Chapter VII: What the Soldier Sees

_On came the whirlwind--like the last
But fiercest sweep of tempest blast:
On came the whirlwind--steel-gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke;
The war was waked anew._

SIR WALTER SCOTT’S: “Waterloo.”

_With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then
And new-born baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory._

SOUTHEY’S: “The Battle of Blenheim.”

A daring German spy came into the British lines dressed in the uniform of a Scots Grey. He inquired the whereabouts of the Scots Greys; but his speech betrayed him, and on being stripped he was found to be wearing German underclothing: _Pte. A. Prescott, 1st King’s Liverpool Regiment_.

A Good Night

One night when I was out in Belgium it came on to rain, and I went home with a sergeant in the Belgian Lancers and slept in a lovely feather bed, and started off again for my destination after having a good breakfast and a deep drink of rum and coffee: _A Bombardier of the Royal Artillery_.

A Far View

We flew at 5000 feet, and saw a sight which I hope it will never be my lot to see again. The woods and hills were literally cut to ribbons all along the south of Laon. It was marvellous watching hundreds of shells bursting below one to right and left for miles, and then to see the German guns replying: _A Member of the Royal Flying Corps_.

Brave Women

The French women seemed to think that the best cure for shrapnel or bullet wound was a bottle of wine and a raw egg. After the Wednesday fight the women brought hot potatoes and new bread right into the trenches and firing line. I can assure you they are the bravest women I have ever met: _Rifleman Fisher_.

Fatherly

You would be surprised to see the enthusiasm of the people here. The little kiddies run towards you and put their hands in yours, just like my little kiddies at home. You can see little boys doing men’s work. I noticed one chap (he would not be more than ten years old) with a pair of horses, and he was ploughing all on his own: _A Private of the Royal Field Artillery_.

Proud Indeed!

I brought back on my lorry a wounded bombardier, and when the doctor told him that he would have his right leg and an arm amputated he did not seem to trouble a bit, but went on chatting and joking with us as if it were an everyday occurrence. He is only eighteen years old. As they were taking in the ambulance he said, “It’s not much to look forward to, but my mother will be proud of me”: _Corpl. Hollyer: Army Service Corps_.

Wilted!

With their front files dressed in uniforms taken from the killed and wounded of an English regiment, a German corps attempted to surprise an English battalion. As they approached, the English commander, becoming suspicious, gave the order to fix bayonets, whereupon the Germans shouted, “Nein, nein! Leedle mistake! Ve vos not Shermans; ve vos der Vilts.” The British then charged with bayonets and the Germans “wilted”: _A Sergeant-Major, of Colchester_.

Enjoying Ourselves

Villages are nearly empty as we come to them, cats, dogs, and a few fowls being all that are left. Doors are open and the dinner things left on the tables, and people crying. There is plenty of fruit everywhere. The people left give one anything, and are very kind to us in every way. We are really enjoying ourselves very much, and take a very hopeful view that the Germans will soon realize that they have bitten off more than they can chew: _Private G. Brown_.

Held Up!

In a village we passed through the baker was working all night making bread, and all the time he was working the Germans were standing over him with revolvers. At a farm we passed the farmer said they stole thirty of his racehorses. These horses, of course, would be no use to the Germans as draught or saddle horses, and it is not an unreasonable supposition that they were commandeered for food: _Pte. A. Forbes, Gordon Highlanders_.

Not So “Swanky”

Their prisoners aren’t near so swanky as they were at first, when they used to move about as though the British soldiers weren’t fit to be seen with. Now they’re glad to fall into our hands, and if they see the uniform at all they surrender without further trouble. They’ve all got Government news-sheets containing all sorts of stories, and they say that these are distributed every day. Perhaps they get them instead of grub, and if that’s the case it would account for the half-fed appearance of so many of the prisoners: _Pte. Taylor, Rifle Brigade_.

