Chapter IV: Part 4

At half-past five on Easter Monday morning the word was given and the Canadians went at once “over the top.” It was a wet morning, and it was not long before they looked like scarecrows in a prairie cornfield; but they swung on laughing and cheering and joking. The rain was on their backs which was to their advantage. “Our first stretch,” said one of them afterwards, “was about 600 yards of fairly level ground of what we call ‘No Man’s Land.’ Next we came upon a maze of trenches in which we found nothing but dead men and smashed guns.

“Our first objective lay far behind these trenches, and we reached there within an hour, climbing all the way up a gentle slope. On our left front stood a village, with a haystack standing in a field to the south of it. That haystack was known to be a strongly prepared machine-gun position.”

The speaker was wounded not long afterwards and was carried off to the dressing station and thence to London. He did not see the rest of the fighting of that day. But he heard with pride how his comrades had cleared the fortress of Vimy Ridge of its German defenders; how they had pushed on in the face of machine-gun and rifle fire and had done stern work with the bayonet; and how they had finished their work completely before night came on.

The last point of the ridge to be captured was known as Hill 145. Here the Germans had a very strong machine-gun position, but after stern fighting they were at last cleared out, and the Canadians went on to finish their task. They swept over the top of the ridge and down the steep eastern slope, clearing away the last parties of the enemy and taking many prisoners.

The fighting at Vimy was afterwards said to be “the most successful single day’s work in all the operations on the Western Front since the beginning of the war.” It was successful for three reasons. First, because the artillery prepared so well for the attack; second, because the officers had learnt their lesson from that useful little plasticine model; and third, because the Canadians were among the bravest of the brave.

HEROES OF A HOSPITAL SHIP

For many months the steamer _Lanfranc_ had been employed in bringing wounded from France to England; but one evening in the spring of 1917 she fell a victim to a torpedo launched by a German submarine.

She had a crew of more than a hundred, and when she left France she had on board between 300 and 400 British wounded and about 160 Germans. Many of the latter were wounded and were being taken to England for treatment.

The vessel was struck about half-past seven in the evening when the sea was quite calm. There was a crash which shook the ship from end to end, and then a loud explosion. In a very short time the engines stopped, and the ship heeled over as if about to sink. Then she righted herself and remained steady on the surface of the water; but the torpedo had done its work and the ship was slowly sinking.

As soon as the crash of the torpedo was felt the German prisoners were thrown into a panic of terror. They rushed madly to the lifeboats, and it was only by threatening them with revolvers that the British officers were able to drive them back. They were sternly told to wait their turn, and knew that they must obey; but some of them showed the most abject fear and went down on their knees to beg for mercy.

Meanwhile, the crew and the hospital staff had quietly taken up their posts and begun the work of rescue. The wounded who were too ill or too maimed to help themselves were brought up on deck and carried first to the boats. The others remained on deck, and though many of them were sadly crippled they tried to stand to attention.

The vessel was slowly sinking and help had been summoned by wireless. But as yet there were no rescuers in sight and the first business was to get as many as possible into the boats. It was not, however, a matter of “everyman for himself.” Among the British, at least, it seemed to be “every man for his comrade.” Those who afterwards told the story of that perilous hour said that they had never seen so many examples of cheery helpfulness among British soldiers.

But this is not surprising, for the good comradeship of British soldiers is well known all over the world. There is still greater praise due to those men on the _Lanfranc_. They rose to the greater height of heroism in showing pity and mercy to the comrades of the men who had attacked a hospital ship in defiance not only of the rules of war but of the higher law of humanity.

It would have been almost excusable if in that hour the British soldiers had turned upon the Prussians or had at least shown some feeling towards them. But instead of any sign of anger or contempt we are told of the most gentlemanly kindness and courtesy.

“The behaviour of our own lads,” said a British officer, “I shall never forget.... Those who could lend a hand scurried below to help in saving friend or enemy. One man whom I saw had a leg severed and his head was heavily bandaged. He whistled to a mate to come and help a Prussian who was unable to move owing to internal injuries. Another man limped painfully along with a Prussian officer on his arm, and helped the latter to a boat.

