v3Ss I RSITY OF J MFORNIA I presented to the \ LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA • SAN DIEGO by FRIENDS OF THE LIBRARY Mrs. Edwin W. Meise donor tfr Holding the Line' By SERGEANT HAROLD BALDWIN Of the First Division, Canadian Expeditionary Forces With Illustrations and Diagrams CHICAGO A. C. McCLURG & CO. 1918 Copyright A. C. McClurg & Co. 1918 Published, February, 1918 Copyrighted in Great Britain V. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO Sritiraitott With deep affection and reverence, I humbly dedicate these reminiscences to the memory of the best pals that ever lived, and who shared with me the joys and sorrows of those never-to-be-for- gotten days in France and Flanders when we held the line, and who have paid the supreme price — Major Campbell Captain Scanlon Major Hopkins Private Skerry Private Shields Private Hood- Private Small Private (Runner) Jocelyn Private Ruth Private Wellbelove Captain Meikle Captain Curry Major Canaille Captain McGee Lieutenant Mundell Jtofateg Remark When war's alarm sounded in Canada, like many thousands of young men, the spirit of adven- ture was strong within me and here was an opportunity, as I thought, to kill two birds with the same stone — gratify my love of adventure and serve the Empire at one and the same time. I have endeavored to give an exact picture of my surroundings, with its accompanying feelings and sensations, from the time I stepped into the ranks until I got my final Blighty, and if my word picture will have the effect of making any man get into khaki, I will be more than repaid, because the cause of the world's liberty demands the active cooperation of every able-bodied man who can get into the game. There may be a protest in the minds of some against the swearing habit of the soldier. I firmly believe that if he were deprived of the [vii] viii PREFATORY REMARK power to express himself profanely when occasion seemed to warrant, his efficiency would be materially hampered. And, therefore, I have no apology to make. Even the chaplains have been known to swear quite violently at times. Since beginning the work of putting my data into book form, the United States has accepted the gauntlet of battle thrown down to her by German militarism, and the prospect of American lads and British Tommies fighting shoulder to shoulder in the cause of democracy and the world's freedom has inspired me with a new hope and faith in the outcome, and I am resting content in the unshak- able belief that when the might of the Greatest Republic gets into action, the murderous tiger of German autocracy, with its fangs dripping blood from the lives of countless innocent victims, will in short order receive its final death thrust. Chicago, January, igi8 H. B. While adventure of every kind and character abounds on all sides in the trenches, in billets and in the rear of the front line, yet the grim serious- ness of the business soon possesses a man with but a single idea in life, especially when in the vicin- ity of No Man's Land — to get the Hun and get him as quickly as he can. In these pages I have but lightly touched on the awfulness in the sections of country over-run by the human devils. I have two reasons for so doing: First, because I do not believe it lies in the power of human ken to adequately describe the inferno created by the Hun, and, secondly, if I were to devote my lines solely to that phase of my life while in active service, every page should be deeply edged in black, because — "I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul." [ix] INTRODUCTORY Such is not my purpose. I am blest by nature with the most intense optimism and this spirit has never deserted me but once; and I think under the same strain it would have taken leave of any man; and since I returned from the front I am more than ever determined that for the balance of my time on earth I shall endeavor to radiate optimism whenever and wherever I can. I think I will live the longer for so doing, and maybe those who come within the zone of my voice and my pen may also be the better for the dissemina- tion of my love in the joy of living. Therefore, the purpose I have undertaken has been to faithfully relate my experiences, and those of my chums, from the point of view of one who looks at the brighter side of life while undergoing the most severe test of grit and endur- ance that ever tried mortal men. Contents CHAPTER PAGE I Answering the jCall ...... i II En Route to Valcartier 5 III Canada's War Camp ...... 10 IV Soldiers in the Making 13 V Crossing the Atlantic 20 VI Land Ahoy 29 VII Salisbury Plain 34 VIII Life in the English Camp .... 42 IX Getting Ready to Go 55 X Leaving for France 60 XI Landing in France ....... 70 XII My Baptism of Fire 79 XIII In the Front Line 95 XIV Saxons and Prussians 117 XV Training for Runner 127 XVI By the Wayside 133 XVII Steenvoorde 143 XVIII Ypres 149 XIX Battle of Ypres 153 XX Hell Let Loose 158 XXI Hanging On 165 XXII Here They Come 168 XXIII Fighting for Our Lives 178 XXIV The Boches Balked ...... 188 [xil Xll CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XXV Fun and Fury 194 XXVI Yser 200 XXVII The Fun of It 215 XXVIII Leaving Yser 219 XXIX More Hell 242 XXX The Last Fight 260 XXXI The Aftermath 266 XXXII In Heaven 274 XXXIII Back to Earth 281 XXXIV Home 298 Epilogue .......... 300 JUmiiratumB PAGE Harold Baldwin Frontispiece The Bull-Dog Behind the Flag 24 The Remains of a Once Prosperous Village . . 56 Instruments of War and Peace Working Side by- Side 88 Our Nest (Dugout) Is on the Right .... 96 Meals Are Any Time When One Is Hungry . 96 What a First-Line Trench Looks Like . . . 100 German Shell Exploding Near British Battery . no A Monster British Gun 114 Moving a Gun into Position 130 A Winterly Morning . . 140 Writing to the Old Folks at Home 140 What Is Left of Ypres Cathedral 150 There Are Leisure Hours Even in the Front Trench 160 Cleaning-Up Time . < . s ...... 160 Diagram No. 1 . . . 174 Diagram No. 2 ........... . 201 The Yser Canal 202 Two Tommies Talking It Over 232 Ready for a Raid on the Enemy's Trenches . . 262 The Raiding Party Going to " Give 'Em Hell " . 262 The " War Twins ".......... 282 Feeling Good in Blighty 296 ^olbtng tlje Htn? CHAPTER I ANSWERING THE CALL ONE sunny day in the early part of August, 1914, a little man with a bronzed face and a dingy set of overalls walked into the armories in Saskatoon, the wonder city of Saskatchewan- He was the author of this tale. "Hello, Shorty, what brings you here*? Hey, fellows, here's our mascot." This was the greet- ing I got from one of the recruiting sergeants. I had come straight from the harvest field, a journey of eighty miles on horseback and train, without a coat, with well ventilated overalls, equally well-worn shoes and an unshaven chin, and my spirits sank perceptibly as I realized the contrast between my shabby five-feet-four and the classy-looking recruits gathered in the ar- mories. HOLDING THE LINE However, like the rest of the Englishmen in Canada who had answered the call I was deter- mined, if it was humanly possible, to go overseas with the first contingent of twenty thousand men, and I duly presented myself for enlistment. My attestation was taken and I was sent to the doctor, being duly warned that I would have to pass the final test at Valcartier, Canada's first great war camp. When I entered the examining room my spirits took another drop as I saw the magnificent bunch of tall, stalwart fellows who were awaiting their turn. I felt like a pigmy and almost turned tail then and there. "Now or never," I thought, as I stepped up to the doctor. "What do you want, Bub'?" "To enlist, sir." "Forget it," he said, "you are too short." I lacked just two inches of the required height. He gave me the once-over and was a little taken aback when he found my weight was one hundred and forty pounds. I also thought I would clinch my case by telling ANSWERING THE CALL him, without winking an eye, that I had served with the First Battalion of the North Staffordshire Regiment in England for four years, which was a battalion of the regular army, and that as they had thought sufficiently well of my stature to sign me up, a Canadian volunteer battalion could not in reason be any more particular than one of the Imperial Army. The falsehood is on record there today in my attestation papers and I'm not in the least ashamed of it. "Well," said he, "you are as fit as any man, but they are sticklers about the height. I'll tell you what I'll do, you may leave with the boys for Valcartier and that will bring you two thou- sand miles nearer England. As you are determined to go anyway, part of your trip will be at the government's expense. I felt as if I had grown two inches when he said this. I got into the ranks at once and com- menced drilling with the rest of the boys until we left for Valcartier. It was a nasty wet night when we left Saska- toon, but a record crowd turned out to see that HOLDING THE LINE wild band start for the Great Adventure. Few of us had relatives there; the majority of us were Britishers who had left the Old Country to try our luck in the new land; but many were veterans of other wars who wanted to get into the game again, some had encircled the world in their wan- derings, homesteaders, railway men, clerks — every walk of life was represented. Ardent patriotism for the Old Flag and all that it stood for was the prompting motive of the rush to get into the First Canadian Division, but there was also the spirit of adventure strong within every man. The mayor and city council and other govern- ment officials were present to bid us the soldier's farewell, "Good-bye, Good Luck, and Godspeed," and the train pulled out amid such a roar of cheering that the "Girl I Left Behind Me" was fairly drowned in the waves of departing cheers. CHAPTER II EN ROUTE TO VALCARTIER FROM the time we left Saskatoon until we got into the great camp, I dare say there wasn't a man of us who gave a second's thought to the idea that within six months' time we would have had such a share in the defense of the world's liberties as would make the name of Canada a household word wherever the English language is spoken, and cause a thrill of justifiable pride to run through the blood of every Canadian, aye, and every Britisher, because every Britisher takes almost as much pride in the feats performed by men from another part of the Empire as he does in the deeds of the men from his own particular corner. We were not long on the train before we began to get acquainted with each other and friendships were quickly formed that were soon to be tested [51 HOLDING THE LINE and tried in the fiercest flame that ever burned, and with no exception did they fail to ring true. And right here and now I want to say, from a full heart, that the greatest privilege ever accorded an ordinary mortal like myself was that of serv- ing with that devil-may-care crowd of lads who sang and chaffed and swore their way from exile in western Canada to their graves in France and Flanders. The trip to Valcartier was uneventful except for the loss of a breakfast one morning that was sorely needed. Five or six of the recruit waiters had just entered our car from the supply-car, carrying trays with our ham and eggs, and our mouths were watering as we watched them com- ing, when a sudden lurch of the train sent the end waiter bumping into the man next him, and he followed suit to the man next him, and so on down the line, and in the effort to keep the trays and themselves from falling, the contents of every blooming tray was spilled on the floor, the seats, and the heads of the hungry recruits. Our comments would not pass censor. Suffice EN ROUTE TO VALCARTIER 7 it to say, if cursing could put the Canadian Pacific Railway out of business that organization would long since have been defunct. We had to go hungry until noon as there was no time to get another meal prepared. Another incident happened on that trip that concerned me most. We had stopped for a short visit at an Ontario town and our officers decided to give the people a sample of our military bear- ing, so we were marched through the streets. I think we managed to keep step for fully five min- utes at a time. A kind-hearted old creature clapped her eyes on the "child," as she expressed it, marching alongside of his overgrown brothers, and she began to wail and point me out to every- one around there as far as her voice could carry, and to make matters worse we were halted with poor little me standing right opposite her. "That poor child should not be allowed to go until he has at least stopped growing," was the burden of her plaint, and I was so incensed I hon- estly felt I could kill her with my bare hands and revel in the gore, because every fellow in the ranks HOLDING THE LINE was giving me the snicker, and some of the unfeel- ing brutes were egging the old lady on. I tried to pay no attention — Lord, how I did want to in- form her I was twenty-four years old and had been separated from my mother for six years. It took me a long time to live down the chaffing I got, due to the solicitous wails of that dear old female. However, sober reflection tells me that she was not so much to blame, because I surely must have been a sorry figure in my five-feet-four and dressed as I was the day I left the harvest field, so I have since credited the outburst to her motherly in- stinct. After we had entrained again I was seated be- side Morgan, a chum with whom I had become very intimate, who was possessed of what might be called a second sight, a gift of foreseeing things, and he then told me of a number of things that would happen to me, every one of which has turned out exactly as he foretold it. For instance, he said the doctor would pass me at Valcartier; and later in Flanders, he told me when I was EN ROUTE TO VALCARTIER 9 going to be wounded. He also predicted his own wound. Morgan's devotion to me all through our campaigning was positively remarkable, and, as this story will show, I have never had cause to regret the chance that brought us together. We finally arrived in Valcartier, detrained in the broiling sun, and trudged from the depot to our new canvas homes at the foot of the Lauren- tian Hills, which formed a wonderful background, with the Jaques Cartier River on our front, soon to become the swimming bath of twenty to forty thousand men. CHAPTER III Canada's war camp WHEN we reached Valcartier no one in his wildest dreams would ever have associated us with soldiers, as a more motley-looking crowd would be hard to find. Here trudges a squat Scotch- man, his freckled face a stream of perspiration, cursing the heat with a Doric accent you could cut with a shovel ; next to him marches Big Bill Skerry, a tall Nova Scotian, as straight as the pine trees of his native province. Dear old Bill ! he lies in the death trap at Ypres, dying as he had lived, afraid of nothing in human form, witty and dry of speech, quickest in repartee, and proud of his Irish-Canadian ancestry. And for all his profane mouth and caustic tongue, he was one of the best and bravest comrades a man could find with whom to share the trials and pleasures of active service. Marching with his usual air of detached bore- CANADA'S WAR CAMP 11 dom is Captain Innis Hopkins, the most ridiculed and, later, the best loved officer of all the gallant men who cursed us and nursed us and finally led us into France, as fine a bunch of men as ever stepped from a deck of a transport. At my immediate right proudly marched a handsome, rosy-cheeked boy, with a complexion a lady might have envied; tall, lithe, with the promise of a fine manhood, and with the frank blue eyes of him shining with good-natured devil- try, he was already winning the hearts of his fu- ture comrades. By his side tramped a squat, slightly bow-legged man, of swarthy skin and jet- black hair, streaked with gray, surmounted by a stubble of black beard. The contrast between those two was startling, and yet a friendship sprang up between them that no ordinary civilian ever will understand, a friendship cemented by sharing danger and suffering, sinking every selfish consideration for the well-being of the other. This will give some slight idea of the boys I soldiered with and who were to be my chums. But of all these, Morgan was closest to me. By 12 HOLDING THE LINE that mysterious attraction which draws men to one another we became chums and yet no two men could be more unlike in temperament; he was reserved almost to the point of rude- ness, while I have always been ready — perhaps too much so for my own good — to make friends at once. When we got into the game, through the medium of that peculiar characteristic I have al- ready mentioned, he sensed, like the steer nearing the shambles, any disaster or trouble ahead, and at those times he would overwhelm me with demon- strations of affection, and afterwards, apparently ashamed of his outburst, he would find some pre- text to pick a quarrel with me, and curse me with a fluency and picturesqueness only acquired by long and careful practice. Many times we got to blows. But we loved each other and still do, and his love for me was thoroughly evidenced later on. CHAPTER IV SOLDIERS IN THE MAKING THE first thing we did after our arrival was to go to the doctor for final examination. Again my heart dropped when I saw what seemed to be a physically splendid man rejected, and I felt that my case was hopeless. I stripped, and, with my heart pounding like a trip-hammer, pre- sented myself. I was reassured almost instantly by his kindly manner. He gave me a most rigid looking over and pronounced me fit, but shook his head dubiously at my height. An inspiration seized me: "Doctor, I may be small, but it is concentrated stuff." He laughed and told me to dress. Trembling with delight and relief I fell into line to take my first "shot in the arm," as we called our inocula- tion against typhoid, and when the surgeon jabbed me with the needle I promptly fainted for the first time in my life. [13] 14 HOLDING THE LINE Life now began in earnest; day succeeded day of hard training. The weather was ideal, our only trouble being the dust-clouds raised from the sandy ground by marching troops. Uniforms were issued, and in two weeks' time one would not have recognized us. Many laughable incidents occurred in connection with our uniforms; nearly every man got something that was too big or too small. The quartermaster gave me a hat that was two or three sizes too large. I asked him what I should do and he told me to come back in the morning, which I did. "You told me to come back and see you, sir, about my cap; it is too big." "Well, I can tell by your bothering nerve that you've got the swelled head and it won't be long before it fits you. Get to blazes out of here." I did not think it prudent to pursue the matter further. I was wondering what I would do with the cap when I espied a fellow with a head like a bull and a cap resting just on the crown. "Here's my chance," thought I, and I was after him in a jiffy. He was a Scot. SOLDIERS IN THE MAKING 15 "Matey, how would you like to swop caps'?" "Wha's the matter wi' yours 4 ?" "Mine's too large." He took mine and ex- amined it critically, feeling the quality and the texture. "It's no as gude as mine; I wudna swop." "Why, yours doesn't fit you and mine would." "Ay, but the quality, lad, look at the quality o' mine." " It's just exactly the same as mine." "Naething o' the kind," he said, "the quarter- master is a particular friend o' mine and he gie me one especially." "He did, like ducks." "O vera weel. Besides, I dinna mind a little thing like that; it's the quality. But I'll tell you what I'll do," he said, "if you want the cap an' will gie me an extra shillin' on account o' the qual- ity, I'll maybe let ye hae it." I spent no further time arguing with him; I realized at once he was the original one hundred per cent efficiency man who bought something from a Jew and sold it to another Jew at a profit. \6 HOLDING THE LINE I gave him the quarter. He took it, but before giving me his cap, he took mine, tried it on care- fully (they were identical in every particular ex- cept the size), then handed me his, gave me a wink and walked off. I felt I had really gotten my twenty-five cents' worth. The happiest people in Valcartier that time were the tailors ; they reaped a harvest from our repairs and alterations. An old political campaigner in the battalion suggested that the tailors should get busy with the administration and arrange to throw their support to the government if the chief of staff would agree to retain the services of the quartermasters who were such marvelously strange guessers at the size of the average man. We laughed ourselves to sleep that night. The growth of Valcartier during our stay was like a chapter in Aladdin. Like mushrooms in the night there sprang up stores, houses and amuse- ment places of every description, and they did a thriving business, because the men rapidly ac- quired the spending habits of the soldier. An attempt by one of the moving-picture pro- SOLDIERS IN THE MAKING 17 prietors to extort money from the soldiers turned out rather badly for him. He advertised the same picture for a number of nights under a different title each night, and a hard-headed Scotch soldier, upon inquiring if it were not the same film they had seen the previous night, was told to go to hell. " I'm running this show," said the proprietor. "Weel, ye'll no be runnin' it long, I'm think- in'," said Jock. "Hey, lad," he yelled to me as I happened along, "run like the deil to Company B, Third Battalion, over yonder, and tell them Red Stuart wants to clean up a crook over here. Hurry, noo." I shot across in the direction indicated and found a bunch of Highlanders sprawled on the ground, smoking their pipes. I delivered the mes- sage and in a twinkling fully fifty brawny sons of the heather sprang from the ground and were dashing toward Red Stuart. I ran after them and awaited developments a short distance off. Red quickly told them what had happened and their Scotch sense of justice wronged was thoroughly aroused. 