Undaunted

A few days ago I witnessed a most exciting incident. A French staff officer went up in an aeroplane and the Germans opened fire on him. Shots went wide at first and then all around him. He didn’t mind that, but turned about again and once more ran the gauntlet. Then the Germans started again, but that didn’t stop him. He turned once more and came back before making off to headquarters with information as to where the Germans were: _Drill-Instructor Anderson_.

“Rotten Luck”

We are all putting up in farms on account of our horses being under cover from the aeroplanes, which have done a lot of damage. The 9th had just got in from a good hard day, when a big shell came into their yard and killed ten men and wounded four. Who would have expected that, after getting away from the firing line all safe? Of course, they might have been stray shells trying to find our artillery. But then it is what you may call rotten luck: _Pte. Robinson, 18th Hussars_.

Near Shaves

I saw some brave things done. “Tanker” Gillespie endeavoured three times, at great risk, to aid a comrade who had been seriously wounded. The first time he got up a bullet grazed his head, and I saw him rubbing it with rather comical grimness, and then seizing hold of his rifle, the barrel of which had nearly all been blown away, and firing; three or four shots at the Germans. He tried a second time to reach his comrade, but again had to duck, and the third time he succeeded, only to find that the poor fellow had died. In returning to his place, “Tanker” was struck by a bullet which took away some of the hair on his head, and he had to retire: _Pte. McMahon, Gordon Highlanders_.

Custom!

German shell fire is not nearly so effective shot for shot and gun for gun as ours, in spite of all the fine things they claim for it, and where great accuracy in range is necessary they are hopelessly out of it. Their infantry can’t stand half the shelling our men will put up with, and they get awfully panicky under fire from our guns. It is a favourite trick of the Germans to keep a battery well masked for hours, and then when our infantry are deploying within range, without the slightest notion of what is coming, the German shells begin to fall round like the autumn leaves. That’s very trying to the nerves, or was at first, but we are now getting used to it: _Gunner T. Wall_.

Buried and Burnt

There was one interesting sight I saw as the column was on the march, and that was a duel in the air between French and German aeroplanes. It was wonderful to see the Frenchman manœuvre to get the upper position of the German, and after about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the Frenchman got on top and blazed away with a revolver on the German. He injured him so much as to cause him to descend, and when found he was dead. The British buried the airman and burnt the aeroplane: _A Private of the 1st Royal Kent Regiment_.

“That Tired Feeling”

We are now getting into our stride and beginning to get a little of our own back out of the Germans. They don’t like it at all now that we are nearer to them in numbers, and their men all look like so many “Weary Willies,” they are so tired. You might say they had got “that tired feeling” bad, and so they have. Some of them just drop into our arms when we call on them to surrender, as though it were the thing they’d been waiting for all their lives: _Lance-Corporal T. Williams_.

Lucky Fellow!

It was a pitiful sight to see the people fleeing from their homes carrying all they could save. Our soldiers are very kind to them, and give them whatever they can spare--and sometimes more than that. I saw one young woman trying to reach some fruit from a tree which was a good way out of her reach, and, not thinking, I went over and gave her some pears which I had given me. She ate them hurriedly, but before doing so gave me a kiss on both cheeks, which was rather enjoyed by the rest of the troops standing by: _Driver J. Brennan, Army Service Corps_.

So Glad!

Oh, dear! I am pleased all my good women live in England. Often I see cottage homes a-smoke and in flames. Villages, too! Dogs forlorn, cats despondent on doorsteps. And yesterday I saw three little dots walking along the muddy road with a tiny wheelbarrow. We were, when we passed them, going under cover from a severe shell fire, whilst they were going in the direction whence we were coming. At present we are billeted in the buildings about a huge water-mill. The wooded hills are all around, and the harvests seem all gathered in about here. It is not so elsewhere: _A Reservist of the Beds Regiment_.