“It is impossible to give adequate praise to the crew and staff. They were all heroes. They remained at their posts until the last man had been taken off. Some of them took off articles of their clothing and threw them into the lifeboats for the benefit of some of the sick and wounded. The same spirit showed itself as we moved away from the scene of the outrage. I saw a sergeant take his tunic off and make a pillow for a wounded German. There was a private who had his arms around an enemy trying hard to make the best of an uncomfortable position.”

The men were at last picked up by French vessels and were quickly made as comfortable as possible. It must not be forgotten that loss of life was prevented by the splendid behaviour of the men in this crisis. It is often quite as heroic to stand steady as to dash forward into the “jaws of death.”

ALONG THE “V.C. WALK”

On June 8th in the third year of the war the _London Gazette_ contained a list of no less than 29 names of officers and men to whom the King had awarded the Victoria Cross. The stories of “most conspicuous bravery” which followed the names in this list showed that the coveted Cross had never been lightly won. Heroism had now become a habit, but British soldiers seemed to have entered into a rivalry as to the amount of bravery and endurance which they could show.

Take the example of Major Lumsden in his determined efforts to bring away six captured German field guns. At first it was necessary to leave them in dug-out positions about 300 yards in advance of the position held by our troops. The enemy kept the captured guns under heavy fire, but Major Lumsden undertook the duty of bringing them within our lines. It ought not to be necessary to dwell upon the high value of such service.

He got together four artillery teams and a small body of infantry, and led them out into the open. In a short time one of the teams was badly knocked about, so the major left the others in a sheltered place and led the infantry to the spot where the guns were hidden.

In defiance of rifle, machine-gun, and artillery fire he managed to get away three of the guns, which were then attached to the teams and rushed back to our lines. After waiting for a time until other teams could be brought out Lumsden sent back two more guns, although the enemy were now quite near to him and their rifle fire was at very short range. Indeed the Germans were able to make a rush and blew up the breech of the last gun so as to prevent the British from using it against them at a later time. But Lumsden’s men drove them back again and the last of the six guns was brought in triumph within our lines.

Then there was Captain Ball of the Royal Flying Corps who had no less than forty-three German aeroplanes and one balloon to his credit. This officer’s activity and resource in the air were truly marvellous. On one occasion, when flying alone, he fought six enemy machines, on another five, and on another four, and in each fight he brought down at least one of his opponents.

One day the British airmen were engaged in bombing an enemy train when one of their pilots was forced to come down within the enemy’s lines. Lieutenant Macnamara saw German horsemen approaching him and set out to the rescue. He planed down under heavy rifle fire, and in spite of a wound in his thigh landed at about 200 yards from the damaged machine. The pilot quickly climbed on to the lieutenant’s machine and an attempt was made to rise.

Owing to his wound, however, Macnamara was unable to keep his machine straight and it turned over. As soon as it touched the ground, the two men got out from the wreckage, set fire to it, and ran to the first aeroplane, which they were able to start. And although he was weak from loss of blood the lieutenant was able to take the machine a distance of seventy miles to the aerodrome. For this gallant and adventurous rescue he was awarded the Victoria Cross.

Sergeant Harry Cator, of the East Surrey Regiment, was busily making secure the first line which had been captured from the enemy, but was greatly worried by a certain machine-gun. One after another of his men fell dead or wounded until the brave sergeant could endure it no longer. So, with only one companion, in full view of the enemy, and under heavy fire, he went out across the open to attack the machine-gun and put an end to the annoyance.

After a few steps across that fire-swept zone, the sergeant’s companion was killed; but Cator went doggedly on, picking up a Lewis gun and some ammunition on the way. In time he came to one end of the enemy trench and worked himself into a position where he could cover the machine-gun which he had marked out for his own. Nor was it long before the whole of the gun crew as well as the officer were accounted for. Then the sergeant went over to the gun, put it out of action, and brought away the officer’s papers. But before he returned to our own lines he went back to his Lewis gun and covered a bombing party which was able to work along the trench and to capture 100 prisoners and five machine-guns.