18 HOLDING THE LINE "Wha'll ye be wantin' us tae do, Red 4 ?" "MacDonald, take thirty men to the rear and up-end the damned show; I'll take care o' the front." MacDonald and his thirty men circled to the back of the house and inside of a minute it com- menced to quiver and slant forward. The soldier- patrons came tumbling out in a hurry, some of them head foremost, and soon were admiring spec- tators when they learned the cause of the trouble. The other Scotties, under Red Stuart, were lined up in front to catch the theater when it came down. Just then the proprietor came tumbling out. "Who in hell's doing this?" he demanded of Red. Red's answer was a blow on the jaw that put him to sleep. Then the money from the till came rolling out over the floor and Red yelled. "Quick, Sandy and Alec, pick it up an' we'll di- vide it after." Sandy and Alec let go of the building and gathered up the money in their caps, and Red shouted. SOLDIERS IN THE MAKING 19 "All together, lads, let her go." The men at the back gave a heave, the men in front let go, and down crashed the frail building, splitting in two. A streak of flame shot up from the middle and soon a bright blaze lit up the scene, and by its light the Sons of St. Andrew religiously divided the spoils of war. But the trouble did not end here. A fire-call was turned in by the nearest bugler, was caught up by each successive bugler in turn, and in two minutes the entire camp was in a turmoil. The men fell into line, yelling like wild Indians; it was pandemonium let loose. The roar of noise traveled clear down to the end of the lines, where it reached the artillery, the horses stampeded, made a mad rush for the river, and forty valuable animals were drowned. CHAPTER V ^R{>•SING THE ATLANTIC OUR military exercises had built every man of us up to such a degree of physical perfec- tion that we felt fit for any test of endurance, and the absence of worry.* the companionship of so many fine chums, the good wholesome food and invigorating air had worked wonders in us. We were no longer the awkward squad that had slouched off the train into Valcartier. Our officers told us we were a disgrace to the service, but swiftly the change was taking place. We could walk our ten or fifteen miles in regula- tion time, and the standard of our shooting was exceptionally high. At first only twenty thousand men were to go, but as seventy-five thousand had responded to the call and the eagerness of the boys to go had caused them to redouble their efforts to become efficient, [20] CROSSING THE ATLANTIC 21 the first expeditionary force was increased to thirty-three thousand men. Toward the end of September we were in- spected for the last time by his Royal Highness, the Duke of Connaught, and in the afternoon we were ordered to get our kits packed and stuff ready, as we were leaving for England. Excite- ment ran high and every man was in his place next morning at ten o'clock. It was a rainy Sunday morning, but that did not dampen our spirits. " Battalions will move off by the right of com- panies, No. 1 leading," came the order; the senior officer commanding shouted, "Company, tshun; form fours; right; left wheel; quick march." We were off for England. After traveling the eighteen miles from camp to Quebec we boarded the big steamer that was to bear us to England. My battalion was assigned to the Lapland, the largest of the fleet transports. In her hold thousands of sacks of flour were stacked, part of Canada's gift to the motherland immediately on the outbreak of the war. Some of us did not appreciate the gift as we might, be- 22 HOLDING THE LINE cause it was part of our duty to load it from the dock to the hold. I had a pardonable thrill of pride as I stood on the dock and watched our fellows file aboard and I could not help asking myself — "Could these bronzed, cleanly-built, athletic men be the same who tramped wearily into camp one short month ago*?" Such was the result of our officers' untir- ing work and the patient efforts of the regular sergeants who first took us in hand, and last, but not least, the keenness of the men themselves to be- come efficient and disciplined soldiers. The whole fleet sailed from Quebec to Gaspe Bay, where we were picked up by our convoy. The arrival of the battleships and cruisers was greeted with rousing cheers, which were answered in kind by the men of the fighting ships. It was the most impressive sight I have ever witnessed; up to that time nothing had so majestically expressed the sentiment of the Overseas Dominions hastening to the help of the mother country. B)' this time the seriousness of the conflict be- gan to dawn upon the country. The magnificent CROSSING THE ATLANTIC 23 exploits of French's glorious little force had fired every one of us, and every time the band played "Tipperary," the wildest enthusiasm prevailed. It was on one of the first nights aboard that the first shadow of the war fell upon me. A sort of gloomy mist rose before my eyes and clouded my brain, and I felt morally certain that something had happened to Tom, my twin brother, and sor- rowfully I have to tell that he died in the battle of the Marne. I did not learn the particulars until I reached England. He died as he would have wished to die, fighting gloriously for the Empire. Very few of the battalions had bands with them, but the Sixth of Winnipeg, that embarked with us, had a splendid band, and they were most gen- erous in supplying us with musical treats all the way across. I shall never forget the scene at these concerts, especially at night — the moon shining on the sea, calm almost as a lake, the men lounging in various attitudes of ease, some leaning over the taffrail, others in chairs, and all smoking and enjoying the strains to their hearts' content. 24 HOLDING THE LINE The only disagreeable feature of the voyage was the deadly regularity with which we were fed upon stew; our feelings in this regard were put into rhyme by one of the grim humorists of the battalion: Our daily bread is stew, That's all the cook can brew, For kind heaven's sake, please give us some cake Or anything else that's new. One night at dinner, when the waiter handed him his stew, he stood up, and, calling for silence, announced that he had a few remarks to offer for the benefit of the misguided souls who entertained the notion that we were not properly fed. There was an angry clatter of knives on the plates of the stew, as the men were fighting mad with the mo- notony of the grub, but nnaHy the speaker got a semblance of order and he commenced: "Soldiers of the King, I believe it is duly right and fair to the cook and the commissariat that the idea which has seemed to be finding lodgment in the minds of some of us that we are not properly looked after, as far as our stomachs are concerned, CROSSING THE ATLANTIC 25 should be banished at once, and I feel sure it will be when I point out to you in a few words how erroneous that thought is. "Have you ever considered what a load of anxiety is lifted from our minds as to what we are going to have for breakfast, for dinner, for sup- per*? Have you ever thought about that?" "You're damned right, we have," from fifty throats at once. "Be patient, please, for just a moment. Have you ever thought that we are saved absolutely every petty worry as to whether the roast beef will be tough, the chops old and unpalatable, the fish mushy, or the pudding not properly seasoned'? Not a particle of troublesome speculation about any of these things." "For God's sake, let them trouble us all they want," from the audience. He continued : "We take our places at the table calm and serene in the perfect confidence that there is not the least doubt as to what we are going to eat, and filled full of adoration in the sacredness of our food, for do we not know that it is like unto 26 HOLDING THE LINE the holiest man that ever trod this old earth of ours — the same, yesterday, today and forever." A roar of approval greeted the speech and the somewhat blasphemous reference, but from that time on we took the humorous view of the situ- ation, thereby saving ourselves a lot of misery. One night at dinner, when our usual stew-por- tions were served, one of the fellows left the table for a few minutes, and while he was gone we switched his soup, substituting water, and hastily, but thoroughly, scraped every scrap of meat off the bone. He came back, tasted of his soup, then poured it over the table. He picked up his soup bone, looked for the meat, and sent the bone flying down the cabin. Unluckily it struck an of- ficer and he was promptly bundled into the clink (guardhouse). He was an Irishman, and on his trial the following morning he made a thoroughly characteristic defense. "Sor, to tell yez the thruth, I just happened to think av the athrocities av them damned Ger- mans on the helpless wimen and childher, an' I thought how would I feel if those near an' dear CROSSING THE ATLANTIC 2? to me were threated in that way, an' on the im- pulse av the moment, without thinkin', or lookin', I flung the bone, imaginin' I was right in the mid- dle av the fightin'." It didn't save him, but it cut off some days from his stay in the clink. On more than one occasion our thirst for re- venge on the stew was gratified by seeing it heaved all over the floor by a sudden roll of the boat in rough weather. Our chief form of entertainment while aboard ship, in addition to the band concerts, was the vaudeville shows that were given. Among our cosmopolitan crowd much line talent was discov- ered — songs, readings, exhibitions of juggling, boxing competitions, etc. — served to while away the monoton3' of the voyage and make life livable during the crossing. Church services were held regularly every Sun- day; the two denominations represented were Church of England (Episcopal) and Roman Catholic. Mass was held at eight-thirty and the Protestant minister commenced his service at ten- 28 HOLDING THE LINE thirty, at which were assembled all the balance of the battalion. Although my attendance was com- pulsory, these services were deeply impressive and will remain in my memory as long as I live. The majestic ship ploughing through the water and the swish of the spray mingling with the men's voices as we sang the hymns we learned in childhood made a lasting impression on all of us, and I am sure that the emotion of those moments has stayed with every man throughout our campaign in France and since. CHAPTER VI LAND AHOY ON a beautiful evening in the fall, after a voyage of twenty-two days on the water, the transports quietly stole, one by one, into the harbor of Plymouth. None of the townspeople had the remotest idea that the Colonials were any- where near England, and it was not until the Strathcona Horse displayed a huge pennant from the ship, which was anchored close to the quay, that our identity was disclosed. It took them but a couple of seconds to grasp the fact that the Canadians had arrived in England, and in less than half an hour the harbor was alive with every conceivable kind of craft, loaded near to the sink- ing point with cheering humanity. I wish I could describe my sensations as I once again looked upon the green fields of my native land. To find out how much one loves his home he must leave it, and after my voluntary exile of [29] 30 HOLDING THE LINE six or seven years, I wanted to shout and sing for very joy. We English may be dense, thick-headed, slow to act, and guilty of several other things charged to us, but I doubt if any nation could love its country with more intensity than true English- men. Steering close to our boat the crowd asked us if we needed anything. We replied that we needed everything, and we got it; cigarettes, tobacco, food, candy — in fact, everything that could com- fort a soldier's heart, was thrown on our decks. I gazed at the shores of my native land, listen- ing to the strains of "O Canada," played by the band and echoed back by the glorious hills of Devon, and the thrill within me was indescribable. There was also an undercurrent of wonderful feel- ing that made me proud, not only that I was a Britisher, but that our grim old mother-nation was nursing there in one of her great harbors the robust manhood of a virile daughter-nation that had heard the call and answered and that I was a part, however small, of that answer. LAND AHOY 31 Songs of the British nations would go floating out to sea and inland to the hills. Following the strains of "Annie Laurie" would come "Men of Harlech," "The British Grenadiers," "Dear Lit- tle Shamrock," and then the incomparable lilt of "Tipperary." We finally received the order to disembark. Now it is an unwritten law in the army, in the practice of that most soldierly art of thieving, that a man must thieve from every battalion and com- pany except his own, and we thought we might just as well start on anything lying around loose on the Lapland. The Colonel may have wondered why we came to the "Present arms" with such alacrity when we said farewell to that splendid ship that brought us over ; but the truth of it was we wanted to get away from the scene of our activities before any uncomfortable questions could be asked. After a thoroughly profane and good-natured farewell with the burly British sailors and a rous- ing welcome from the people, we marched out in force to be delivered into the hands of the citizens. 32 HOLDING THE LINE And such a welcome! It beggars description. I never had my hand shaken so much and I never was kissed so much in all my life. One middle-aged lady, with two beautiful daughters, exclaimed, "You brave boy, I am going to kiss you for your mother's sake." " I will too," said her daughters, and I was kissed by the entire family. I couldn't help venturing, "How about a kiss for my own sake ? " And I glanced at the daughters. "Surely," said the mother, and she kissed me again, but the girls were a little bit abashed and did not respond to my suggestion, much to my disappointment. At one spot in our welcome I was again the subject of an outburst of damnable sympathy from a motherly-hearted woman who almost went into hysterics at the idea of such a child as I going out to help stem the on-rushing Huns. However, my comrades were filled full of the attentions they were receiving from their male and female admir- ers and my predicament passed unnoticed this time, for which I fervently thanked God. In the course of our parade we were taken in LAND AHOY 33 front of Drake's monument and I could not help wondering what he would have thought, had he been there in the flesh, at the sight of those hardy adventurers. Surely he would have felt that here indeed were men after his own heart, ready and willing to dare everything, to go anywhere for the sake of the motherland and their own new land across the seas. By sheer strength we reached the depot at last and entrained for Salisbury Plain. CHAPTER VII SALISBURY PLAIN MIDNIGHT, and as dark as pitch found us shivering and blinking sleepily on the plat- form of a small railway station on the outskirts of Salisbury Plain. From here a truly murderous hike blistered our feet, spoiled our tempers and proved to us in no uncertain manner how stale we had become during our journey overseas. Just as day dawned we floundered wearily to a place where tents flapped sadly against tent poles as if sympathizing with our woeful plight. These tents had simply been erected and loosely staked out and were left for us to tighten and make habitable. We were too weary to bother with them; we simply dropped on the ground and slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. When we awoke we found ourselves drenched to the skin, our tents still half erected, the com- [34l SALISBURY PLAIN 35 missariat all disorganized and the plain hidden in solid sheets of driving rain. This was just a prelude of the terrible days to come. In a day or two we had shaken down, with seven men to each tent, and our training began. A brief spell of fine weather followed, with a visit from the late Lord Roberts to inspect us. This visit of our great Little General left me feeling very comfortable, as he was fully an inch shorter than myself, and it seemed to me very wonderful that that slight, courteous old man should be the hero of so many exploits in India, Afghanistan, South Africa, and other parts of the world. It will be remembered of him forever that a few years before he had given Great Britain a solemn warning of the intentions of Germany. With few exceptions the newspapers, the London tfimes in- cluded, had branded him a scare-monger and jingo. Alas, how bitterly true was the great little man's prophecy ! He died a brief month afterwards, just as he would have wished, " in harness," and among his Indian comrades he loved so well. 36 HOLDING THE LINE Then the rains descended, the floods came, and the plain became one seething quagmire of mud. Words are powerless to describe our continual conflict with that mud; it was everywhere — in our eyes, our hair, our tents, our clothes, our grub ; we often had to swallow it as well as wallow in it. Again our poet-wit got his work in and this was our universal lament : Mud, mud, damnable mud, In mud we must wallow and mud we must swallow, Mud, mud, damnable mud, Oh say will we ever get out of the mud. Our tents leaked incessantly, but with all our discomfort we were healthy and happy and, in consequence, were grumbling all the time. We roundly cursed our officers, anathematized the mud, swore we would mutiny — all done sotto voce. But we were very, very happy. And now, to crown my happiness, I obtained leave to visit my people in the Midlands, about one hundred and thirty miles from the place. The only way I could curb my impatience was by clean- ing and re-cleaning my buttons, badges and boots, SALISBURY PLAIN 37 and vainly endeavoring to read the newspaper. At last, I paraded before the Colonel and paymaster to receive my pass and money, and after satisfying the critical eye of my commander that I was clean enough to be a credit to the British Army, I was permitted to go. I boarded a taxi and paid ten shillings for a three-mile ride to the railway station. Had the Shylock asked four times that amount I would have cheerfully given it to him. Only a son who loves his father and mother can appreciate such a home coming as I got; I shall never forget it. Mother-like, the dear old lady was thoroughly dissatisfied because I hadn't the appetite of a dozen strong men. One of her re- marks typified the English mother — the peer of any woman on God's earth today. I asked what she thought of my journey over to do my bit for the Empire and her reply was : " I knew you would come. I knew it. God bless you, my boy. I hate to think of where you are going, but I believe I would hate you more, my own son as you are, if you did not go." 38 HOLDING THE LINE Such a reply from a woman who had already given one son for the cause exemplifies the spirit of self-sacrifice which has so splendidly been evi- denced by the women of the Allies today. These mothers deserve the V. C. as truly as any soldier. My father's greeting was typical of the reserved Englishman. He looked up at me without a word and just at that moment my young sister walked in and stood beside him; the lassie was just as tall as I was short; and my father's first remark was, " If you had been as tall as this girl is, you might have called yourself a soldier." Such was the greeting after an absence of six years and thus does the Englishman cover up any signs of emotion. The time was all too short to see everyone I wanted to see; my three days' leave passed like an hour; but practically all the friends and chums of my school days were either in France, on the sea, or in training. An athletic club to which I belonged before I left England for Canada had a total membership of two hundred, and of this number one hundred and eighty-eight were in SALISBURY PLAIN 39 khaki, and even at that early date eight of them had paid the supreme price. Promising to come back as soon as possible be- fore I left for France I said good-bye and com- menced my return journey, feeling very home- sick and miserable. But I found a very interest- ing companion on the way back, one of the gallant boys of French's " Contemptibles." He was one of the few survivors of a battalion of Gloucesters and was one of the twenty-four who held back about seventy times their number and covered the retreat of the remnant of their regiment. When history is written and the deeds of the different regiments recorded, the wonderful stand of the twenty- four will go down as an epoch of the Great Retirement. Reticent as most British soldiers are, yet being a comrade, he told me enough to give me some idea of what we were going into. Parting from him at Bristol, by a strange coincidence I ran into a corporal of the Second Battalion of Gloucesters. This man had just completed his service with the army and had been about a month on reserve when 40 HOLDING THE LINE again called out. He now lies somewhere in France, for within three weeks from this time his regiment was almost wiped out. While sitting in the train I happened to put my head too far out of the car window and away went my cap. The corporal helped me out. He dug from his kit a cap of a wonderful checked pattern, big black and white squares, and gave it to me. It was staggering in its color scheme, but better than nothing. Next morning, judge of my con- sternation when I found it impossible to get a cap from the quartermaster in time to go on parade, and I was obliged, to go in my beautiful new head- piece. It seemed to shout its color scheme from end to end of the battalion. Particular^ did Mor- gan make caustic comment on the queer ideas of some people as to the proper head-dress for a sol- dier, and everyone, from the corporal up wanted to know what in hell I meant by coming on parade with that awful thing on my head. Finally the Colonel came and ran his eye over his pets. "Tshun," he roared, and everyone "tshuned." A moment of silence while the Old SALISBURY PLAIN 41 Man critically lamped his battalion; then it broke. " Who is that man who thinks he may come on parade in his own ideas of fashion 4 ? Fall out, that man, I want to speak to him." I sneaked guiltily up to him, mentally noting those of my pals who snickered loudest, and stood dutifully at attention. After informing me that in spite of my looks I was supposed to be a soldier, and that although it was the dearest wish of his heart to permit me to disgrace the battalion, yet he felt compelled to administer a little correction. " How came you to be wearing that