The Gallant Belgians

We are doing fine, and have earned the name of the “Fighting Fifth” again. We have heard that some Hindus have come from India to fight, and the public expect great things from them; but you take it from me, no matter how brave, how fearless they may be, they will never equal the brave little Belgian people. What other race in the world could have fought with more courage and determination than they when the German curs burnt Louvain and committed the most dastardly outrages? Who were they who bit their lips to hide their feelings, but who swore that the Germans should pay for it--not in the way the Germans made the women and children suffer, but by good lead and cold steel? The Belgians! _Pte. A. Hayes, of Upper Wortley_.

In the Dark

We had not gone three hundred yards before the Germans fired on us. We were between two farmhouses. We were only about thirty to forty yards off, and we didn’t half give it them. We could hear the wounded Germans moaning and groaning, and it was awful to hear. It was dark, and we fired low because we knew that was the best way to get them. Just then a piece of shrapnel came through the peak of my cap and grazed my nose. It was a near thing, but I took no notice of it and kept on firing. The man next to me was then shot dead, and our captain was shot slightly in the head, but he continued to give orders. A piece of my boot was blown away, and I received a piece of shrapnel in my right shoulder, and consequently saw no more of the fighting: _Pte. Brayshaw, Guards Brigade_.

A Bold Battery

Half the horses of L Battery Royal Artillery got smashed, and we had to bung our poor old tired ones to fill up. Only a few gunners were left, but they stood by firing still and singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Then the Germans charged, and our gunners did a bunk, but not before they had driven spikes into the guns so as to make them useless to the enemy. They said they guessed they would get them back in a day or two, and if they did they could repair them easy enough. The Germans don’t know these tricks, and we can do them down any time: _A Driver of the 4th Ammunition Column_.

Before the Dawn

I was given a map, and a message for my company officer. When I had made my way in the dark to where the outpost should have been, I found it had retired. I went to where I saw a picket posted, and noticed a body of men. It was just getting light, and I thought I saw an English officer. I put down my rifle and whistled. They immediately dropped down and fired at me. I dropped into the grass, too, to bluff them into thinking I had been “winged.” I crawled through a big turnip field, and heard a general action commencing. I could hear people talking, but not loudly enough to know whether they were English. So I hoisted my cap upon a stick and called, “Hullo, West Kent!” Then shots came in my direction, and, as it was getting lighter, I decided, as the best thing to do, to make for our big guns. I crawled along the ground for nearly two hours, and when I stopped for a short rest a bullet hit my right arm: _Corpl. Drinkwater, West Kent Regiment_.

Rescued

In getting out of my trench I fell back, so injuring my back that I could not move. I lay there, expecting every minute to be my last, but it did not come. I took a bold front and looked over the trench to see what was happening there. I saw that the Germans had taken a sweeping curve to the right, and I saw the tail of them a long way off. They seem to be driven along by their officers rather than led, for the officers have their swords drawn. I laid down in the trench (my comrades had evidently thought I was shot, as they took no notice of me when I fell back into the trench) for two hours, looking now and again to see if I could see any signs of our men. At last, after nearly giving up hope, I saw a patrol of the 15th Hussars, and managed to attract their attention, and they put me on a horse and carried me to a French hospital in a village: _A Private in the Royal Sussex Regiment_.

A “Jelly Fish”

I was ordered to remain behind with the aeroplanes, one of which was to go up early in the morning and return, and I was to take reports on to headquarters. The machine had been gone half an hour when rifle fire was heard, and we discovered that a German aeroplane was flying overhead. The officers got rifles, and likewise myself, and stood up to have a shot, but he went away, only, however, to return. We allowed him to get in range and then opened fire. He came over the place where we were lying down. I fired twenty-five rounds and expected to have a bomb dropped on us, when I saw he was done. He made one dive and landed in a heap behind us. On examining him we found twelve bombs, all of which had safety caps and pins attached, luckily for us. He had a lot of papers which I had the honour to carry to headquarters. The fall made him like a jelly fish: _Private A. J. Davis_.