Sergeant Sifton of the Canadian Battalion did similar work during a trench attack. He charged a machine-gun single-handed, killing all the crew, and then gave up his life in holding off an enemy attack while his own platoon was gaining a desired position. Another sergeant named Steele of the Seaforths reversed the order by carrying a machine-gun well in advance of our line and was the chief means of keeping it intact during a strong attack by the enemy.

Corporal Cunningham of the Leinster Regiment was in command of a Lewis gun section on the most exposed flank of our attack. His men came under heavy fire and suffered badly, and he was almost alone when at last he was able to bring his gun into action. A party of twenty Germans came on to the attack. Cunningham worked off all his ammunition upon them and then standing up in full view of the enemy commenced throwing bombs. He was wounded and fell to the ground, but picked himself up and went on fighting until his bombs were exhausted. Then he made his way back to our lines with a fractured arm and other wounds. He was taken to hospital, where he died a little later from the effects of his wounds.

Corporal George Jarratt was one of the noble army who during the war directly gave his life to save others. He had been made a prisoner with some wounded men and placed with them in a dug-out. On that same evening the enemy were driven back by our troops and the British bombers began an attack upon the dug-outs. A hand grenade fell into the hollow where Jarratt was lying, and he deliberately placed his feet upon it so as to break the force and direction of the explosion that followed and save the men who were lying at a little distance from him. He succeeded in his intention, but received injuries from which he died before he could be removed with the others who owed their lives to his ready devotion.

Here is another war picture of a stirring kind, the central figure of which was Private Michael Heaviside of the Durham Light Infantry. In the early dawn a wounded man was seen in a shell-hole in No Man’s Land about forty yards from the enemy’s line. He was making signals of distress and holding up his empty water-bottle.

It was impossible at the moment to send out a stretcher party, for this particular spot was unusually “unhealthy”; but Heaviside at once volunteered to carry food and drink to the wounded man, in spite of the heavy fire. So he set out on his heroic errand and managed to reach the shell-hole unhurt to find the wounded man almost mad with thirst and suffering great pain from a severe wound. He had lain there for four days and three nights and the arrival of Heaviside was the means of saving his life. Later in the day the rescuer was able to finish his work of mercy by taking out a stretcher party and bringing the wounded man into a place of safety.

There are many stories of thirst on the battlefield, but few so touching and appealing as this. Surely our men will never forget that early dawn and the faint cries from the figure in the shell-hole weakly waving a water-bottle as a signal of dire distress. The scene would make a splendid subject for a great painter.

Private Jensen of the Australian Imperial Forces suddenly appeared before a party of 45 Germans behind a barricade which also sheltered a machine-gun. He had a bomb in one hand, and taking another from his pocket with his other hand he drew out the pin with his teeth. With both arms raised he threatened the party of cowering men before him and managed to convey to them the fact that they were surrounded. By this bold front he induced the party to surrender. He then sent one of his prisoners to another party of Germans “with orders to surrender,” which, strange to say, were promptly obeyed.

Meanwhile, another party of British troops came up and began to fire upon the captured Germans, not knowing that they had surrendered. Thereupon Jensen stood on the barricade regardless of danger and waved his helmet to prevent unnecessary slaughter of his prisoners. Then the Australian’s company of captives was brought in, to the great delight of his comrades.

Second-Lieutenant Baxter of the Liverpool Regiment spent two nights engaged in the very useful and dangerous work of cutting barbed wire before the German trenches. He was so close to the enemy’s line that he could hear the men speaking; but as he went on with his work he held a bomb in his left hand, ready to throw at the first sign that he had been discovered.

On one occasion, his bomb slipped and fell as he was cutting the wire with his left hand. He picked it up although he knew that it might explode at any moment, for the pin was out, unscrewed the base plug, took out the detonator, and smothered it in the soil. In this way, at the risk of losing his own life, he prevented an alarm being given and saved many lives among his own party.