monstrous thing 4 ?" I explained truthfully, but he insisted that I had been imbibing and had lost my cap as a con- sequence. That afternoon, when tottering under the weight of sides of beef and other heavy things, which I was obliged to carry, I resolved that if I ever again lost my cap, I would not be guilty of wearing an alibi. CHAPTER VIII LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP AFTER my first trip home, for a few days I went about my work without interest, but when one is in superb physical condition, it is im- possible to be depressed long, and soon I was grumbling away again as happy as ever. Still the wretched weather continued. If it did not rain, it snowed ; if it did not do one or the other, it did both; if it did not do both, a fog you could take in your hand would hang over the place the whole day long. If the Fates decreed we should have a fine day, we were worked till our bones cried out for rest. In the early morning we would curse the bugles as they blared out their warning for us to be up and doing. Sometimes the temptation grew too strong and one of us would be missing when we fell in shivering for our mornings physical tor- [42] LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP 43 ture. This is the name the Canadians had for physical drill. The tardy one would regret his in- difference to "Reveille" before the day had well begun, for he would usually be told off for all fatigues, as well as turning out for the day's work with the battalion. A vigorous trot would set our blood coursing through our veins, and after the torture had loosened up our muscles, we wondered why we had ever wanted to stay in bed at all. Breakfast would follow, and after that we would fall in to be inspected by the officers, tongue-lashed by the Colonel, and finally marched off for instruction in tactics on the field, or other necessary parts of an infantry soldier's training. We might arrive back in time to partake of a noon- day meal, or it would perhaps be in the middle of the afternoon, or again we might stay out the whole twenty-four hours. Night alarms would see us sleepily but fran- tically struggling to don our equipment so that we would make a record for our company by being first at the assembling post. The language on such 44 HOLDING THE LINE occasions was almost the acme of perfection, be- cause our studies in the army in that regard had brought us to a truly wonderful state of efficiency in fluency and the ability to improvise suitable words for all occasions. One may therefore imagine the atmosphere when a buckle of Morgan's equipment would fix itself firmly in some inaccessible part of mine and we would struggle to straighten out the tangle by the dim light of a candle. Usually it would end by one of us inadvertently putting out the candle. After this there would be absolute silence as even our vocabulary was not adequate to the situation. With clenched teeth we would relight the candle, if we were fortunate enough to find it; if not, we finished our dressing by touch, each mentally curs- ing the other for his clumsiness. Finally we would stumble to the assembly post to receive a wigging from the O. C. (officer com- manding) of the company down. On our way back Morgan would tell me that in all his life he had never known one so blankety-blank a clumsy as I was, and I would consign him to everlasting LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP 45 perdition, and the quarrel would wax hotter and hotter, to the great amusement of the other boys, until we arrived at the inevitable stage when the challenge to fight is given. Then the sergeant would step in, and we would be obliged to satisfy ourselves by mentally vowing to settle it once for all when we got back to camp. However, the ex- citement and fatigue would soon cool our tempers, and the usual sequel was for the two of us to be found foraging in some mutual enemy's camp, or we would settle down, cuddled in one another's arms, for a long refreshing sleep. At the remount camp, situated about two miles from our own camp, were a number of unbroken horses; these were used as remounts for artillery, cavalry, transports, etc. Every day two or more companies from the battalion were told off as " Remount fatigue " and had to clean and groom the animals, and one day shortly after this, when it was part of my duty to assist in taking a load of provisions for the men who were looking after the horses, we came upon a wondrous object, lying* resplendent in all its native beauty, by the side of 46 HOLDING THE LINE the road. Hardly believing our eyes, we bore down upon the stranger. It was real, and we rejoiced. Thirty-six gallons of good beer had wandered away from a jolting wagon. After sev- eral vain efforts, in which we nearly ruptured ourselves with straining, we finally succeeded in hoisting it on our transport. It was necessary to resort to "camouflage" to hide our treasure, but it was done. The day passed slowly, as we curried and brushed that kicking, squealing mass. We were tortured with fear lest any of the others should discover our find. As expert thieves we respected others of the craft, and in this case we feared them. Night came, and to our relief, our cask had not been unearthed. That night figures might have been discerned in the gloom, stealthily making their way to a certain big marquee. Inside this marquee was stacked bales of hay and other feed for the transport animals. By the dim light of two stable lanterns we paid our respects to the delightful stranger until we had exhausted its hospitality, and at "Lights LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP 47 out" we tacked homewards, after an affectionate farewell to one another. I will not attempt to excuse myself, or the others, but perhaps we may be forgiven when I tell you that on Salisbury Plain we endured the most frightful weather conditions. Add to this our isolation from anyone but soldiers, and the entire absence of amusement except what we manufactured ourselves, and some toleration may be vouchsafed us. If those boys let loose occa- sionally, they also blocked the road to Calais, and many forget this when criticizing the men, who not only faced hell in France and Flanders, but cheer- fully fore-went almost all the advantages that later contingents enjoyed while in training. On a soaking wet night a few of us tramped over the plains to our new homes and huts, which had been given us in substitution for the tents. For some reason hut life told on the health of the boys and that terrible scourge, cerebral spinal meningitis broke out, and soon many were in- fected. For myself, I never contracted anything but a trick of getting into trouble. Still the rain 48 HOLDING THE LINE descended and the mud deepened. It was in the hut that many of the peculiarities of our comrades helped to amuse us. Big Bill Skerry and young Fitzpatrick had struck up a close friendship with each other, although Bill was about double the age of Fitz. At intervals three solitary long hairs would appear amongst the down on Fitz's chin, then Bill would declare it was time Fitz had a shave, and he would seize his young friend, and a mighty struggle would ensue, but it usually ended by Bill clipping off the three sisters — Faith, Hope and Charity, as someone called them. Another fellow, Bolous, whom we had with us, was the butt of much of our wicked horse-play. This strange being worked, ate and slept with an automatic colt attached to his belt. For the sake of soldier critics, I may say he kept it under cover on parade, but it never left him. Naturally we asked him when he expected to meet the guy who was looking for him. Many an attempt was made to steal that gun, but no matter how soundly he slept, the slightest movement or touch near him would bring him to a sitting position, with the LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP 49 automatic on a dead line for the would-be thief's head. He had never been in England before, and we romanced to him so earnestly about the deni- zens of Whitechapel, that on his first visit to Lon- don, instead of just his one automatic, he evened up matters by wearing one on the other side, and stalked down Whitechapel, armed to the teeth. This man was deeply interested in bayonet fighting, and would question our instructors until they loathed the sight of him. He studied the matter from all angles and would endeavor to get the man next to him to act the part of an attacking Hun in order to show us his own method of ren- dering Fritz hors de combat. Nobody ever volun- teered as there is no knowing what he would have done in his eagerness to spit something with that bayonet. He devoured all that he could find in drill books about " Hun Sticking." He was par- ticularly nerve trying at night, when we hob- nobbed at cards or were reading before "Lights out." Everything would be quiet, except for the low murmur of conversation and an occasional heartfelt oath from a loser in the poker party. Then 50 HOLDING THE LINE suddenly we would almost jump out of our skins, as a figure hurled itself at the rifle rack, seized a rifle from the stand, fixed the bayonet and rushed up and down the hut furiously parrying and lunging at an imaginary foe. Oblivious of everything ex- cept dispatching the figurative German, he would rush here and there while we endeavored to avoid the flickering steel. The man was enormously strong, and agile as a cat, and all we could do was to dodge as well as we could until his paroxysm passed and he had settled down to work out some other scheme for Boche killing. We swore we would murder him if he did not cease these imitations of a madman, but glad are we all who knew him that we took his wild be- havior good naturedly, for a very short time after- wards he performed deeds of the most self-sacrific- ing kind under a wall of shell fire. Not a few men owe their lives today to his devotion to duty on that awful day at Ypres. One night I was guilty of a betrayal of trust. I was detailed to watch some carloads of coal that stood in a siding. My trick (sentry-go) lasted LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP 51 from four to eight in the morning. The rain was tumbling down as I floundered through the ooze to relieve the other sentry. After the sergeant of the guard had gone, I felt really miserable. There was only one place where I could stand with any degree of comfort and this was a sort of a step that stood up a few inches above the surrounding sea of mud, like a tiny rock in a swamp of brown colored soup. Balancing myself precariously on this for- lorn hope, I thought I would pass the time by sing- ing softly to myself. This seemed to bring the rain down with redoubled force so I stopped and took to cursing instead. Then the disaster came. I was gazing through the murk at nothing when a desire to stretch overtook me; I did so and the rifle overbalanced me. After several wild at- tempts to regain my balance, I floundered face down into the quagmire below. When I had par- tially digested the highly flavored mud, I ad- dressed my surroundings with much feeling. It was useless now to bother about trying to keep dry, as I was seeping wet through, so I stood and watched the liquid mass swirling around me 52 HOLDING THE LINE and the water flapping at my knees. I could see dimly by the light of a sputtering electric light at one corner of the car. Slowly the time passed till I heard in the dis- tance very faintly the bugles at headquarters sounding " Reveille." This is one of the most im- pressive things I have ever heard — the reveille at dawn and the last post at night. Away in the distance the first notes would steal faintly across the plain, each succeeding camp would take it up, until it reached us, then our own massed bugles would blare it out in one swelling din. From us it would pass to the next camp, until it died away as faintly as it had begun. Thus were fifty thou- sand men awakened from their slumbers, or hur- ried to them, during the winter of 1914. Heaving a deep sigh of mingled appreciation of the music and disgust at my physical discom- fort, I turned once more to studying the quagmire. Suddenly I was aroused by a gruff voice in a Cockney accent. It was a man of the big crowd of civilians, chiefly men unfit for the army, who worked at different occupations in and around the LIFE IN THE ENGLISH CAMP 53 camp. By the light I saw a little weazened-up man holding two coal scuttles. " I say, mate, could I 'ave a couple of scuttles of coal'?" "No, you can't," I replied, "beat it." The little man stood his ground and I was glad of it, because here was someone to quarrel with, and I would gladly have quarreled with my own father at that moment after my night of shivering. However, there was to be no scrap. Just as I came within striking distance he opened his coat and displayed a flat bottle: "Loike a drink, guv?" I eyed the bottle for a second. "How much is in it 4 ?" I asked. "She's full." Alas poor, frail humanity; my mind was made up in an instant. "You can take the bloomin' car if you'll give me the bottle." "Righto," said he; "I only want a couple of scuttles-full, but yer can 'ave the bottle." My stomach was empty, my clothes were soaked, I was wet and chilled through and 54 HOLDING THE LINE through, but when my relief came I was supremely content with my lot. The sergeant sniffed suspiciously, but I held my tongue and bottle both. A few nights following the above I experienced one of those unforgetable sensations that men have at one time or another in their lives. A very old and dear friend of mine, a veteran of a former campaign, had enlisted with the Princess Pats and the first opportunity I had I searched him out at the camp of the Pats. Returning home across the hills to our own camp I suddenly became aware of the roll of men's voices singing an old familiar hymn. The wind blowing in my direction carried the sound even above the swish of the rain ; in fact, the solemnity of it all was intensified by the steady swish of the downpour. Every evening men by the thousands congregated in our only place of recreation, the huge Y. M. C. A. marquee, and on this evening they were singing that old favorite of all civilization, "Nearer, My God to Thee." It sounded like a mighty requiem. CHAPTER IX GETTING READY TO GO MY second leave arrived. Being issued with a new uniform, my buttons and badges burnished as bright as elbow grease and metal paste could make them, I flattered myself I made a most soldierly figure as I stepped out with the rest, en route for Amesbury station. The major, knowing his boys, gave us a word of warning. He held forth on the nearness of the time when we would be wanted to hold the thin line over the channel. The warning was a hint to be back on time or results unpleasant would follow. This did not prevent me taking an extra day or so. This was to be the last I saw of my people be- fore embarking on the final stage of the game and the time passed all too quickly. On the day of my final leave-taking not one shadow of sorrow was portrayed on mother's face. On the contrary, [55] 56 HOLDING THE LINE she resorted to an old English custom that has been handed down for generations : after my last kiss and embrace she waved a cheery adieu and grabbing an old shoe that she had prepared for the moment she flung it after me with the time immemorial expression, "Good Luck and God- speed." I held the tears back until I was well out of sight and then my pent-up feelings gave way and I let them freely flow. The memory of that fare- well has supported me and given me strength to undergo what sometimes seems impossible when I look back over it all. My youngest sister, Edith, displayed the same bravery of spirit and main- tained a brightness and a cheeriness which I well know she was far from feeling. Blessed indeed are we in our women and girls. My return journey was in the company of an- other of the British-Canadians from my own vil- lage. At London we crammed ourselves into a carriage crowded with khaki-clad humanity, and a furious argument arose as to what constituted a real Canadian. Hot and hotter it grew until we GETTING READY TO GO 57 steamed into the little depot, and it was only set- tled when a stalwart Canuck volunteered to knock hell out of any man in the whole damned army who said he wasn't a Canadian. On arriving at the door of my former hut I found it barred and the boys inside told me to seek other quarters as the spinal meningitis had at last reached our abode. I entered the next hut and found it filled with my chums who had re- turned from leave, all feeling somewhat dismal, and we cast ourselves down wherever we could and dreamt about home till morning. As before, my low spirits soon faded and I skipped about as usual. Now began a period of intensive training, chiefly bayonet practice. Mus- ketry, route marching, bayonet fighting, and target practice all took up our time, and such games as football and baseball served to keep the men supple. On New Year's eve we celebrated and the of- ficers closed their eyes for awhile, and the men took full advantage of their temporary blindness. In our hut, story and song floated more or less 58 HOLDING THE LINE musically into the mist outside. The evening finished with a speech from one huge fellow, which he insisted on making in spite of our protest, and to emphasize his oratorical points, he seized the object nearest to him which happened to be me, and taking me by the coat collar and the leg, he drove home his points by thumping me, rear end downward, on the table. That was another time in my life when the way of the small man was hard, and the trouble of it was the table was harder. Although I suffered somewhat by reason of my short stature, nature evened things up by giving me a stamina which nothing seemed to hurt. In consequence, I was always chosen to be one of the party who paraded before the doctor every few days in order to show the doctor that there was nothing very seriously wrong with our battalion, because the men were afraid we would be left be- hind when the contingent went to France owing to the amount of sickness in our bunch. Policemen, whether civil or military, are ever the abomination of a libertv loving soldierv and GETTING READY TO GO 59 throughout the camp they were always on the lookout for offenders. However, on Salisbury Plain it was comparatively easy to avenge one- self on the M. P.'s. (military police). At night, after "Lights out" these officious guardians of the peace would be on the look-out for any of the boys who had stayed out too long, and who were dodging the sentries. On a stormy night, with their coat collars turned up to their ears and leaning against the storm, they would be walking on the chalk walks on each side of which stretched the sea of mud. The avenger usually prepared his attack by donning a pair of rubber boots, and stealing up behind the unsuspecting policeman until within a few feet of him, he would step off into the mud on the storm side of the M. P. and deliver a blow with all the pent-up feelings of an aggrieved soldier behind it and into the mud would topple the unlucky policeman. The Ca- nadian idea of discipline had not yet become accli- mated to the stern routine of the Imperial Army. o CHAPTER X LEAVING FOR FRANCE UR work was harder now than ever; not a moment was lost in whipping us into shape for the Great Game and our nerves were becom- ing more tense each day. The final event before leaving was a review of the men in the presence of the King and Queen, Earl Kitchener, and other distinguished guests, as well as our kin-folk from all parts of Great Britain and Ireland and the Dominions beyond the seas. Morning broke with the usual drizzle of rain, which happily stopped later on, giving us instead a very fine day. We filed out to the parade ground, a distance of about two miles. The High- landers had arrived before us and a splendid sight they made. Standing at ease on the slope of a gently rising hill, their khaki aprons having been discarded for the occasion, they made a wonderful [60] LEAVING FOR FRANCE 61 splash of color on the dull landscape. Tall, lithe fellows for the most part, they looked the beau ideal of the British soldier. There seemed to be an air of dashing gallantry about them that was irresistible. Making the air hideous with their terrific skirling, the pipes droned and squealed their defiance of everything non-Scotch. The pipes were decorated with long colored streamers of the same pattern as the kilts and plaids of their owners. The pipers themselves were men of un- usually fine physique, and surely Scotland and Canada would have felt proud to have seen the brave sight. In spite of our dislike for the pipes there was an indescribable lilt to the music that seemed to get into our feet, and shoulders were thrown back and two thousand feet swung as one. In this fashion we arrived on the ground allotted to us for the parade. After the usual movement for placing troops in review order we stood in ranks in platoon formation, two by two, one behind the other. The royal party not having arrived we stood at ease and had time to take in our surroundings. 