Cold--and Hot!

We had to climb up a big hill, and then through a quarry, so that we were fagged out and wet through before we saw the enemy. When we did get to the top they gave us a good welcome with shot and shell. It was so heavy it dug up the ground in front of us, but we had to go on and try to shift them. I saw some sights up there, with one man down after another. I expected the next to be me, but I had determined that I would keep my end up and do my best, so I kept going on. Well, the long and short of it was that we got to them about tea-time, or what should be tea-time. We found them about sixteen to one, or that is what I thought. We could not shift them, but just as I thought we were getting the best of it someone gave the order to retire, which we did. When we got back we found we had lost all our officers, and nobody could tell who gave the order to retire, and the sun was then sinking. It was in going back that I was wounded. It is not a bad wound, and you must thank God, as I have done, that I got through at all: _Pte. Clare, 1st Royal Lancashire Regiment_.

“Knocked!”

When night came we knew where the Germans were, so we crept out of the trenches and went down to the roadway. No sooner had we got there than a great volley rang out. We were in the midst of it, and knew it was either the Germans or us. So we at them. In the struggle that took place I thought of you and the children. I made a jump at a German, but whether I got him or not I don’t remember, for I got such a terrible knock over the ribs. It must have been with the butt of a rifle. You talk about getting your ribs bent. I got mine, and more than that my appendix got first. They thought at first that it was a bullet wound, but happily it was not, or I might not have been here to tell the tale. I was knocked into a “trap” trench about eight feet deep, but I was pulled out and carried eight miles on horseback: _A Private of the Gordon Highlanders_.

In a Château

Two hundred of us went into a big château, where we were told we would be quite safe, and we sat down to a meal of tea and biscuits. We were just in the middle of it when a patrol of German cavalry scouts discovered us, and as we were eating, a shell struck the roof of the building, smashing it into fragments. Then there was the greatest excitement as the men scurried out of the building. As the shells were getting very busy we lost no time in retreating from that place, and took up our position in a field about 200 yards distant. There were a lot of wounded around, and we were lying on a slightly elevated ridge in the field. We had only been a short time in this position when we saw the Somersets getting badly cut up. We went to the assistance of the Somersets, and succeeded in checking the Germans’ advance. We began to go forward and went at them with the bayonet, when they turned and fled. We were just 150 yards away when they packed themselves into motor-cars that were waiting on them and drove off, but before they went we managed to capture five of their machine guns: _Pte. T. O’Dea, Seaforth Highlanders_.

“Made Good!”

Our last action was the worst. Men fell like corn before the reaper. I tell you truly, I never expected to get out alive. The Germans must have lost thousands, but they were ten to one, so we had to retire. The shrapnel and hail of lead and bullets--I see it all now, and I was one of the last to leave the field. I won’t say more, only I got a bullet through my right leg, but still kept on twenty yards or thereabouts. I got a great piece of shrapnel shell in my neck--laid me senseless. I came to again, and, as if possessed, ran for my life through it all and “made good.” It’s wonderful how you can run with a bullet through your leg. I have not been long at it, but fellows say that they saw more in the last four days than they did in three years in Africa. That’s the truth. Ah, well! I’m not grumbling. I’m not disfigured or maimed like so many poor fellows, so let’s rejoice over all. Some of our engagements lasted thirteen hours, and the last--and worst--ten hours. So tired, must sleep: _A Lance-Sergeant of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry_

A “Terrible Time”

We had a terrible time at Mons, and for four days and nights we did nothing but fight, and I should think the Germans had three men to every one of ours. On August 24 we lost one hundred men in about five minutes. We had a mile and a half to gallop over open country with as many as thirty shells a minute bursting round us. How I got out of it I do not know, for I had not gone 200 yards before a shell burst under my horse and killed it. I was not touched, and I managed, with a bit of luck, to get another horse from a comrade who had been killed. I am sure it was worse than hell let loose, and I think I said a prayer afterwards, but anyway I shall soon be right now. The man who was with me when I was wounded is dead. He died as soon as the search party found us. He was shot twice in the stomach, whilst I was shot in the thigh. I crawled to him when he was dying, but I could not help him as I was in such agony myself. He gave me his papers, and I gave them to the officer when he rode up to us: _Lance-Corpl. Potton, 18th Hussars_.