When all was ready, Baxter led the left wing of the storming party and was the first man to leap into a German trench. He spent some time in bombing dug-outs and then he was lost sight of. He was given up as dead and the V.C. was afterwards handed to his relatives.

Lance-Corporal Welch of the Royal Berkshire Regiment won the coveted medal not only for bravery but also for making good use of his wits. He was first of a party to leap into a trench which was captured largely owing to his dogged fighting. Four of the Germans got away and raced across country at breakneck speed. Welch leapt out of the trench and gave chase with an empty revolver in his hand. Under the influence of the weapon the men were persuaded to give themselves up. What they said when they learnt that the revolver was unloaded is not reported.

Private White of the Royal Lancashire Regiment made excellent use of a telephone wire and won the V.C. by his skill and resource. An attempt was being made to cross a certain river with three British pontoons--flat-bottomed boats used for transport or for placing end to end to form a bridge. The boats came under very heavy fire and the men of the first two were bowled over one after the other. The third in which White was standing fared no better, and when it reached mid-stream every man except himself was either dead or wounded.

White now found that he was not able to control the pontoon single-handed; so he tied a telephone wire to the forepart, jumped into the water and towed the boat to the shore. In this way he saved the life of an officer and brought to the other side of the river a number of rifles as well as valuable stores.

There were countless instances of the capture of machine-guns by men who rushed forward from our ranks and shot the German gunners. One of these daring men was Sergeant-Major E. Brooks of the Oxford Light Infantry who on one occasion was taking part in a raid on the enemy’s trenches.

The front rank was checked by a German machine-gun at close quarters. Brooks was in the second rank, but he made his way through the first, rushed towards the gun, killed one of the gunners with his revolver and the other with his bayonet, and so terrified the rest of the crew that they made off without loss of time. Then Brooks turned the German machine-gun on the retreating foe, and used it with good effect for some time. When he had done all the useful work he could do, he carried off the gun to the British lines.

MIDSHIPMAN GYLES AND THE GERMAN BOARDERS

Modern naval guns are of very long range; and in most of the fights on the sea the enemy ships were several miles apart.

In the Battle of the Falklands the fighting was at a range of about nine miles. When the Battle of Jutland Bank began Beatty’s cruisers were about eleven miles from the leading ships of the Germans. When the _Queen Elizabeth_ was at the Dardanelles her gunners said that they could “land on a penny at 15,000 yards.”

But in the little fight off Dover on the night of April 20, 1917, British and German ships came close together, and there was a struggle with a boarding party as in the “good old days” of the story books. Moreover, a brave British boy played a very prominent part in this older type of fighting.

Half an hour after midnight, two British destroyers, _Swift_ and _Broke_, came up with six German ships of the same kind. The latter opened fire at 600 yards and were instantly answered by the _Swift_. Then Commander Peck quickly made up his mind to ram the first German destroyer and drove straight for her.

The Germans were steaming at high speed, the night was pitch dark, and the _Swift_ missed her mark. But she torpedoed another enemy boat and then went in hot pursuit of the first. The German got away and without firing another shot made off into the darkness with the _Swift_ after her at full speed.

Meanwhile the _Broke_ (Commander Evans) had launched a torpedo at the second boat, which hit her. Then he swung round and rammed the third boat at full speed. After that the fight was at closest range.

The gunners of the _Broke_ swept the decks of the boat which had been rammed amidships. The two remaining German destroyers opened a heavy fire, and before long the crews of the foremost guns of the _Broke_ were reduced from eighteen men to six. On the forecastle Midshipman Donald A. Gyles was in charge; and though he had been wounded in the eye as soon as he came on deck, he did all he could to keep his guns in action.

Then a number of Germans climbed up over the forecastle of the _Broke_ and jumped down upon her deck. They were rushing aft, shouting loudly, when they were met by Gyles, revolver in hand, and half blinded with blood from the wound in his eye.

A big German seized him by the wrist and tried to take his revolver from him, but a well-aimed blow from a petty officer made the man loosen his hold. He dodged round to take the middy in the rear; but a British gunner promptly ran him through with his cutlass. Two of the Germans then tumbled over and pretended to be dead; and in a few breathless moments the rest were hustled over the side. The “dead” men were then secured.