62 HOLDING THE LINE As far as the eye could see, line after line of in- fantry stretched up the gently sloping hill. A massed band at our immediate rear did much to give one a curious feeling of elation. I shall never forget the sight. The huge Union Jack directly to our front surmounting the reviewing platform streamed grandly out in the breeze that was stead- ily blowing across the plain. A curious contrast between the dull drab of the ordinary infantry and the gay attire of the Highlanders struck me most forcibly. To our right the artillery in per- fect formation seemed to stand like figures of adamant; there seemed something sinister and threatening in the dull color and lean appearance of the guns. Immediately to their rear, reminding us of the wrath to come, stood the stretcher bearers of the medical service. At last the puffing of a train was heard and we knew that our royal visitors had arrived. The King, Lord Kitchener, and other prominent sol- diers and statesmen stepped off the train. The band crashed out the first bars of the national LEAVING FOR FRANCE 63 anthem, a quick command to us, " Present arms," a movement, and all was still except for the roll- ing of the anthem across the plain, and then silence once more. The King shook hands with the officers and the inspection began. This was the second time I had seen his majesty, but in spite of the fact that I am a loyal Britisher, I was much more interested in the martial figure by his side; this was the man who at that time held the defense of Britain's military forces in the hollow of his hand. I had read that Lord Kitchener was an inscrutable man, never known to smile ; it was a fiction; he smiled genially at us all. But those keen, dark eyes did not miss one single detail of the men in front of him. My sensation as he passed in front of me was that he was looking straight through me into the man at my rear. No word of approval or otherwise did the renowned soldier utter, but I think he was pleased by the stalwart physique and the soldierly bearing of the boys. After they had duly in- spected our ranks, they took their places on the saluting platform and the march past began, every 64 HOLDING THE LINE arm of the service being represented in its order. At the word, the artillery sprang into life and thundering down the slope at a mad gallop, they slowed gradually down and the horses walked, as proudly as horses ever did, past the saluting base. Next the cavalry, the men with their swords at the carry, trotted by. A gallant sight they made with their Stetson hats and long yellow cloaks. The coats of horses perfectly groomed shone in the sun like satin and made a picture that was never surpassed by anything of the kind in the days when " Knighthood was in Flower." Then came the first battalion of infantry and before I could notice more we, ourselves, had started to march past. The band struck up a mar- tial air and four thousand feet, keeping perfect time, made the ground echo with their tread. My own battalion swung past the royal party with a lilt in its step that thrilled one through and through, and at the order " Eyes right" every head turned like clockwork. The old Fifth certainly made a gallant showing that day. LEAVING FOR FRANCE 65 Immediately after the review, line after line of infantry arranged itself on each side of the track, and as' the train bearing our distinguished visitors steamed through, a roar of cheering echoed and re-echoed away over the plain. From then until our departure for the front each day's work was an unusually strenuous course of bayonet practice. Day after day we system- atically stabbed and parried at sacks lying in trenches and hung up on poles till we saw nothing but bayonets in our waking hours and dreamt of nothing else in our sleep. One encouraging thing our instructors used to tell us when they would fluently express their disgust at our poor showing was, "Well, never mind, two-thirds of you will never get up far enough to use them blinkin' baynits." One sunny afternoon in early February, we re- ceived the order to leave behind all surplus bag- gage and to burn all refuse and waste matter and leave the camp in perfectly sanitary condition. This done we paraded for miles in full marching order, loaded like mules. Hardened as we were 66 HOLDING THE LINE by our recent workouts, the strain was terrible, even when we were standing, while the Old Man inspected us. At last the order to march was given and we knew that this time we were really going into the game. A grueling tramp of about an hour and we reached Amesbury. Again the rain was com- ing down and we were soaked as we stood waiting for the train. At this point an unusual difficulty confronted the keeper of one of our soldiers, a recruit named Private Billy. Billy in his early days had jumped from crag to crag of the Rocky Mountains, had been brought down to Valcartier and, in spite of having very prominent veins in his legs, he passed the doctor, and he was the only one of our bat- talion who ever appeared on parade without being punished for not shaving. Billy had duly marched as was his wont in front of the battalion, when, to the consternation of the boys, the Colonel swore, as is the divine right of a colonel, that the goat must be left behind. Here was a real difficulty. We could not part with Billy; the boys argued LEAVING FOR FRANCE 67 that we could easily get another colonel but it was too far to the Rocky Mountains to get another goat. The difficulty was solved by buying a huge crate of oranges from an old woman who was doing a brisk trade with the boys. The oranges sold like hot cakes and in a jiffy the orange box was con- verted into a crate and Billy was shanghaied into the crate and smuggled on board the train. Poor Billy ! for three days and nights he simply existed in that horrible crate on board train and on trans- port ship. Billy, the goat, is still going strong and it is the boast of the Fifth that Kaiser Wilhelm has not yet "got their goat." Bill is a goat to be proud of. When the battalion was drawn up in review order and strictly at attention, no soldier ever stood more erect. He would stand with the trans- port, all four legs firmly braced on the ground, his head held high, without a flicker or a move- ment. His only weakness was a fondness for canteen beer that was unequaled by our most sea- soned toper. Luckily for him, beer was hard to 68 HOLDING THE LINE get. The boys were so amused at his side-splitting antics when in his "cups" that they were forever treating him. Billy, however, like most ne'er-do-wells, was a valiant soldier, and greatly distinguished himself at YpreSo In that immortal death struggle, Bill remained with his friends clear through. He was seriously wounded and I think the wound was in his back. The old fellow was tenderly nursed and eventually returned to duty with the rank ' of sergeant. He was reduced to the ranks in a few days for when on duty near brigade headquarters he cas- ually walked in and chewed up the nominal roll. Promotion soon came his way again, and Bill, today, a veteran of a dozen mighty battles, worthily upholds the traditions of the Fifth, while his name is entered on the roll as Sergeant Bill. The story of Billy, the goat, may be read in detail by anyone who cares to send for Canada in Khaki, a book published in England on the doings of Canadians in Flanders. Our departure was typical of the grim times — LEAVING FOR FRANCE 69 no band playing, no fond farewell, just a stealing away in the night. Our own relatives did not know we had arrived in France until they received their first letters from us. We arrived in the early morning, still dark, at the seaport town of A — in the Bristol channel. Next day we steamed out, passing Land's End, still southwards, and in a curve up through the Bay of Biscay and dropped anchor in the bay of a certain port in Brittany. During this trip our attachment to the fiends that take refuge in the seams of a man's shirt was closer than ever. We slept where we could and passed the days huddled together on the lower deck of the old cattle barge, for she was nothing else. Mighty games of poker whiled away the time. The boys already imbued with the fatalistic spirit of the true British sol- dier, argued that fate was so uncertain that while they lived and had money, why not risk it, and the chief gamblers went the limit with all their worldly wealth. CHAPTER XI LANDING IN FRANCE THE battle song of the British Army, "Tip- perary," which was made imperishable by the men who died at Mons and the Marne, was the first sound that rang in our ears as our ship drew up to the landing. It was a beautiful day, for spring had already begun to blossom in that part of the country, although when we hit the firing line it was still dead winter, and the scenery in France was disclosed to perfection that day. The song was being sung by French children in excellent English who congregated in hundreds on the quay to see the Canadian soldiers disem- bark, and I don't think a finer set of boys ever set foot in France than Canada's first contingent. Little did we think that in two short months more than half of us would be dead, dying and shot to pieces. [70] LANDING IN FRANCE 71 A storm of cheering rent the air as our ship was moored to the dock. Oranges, bananas, grapes and fruit of every description were thrown to us, to which we replied by sending over but- tons, badges, etc., these "Souvenirs Canadian" being literally fought for by the crowd. One stalwart Frenchman earned our undying gratitude by catching our company commander squarely on the side of the face with a nice plump orange. It landed with a lovely stinging smack and spread itself most luxuriantly over his capa- cious mug. Those who had been recipients of the numerous punishments dealt out for our misdeeds chuckled quietly and nudged each other in unholy glee. We were no sooner safely docked than — to work. Winches groaned as if in protest, as they hauled guns, ammunition and other impedimenta of a division on active service. Fatigue parties sweated and cursed as they stumbled backwards and forwards on and off the ship. Every man had his work to do, and long before daylight everything was ready for our departure north. -J2 HOLDING THE LINE At five o'clock in the morning we were issued goatskin coats, mittens and gloves, and inspected by the O. C. The order came to march, and in heavy marching order, we trudged to the depot. This marching order consists of rifle and bayonet attached to braces, which in turn are attached by self-locking buckles to the belt, the knapsack or valise which usually contains a shaving kit, towel, soap, change of underwear, socks, one pair of boots, mess tin, and any other little convenience you may wish to carry. Later on we learned by bitter experience to dispense with everything except absolute necessities. The aforesaid goatskin coats were a gift from the then Czar of Russia and were supposed to have come from China. When we had donned our gift coats there was a perceptible murmur of comment running from end to end of the ranks, caused by the odor from the presents of the Czar not unlike the presence of a skunk. Examination disclosed that the bloody (literally) coats were dotted in many places with the actual flesh of the deceased animals still sticking to them. In spite LANDING IN FRANCE j$ of stern orders from the O. C's. of the various companies to maintain silence during inspection, it was plainly discernible that the smell had pene- trated even the seasoned nostrils of the officers themselves, from the Colonel down. I am cer- tain that the Germans would have been badly frightened that we had a poison gas of our own if we had had a chance to tackle them with our coats on when the stink was fresh and full in its pristine glory, as it was when we first got them. As fate would have it, and as usual, I got a garment that would have covered the hairy legs of Goliath of Gath ; I almost tramped on the hairy fringe every time I stepped, and I can't think of anything that would more aptly describe my appearance than my chum Morgan's exclamation : " For God's sake, fellows, take a look at this little runt of a centipede. Shorty, for the love of Mike have you any idea what you look like 4 ?" "Go to hell," I snorted, whereat the entire platoon held their sides, and I was mad enough to turn a machine gun on them. Hanging from the belt is the entrenching tool 74 HOLDING THE LINE and handle ; it is shaped like a tiny grub hoe. One would be apt to be amused at the idea of digging a hole with a toy like that, but under shell fire you could dig a hole quicker with that little tool than with a pick and shovel. Next is the haversack worn on the left side and the water bottle on the right. In the pouches attached to the belt and braces a hundred and twenty rounds of ball ammunition are carried. In addition to all this a man takes his blanket and oil sheet rolled on the top of his valise. One can understand from this why men for the army need so much training. Men of the finest physique would collapse inside of a mile with marching order on their backs if not properly trained. We arrived at the depot where we were told to lie down if we wished and we did so with alacrity and waited for the train. Day broke, and once more fatigue work. Guns were loaded on flat cars and transport wagons, horses were placed in box cars, eight to a car, hay, straw, rations, etc., were loaded in double quick time, and finally the LANDING IN FRANCE 75 men were off, so many to a car. On the side of the cars in white letters was painted the legend Chevaux 8, Hommes 40, which to those who do not know French means eight horses or forty men. Forty-three were told off to our car and here the first taste of active service really began. We were three days on board that train, but not only could we not lie down, but there was not enough room to even sit down, and when we rested we took it by relays. However, with songs and cheers the train pulled out, and in spite of our cramped quarters we managed to be happy and enjoy our first glimpse of "La Belle France." Vociferous were the exclamations of the French at every place we stopped. Women would draw their forefingers about their throats, signifying the cutting of that part of the human frame, with the word, "Allemand," signifying German. An old man, too old to serve in the army, made the motion of a bayonet thrust, informing us — at least we guessed that was what he meant — to so treat the hated Allemands. We were always surrounded by crowds of souvenir hunters, which did not dis- 76 HOLDING THE LINE turb us at first but before we had half finished our journey they became an unmitigated nuisance, and the boys were not long in letting them know their safety depended on the distance they kept away. At last on a bleak, raw morning, we detrained at a spot where was witnessed a desperate encounter between the British and Germans in the early part of the war. A mile or so from the place is the town of Hazebrouck. It was here that the terrible toll of this conflict was brought home to us. Line after line of wooden crosses, with the names and regiments of the men who lay beneath, stretched for an appalling distance. Since then a fearful number of graves has been added, including thousands of our boys of Canada, following the battle of Ypres. Later on I noticed the poppies that abound all through sunny France, waving their pretty heads between the crosses, which gave inspiration for that beautiful poem by Lieutenant John McCrae, originally published, I believe, in the London Punch. It is well worth repeating: LANDING IN FRANCE 7£ In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies grow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; while in the sky The larks still bravely singing fly Unheard amid the guns below. We are the Dead! Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset's glow, Loved, and were loved; and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe ; To you from failing hands we throw The torch — be yours to hold it high, If ye break faith with us We shall not sleep 'though poppies blow In Flanders fields. After detraining we were placed in billets, ours consisting of an old barn. The near-by farm was being run by the women of the place, all the men folks being away in the trenches. These people must have made a small fortune, as the boys bought eggs, butter, coffee, etc., in abundance. Our experiences in making change for our pur- chases uniquely expressed the old saying, " money talks," because the dealers everywhere seemed to 78 HOLDING THE LINE be thoroughly acquainted with the values of Eng- lish currency, although they couldn't speak the language. Here we stayed for a few days until our march to the trenches began. Nightly, as we lay, we could hear the boom of an occasional big gun, the rattle of rapid rifle fire, and now and again the peculiar metallic click and whir of machine guns. It was in this place that the clock-tower inci- dent occurred : Someone noticed the hands of the clock on the east end of the tower moving strangely; two men were sent up to investigate. They did not return and a search was made for them. They could not be located, but suspicious sounds were heard up in the tower. The officers decided it was a case for the guns. One shell brought the tower tumbling down and with it came the bodies of two German spies and the men who had been sent to investigate. The spies had been using the hands of the clock for signaling purposes. o CHAPTER XII MY BAPTISM OF FIRE N the morning before we set out for the trenches we were inspected by Sir John French and other well-known leaders of the British Army. That night the guns roared, Maxims barked and rifles kept up an incessant fire all night. We began to have a very heartfelt idea of what we were in for and the tightening up of the faces of the men was distinctly perceptible, accompanied with ejaculations from some of the English Tom- mies in our battalion, such as "Gawd blime me, but it's gettin' close now." Next day at about twelve o'clock we fell in, joined the remainder of the battalion in Haze- brouck, and the march to Armentieres commenced. This march will long be remembered by all who survived. Everyone was in great spirits, and songs and jokes were the order. Along the [79] 8o HOLDING THE LINE cobbled roads we swung in full marching order, and the first part of the journey was accomplished with ease. But those awful cobbled roads began to tell their tale. They are paved with rough, uneven cobbles, and when a little rain has fallen a man goes slipping and sliding all over the place. A thin layer of mud makes it ten times worse; so by the time we had done fifteen miles, men began to lag. On and on we went, until at last the officers were obliged to halt the men. As is usual, toward evening we felt better, and lustily informed the natives that, "The Gang's All Here;" "Here We Are Again;" and various choruses of a like nature were roared by us as we swung like one man into Armentieres. Here we received vociferous welcome from those fearless fighting men, the boys of the British regular army. Their welcome was a royal as well as a noisy one, because they shoved refreshing drinks and cig- arettes into our hands, which were eagerly taken. "What in blazes do you call this stuff?" I asked of a burly Tommy who had thrust a bottle of liquid at me. MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 81 "Wy, that, don't you know*? That's beer, French beer." "The devil, you say!" "'Pon my soul, it is." "Is the French fightin' man anything like his beer'?" I asked. "Oh no, Gawd forbid," said he, "for this damn stuff is as much like beer as kissin' your own sister." And I thoroughly agreed with him, because although it looked like beer and smelt like beer, it was no more like beer than the kiss of a man's sister would be when compared to the kiss of his sweetheart. Our long march ended and we were billeted in the best billets I ever remember while abroad. It was the luck of our platoon to be billeted at an estaminet, or inn. The owner of this was some- what of a naturalist, the walls of his house being hung with all kinds of valuable skins, cases of butterflies, etc. The people here were the acme of kindness. You may guess how we slept that night. 82 HOLDING THE LINE During our stay in this billet I was always very conscious of a curious frightened feeling, and as I looked at the carefree faces of my comrades, I often wondered if they felt as I did. Sometimes a dull, menacing boom, making the air vibrate, would cause a silence to fall and a far-away look in the eyes told me more emphatically than any words could that the rest of the boys were "thinking it over," probably just as hard as I was doing. Next morning we had a grand breakfast, due to the kindness of Major, then Captain Hopkins. Before actually going into the trenches we were taken some thousand yards to the back of the first line and started to work at filling sandbags and generally improving the condition of the rear of our lines. Mile after mile at the back of the firing line, trenches are being improved in case of retirement. The Germans are doing the same, but they make theirs of concrete, so when grumbling at the slow progress of the Allies, just think for a moment of the tremendous task in front of them. MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 83 An occasional bullet would whistle over our heads as we worked, while some would imbed themselves in the mud around us. No one was hit and just at dusk we were marched back to our billets for one more night's rest before taking our places in the first line. Engaged in conversation that night with the good Monsieur Prevot, the worthy host of the estaminet, was a man who looked the typical Tommy of the British Army. Of medium height, thickset, dark hair and dark moustache, he was about the last person one would suspect of being anything but the soldier he proclaimed himself to be. Soon he was hobnobbing with the boys, playing cards and telling them stories of the earlier days of the war. He had been spending some little time there, but unlike all British soldiers he showed a strange neglect of his rifle, scarcely ever looking at it and much less cleaning it. This aroused the suspicion of Sergeant-major Demaille and the lat- ter, coming into the estaminet one day and finding him there, began to question him. The man's 84 HOLDING THE LINE replies only heightened the S-M's suspicions and he was placed under arrest. That was the last we ever saw of him, but his was a short shrift. He paid the price for his daring. To many people the work of a spy carries with it an odium that is unspeakably disgusting; his activities are associated with everything that is dirty, sneaking and contemptible. This, in my opinion, is true of all shades of spies except the man who operates in the battle lines. In this case he knows there is absolutely no shadow of a chance for his life if caught, and it requires a nerve that is brave indeed to engage in that type of the work. Spying, a soldier detests, but, while detest- ing, he is full of admiration for the courage of the spy. The following day we fell in about four-thirty in the afternoon and started for, as we thought, the trenches. To stiffen our backs, as it were, we were ordered to fall in immediately beside the graveyard at Armentieres, where scores of little wooden crosses marked the resting places of the numberless children who were killed in the bom- MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 85 bardment. We were allowed to talk and smoke until we had gone some distance, then strict silence was kept. By and by we were halted and split up into sections, to minimize the effect of shell fire. The road was pitted with shell holes, these being full of water. The night being very dark, except when a flare would light up the country with its weird color for a moment, the men now and then would trip and fall with a muttered curse. It was all quiet in front, but occasionally a burst of fire would wake the echoes and bullets would whiz over our heads. A few of them fell around us, but no one was hurt. It is a peculiar sensa- tion to find yourself under fire for the first time. A man feels utterly helpless and at first he will duck his head at every whiz he hears. Of course ducking is useless, because if you hear the whiz of the pill, or the report of the rifle, you are still untouched, but every man who has ever experi- enced this will tell you that he could not help ducking even knowing how useless it was. I went so far as to put up my shoulders to cover my jaws, as if in a boxing stunt. 