was quite new to London and to peaceful England.

The authorities gave instructions to the people what to do if a raid should take place. They were very careful to tell them to keep indoors and not to gather in crowds. But when the airships came many people felt that they must get out of the house to see what was going on; and one morning in September 1916 great crowds of Londoners saw a sight which had never before been seen in the long and varied history of the great city.

They saw a burning Zeppelin fall from the sky like a meteor. And it was not until some days later that they learnt that it had been brought down by Lieutenant W. L. Robinson, who received the Victoria Cross for his skill and bravery, which were indeed of a very special kind.

About midnight on Saturday, September 2nd, London airmen were warned that Zeppelins were on their way to the city. At once a number of them went up in the pitch-black darkness and circled round and round in search of the “terror that flieth by night,” Lieutenant Robinson was one of the number and all were keen to do something great for the honour of their corps. For the British airman does not work to win praise for himself, but to make a fine tradition for that branch of the military service to which he belongs.

The airmen had been up for quite two hours flying about among the darting searchlights before the Zeppelins arrived. There were two of the airships at first and it was known at the time that others were on the way; but the rest did not appear for a reason which will be evident when this story has been told.

The defenders of London relied upon three things: (1) the large number of anti-aircraft guns which had been placed on the high places round about the city; (2) the searchlights which gave the gunners their chance to aim properly; (3) the airmen who had learnt a great deal about this strange kind of fighting since Warneford brought down the airship in Belgium.

The task of these airmen was a very difficult one and they were exposed to more dangers and risks than many people imagined. It was, in the first place, a severe trial of strength and nerve-power to remain in the air so long before the Zeppelins arrived. Then they were in danger from the guns of the airships which had often sent aeroplanes toppling nose foremost to the ground, while they usually carried only one machine-gun apiece, as well as a small supply of bombs.

It was further necessary that an airman should rise to a very great height to get above a Zeppelin; for without getting some distance above it he could not make any use of his bombs at all. At this great height it is very cold even on a summer morning, and this increases the difficulty of the airman’s task.

Moreover, it was a fight between the skill and endurance of one man against about twenty-eight, which was the usual number of a Zeppelin crew.

Robinson was, however, equal to the task. He boldly attacked the first monster which came within his range, but had no success for several reasons. So he turned to the other, and by skilful management of his machine contrived to get above it in such a position that he could drop a bomb on the envelope. By this time many thousands of people were gathered together in the open spaces round about London; but the fight took place at such a great height that they only saw the effect of Robinson’s work.

What they saw, however, was stirring and exciting enough. Suddenly a light appeared on the Zeppelin. At first some of the watchers thought it was the searchlight of the airship. But as they gazed they saw the light grow larger; and soon they were aware that the envelope of the ship was in flames.

A tongue of fire swept up the structure which then turned on end and fell to earth in a curve like that of a meteor. And as it fell there rose from thousands of British throats such a cheer as man had never heard before. It was a sound to be remembered to one’s dying day; a shout of triumph mingled with awe and wonder, as if men watched the very judgment of God.

The airship fell into a field at Cuffley, not far from London, and it was fortunate that the blazing mass did not come down in a crowded district. It burnt for nearly two hours, watched by a crowd of people, and every few moments there was an explosion as the flames reached a store of machine-gun cartridges.

There was some danger of greater explosions, for the bombs might take fire at any moment; but this did not prevent the men who were watching from trying to put out the fire. The last of the flames were extinguished with water from the village well. Such was the end of Count Zeppelin’s splendid ship, one of the fleet with which he had vowed he would destroy London.

After a time the watchers saw an aeroplane wheeling round in graceful flight above their heads. It came to earth some distance away, and the airman alighting, walked quickly to the place where the wreck of the Zeppelin was lying. He looked carefully at the wreckage and then turned away. And no one knew at the moment that this was Lieutenant Robinson himself.

THE CANADIANS AT VIMY RIDGE

The Allies wished to clear the Germans from the mining district of Northern France of which Lens is the chief town. But their way was barred by the enemy who held Vimy Ridge. In 1915, the French tried to capture this ridge and fought for it with desperate bravery; but they were not able to drive out the enemy from his strong position. In the spring of 1917, the British took up the task; and it was the Canadians who were the chief means of completing it.

Very careful preparation was made before the fighting began. The British staff officers got some plasticine and made a careful model of the ridge and the places round about it. This model was made to scale, chiefly from the observations of the airmen. It showed the trenches, roads, tracks, railways, and streams, as well as all the ups and downs of the country.

Staff officers and those who were to lead in the attack on Vimy Ridge spent many hours in studying this model. Such careful plans were made for the attack that when the fighting did take place the losses on the British side were light, sad as they were. After the ridge had been won, the model was compared with the ground, and was found to be wonderfully correct.

Vimy Ridge itself was a piece of ground about 600 feet above sea level at its highest point. The Germans had turned it into a kind of fortress of very great strength. The western face of the ridge formed a more or less gentle slope, while the eastern side was steeper. Away to the east stretched a wide plain like a prairie; and it was in order to command this plain with artillery that the British wished to take the ridge.

They knew well enough how heavy was the task before them. The Germans had not held the position for more than two years without making the best of it as a means of checking their foes. The slopes were cut up by lines of trenches, one behind the other. The face of the hill had been tunnelled deeply; and in these tunnels were large numbers of German soldiers who had made themselves quite at home in their burrows. They had very comfortable quarters in Vimy Ridge, and thought they were going to stay there for a long time. All over the slope guns of various kinds were placed ready to fire upon an attacking party.

It seemed madness to send any attacking party against such a fortress. But the British commanders knew their work and they knew their men. They had a large store of munitions which had been collected for a long time; and they had numbers of the newest and heaviest guns placed in position for playing upon the western face of the ridge.

Besides they had ready a strong force of some of the best British troops, men who had seen long service and who had learnt many lessons in the art of war. Among these were some of the brave Canadians who were to have the post of danger for that great day.

The attack was made in the early hours of Easter Monday. For some time before the word was given to attack, the big guns had kept up a terrible fire upon the slopes of the ridge. The noise of the bombardment was deafening and was quite sufficient to make the enemy crouching in their trenches and tunnels quake with fear--as indeed many of them did.

Speaking of this terrible gunfire, a German prisoner afterwards said, “You English have never been through such a bombardment. You don’t know what it means. We do. You’d have to give in yourselves.” This fire had been kept up by the British guns for no less than a fortnight. Then the British leaders thought the time had come for the bayonet attack.