The _Broke_ had now wrenched herself free from the German boat, which was settling down, and turned to ram another of the enemy destroyers. She missed it, but as she swung round she hit another boat with a well-aimed torpedo. Then the German boats moved off into the darkness, just as an unlucky shot found out the boiler-room of the _Broke_ and disabled her main engines.

She moved off, however, as best she could, towards a German destroyer which was on fire. As she drew near, shouts for help were heard which served to draw the _Broke_ still closer. Then the German treacherously opened fire; so also did the _Broke_; and four rounds followed by a torpedo quickly settled the enemy.

The whole fight lasted only about seven or eight minutes. For his gallant share in it Midshipman Gyles received the Distinguished Conduct Medal. He had been wounded not only in the eye but also in the right leg and the right arm.

His story was modestly told to friends who visited him in hospital. He had, like Sir Richard Grenville, “only done his duty as a man is bound to do.” He was off duty and asleep when the call came to take up positions for action, but he did not take long to summon all his wits and a little over.

The bursting of the shell which gave him his first wound “floored him,” but he was quickly on his feet again and undertook the loading of the starboard gun. It was at this moment that the “boarders” appeared, and “he guessed that the reception they received would teach Germans a lesson.”

HOW MAN MADE AN EARTHQUAKE

On the morning of June 7, 1917, the British Prime Minister got up very early, as early as three o’clock. He wished to hear an explosion on the Western Front; and although he was at his home near London he heard it too! For our men had made an earthquake and had blown up a hill which had been held by the Germans since the earlier days of the war.

The high ground which gave the Germans such an advantage in this part of the line was known as Messines Ridge; and the men who held it were fiercely determined not to lose their position. Their officers had given very definite orders on this matter. “The enemy must not get the Messines Ridge _at any price_.” So ran the stern command, and the defenders were assured that strong forces were ready immediately behind them to deal with any parties of their foes who might succeed in “breaking through.”

The British were equally determined to take Messines Ridge and had planned to _blow it up_ in order to clear the way for the advance of their guns, to straighten out a part of the line near Ypres and to gain command of the plain of Lille. The preparation for the “earthquake” took no less than a year!

Mines were driven deep down under the German front-line trenches by men from the coal districts of Britain as well as parties of stalwart Australians and New Zealanders. Their plan could not have been quite unknown to the Germans; for they too dug mines towards the British lines, and sometimes the parties of rival diggers came quite close to each other.

But the extent to which the British were prepared to go in “blasting” operations was not realised by their foes.

When the long task of digging and tunnelling was finished electric wires were placed in position; and it was arranged that the tons of explosive packed away in the earth were to be fired by the touch of a spring on a metal plate. In a dug-out some distance behind the mines a little group of men gathered together on the night of the 7th waiting for the moment at which the spring was to be touched.

A few minutes before three o’clock on the following morning the spring _was_ touched, and for a moment the watchers held their breath. Then there was a deafening quivering sound unlike any other that had been heard in the long-drawn-out din of the fighting in this greatest of all great wars. The earth opened, sending out great tongues of flame and dense clouds of smoke; then came huge fragments of rock and earth mixed with the bodies of Germans and the wreckage of their first-line system of trenches.

British infantry were posted ready for the advance. The shock of the explosion threw many of them to the ground; but in a very short time they went forward with a mighty rush and quickly captured Hill 60. There was now a general advance along the line and in many places the Germans were found to be too dazed to make any real resistance. Large numbers of prisoners fell into our hands. “This is more than human nature itself can suffer,” said a German officer to those who had captured him.

Among the prisoners were two German boys of about seventeen, who had already been in the firing line for about twelve months. A British officer said to them, “You ought to be spanked and sent home to your mothers.” The boys laughed merrily and one of them replied for both, “That is what we should like, sir, if you please.”