86 HOLDING THE LINE One of the British Tommies gave me a bit of brief but sound philosophy on ducking: "If you 'ear them, they won't 'urt you; if you don't 'ear them, you're dead." A little later on a bit of Irish humor was tragically mingled with duck- ing. A shell was coming, as an Irish soldier thought, straight for him, and he ducked, and the shell swept away the head of the man behind him. Said Paddy, "Shure it always pays to be polite." By and by we were halted and lead through a kind of tunnel into a barn. Here were a bunch of British, most of them having taken part in the Mons retirement. We found we were to act as a reserve with these men, that is, in case of attack we would make our way to the front line as quickly as possible. A trench led from both sides of this barn, but it was so skilfully concealed that no one would have dreamt of its being there. In this barn the Tommies had made themselves very comfortable, having straw to lie on, and fires with which to boil tea. We soon were great friends with the regulars, who gave us many valuable tips for active service. MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 87 We stayed here for twenty-four hours, the only excitement being a German shell dropped in the separator of an antiquated threshing machine, some two hundred yards to our rear, and the way those thresher men bolted makes me think that they are probably running yet. The natives at that time farmed away, just about five hundred yards from the firing line, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I saw them finishing land in one part of a small field, while shrapnel was spraying the other part, and at that time a family was living in every house around there. Since then, however, both they and the town of Armentieres are just dust heaps, being shelled to a finish at about the same time as the great bombardment of Ypres. At nightfall we trudged silently from the barn and without any casualties succeeded in reaching our hospitable estaminet. The good lady of the house, after counting us over, prepared hot coffee for us. In this town is the French and Belgian burial ground and at that time it was full of statuary; 88 HOLDING THE LINE even the humblest grave had its own little shrine above it. The monuments were very fine, par- ticularly a huge marble one which had been erected by the sons of Armentieres for those who had died for La Patrie, at Quatre Bras, Algiers, the Crimea and the war of 1870. It was a beau- tiful monument, some thirty feet high, and could not possibly be of any advantage to either side, yet the Germans, a few weeks afterwards, shelled this graveyard, utterly destroying all the beauti- ful monuments and exhuming piecemeal dozens of bodies. A crucifix, with the figure of the Savior, was in the most conspicuous place in that burial ground; it was easily twenty feet high; yet it remained untouched throughout the whole bom- bardment. In not one single instance (and I think all returned soldiers will say the same) have I seen the figure of the Savior anything but intact, no matter how destructive the shelling has been. The cross itself has been smashed to dust, but the figure has never been hit. This is very remark- able, but a fact. U x — rf _ M ~ £ u = < "■* r* "t c ■y. — - o -. H c/l r s o % * £ * 2 ct -• p zz O - v. b/c 5 fc .- — MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 89 The next afternoon at four-thirty came the order, "Fall in," and we knew we were booked now for the real thing. Rifles were examined, ammunition inspected, and as night was falling we swung through the town and across the bridge, temporarily erected by the engineers, the Ger- mans having destroyed the original one in their retreat. The townspeople turned out en masse apparently none the worse for a few shells that had been flying among them a few hours before. Bon chance was shouted from all sides, to which we replied in English. Being very much on the short side and all the more conspicuous by the majority of the boys being very much on the tall side, I came in for much chaff from the people who christened me le picannin. It became a great joke among my chums and I had to submit to a lot of chaff. At last we came to the hospital and the order was passed down the line for silence. Again splitting into small sections we trudged silently along, now and again stumbling into the shell craters. Once we were placed at the side of the road to oo HOLDING THE LINE let the casualties go by. Nothing is so weird as to meet those stretcher bearers on a quiet night at the back of the line. Not a word is spoken, the bearers stepping as one man. Up in the air goes a flare and the faces of everyone take on a ghastly green tint, accentuating the expression of suffer- ing. It is a wonderful experience, and only a soldier can realize the heroic stoicism of a wounded comrade. Racked with pain they may be, but with the inevitable smoke between their lips, they will grin at you as they pass. If you want to imagine what a bullet wound feels like try and think that you have got it and then imagine what it is to be carried over the bumpy road, dumped down time after time, so that your bearers may drop on the ground and live to carry you out. The Huns fire on every- thing that moves, and every time a flare rises, down your bearers must drop or run the certainty of being sniped. Sometimes in a big action men will lie for days, some with desperate wounds, sniped at if they show the slightest movement, and then comes the journey from the dressing station MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 91 along a road raked with shell fire. Just try and imagine it, and if you see a soldier back from hell kicking over the traces, and going a little bit wild, just think of what he has been in and endured. In my case the sight of these casualties caused me to shiver, for there I was in perfect health and strength, yet how long before I would be like one of these boys ! However, we were not given much time for thinking. "Keep absolutely quiet and no talk- ing," was the whispered command that was passed among us. The blackness of the night made seeing anything clearly absolutely impos- sible. No smoking was permitted and if a machine gun opened on the road we were to throw our- selves flat. This was most encouraging as the road had a beautiful layer of nice clinging mud, while pools of water, from two to ten feet deep, were scattered everywhere. We were all green troops and when the "plut-plut-ping" began over our heads, the ducking would have done credit to Jim Corbett. By and by we steadied up, especially as we 2£ HOLDING THE LINE heard some British Tommies, who were returning from their spell in front, enjoying a quiet laugh at our expense. However, as one of them put it, "The'll get used tew it lad, we were as bad at start. Goot neet." " Silence there ! " from our Old Man. I had a kind of "home and mother" feeling in my stomach and I expected every min- ute to hear the machine guns begin to bark. We had been told that a strip of railway about two hundred yards from the trenches was a veritable death trap, the Allemands peppering it about every hour. It was on the road to our trenches, so we were obliged to go over it. When we came to the spot I fancied that that strip of land was about a mile across instead of about ten yards. Judge of our astonishment, when the door of a house opened and a woman came out and stood calmly watching us pass, mind you, only two hundred yards from our own front lines and three hundred yards from the Germans. And there I was trying to make myself as small as a midget, and she standing calmly erect as if butterflies instead of bullets were flying around. Thought L MY BAPTISM OF FIRE 93 "If that woman can stand like that, surely I can at least walk erect." I did so, but it was a terrible effort. A guide from the Tommies took us in hand and the pace he set was a caution. He was used to it, but we were on strange ground, and it was as dark as pitch. We carried our rifles at the trail as a guide to the man behind. Now and then our worthy guide would stop to get over or through some obstacle, causing a momentary halt. Bang ! goes the rifle of the man in front of me, the butt catching me plumb in the stomach. Swear- ing came from all around as some of the boys would run their noses onto a pair of boots or some- thing equally hard in the valises of the men in front, or the muzzle of a rifle prodded someone in the back. The upshot of it all was that Fritz grew sus- picious and up went a flare, but we were not spotted except by a few snipers who sent over a few souvenirs, which luckily none of us accepted. The pain in my tummie obliged me to stay behind for a time, and when I felt able to go on, the boys 94 HOLDING THE LINE were disappearing in front. The man who dug his rifle butt into my stomach was named "Slaughter" and he gave me solid proof that he earned his name that night, for my tummie was sore for weeks. I was afraid I was going to get lost, so I mustered up all my strength to try and run after the boys, and after covering a few yards, over I went into a Jack Johnson hole (crater made by 16 inch shell, often fifteen to thirty feet wide and as deep). There wasn't much water in the hole, but lots of mud; my rifle was absolutely choked with it and I was in an awful mess. I managed to flounder out, and on going a short distance I was challenged and found I had come right into the trench we were to occupy. CHAPTER XIII IN THE FRONT LINE A GRUFF voice with a broad Lancashire accent asked me who I was. I replied, "Fifth Canadians." "Aw reet," said he, "the'll be on the next trick wi' me," meaning I was to be sentry with him. A bunch of these British Tom- mies was out at the back filling sandbags, and their utter contempt for the occasional shots fired at them soon told me they were regulars. My companion and I soon became great chums, he explaining to me the various things about trench life. As we talked, a succession of flares suddenly leapt skyward, the whole district being lit up by the green flare. The boys filling sandbags raced for the trench, grabbed their rifles and stood ready for anything that might come along. The Ger- mans were sending a perfect fusillade over. It [95 1 96 HOLDING THE LINE was no attack, however. They had simply sighted our listening patrols and had commenced firing on them. My turn for sentry came, and with as little of myself showing as possible, I peered over the parapet. Of course, looking over the top is cer- tain death during the day, but darkness makes it possible. It was a curious feeling I had. I could see nothing but inky blackness except when a flare went up. I would search the ground in front of me while the light lasted, then duck as the inevi- table snipers took a pot shot. For an hour I stood sentry, then was relieved. Five of my companions and myself huddled into a partially completed dugout in a vain effort to keep warm. While getting up to the trenches the weight of the equipment kept us warm, also the heavy traveling, but standing still in that trench was a different matter. The mud rose to my thighs in places. Inside the dugout was a small charcoal fire, but very little heat came from that. The night was bitterly raw and cold, and wet and muddy as we were, we could not keep from shiv- 8Mw*<— ... n JB^^rfr ,~i ■■:,: i *T*^ ft * ^flpiP! From photo by the author. OUR XEST (DUGOUT) IS ON THE RIGHT. From photo by the author. MEALS ARE ANY TIME WHEN ONE IS HUNGRY IN THE FRONT LINE 97 ering, while I lost all feeling in my feet. Then we found we could get a certain amount of heat in the dugout, as the floor was dry, by hugging each other tightly. While it would be hard to conceive of a bunch of boys feeling more miserable than we did, yet I have to smile to myself when I think of those moments. With our arms clasping each other tightly, leaning over a little charcoal fire, our teeth chattering like monkeys, almost keeping time to the rattle of the machine guns, we man- aged to keep our heads. It is wonderful what men will endure when sweet life is the price. It was while trying to keep warm that first night over the little charcoal fire that I first learned how to handle my bayonet, if I was ever to be lucky enough to ram it so far into a German belly that I couldn't pull it out handily. The lesson came from a corporal of the East Lanks (Lan- cashires) who was explaining the advantages of the Lee-Enfield rifle and bayonet over the Ross, and his description was so realistically vivid that my teeth forgot to chatter with the chill I had. "You see," he said, "if you push it in too far, 98 HOLDING THE LINE you canna get it oot again, because this groove on the side o' it makes the 'ole air-tight; as soon as it is jabbed into a man the suction pulls the flesh all over it and you canna chuck it oot." "Well, what would you do if you couldn't get it out and another mug was making for you?" I asked. "Why if a twist won't do it, stick your foot on the beggar and wrench it out; if that won't do it, just pull the trigger a couple of times and there you are — she will blow out." "Did you ever have any trouble yourselves?" "Oh, aye. I remember at Landrecies, in the 'ouse to 'ouse fightin', my chum, Topper, and me were backed into an alley, with a wall at our back and a bunch of hulking Prussians pressing us hard. Some more of the boys fell on them from the side, but Topper and me had all we could do with the two or three that took a fancy to us. The Pruss that took a fancy to me raised the butt of his gun to smash me nut and I took a chance an' lunged. I lunged too 'ard and I 'ad the trouble I've just been tellin' ye, and in my funk I did IN THE FRONT LINE 99 just what I toUiMu ||fjf^r-she stuck; I wrenched ^jk^^jf =pTjj5e s fH q |>4W l adn t fired and |rtl*M!wHM wouldn't a' been >er&timito,fymm£kW "And why couldn't I do the same with this one 4 ?" I asked, referring to my Ross bayonet. "It's too broad at the point. The man that gave ye that dam'd thing might just as well 'ave passed sentence o' death on yer in a 'and to 'and go." As a loyal Canadian I was at first inclined to resent the imputation that our rifle was in any way inferior to anything on earth, but the cor- poral's prophecy proved only too true within a short month. With another spell at sentry the night wore on and at last day began to break. The morning was foggy and raw, but our hearts were cheered by the coming up of the rum. Yes, you may be horrified, good people who read this, but that rum is a God- send, and so you too would think if you had been standing with feet that you did not feel you pos- sessed, shivering, plastered with mud and wet to ioo HOLDING THE LINE the skin, standing with rifle ready an hour before dawn, expecting that any minute you might have to line the trenches and fight for your life. Under those conditions you may understand why a man needs something to warm the blood in his veins. One of the Tommies, my sentry chum, stole out under cover of the fog and returned with a jar of water. We built a fire (we were allowed fires as long as the fog lasted) and dined sumptuously on bully beef and strong tea. One of the regulars, a man about thirty years old, was alternately cursing the Germans and trying to warm his feet. Apparently he did not care whether he was hit or not, as he stood at the back of the trench, his entire body exposed, his chief concern in life apparently being to get warm. In his efforts to get his blood circulating he said he would rather be home again than standing all night in that bloody trough of water and mud. Something in his tone about home suggested a thought to one fellow who queried: "You would rather be home again*? Is it nearly as bad as this?" IN THE FRONT LINE 101 "Well, to tell you the truth," he said, "I was 'oping I'd 'ave a bit of a change, don't you know, and a sort o' relief from Lizer's everlastin' tongue, but, strike me pink, if I wouldn't rather 'ave 'er dear old tongue than this — yes, even on a Satur- day night, when I'd come 'ome drunk and me wages spent." A rather tough-looking nut who was listening to the dialogue chimed in contemptuously: " Huh, she jaws yer, does she*? Wy that's nuffink. When I was a-leavin' of Sary Jane I was a-bid- din' 'er good-bye, an' just to make a showin' I tries to kiss 'er, but, pepper me eye-balls, she lands me a swipe on the jawr an' sez, 'Kiss yer mother; if yer licks the Germans as bad as you've licked me, you won't be gone long.' " After the dissertations on married life by the happy benedicts, our suicidal friend of the East Lanks, who, reckless as ever, was still standing on the parados, which is the step in the rear side of the trench and, therefore, had three-quarters of his body exposed, suddenly yelled, "There's your Allemands;" our boys jumped to his side to see 102 HOLDING THE LINE our friends on the other side of the street. Crack ! and down fell the Tommy, and, a fraction of a second later, Slaughter, holding his hand to his jaw, slid forward slowly and convulsively into the trench. It was my first experience with the reality of war and my feeling was one of horror, then curiosity at what a stricken man looked like, then blind fury at everything German. The King's Own man was lying on his back with a hole through his cheek, the cheek-bone completely smashed. I hastened over to him, placed my overcoat under his head and started to bandage his face. He was badly hurt, but worth a dozen dead men, and was the recipient of hearty congratulations on his luck in getting such a Blighty (sufficiently wounded to take him home) ; it being evident that his wish to be home with his wife was soon to be realized. For quite a long time after I had a constant ireminder of him and his wound in the blood- stained condition of my overcoat, which was soaked through at the time. My friend, Slaughter, was hit in the side of IN THE FRONT LINE 103 the neck, the bullet passing down his back and out of the loin. He had a narrow escape and it finished his active service there and then. I saw him later in England on military police duty and looking fine, but he will never again carry a pack. To illustrate the peculiar course a bullet will sometimes take, this will serve as an example. The King's Own man had his left arm extended pointing to the German lines and the bullet first passed through the sleeve of his coat, then through to his cheek, came out at his ear, passed over in an oblique direction, hitting Slaughter in the neck, passing out at his loin, then through two sandbags and embedded itself in a third. We dug it out and one of the boys kept it as a souvenir. A volley of sulphurous language warned me that my guardian angel, Morgan, was approach- ing. He had been farther up the trench hobnob- bing with the fellows, and on hearing of Slaughter's mishap came to see how he was far- ing. In reality he had come over to see if I was safe and sound, but, as usual, concealed his real feelings in a mask of profanity. IQ4 HOLDING THE LINE "Well, runt, you're pretty white about the gills, ain't ye 1 ? You should have stayed home with your mother instead of coming out on a man's job. Poor little fellow! Shall I get you a glass of water ?" "O, go to hell, you black-whiskered devil. Your face is too damned homely to be spoiled, or I'd smash it with this rifle." I wasn't feeling any too chipper as it was, but I knew full well that it was his own peculiar method of displaying his affection forme, and thus was it answered. The day passed uneventfully, except for a lively duel between a bunch of regulars and Canucks and some frisky snipers in a house about three hundred yards off. None of our boys were hit and they silenced Fritz for awhile. Every time we moved the snipers would let go, but we had become wary and no further casualties hap- pened. The day turned out fairly warm, for which we were very thankful. Toward half-past four in the afternoon one of the Tommies near me remarked, "It's time he started the Wood- IN THE FRONT LINE 105 pecker." " Woodpecker ( ! What do you mean'?" " Oh," said he, in a matter of fact tone, " they have a machine gun laid on the way out and he takes a few sighters to get her right for us when we go out." "Lord!" thinks I, "more of it." True enough, about four thirty-five Fritz started the "Woodpecker" and we could see the bullets striking the corner of an old house, just where we were to pass that night. You can imagine how I felt when our relief came and we started our journey out. We stooped as low as possible, expecting every minute to be opened on, but for some reason he did not let her speak to us that night. One of the fellows, however, had three fingers sniped off by a stray bullet before we were out of the danger zone. It was almost worth the price to hear the exuberance of his swearing; but he was lucky; it was a comfortable Blighty for him, and some of us were positively green with envy. An amusing thing happened on our way out. We were green at that time, of course, and we went down the road and across the country as if io6 HOLDING THE LINE we were treading on eggs, our heads between our shoulders and our backs humped. Morgan walk- ing directly behind me, remarked, "What the devil are you ducking for 4 ? You don't have to duck, you poor little mite; they can't hit you, you're too small." My retort was