His True Colours

We had been entrenched two days when a German spy was captured. He spoke English as well as I do, and shouted to me, “I surrender, I surrender; take me prisoner.” He was placed in a corner of the trench, seven feet deep, and was guarded. He soon began to chatter, and told us his history in such a plausible manner that we believed him. He told us he had been in private service as a butler in Surrey and Sussex, and also a waiter in hotels at Brighton, Liverpool, and Manchester. The devil actually cried when he pulled out of his pocket the photo of a girl he said he intended making his wife when the war was over if he was spared, and begged we would not take it away from him. He said she was a Lancashire lassie--he could put on the north-country dialect all right--and read portions of a letter she wrote him when he was called up. The traitor gave us a lot of supposed information about the Germans, and pretended to be as wild as a March hare when he spoke of their officers. They were everything that was bad. I must admit I thought the fellow was genuine, and I gave him some of my rations, but several of the others had their doubts. He had been with us three days when he showed himself in his true colours. It was pitch dark, and raining like cats and dogs. He jumped out of the trench and made a dash for the German trenches, but he did not get thirty yards away before he was brought down. The next morning we saw his dead body lying where he fell: _Sapper A. G. Hutton, R.E._

A Barricade

We were just about five minutes billeted in the various houses and just stretching our legs when our officer came running in shouting, “The Germans are upon us; outside, everyone.” We came out magazine loaded, bayonets fixed, and eager to get a good bayonet fight with them. It appears they do not like it, but we found none; they had not yet arrived. It was 10 P.M. before they did so. In the meantime, the poor people were leaving the town in crowds with as much goods and chattels as they could carry away, and it was well for them, too. It was a dark night when we formed up in the streets, and the lamps but dimly burned. The noises of rifles and field guns were terrific. We rushed to the heads of the various streets, where our German foe would advance. Our field artillery and the Coldstream Guards went out to delay their advance, whilst we stripped off our coats and commenced to tear up the square setts, gather carts--in fact, everything that would build a barricade to keep back our numerous German foe, and we did so under perfect showers of shrapnel shell that fell around us and struck the houses about us, but we were undaunted, and so succeeded: _Private Spain_.

Wounded and Waiting

The order came to retire to a neighbouring haystack. How the bullets flew about! Up I jumped, and up the slope I ran. I soon reduced the distance. Another 100 yards to safety--80, 60, 40, 30, 15 yards. Oh, my left knee! I dropped down flat, with my right arm underneath my body, and my left hand feeling if my leg was still on. An officer ran by shouting out, “Wounded, lie still.” I was laid on my chest, and I could see them coming, 200 yards behind me. They did not put their rifles to their shoulders, but fired from the hips. Bullets were spitting in the ground around me. “Should I ever get out of this?” I thought. Something seemed to say to me, “Keep still, and you will be all right.” On the Germans came to within 100 yards of me, then 50 yards, then 20 yards, then 10 yards, and there they halted. They were on the slope leading to the stack, and after a short conversation two of them came in my direction. “Now for it,” I said to myself. But no, they passed me and went to the top of the hill. My arm beneath my body was paralysed, and I could feel the blood running from my wound. Now and again I could hear one of them shout out, “Hoch, Kaiser!” and I said to myself, “Hurrah for the King!” Then I saw them fall in, and about to turn. Thank God! off they went: _Pte. Wood, Coldstream Guards_.