The man-made earthquake was of course a preparation for the advance, not only of infantry, but also of the artillery. The latter had been specially anxious to move forward after the long period of fighting in one quarter. The artillery advance is thus described by one who saw it and who speaks of it as an “historic incident,” which indeed it was:

“An order passed along to all the batteries. The gun horses were standing by. They were harnessed to the guns. The limbers of the field batteries lined up. Then, half-way through the battle, the old gun positions were left behind after two and a half years of warfare in one spot.

“The drivers urged on their horses. They moved at a gallop and dashed up the slopes. The infantry stood by to let them pass, and from thousands of men, these dusty, hot, parched soldiers of ours, there rose a great following cheer, which swept along the track of the gunners and went with them up the ridge where they unlimbered and got into action again for the second phase of the fight.”[8]

[8] Philip Gibbs in the _Daily Telegraph_, with acknowledgments.

The Battle of Messines was a victory for patience. It showed also what men could do by means of organising and planning with great care. You will probably remember the little plasticine model of Vimy Ridge. There was another model made to help in the preparation for the Battle of Messines. It was much bigger than that made for Vimy, but it was built up with the same care and it was closely studied by all who were to take any part in guiding the men in this tremendous battle. Of course, the airmen were very useful in the work of making the model: and a great deal of the credit for the success of the operations at Messines is due to them.

Among those who fell in the attack delivered after the great explosion was a well-known Irish Member of Parliament, Major William Redmond. He was a Nationalist or Home Ruler, and a passionate lover of his native country, which he ardently wished to see happy and contented. In order to understand the full meaning of his death we must recall what had been happening in Ireland in recent years.

The British Parliament wished to give Home Rule to Ireland and had, indeed, passed a Bill to do so. The men of Ulster, however, did not wish to have an Irish Parliament at Dublin; and there was a great deal of unhappy ill-feeling between the two Irish parties on this matter. It was Major Redmond’s great desire that this quarrel between Irishmen should be settled. He felt and said that if he should die in battle it might help to heal the breach between the men of the two political parties and bring peace and contentment to Ireland.

During the three nights before the battle, he slept in a cellar under the chapel of a religious house known as the Hospice not far from the front line. He was very anxious to be allowed to lead “the boys” of his regiment “over the top” and had begged his superiors to allow him to do so. After a good deal of hesitation, he was given leave to charge at the head of his old battalion of the Royal Irish Regiment.

He received the news with the joy of a schoolboy who has been promised an extra holiday. “Won’t it be glorious,” he said, “to breast the sand-bags?” Then he went up to the trenches in the company of his servant, and when his men saw him they set up a cheer. “Sir,” said his servant, “this cheering is not good for you.” “I’m afraid,” said the major, with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re getting shell-shock already.”

The great explosion took place, and before the burning earth had time to descend, Major Redmond was “over the top” and the first man in the regiment to face the awful scene. Before long he fell, wounded in the leg and wrist, and he was found lying on the battlefield by stretcher bearers of the Ulster division. It was an Ulster ambulance which carried him, wounded to the death, from that awful field of battle; and it was men from Ulster who tended him in his dying moments. So he did, indeed, give his life, not only in an attempt to drive back the Germans, but also to bring peace to Ireland.

“WHEN CAN THEIR GLORY FADE?”

We have read a great deal in this little book about the courage shown by men in the heat of the fight. But it did not take the excitement of attack or defence to rouse and sustain the courage of our men. Nor were they less brave and cheerful in weakness and in pain than they were on the field of battle. Read the words of a doctor[9] at the front:--

[9] Quoted from a private letter published in the _Times_, with
acknowledgments.

“We speak of brave men. Yes, these men are brave! If the people at home could see the conditions under which our fellows fight, and how they die, I swear that every head would uncover to the colours of any regiment bearing the name of a battle, because that name had been won through the blood of real heroes.

“For example, some colours will have ‘Marne’ upon them. I know what deeds were done, what lives were given, what wounds were received to have that one name so inscribed. Believe me, the Victoria Cross is won over and over again in a single day.