big enough to suit even him. Presently we met a big bunch of the Lancashire Fusileers going in ; they were striding along, heads up, talking freely to one another as if out for an ordinary day's work. Immediately we saw their attitude we determined we were not going to be disgraced. Up went our heads and I can honestly say every man walked along like a seasoned veteran. But in order that this record may be true in every detail I desire to say that it was the hardest effort I ever put forth in my life. That finished our baptism in the trench brother- hood. Twenty-four hours for a start and not many casualties; in the whole battalion we had two killed and fourteen wounded. We were taken back to billets in Armentieres and next day we rested and sported with the IN THE FRONT LINE 107 people, fell in at dusk and after two days march- ing, trench digging, etc., were marched to take our own line of trenches at a place called Fleur Baix. In the afternoon before we started, Morgan and I agreeing for once in our career, set out to have a " time." A few hundred yards from our lodg- ing was an est amine t kept by two Belgian girls; these girls were already a by- word in the army for their tremendous physique. We entered and a lively scene indeed it was. On the floor were Tom- mies and Johnnie Canucks dancing to a rag-time tune played by an American musical box. One of the famous sisters, as well as what few girls were available, were dancing with the soldiers and some of the boys were lending an accompani- ment by keeping time, hammering the floor with the wooden shoes worn by the peasantry. "Hello, runt," from one; "Come in, Shorty," from another, while my immediate pals set up a howl of welcome. But the acme of my welcome was reached when the other of the giant sisters, leaning over the counter of the estaminet and greeting me, "Hello, chick," almost the only io8 HOLDING THE LINE English words she knew, grabbed me with one hand, pulled me half way over the counter, hoisted me with perfect ease clear over and sat me gently down on a chair at the back. I was like a baby in her grasp, and you can imagine the side-splitting roars that ensued. I felt so humiliated that had I been able I would gladly have smacked her face, but that was physically out of the question. How- ever, I made the best of my uncomfortable feelings for the moment and managed to enjoy myself thoroughly while I was there, because the hos- pitality of the sisters knew no bounds; everything they had to eat or drink was at our disposal ; they seemed to be unable to do enough for us. My round of pleasure that afternoon ended with an exhibition dance by "Shorty" and the Giantess of Lebezet, as announced by one of the boys, and the way that girl whirled me off my feet was uproariously appreciated by the audience, and in my final whirl she wound up by catching me and hoisting me up in the air and imprinting a sound smack on my lips. I must hasten to add that this favor from the perspiring amazon was IN THE FRONT LINE 109 not at all to my liking, but I couldn't very well protest for two reasons : First, I was utterly help- less in her grasp and, second, it might have been poor taste. So I joined in the laugh. Much happened during our two days out, but do not think because we were not in the trenches that we were out of danger. In a quiet time the safest place sometimes is the very front line, as the enemy is often no more than twenty yards away and neither side dare shell the other for fear of hitting their own men. On our march from Armentieres there came a blinding snow storm, together with a wind that seemed strong enough to take us off our feet. It was almost dark and we were compelled to halt, as the transports coming the opposite way were held up. We sheltered as best we could, but it was a muddy wet bunch of boys that tramped into Salle late that night, where we rested till next morning. As usual, we were placed in barns, and I was fortunate enough to get a line bunch of straw. I didn't require any rocking to sleep that night. no HOLDING THE LINE Next morning a bunch of us slipped out and dined on the best in a partly demolished estaminet. Having a good working knowledge of French, if the people speak slowly, I acted as interpreter for the boys. If I did not remember the exact word, I would say it in English. As Tommy Atkins had been very chummy with the natives here, they had acquired some decidedly Billings- gate English; so in a mixture of bad French and English profanity we got along fairly well. It was side-splitting though to hear our hostess speaking pure French interlarded with fearful oaths of profanity in English, the nature of which she was entirely ignorant. She, poor soul, imagined she was speaking our tongue very well. Another luxury came our way in the shape of a bath and complete change of clothing. We took our ablutions in the big brewery vats and barrels. Here was the water wagon with a vengeance. After a grueling afternoon of bayonet fighting practice we were away again till at last the now familiar star shells told us that we were going to exchange greetings with Fritz once more. i-l rt ' Ef * IN THE FRONT LINE iii It was not till next morning that we found where we were. Tremendous, ear-splitting crash- ing of artillery was shaking the very ground under our feet. Our own artillery at this time was entirely too inadequate to suitably answer the thunderous message of the enemy. To give some idea of the odds against us in those days, and how we were out-gunned, it is only fair to say to the peo- ple who were so ready to criticize the Allies that, apart from the wonderful French seventy-five mil- limeter guns, our artillery was practically non est. The Germans had guns ranging from fifteen pounds to the gigantic howitzers hurling a shell of 1,800 pounds, with an unlimited supply of ammu- nition. It is a well-known fact that for months the average per gun was about six shells per day. Ah ! many a gallant lad might be alive today if he had been properly covered by artillery in those days ! And you, dear reader, do not forget, when glorifying in the deeds of America's brave lads, that it is unfair to compare present conditions ii2 HOLDING THE LINE with those dark days, for in fairness to our dead, it must be said that you in America are learning war from the nations who have paid for their experience by bitter losses. At our back were a few of these sixty-pounders, but, few as they were, the very earth trembled at their detonation, making our ears ring and our heads ache. There is a peculiar metallic ring in the report of these guns which seems to split the drums of one's ears. It causes one to be strangely irritable, and quarrels often took place which otherwise never would have happened, the sole cause of which was shell-shock. The curious sustained roar of fire and answer- ing fire fills a soldier with awe, much the same feeling as of a man viewing a mighty cataract for the first time. The very ground shakes and if a man is standing on a hard road, he will be repeat- edly lifted from the ground by the shock. Gun crews suffer from gun-shock and men are often sent down to recover from, not so much the burst- ing shells of the enemy, as from the effect of the deafening voices of their own pets. IN THE FRONT LINE 113 This effect is evidenced in a number of differ- ent ways, the most common being a trickling of blood from the ear, which in nearly every instance is the prelude for ear trouble for the remainder of one's days. The dazed effect is shown by a shiv- ering and shaking of the entire body, accompanied with a sort of vague, expressionless staring from which men have been known to suffer for months after they have left the firing line. It was my good fortune once to see one of the first of the British heavies to reach the firing line, and to be present when it was fired for the first time. Naturally, we were all agog to see one of these monsters, for we had heard for weeks the rumor that they were coming. It was one fine day in early spring that the first 15.2 rifle rumbled into the village in which we were billeted. I did not see it arrive, but Morgan came to tell me. "See the little pea-shooter 4 ?" said his swarthi- ness. "No, has she arrived 4 ?" "Yes; going to see her 1 ?" " I might if I went in good company." ii4 HOLDING THE LINE "Clever, ain't yuh? But who can explain pea- shooters better than your Uncle Dudley?" "Yes, your knowledge extends possibly to pea- shooters, but this thing is a man's gun." "Well, how in hell can you understand it? Nobody ever mistook you for a man, you poor lit- tle runt," the last with such a look of compassion that I had to laugh. "All right, come on." Quarreling all the way we arrived at the gun emplacement. The gun supports rested on a solid concrete base, while the muzzle tilted at an angle of about forty-five degrees. The system of hoist- ing the enormous shells I could not fathom, but a mass of wheels and other machinery seemed to do the business as if by magic. The gun had been hauled by a powerful tractor to its present posi- tion. Brawny six-foot marines of the Royal Ma- rine Artillery sweated as they hauled and levered to get everything in shape to make their pet com- fortable while she passed the time of day with the Boches. It was all that four of these husky marines IN THE FRONT LINE 115 could do to roll the enormous shells by the aid of crowbars. The gun, emplacement and impedimenta were painted to deceive the keen eye of the Hun air- men. A wonderful medley of colors, but experi- ence had taught the Allies by this time the proper shading to use to make the whole thing merge with the landscape. At last everything was ready and the monster was prepared to send over her first calling card. The marines stepped away from the gun to the rear of an old barn about twenty yards off, telling us to follow. The sergeant of the marines in- structed us to lie down. The ground being rather muddy, we chose to disregard his advice. The gun roared, we were knocked flat by the concus- sion, and when we had collected our wits suffi- ciently to look around we found that the barn had been knocked flat too. On another occasion, Morgan and I, at great risk to ourselves, had stolen a liberal ration of tea, with its necessary dressing of sugar, from C Com- pany's supply. It must be remembered that the n6 HOLDING THE LINE heavy artillery ranges from two to five miles back of the line and men may be in billets with these guns behind them. Morgan suggested that we make our hot tea between two walls that were yet standing and we took an old pail, and made a fire in it, and proceeded to brew our tea. Just as the nectar was giving out a most fragrant odor and causing us some misgivings lest other prowl- ers should spot us, the heavies at that identical moment started an argument with the Boche. The air concussion drove straight between the two walls where the tea-party was in progress and car- ried the fire, the tea and the tea-party clear out on to the cobbled road, where all the elements of fire, water, tea and tea-party were most damnably mixed. We both involuntarily exclaimed " CHAPTER XIV SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS WE were to take over the trenches from the West Yorkshire Regiment. An illustra- tion of the wonderful spy system of the Germans came under our notice at this time. The West Yorks had no idea that any Canadians were in Flanders, yet on the departure of a relieved Ger- man battalion opposite them, the latter shouted across to the West Yorks in good English, " Good- bye, West Yorks, the Canadians will relieve you tomorrow night." We duly relieved the West Yorks shortly after midnight. The Saxons were in front this time and they gave us no trouble at all. In fact, our listening patrols found a notice fixed on their wire reading, " We will not fire if you don't. Save your ammunition for the Prussians." We could walk up the road any time at night and never be even [117] n8 HOLDING THE LINE sniped at. Indeed, for the three days we faced the Saxons, we had only one casualty, a man had his brains blown out, and unfortunately it was due to an accident caused by himself. These Saxons were certainly a different kettle of fish to the Prussians or Bavarians. I haven't yet mentioned that although we were an infantry battalion, originally we were cavalry and we still kept our name, "Fifth Western Cavalry," as designated by the yellow letters on our shoulders. It was a big joke to our comrades of the Second Infantry Brigade, and indeed to the whole division, and we were designated under various titles, "The Disappointed Fifth," "The Wooden Horse Marines," "The Fifth Mounted Foot," etc. ad libitum, and we were always being chipped about it. Judge of our astonishment, when we had taken our places in the trench and were preparing for the night's duties, a hail came from the German trenches. We listened and in perfect English a voice yelled, "Hello, you Fifth, what have you done with your horses'?" And in the morning, when peering across to the German SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS 119 parapet through a loophole or periscope, the look- out called our attention to something moving on the German parapet. As it grew lighter we saw that it was a little wooden horse — a child's toy they had probably looted from some house. "Open fire on it someone; see what they'll do," said the lookout. Two or three of the boys opened up on the dummy horse and knocked it down into their trench. A roar of laughter went up from our boys a moment or two later when the dummy reap- peared, swathed in bandages from head to tail. Fritz displayed a rare sense of humor in this instance and we enjoyed the joke immensely. At night those fellows would sing songs and our boys would reply. Going along the road I could hear them jeering and chaffing and then start singing to one another. However, on the third night the Prussians relieved our friends, the Saxons, and the difference was striking. Back came our friends, the snipers, and bursts of rapid fire all night kept one from being bored — or, I might say, kept one bored. Several sen- 120 HOLDING THE LINE tries at different spots on the road were killed at their posts. At one spot a man suddenly leapt out of the darkness onto an isolated post and tried to disarm our sentry, Mitchell, only to receive six inches of steel in his stomach for his pains. We were never allowed to go anywhere alone, as shots came from every direction and it was suspected that men in civilian clothes were snip- ing at the back of our lines. One day, at this time one of these incidents was brought very close to me. Morgan burst into the old cellar as I lay doz- ing in the early morning: "What the devil do you want now"?" I said irritably. For once he did not reply in his usual manner, he was so full of his news. "What do you think, chum, do you remember that guy that was plowing in the field over yonder*? Well, he is the devil that is responsible for the casualties in the ration party and those sentries." "How is that?" I asked. " You know Lieutenant M — ? Well, the other day the lieutenant looked over at the fellow plow- SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS 121 ing and he noticed something that we mucks never tumbled to before. Now, think it over, chum; use your own brains; don't you remember that field was never shelled with anything but shrap- nel and light shrapnel at that 1 ?" "God! yes," says I, "that's right." "Well, the lieutenant got suspicious, took over a file of the kids from the cross roads farm and goes over to investigate." "Yes, yes, go on." "He reaches the fellow plowing and something in the man's face told him that he had hit it right. Well, you know that straw he had wound around the plow handles and down to the mold board'? Well, shoved down in the straw was one of those damned Mauser carbines; you remember the kind the A. S. C. used in Africa 4 ? Well, the minute the lieutenant laid his hand on the plow handle, the bloke's face turned ashy gray, -and when he grabbed the carbine the dog turned green and flopped down with funk, and then the lieutenant was sure of his man." A light dawned on me as Morgan stopped for 122 HOLDING THE LINE want of breath, as there came back to me the memory of the dead sentry I found when I went to relieve him at that very cross roads. . " For God's sake ! What did they do with the cur?" "Well, I don't know for sure, but it's a safe guess, as they have taken his horses for transport work and you can bet he will do no sniping for- evermore." This was only one of many instances where Germans use all sorts of devices to "get" our boys in the back. Our billet came in for the German gunners' attention next day and a woman walking up the road was killed. Such a scene of heart-rending grief on the part of the woman's husband and children I do not want to see again. Carrying barbed wire at night over that awful mud and by those gaping craters was our task and this time it was dangerous work as we were exposed constantly. We were in for five days of it this trick. Big Bill Skerry seemed to fit naturally into dangerous jobs and Bill was the non-com. SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS 123 in the barbed wire gang. His duties took him out in front every night in No Man's Land and his work together with the gang was to repair the wire, set up new wire, cut the enemy's wire, and generally do his damndest to cause Fritz trouble with his own wire. I was standing in the trench, resting after one of our journeys, when a big figure hoisted itself over the parapet and dropped by my side. It was Bill. "Hello, Bub," said he, "what do you think of this'?" showing me the side of his jersey and pants. A machine gun had narrowly missed cut- ting him to pieces and the whole of the left side of his clothes was simply riddled; his escape was nothing short of miraculous; in fact, it was uncanny. Bill silently rolled a cigarette and smoked awhile without saying anything. Sud- denly, with a "So long, Bub," ("Bub" was my pet name with all my intimates) Bill started to mount the parapet again. "Where on earth are you going to now?" I asked with a gasp. i£4 HOLDING THE LINE "I'm going to try and get that machine gun." I heard and saw nothing of him until daylight, when he brushed past me. "Did you get the gun, Bill?" "I didn't get the gun," he said with a grim smile, but — pointing to his bayonet blade — "there's the gunner." Sure enough it was stained a deep red. Poor Bill ! he was always taking chances of that kind and he always got away with them. During this time we fed sumptuously as we were bagging hares every day, while potatoes, leeks, onions, etc., were still in good condition in parts of the field. On our last night in this billet I came almost to earning the D. C. M. (distinguished conduct medal). I was on sentry the two hours after mid- night. One has to be very wide awake so near the line, and every little thing that looks in any way suspicious must be investigated. The night was quiet in our own lines, but away to the left a tremendous cannonade and rifle firing was going on. An occasional German souvenir would whine SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS 125 above my head. Things that look very simple and plain at two o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun is shining, have a very different appear- ance at two o'clock in the morning, on the front line. At the end of my beat was a huge yew bush, giving the place a somber, weird effect. As I was turning my back on the bush during one of my rounds, every single hair of my closely cropped skull rose on end, while my scalp literally crawled, as a rustling noise came from the bush. My first instinct was to start for the south of France, as quickly as my legs could take me, but reason and duty came to my rescue. Still terrified, a blind fury took possession of me at the thing that scared me. Holding my rifle and bayonet at the "ready," I ran into the bush at the top of my speed and lunged with all my might into its depth, being brought up suddenly and sharply by a forked branch under my chin. The result of my charge was a melancholy meow, and I cursed softly, but with infinite relief at the cause of my panic. Thinking the cat might be a good companion, I made overtures by softly 126 HOLDING THE LINE calling to her, and nothing loath she came, and when dawn broke a small figure in khaki might have been seen strolling slowly up and down the road, with a huge black cat alternately dodging between his legs and rubbing her sleek hide against his muddy puttees. o CHAPTER XV TRAINING FOR RUNNER UR next move was to the town of E- the best town we had yet "honored" with our presence. We reached here in the dead of night and awoke the sleeping inhabitants by lustily informing them that, "Here We Are Again." Another classic of the Canadian Divi- sion went echoing over the place, a well-known American hymn — "Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here." Twenty-four hours had not passed be- fore the long-suffering citizens were only too well aware that the gang was all there. It was while we were stopping at the city of E on one of our rest billets that I first began my training as a company runner. These runners were formed after Neuve Chapelle. In that engagement disastrous results followed the cut- ting of all telephone communication, and it was [127] 128 HOLDING THE LINE suggested that men be trained to run with mes- sages when other means could not be used. Being small, though not slight, and active, I was chosen for this duty and my training began. In such condition were we that in two weeks' time I could carry forty pounds comfortably at a jog trot for a distance of five miles. Of the utmost importance was the carrying and delivering of messages correctly. An amusing in- stance of the difficulty of doing this occurred while being trained. We were running at relays and we would do our work exactly as it would be done in the heat of battle, and the first man was given the message, "To O. C. Seventh Battalion: Am held up by barbed wire entanglements; send reinforcements to my right." When the message was delivered by the seventh and last man of the relay, the officer receiving it got the following astounding information, "Am surrounded by wild Italians; lend me three- and fourpence till to- night." A period of intense training followed, chiefly instruction in trench making, including attacking TRAINING FOR RUNNER 129 and defending, and for us runners a grueling spell of practice in carrying messages and endurance work. At this place we would dash along the canal bank in our early morning's training, exchanging greetings in execrable French with the owners of the barges that floated lazily down the stream. Next, we would meet a bunch of Sikhs, who would gravely extend greetings in their dignified manner. Farther along a group of Hindoo cavalrymen, rid- ing their horses with superb grace, would smile at us, informing us in what English they knew that they would sooner ride than run, with which we agreed. Huge Pathans, dwarfing us by their tremendous height, would gaze in grave wonder at these foolish Feringhees. After our run we would strip and, shouting with health and laughter, hurl ourselves into the icy waters of the canal, much to the wonder of the ladies of the barges, who gazed unabashed at our naked beauty. With these splendid open-air exercises we were continually undergoing, it is little wonder that T3Q HOLDING THE LINE the resources of the commissariat were at times sadly taxed to meet the voracious demands of our appetites. After breakfast the runners would fall in, in front of the battalion, for the purpose of carry- ing messages backwards and forwards — all done with the idea of still further improving the dis- cipline necessary for that most important work, which must be done without any errors as there is no room for excuses of any kind. To many people the work of a runner is an un- known quantity but its tremendous importance is told by Neuve Chapelle. On March 10, 1915, the advance there and the fearful casualties to the British forces warned everyone of the nature of the German defenses. It was our first advance since November, 1914, but the ground gained wasn't worth the price paid. One of the causes of the premature holding up of the attack- ing troops was the failure of reinforcements to be hurled in at the proper time: this, in turn, was due to the fact that all telephonic communi- cation had been cut off, and that although men TRAINING FOR RUNNER 131 were sent on foot with messages, it was found, if they arrived at their destination at all, that they bungled the message unless it were a written one. Since that time the staff has been thoroughly awake to the dire need of having properly trained runners who can endure the utmost strain for such duties. Other regiments of the British Army were bil- leted here, and the endless stream of traffic was a sight to see. Infantry would swing through the streets — short thickset Tommies, tall and dignified Sikhs, gigantic Pathans, short, stocky Gurkhas, lithe Canucks, all making a wondrously interesting procession. Transports, limbers and ambulances rattled and roared unceasingly over the cobbles. Many interesting scraps took place between va- rious champions of regimental traditions. Here a burly Highlander and an English cavalryman exchanged fisticuffs for a minute, until a guard turned out and seized the unruly ones. One enterprising Frenchman hung out a sign bearing the magic legend, "Bass in bottle — Guinness' Stout," and in half an hour the est ami' 132 HOLDING THE LINE net was jammed with husky humanity. In less than no time the nectar was exhausted, but not the soldierly thirst, and the disappointed ones became so unruly that the services of the guard were again required. My good angel was with me that day, for I managed to possess myself of two full bottles of Guinness' and, keeping up the reputation of the battalion, it didn't cost me anything. CHAPTER XVI BY THE WAYSIDE BEING very much interested in the habits of the Indian troops I would often be found studying them at a respectful distance ; their rigid laws of caste obliged me to keep somewhat apart from them. One day an unexpected opportunity of gratifying my curiosity came my way. Off duty for the afternoon I went for a stroll in the country and on turning a corner of the road I saw a big, tall Sikh gravely studying a tree by the road- side. He looked up as I approached, " Ram, ram, Sahib," said he. "Ram, ram, yourself," says I. It was all the English he knew and all the Indian I knew. Seeing my jackknife at my side he managed to impress on me that he wanted to know if we used the jackknife for stabbing. By signs I replied that if necessary we would. Now, around the turban [ m] 134 HOLDING THE LINE of every Sikh I had noticed a ring of steel, about six inches in diameter, and my curiosity in regard to it had never been satisfied; here, I thought, was the chance to find out. Still standing at a respect- ful distance, I pointed to his turban, turning my hand round in imitation of a ring, and I indicated I wanted to know its use. Showing his splendid teeth for a second in a smile of understanding, he took the ring with a curious motion from his tur- ban, and spinning it around his hand for the frac- tion of a second, he hurled it at the tree. My eyes bulged with astonishment, for the ring sank for half its diameter into the hard bole of the tree. I went to examine it, but dared not touch it for fear of offending some tradition connected with the ring. I found that the ring was really a circular knife, the outside edge being very keen and sharp, then thickening away to the inside. It will be seen that the whirling motion, preparatory to throwing, imparts a spin to this peculiar weapon. A man's arm, leg or head will part company with the trunk if struck. My Sikh friend smiled gravely, recovered his BY THE WAYSIDE 135 turban ring, bowed with grace, and with a " Salaam Sahib" turned with great dignity on his heel and stalked majestically away. I also was mightily interested in the short, stocky Gurkhas, those wonderful troops from Nepal. These men, although small, are wonders of strength and endurance. Mountaineers and sol- diers from childhood, their greatest joy is hand to hand combat. Perhaps a description of their favorite weapon, the terrible kukri, would be of interest. It is from fifteen to eighteen inches long, with a keen edge, tapering from a thickness at the back of about a quarter of an inch, to a razor-like edge. The handle or haft is of wood, bound tightly with copper wire, the distance between each band of wire being enough for a man's finger to snugly enclose itself around the handle. These little smiling men are equally adept at throwing or using the knife at close quarters. It is useless for a man to try to escape by run- ning, since before he has gone more than ten yards he is minus a head. It was curious to watch them killing goats for 136 HOLDING THE LINE their meat supply. The goat would be browsing comfortably, when something would flash through the air, and to the onlooker's amazement, a head- less goat would stagger a few yards and then fall. Later on, these troops were removed to warmer fronts, for the bleak winters of northern France and Flanders proved disastrous to the Indian con- stitution. To show the resourcefulness of the Canadian soldier, the following incident is an illustration: Big Bill Skerry, one of the boys named Walworth, and Big Bill Bradley were left on the other side of the canal from their billets. At eight o'clock in the evening the bridge was drawn up making it impossible to cross. The three worthies ap- proached the bridge end at about 10 P. M. Alas for human weakness, they had contrived to soften the heart of a French lady and she had given them a liberal portion of cognac. They were by no means intoxicated, but sufficiently stimulated to make the night echo with their songs of gladness. Arriving at the bridge they were challenged by a sentry. The following conversation took place: BY THE WAYSIDE 137 From the sentry: "Halt, who are you 1 ?" "Go to hell," was the retort. "Well, I don't know about that," says the sentry, "but you're going in the clink, and you'll get hell from the Old Man." The reply was a splash as Skerry took a header into the icy waters of the canal. Like a flash Wal- worth and Bradley followed suit and the trio, fully dressed as they were, swam the canal. They almost ran from the frying pan into the fire, for they could not resist the temptation to jeer the sentry from the other side of the canal. They had apparently forgotten that another guard was sta- tioned at the other bridge end. However, they melted into the night, stepping over our bodies as they entered the factory where we were sleeping, to receive a heartfelt cursing from those who were subjected to a shower from their dripping clothes. Every day punctually at 6 P. M. the massed Kiltie Band' would parade in front of the old Hotel De Ville or town hall. It was a curious sight. The stalwart Highlanders gazing neither to right nor left, swaggering up and down on the old cobbled square, Tommies, Canucks, French- 138 HOLDING THE LINE men, Gurkhas, Sikhs, Pathans and French Colo- nial troops would gather round and a babel of tongues would soar skywards. Just at the minute of six all would be hushed and a silence uncanny would hang over the place. The " Retreat" would sound, and the Highlanders would start their tatoo. I have mentioned, I believe, the irritating parasites who so lovingly crowd in the seams of a man's shirt. Even these pests, which are an in- voluntary growth born of the natural heat of the body and accumulated moisture, become more or less endurable, and the inevitable fatalism of the soldier shows even in the matter of body lice. Libby, Morgan, Fitzpatrick and Bill Skerry were holding a heated argument as to the relation- ship of the Canadian louse to its Flanders' proto- type, and the discussion, which was held in the midst of a hunting expedition, took the turn that each was ready to back with money the assertion that the particular brand of louse with which he was associated day and night was superior in color, size, and ferocity to any that the others possessed. BY THE WAYSIDE 139 "How about this gent*? " says Morgan, exhibit- ing a particularly husky specimen that he had captured in the seam of his shirt. Morgan, as I have said, was dark in complexion almost to swarthiness. "That dark streak down its back," chimes in Libby, " comes from boring through your damned black skin." "Aw, hell," replied Morgan, "if their color is made by what they eat, then yours must be the color of a checker-board." This was an allusion to Libby's partially gray hair. "No, they ain't," said the imperturbable Libby, bringing out a specimen fully the equal of Mor- gan's, and actually lighter in color. Morgan gazed thoughtfully down on his cap- ture and, pushing his cap back on his head and speaking slowly, addressed it: " You blankety-blank, I believe that it was you that browsed on the middle of my spine the last time I did sentry at headquarters in Marching Order. I hate like hell to do it, for you have 140 HOLDING THE LINE grown dear to me, and your color I know would delight the eye of a blinkin' artist, yet I can't al- low you to divert me from my duty so as to en- danger the efficiency of the forces of His Majesty, King George, of Great Britain and Ireland and the Dominions beyond the seas, and you must pay the penalty." Snap ! and it went the way of all flesh and the chase was resumed. Although we had trained as infantry, most of us wore the riding pants or Bedford cords of a cav- alry battalion. Being now a runner I appealed, as did the other runners, for something not so tight around the knees. We were given infantry slacks which allowed freer motion of the limbs. Our orders were to burn vermin-infested clothing, and although I was sure I had rid myself of mine, I decided, when I changed my clothes in the billet, to burn my riding pants. Just as I was about to throw them into the fire a diminutive French gamin asked me to give him the pants. "All right, son," says I, handing him the garment. The boy was wise in his generation. From photo by the author. A WINTERLY MORNING. Front photo by the author. WRITING TO THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME. BY THE WAYSIDE 141 Turning them inside out he examined the seams, and, something arousing his suspicion, he hurled them into the fire as if something had bitten him. " No, no, Monsieur," says he, " tres beaucoup itchy coo" shrugging his shoulders and scratching him- self as he turned his back on the pants. The shrug, the scratch and the gesture was inimitable and done as only French expressiveness can render it. One of the finest regiments of French's "Con- temptible Little Army" was the "Notts and Derbys" (Nottingham and Derbyshire). They covered themselves with glory in the Great Re- treat. Several titles have been conferred upon them by popular affection, such as "The Sherwood Foresters," "The Robin Hoods," etc. Coming as they do from the ancient haunts of Robin Hood and his merry band, their regimental crests and badges represent the Archers of Sherwood. One day, while on the march, we met the Robin Hoods, and as the two regiments passed each other a storm of good-natured chaff flew back and forth, and one of the Robin Hoods, noting by our shoul- der badges that we were a cavalry battalion, yelled 142 HOLDING THE LINE in his broad Midland accent, '"Ello, you blokes, wot ha' ye done wi' yer bloody 'osses 4 ?" Back came the answer like a flash, "We packed 'em away with your blankety-blank bows and arrows years ago." CHAPTER XVII STEENVOORDE AFTER a stay of a week at E we again got orders to move, eventually arriving in the little town of Steenvoorde. We sported here for a few days at cricket, football, and base- ball. I acquired in this burg a repugnance for res- taurant coffee that I have not yet been able to overcome. The sergeants of my platoon were in the habit of consulting together directly after duty at the house of a good old dame who was re- nowned for her excellent cafe au lait, and the non- coms, seldom missed an opportunity of partaking. On one occasion when they were there, seeing me pass the window, they hailed me to come in and join them. As I was broke at the time, I has- tened to accept the invitation. " Want a good cup of coffee, son," said Camp- bell. [143] 144 HOLDING THE LINE "Thanks, I will." Campbell pointed to the cup and I drained it down. "Have another, Shorty," said Britton. " Don't mind," says I. "Hop to it, son," and another went the same route. They could hold themselves no longer and roared with laughter. I was at a loss to under- stand their mirth, and happening to glance at the old lady, a light broke in upon me. The poor lady had one very bad eye from which tears, copious tears, dripped with sickening regularity, and as she busied herself around the coffee cups, the tears would drop now and again into the cups. In spite of my disgust, I couldn't help joining in the laugh, although I had an almost ungovern- able desire to vomit. The secret of it all was that they themselves had been up against the same dose and they wanted someone else to share with them the burden of the coffee and tears. Sometimes on the march, should I happen to be STEENVOORDE 145 grouchy about anything, Campbell, with his win- ning smile, would say, " Never mind, son, it won't be long before we'll be back having a good cup of coffee." And then the memory of that treat would dispel my grouch. One of our boys, McBean, had an instinctive horror of rats; it was a marked fear that he could not overcome. Returning from parade one day, Mc was lying on the straw in the barn, reading a letter, with the thatched roof of the barn directly at the back of his head. His cap was lying beside him and suddenly, a huge rat scuttled past his head. He sprang to his feet with a deafening shout of terror. The rat took refuge in the thatch of the roof. Fixing his bayonet to his rifle, while one of the boys sounded "Charge," Mc lunged ferociously into the thatch. We never imagined he would get the creature, but to our astonishment, at about the third lunge, he drew back the bayonet, with the rat kicking its last kick on the bayonet's point. Soon after this Mc had a splendid opportunity of demonstrating his ability to stick his needle (as 1 46 HOLDING THE LINE the bayonet was termed) into the bodies of our German foes and he ably exemplified his skill. An inspection of the officers and non-commis- sioned officers by General Smith-Dorrien and a general inspection of the whole division by the general officer ended our stay at Steenvoorde, and one morning we were packed aboard London om- nibuses, with the advertisements still upon them asserting the superiority of Pears' Soap to any other soap on the market, and rode for some dis- tance, finally being dumped at a small hamlet where the Royal Welsh Fusileers were resting. These good fellows showed us the greatest hos- pitality, sharing their rations and making us big draughts of the inevitable, but none the less wel- come tea. Our battalion football team played the Welsh- men, winning by the odd goal in three. With mutual expressions of good will, we parted from the Royal Welsh, resuming our jour- ney on foot. One of our diversions from the horrors of war here was unique, to say the least. We bought up STEENVQORDE 147 every fighting rooster in the neighborhood from the natives and made arrangements to have an ex- hibition of cockfighting worthy a Roman cele- bration. We backed B Company's bird to the limit of our resources as our bird was selected by a lad who was an expert on the game and a past- master on all its points. So we felt perfect con- fidence in his judgment, and our faith was not disappointed. A proper cockpit was made in an orchard and the reserved seats were in apple trees and brought two francs apiece per man. Every reserved seat in every tree was occupied; there wasn't room for half the patrons. I lost mine before the perform- ance was over through the collapse of the bloom- ing tree and every man on that tree lost the seat that he had bought and paid for, but, owing to my convenient size, I was able to get a good view of the balance of the show seated on Big Bill Skerry's shoulders. To the huge delight of us all, B Company's bird emerged a dilapidated but triumphant winner from all its contests, coming out with final hon- 148 HOLDING THE LINE ors. In addition to the rooster fight there were several differences of opinion between connoisseurs as to the points involved in the game of cockfight- ing, which finally resulted in heated fisticuffs and black eyes, and altogether we easily had our two francs' worth. CHAPTER XVIII YPRES AT last we entered the historic town of Ypres. Our first impression was the flash of burst- ing shells over a distant corner of the town. At this time Ypres, although showing traces of recent bombardment, was in the main intact and we were very much interested in the fine buildings there. The famous Cloth Hall was in good condition, as was the splendid church ; however, some fine stone buildings lay in ruins. An amusing incident might here be told of the "lack of humor" of the Britisher: Two battalions were passing each other in the dead of night, two companies of one battalion carrying with them wooden crosses to be placed at the heads of the graves of some of the lads who had fallen the day before and who were to be buried at the back of the line. The British Regiment could not see the [M9] 150 HOLDING THE LINE Colonials, and vice versa; but an enterprising Cockney determined to identify the regiment. Stealing away from his ranks, he sidled across, like a good soldier, stooping to get a better sky- line, and just at that moment a series of bursting flares from up the line lit up the square for a sec- ond, but it was long enough for the keen-sighted Tommy to see who the other battalion was and what they were carrying. In a half-whispered, half-hushed shout he turned to his comrades ejaculating, "Well, strike me pink, mates, if those blokes ain't carrying their own bloomin' tomb- stones." As we were passing through the square it was almost dark and we were startled to hear a yell from the other side, " We should worry ! " It was the Princess Pats. The usual order for compara- tive silence was given, and we knew we were close to business again. Searchlights were playing everywhere, artillery roared, and bursts of rapid fire told us we had ar- rived at the place where "the Allemands are very truculent," as General Smith-Dorrien put it. It YPRES 151 was now the turn of the other companies for fa- tigue work and they were placed in the village about half a mile from the front ditch. Our platoon took up dugouts under the hedge. So cunningly were these made that a person walk- ing on the other side of the road would hardly see them, even in the daytime. They had been oc- cupied by French troops and, however valiant our Allies are, they are far from being as clean as the British soldiers, and the first thing we did was to go to work to make these dugouts a little less offensive to our nostrils. These holes of ours were only two feet six inches high, just enough room to turn, and when we wished to sleep, the first man was obliged to crawl in and the rest follow on. It reminds me of the family who lived in one room and slept in one bed so closely packed in that when one wanted to turn there was no way of turning unless all the others did. We made ourselves comfortable as far as cir- cumstances would permit and composed ourselves to sleep. 