“They are brave. What if you were to see how the wounded act after the excitement of a battle? They suffer their wounds, great and small, without a murmur; they get their wounds dressed and give consent to have their limbs amputated just as if they were going to have their hair cut.

“They are gloriously brave. Men who have been in the thick of the fight all day, seen their chums wounded and killed, their own lives not worth a second’s insurance, still cook their food and go off to sleep, and, most wonderful of all, go back to the thick of it next day.

“It is Sunday. In the evening we had a service in a barn. A great crowd of the officers and men collected. The scene was very impressive, with the place only lit with camp candles, the soldiers rough and dirty with the work of war, some of them just returned from the trenches and others going there the same night--some who in all probability would be dead before another night came. The men sang heartily, but when the prayer for dear ones at home was being offered there were few dry eyes among those brave men who faced death daily.”

The war made even little children careless of death. Here is a pretty little story from Italy. An Alpino came to a ruined house where three little girls were plucking roses while shells moaned and fizzed over their heads. They offered him some of their flowers, and he suggested they should go and stay with his little daughter in Italy out of harm’s way. “Oh, no,” they said, “thank you very much, but papa is fighting near here--and besides, the roses would all die.”

“THE HEART OF A LION”

The morning of Saturday, July 7th, 1917, was beautifully bright, a perfect English summer morning with a cloudless sky. The people of London made haste to finish the morning’s work, looking forward to as pleasant a week-end as war-work and thoughts on war would permit.

But before they left their places of business they had an experience which few quiet Londoners had ever expected to pass through. Something happened which for a time seemed to blot out the light of the sun and which brought death and destruction into the very heart of the ancient city.

Suddenly the word was passed along, “An air raid!” and in many places there was a rush for cover. The city had been raided before and many lives had been lost among people in the streets.

In a very short time the boom of the traffic was hushed; but now the boom of the guns was heard and the terrifying crash of falling bombs. For about twenty minutes the strange fight went on. Then silence fell and people looked out to see the enemy squadron of aeroplanes.

It consisted of about twenty machines which kept in more or less close formation and could be distinctly seen as if poised over the Thames. At the height at which the squadron was flying it looked like a covey of wild duck or geese flying over a moor.

Londoners learnt later in the day how the enemy was headed off and driven to the coast after having caused a number of deaths and done a great deal of damage. And a few days later the story was told of Lieutenant Young of the Royal Flying Corps who had, as his officer said, “the heart of a lion.”

He was one of the British air squadron which went up to chase off the enemy from what they called “the fortress of London.” He flew almost by himself right into the middle of the German squadron, and both he and his observer at once opened fire upon the enemy. The Germans replied and Young’s machine was literally pelted with bullets on all sides.

But there was no retreat for the young British airman. “He flew straight on,” wrote the officer in command, “until he must have been riddled with bullets. The machine then put its nose right up into the air and fell over and went spinning down into the sea from 14,000 feet.”

The brave boy was entangled in the wires of his machine and though a patrol boat dashed out to the rescue he could not be saved. The observer shared the same fate and the same glory.

For it was a glorious death to die for the mother city of the Empire and to fall upon the sea which knits that Empire together, but which no longer serves England

--“in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house
Against the envy of less happier lands.”

IN MEMORIAM

_P. M. and A. C. D., killed in action, 1915._

Let pride with grief go hand in hand:
They join the hallowed hosts who died
In battle for their lovely land:
With light about their brows they ride.

Young hearts and hot, grey heads and wise,
Good knights of all the years foregone,
Faith in their England in their eyes,
Still ride they on, still ride they on!

By altars old their banners fade
Beneath dear spires; their names are set
In minster aisle, in yew-tree shade:
Their memories fight for England yet.

Let pride with grief go hand in hand,
Sad Love with Patience side by side;
In battle for their lovely land
Not vainly England’s sons have died!

And well may pride this hour befit;
For not since England’s days began
More fiery clear the word was writ:
Who dies for England dies for Man!

HELEN GRAY CONE.

THE TEMPLE PRESS
LETCHWORTH
ENGLAND
]

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.