152 HOLDING THE LINE Morning came and we had a look round. Fritz was exchanging compliments with a battery of French seventy-fives and several shells whistled most uncomfortably through the poplar trees on each side of the road. I, for one, considered the dugouts the best place to observe shell fire. The rest of the boys shared my opinion and we lay till the gunners had retired to dejeuner (breakfast). Then we emerged like human rats and break- fasted on hot bacon, bread and coffee. After washing myself thoroughly in a shell crater, I felt at peace with all the world, even the Germans, and having nothing much to do, Morgan and I took a stroll to see the country. In front of us, on the other side of the road was a row of French graves, and while we were here we kept them in first-class condition. A field of "volunteer" wheat waved in the breeze and a shell of a house surrounded by apple and pear trees in full bloom, stood at the corner. It must have been a lovely place before this conflict of hell swept over it. CHAPTER XIX BATTLE OF YPRES IT may perhaps seem strange that we should exercise so much care within the precincts of our own lines, but there were two reasons for it: The first one was that the ramifications of the Ger- man spy system extended to our own ranks and there was always a possibility that a man in khaki, whom you would take for a fellow soldier and pass with a nod, would put a bullet through your head the moment your back was turned. That element of German espionage, strange and incredi- ble as it may sound, is something with which the military authorities have constantly to contend. The other reason for exercising extreme care is that many poor people, half demented by the hor- rors they have witnessed and the indignities and wrongs they have been subjected to, secrete them- selves in all kinds of places, and they do not wait [153] 154 HOLDING THE LINE to see who approaches, but will shoot or stab at sight. I saw a man from the Worcesters shot dead by a poor demented woman in this condition in Ypres. Away to our left was the village of L absolutely deserted. Being curious, we grabbed our rifles and searched the village. It was a big place, but was shelled out of all shape. We ran upon occasional decomposing bodies of Germans, English, women, dogs and fowl. It gave one the most eerie feeling to see this place. In fancy we could feel the silence that brooded over it. Utter desolation everywhere. The sound of a bit of falling plaster, or the slightest rustle, would send us flying to the nearest cover to wait with rifles ready, like Mr. Micawber, " For something to turn up." Here Morgan was surprised into letting his af- fection for me show through. Every fancied dan- ger, and he would instinctively place himself in front of me, and when we flew for cover he un- consciously took up the most exposed position. My chum's solicitude for my well-being has al- BATTLE OF YPRES 155 ways seemed, to me at least, unexplainable, yet such was the fact. We returned from the village, making a detour of a few hundred yards in front of the road. The land around was shelled everywhere, each few yards showing a hole, some big enough to engult a house. It spoke volumes for the fighting that had taken place in this now historic spot. It was here that the Guards, Lincolns and other famous regiments smashed up the Prussian Guards in the first battle of Ypres. In places there were heads, hands and feet sticking out of the ground. In one old trench laid fully sixty dead Boches half exhumed. Broken rifles, ammunition, equipment, broken machine guns of every kind lay about. It was here that the Canadians were to make their grand debut into the history of the war. The day was beautiful, the larks singing away as if nothing was wrong with the world, and Mor- gan, feeling the influence of the day upon him, apparently forgot the war and raised his voice in song — a new phase of his character — and hymns and songs by the dozen poured from his throat. 156 HOLDING THE LINE That night rumors began to circulate that Fritz intended mischief, and the roaring of a trench mortar and burst of rapid fire was the signal for pandemonium to begin. From end to end of the line it was taken up, and we began to think some- thing was really happening. A sergeant came along shouting my name. Finding me he rushed me to the officers; a staff officer was talking and they were deeply absorbed. I immediately learned that the rumors were not unfounded. I was dispatched to headquarters with a written message. Captain Hopkins gave me my instruc- tions. " I have chosen you because you keep the pace up longer than the rest." This compliment deeply pleased me. "Go to headquarters as quickly as your legs will carry you, report imme- diately you get there and place yourself under the orders of Sergeant C ." The words were barely out of his mouth when I was out of the cellar, and down that gloomy road I scudded, a queer mixture of terror and elation — terror because of what might happen to me, and elation in the satisfaction of doing my duty. Hard BATTLE OF YPRES 157 as I traveled I was breathing with perfect ease when I arrived at headquarters and reported. I was told to lie down as it might be hours before I would again have a chance to rest. It was impos- sible to sleep as file after file of bombers and rein- forcements piled into the different buildings. I found out that the Germans were expected to at- tack the French that night on the left of the sali- ent, some hundred yards or so from our position. The signal, if the Huns attacked the French, was to be three red flares flying up in rapid suc- cession. Our Intelligence Department was not asleep; the attack was expected at three o'clock and promptly on the minute it began. The French held easily and we were not needed. Next morning I was sent back to my platoon and nothing very exciting happened except the sharp shelling by Fritz of our position until about ten o'clock, when a thing new to our experience came over. The noise was appalling. It was the commencement of the awful bombardment of Ypres. T CHAPTER XX HELL LET LOOSE HAT night we relieved the Tenth Battalion and took over the front line. Right from the beginning casualties piled up; the shell fire was terrific. In the lulls of the bombardment we dug frantically to consolidate our flimsy defenses. Barbed wire we had none; we simply threw out in front any obstructions we could find. One amusing incident occurred here ; I laugh at it now, although I did not at the time. The little dark man, Libby, was the hero. Libby translated means "Coolness and indifference to danger." A volume could be written of the events in which this man figured that for sheer daring almost sur- passed belief. Libby and I were working on a traverse, which, as every one knows, is a cross-sec- tion of trench, and we were exerting every effort to fill bags of dirt and pile them up on this cross- section. [158] HELL LET LOOSE 159 Buried underneath our trench were dead men planted as thickly as they could be laid. Digging down I turned up a boot containing a foot. " Stick it in," said Libby. "Do you think I'm going to touch that thing with my hand'?" "What's the odds," said he, "but if you don't want to, shove it on the shovel with your foot." I did so and he placed it in the sack, I holding the sack open, and the grisly thing touched my hand in passing. I shuddered, almost fainted, but never a sign of perturbation from Libby. Again he dug, this time bringing up the other foot, with the leg bone still sticking. "Shove her in," he said. Sweating with horror, yet fearing his scorn, I again rolled the ghastly thing on the shovel and it was then transferred to the sack. Placing the sack on the corner of the traverse, the little man coolly slapped it out with his spade as if he were handling common dirt. He then called to me for another sack, but I was lying on the parados, sick with horror and vomiting my insides out. So for 160 HOLDING THE LINE the time being he had to continue his ghoulish work alone. Morning came, finding us still at work and al- most dead with fatigue. The bombardment con- tinued without intermission all through that day and afternoon, and our casualties were growing with deadly regularity. At nightfall it died down in our vicinity, but never ceased at our back. The object of this will be easily seen. They kept hammering the roads and the whole country at the rear of the front line, in order to keep re- serves and supplies from getting to us, and they did the job so thoroughly that no two transports could get within miles. Good old Bill Skerry and a man named Brad- ley, braved this bombardment on purpose to be with their own battalion when the attack, which we all knew was bound to come, took place. They told us how the Germans had been using a horrible gas, that the French Algerian troops had evacuated their trenches, that the battalions in re- serve at Ypres had been called out and had gal- lantly come up through that curtain of shell fire, From photo by the author. THERE ARE LEISURE HOURS EVEN IX THE FRONT TRENCH. From photo by the author. CLEANING-UP TIME. HELL LET LOOSE 161 taking up the French trenches and were holding on like limpets, although their losses were terrible. The glorious charge of the Tenth and Sixteenth had taken place and is now eternal history for Canada. Just think of it, that thin line of men with no artillery to cover them, holding back the mass of the enemy ten times their number. It now became an anxiety to us to know how they were faring, for if they were obliged to give way we would be entirely cut off. However, it was no use wasting time in idle questioning, so to work we went, frantically making our trenches as strong as possible. Fritz again got busy with his weeping pill and our eyes were something to remember. The smart was terrible, while the awful odor got in our throats, making them raw and every breath a pain. Still we worked steadily on, throwing over everything that might prove an obstacle in front of the trenches. Listening patrols were sent out and came back with the news that the Germans were unmistakably massing for an assault. For myself, so nervous was I that I would have 162 HOLDING THE LINE welcomed an attack to end the suspense. How- ever, we were left in peace till daybreak, which came with a drizzling rain. This made condi- tions in the trench very bad indeed. But all we could do was to sit tight and wait. When it was almost light the bombardment started again. It was one roaring, shrieking blast of destruction. Never can I describe the din, the awful rumble of the heavy-weight champions; the magnified thunderclap of their heavy shrap- nel; the moaning of the Black Marias; the hiss and scream of their medium-size shells, and the hated whiz bangs, bursting over every section of the trench. And, remember, not a British gun to reply. Hell's gaping craters were open every- where ; now and again a shriek or an oath told that some lad had been stricken down; our parapets were crumbling like matchwood; but all we could do was to wait. To the sorrow of every one of us, the gallant soul of Bill Skerry took its flight to his Maker about ten o'clock that morning. A small shell ricochetting from a stunted willow tree simply HELL LET LOOSE 163 tore him to pieces, along with a little chap named Wellbelove, which was his family name, and a name he most aptly deserved. Bill ! one of our best beloved mates. We never had time to bury him, but, thank God, he didn't fall alive into the hands of those human devils. A curious effect of the shell burst was to lengthen out his body. When alive and well he was a man of six feet two, and when we examined him after his death, he easily measured seven feet. The sorrow of his little chum, Fitzpatrick, was over- whelming; nothing could comfort him for days. It was here that I first felt real fear. Terror of course we all have, but that soul-gripping inaction took all manhood away from me as I crouched in the bottom of the trench, trying with might and main to appear unconcerned. I have never expe- rienced quite the same sensation of fear in the front line at any time as I did that night; I felt deadly danger on every hand and my face and head were wet with cold sweat. In curious contrast to my constitutional dread of the danger abounding on every hand was a man 1 64 HOLDING THE LINE who happened to have possessed himself of a fairly dried dugout. With that torrent of shell hurtling everywhere, he calmly read chapter after chapter of a magazine, apparently as deeply in- terested as if he were sitting in his own room at home. How I envied him his nerves — or, rather, the absolute lack of them. CHAPTER XXI HANGING ON ABOUT fifty yards to the rear of us was a huge pile of bricks, fully a hundred yards long by thirty feet high. The ground we were occupying had originally been a brick yard and these bricks had been put out to dry, but the war coming on they had been left and had gradually settled down into a solid mass. Someone was rash enough to show himself for a' second near the brick pile, and it was his last second. It had become a joke that they would snipe at you with a fifteen-pound shell at Ypres, and the Bodies evidently imagined there were men near the brick pile, for they took one shot as a sighter and then turned their heaviest field guns on it. The huge pile looked strong enough to last for a week, yet by night it was a crumbling powder. [165] 1 66 HOLDING THE LINE This added a very disagreeable fury to the bom- bardment. The huge shells would burst with a crumbling crash, a great sheet of flame would flicker for an instant, then from out the pall of acrid smoke, flying bricks would hurtle for yards. Dozens of them flew back into our trench and I still bear the marks on my back and hands where flying pieces of brick caught me. Several men were killed by these curious mis- siles, while all of us were bleeding from cuts and scratches caused by the wounds. On went the bombardment and nothing seemed to exist but a riot of noise, flying shrapnel, flashes, and the steady drizzle of the rain. Twice during the day we stood to retire, but each time the major sent word that, "We are holding on and we can hold them 'till the cows come home.'" Luckily, owing to the heroism of our signalers, the line to headquarters remained intact. These fine boys repaired the line time and again under shell and machine gun fire of the fiercest nature. One fellow earned the V. C. a dozen times during the day; he exposed himself recklessly, working HELL LET LOOSE 167 with all his might in the very heart of the German barrage. He is still living, but was badly hurt later on at Festubert. Toward evening we managed to get the wounded out and were I to tell the entire story of the self-sacrifice of the boys, it alone would fill a larger volume than this. They were obliged to carry the wounded along an old communication trench about six feet deep, with mud two feet deep at the bottom, then emerge into the shell-swept open for a distance of two or three hundred yards. Curiously enough, very few of the wounded were again hit traveling this road, and "Long" Mitchell, a boy from Michigan, and another boy, Manville, from Prince Albert, walked time and again down that highway of hell with their wounded comrades. Apparently they did not know the sheer heroism of their tasks, and prob- ably don't know to this day. CHAPTER XXII HERE THEY COME SERGEANT CAMPBELL, one of the finest soldiers I ever met in my life, called me and asked me to run to the dressing station and tell them there that none of our boys, who had gone down with the wounded, were to attempt to return to the trenches till after dark. Away I started, never expecting to get to my destination, but doing something dispelled my "yellow streak" and I arrived there intact. What a sight met my eyes ! Row after row of brawny Canadian Highlanders lay raving and gasping with the effects of the horrible gas, and those nearing their end were almost as black as coal. It was too awful — and my nerves went snap! However, a lull came at night, except for the steady fighting on our left, where the Seventh and Eighth were making history, and I managed to get [168] HERE THEY COME 169 back all right, and repairing trenches was again the order of the moment. A fine, handsome Scotch lad, Jim Muirhead, one of my best chums, was working with me repairing a section of trench. At this place we hadn't any sandbags, but simply had to pile up the loose earth in front of us. Deep down in the ground we had made two sloping holes, propping up the top by odd timbers we found lying about. We did this to save ourselves from a big shell Fritz would occasionally lob over in our immediate vicinity. Now Jim is about six feet high and his hole was a big one, mine a small one. We could hear this shell coming and if we moved quickly, we gained the shelter of our holes before it burst. Once, we heard the faint pop in the distance and then a gradually increasing shriek; it was coming — to my excited fancy — straight for our heads. In my panic to escape the crack of doom I hurled myself into Jim's hole, beating him by about the fiftieth of a second. " Get to hell into your own hole." "Go to the devil." I7Q HOLDING THE LINE Our colloquy was barely ended when the shell burst, but this time it was too far off to do any damage. I was thoroughly ashamed of my self- ishness, which was due to the first instinct of na- ture, but good old Jim saw nothing in it but a good joke on himself. All night long to left and right the scrap went on, just one steady crackle of rifle and machine gun fire, while from every angle they shelled the Seventh Battalion. Their trenches were simply one huge shamble, but they held. Morning came, and still the bombardment raged. At about three in the afternoon we saw a figure approaching our trenches and by his style we knew it to be our dear old major. On he came in spite of the fire. By this time Fritz was spraying our parapet top with machine guns and we knew he was at last going to try us. Still, on came the old soldier. He was well over sixty, but a hero's heart be- longed to him. Orders had come through from headquarters for the Fifth to retire and all the staff at headquarters had been either killed or HERE THEY COME 171 wounded with the exception of the major and Captain Hillion, our adjutant, a soldier from his feet up. These two decided, after vainly trying the field telephone, to give us our orders by word of mouth and they set out on foot. Captain Hillion was hit before he had gone fifty yards and the old major was left to make it alone. He managed to get within fifty yards of us and then received two bullets in his body. And then the wonder of it — the sheer, dogged spirit of that old warrior ! Above everything we heard his yell of pain, yet instead of giving up, he gath- ered himself together and with a staggering run reached the trench and collapsed. Not till he had delivered his message did he give way and swoon. Things now were stirring with a vengeance. We knew by the cessation of the shell fire over our trenches that they were coming. I looked through a loophole and my heart seemed to choke in my throat. If it had not been more dangerous to run than to stay where I was, I would have been run- ning yet. To my magnified imagination I never believed the earth held so many people. They 172 HOLDING THE LINE came swarming over their parapet in huge waves, the flash of their bayonets making my spine crawl. Singing, cheering, cursing and shouting, they came on, but we never fired a shot. "Not till they are near our barbed wire," was the order. "Oh, if I could only fire! " I groaned mentally. On they came with trumpets continually play- ing their charge. At last the order came. " Fire ! " and when I saw them falling in heaps, every drop of blood in my body surged with a desire to kill and I blazed away into the mass of shrieking hu- manity as fast as my fingers could click the shells in and out of my rifle. I could not miss them if I tried, so thick were they. We checked them momentarily, but suddenly bullets began to come at us from our rear and we knew they had broken through somewhere and were behind us. The mob in front having quit for awhile, we waited for the next move. The bullets from behind kept us wondering where they had made a gap in our lines. "Get ready to retire," came the order, so we HERE THEY COME 173 slipped off all but our ammunition and water; few of us had any of the precious liquid left. Little Hilliard, who was next to me, said, " Well, Bub, we'll have a cigarette anyway before we cash in." "All right," I replied and we rolled a cigarette apiece, thinking we were having our last smoke. We did not know for sure, but guessed that we were surrounded. Our lack of knowledge of our own situation may seem curious, but a modern battle field is on such a vast scale that only in your immediate neighborhood do you know what is happening. In these (for me) dull piping times of peace, when I look back and scan my memory over the individual behavior of my chums, the nerve they displayed surpasses my power of description. As we were lying there smoking what I thought was to be our last fag, I was utterly amazed at the next words of Hilliard : "Say, Bub, that must be Picric acid that makes our eyes smart so; those shells I bet haven't come more than fourteen hundred yards. Did you see the burst of that last one 4 ?" he asked, pointing to the place where a "coal box" had landed. I 174 HOLDING THE LINE made no reply; I was too frightened to bother my head about what the shells contained. But Hil- liard persisted in getting my opinion about the matter and made me think he was far more inter- ested in that detail than in the fact that it was the most probable thing on earth that he would be dead within a few minutes. However, this situation did not seem to worry him at all ; he kept on smok- ing till the end. I am glad to be able to say, that so far as I know, he came through with only the loss of an arm. As the ground sloped away toward Ypres we could see for some distance down that way and our hearts bounded as two thin lines of men came toward us in skirmishing order. "Can it be reinforcements?" asked Hilliard. "It can be nothing else," said I, and then we witnessed a sight that made us want to cheer with all our might. The coolness of those men was wonderful; steady as a rock they came. They were British regulars, and now you will know why all of us who have been at the front have such an admiration for the British soldier. They ot RMAN TRENCHES German Machine Gun In Woods .j&a Battered £ '-"iJ House -Four *YV"»v~ willows X Place of , .BillSkcrrjs Death .-•.■'.' ^KUON ,.•'" ^ \ Major was Break in Lines ' 3 M Hit Here ', &> BRICK ■ V* PILE /v? \*> A'- •. c ■ f^ ■3 ■ ', P '. ?. o \ '• P> 5\ \3 \*> 9 .'■ '.^ °*.\ O t ° f ^ Battalion Pascnendale Rreak in Lines Barricades p 1 — 1 Battalion 1 — - 1 Headquarters North uroberlands .;•> >" □ Dressing Station 5 Of The break on both sides of the Fifth's trenches shows how perilouslj close they came to being cut off by the envel- i .pin- I Inns. [See page 174] HERE THEY COME 175 trotted steadily in two long lines for about a hun- dred yards, then down for a brief rest, then up and on again, all done by the arm signals. Officers dropped on every hand, but others instantly took up their duties and like a finely regulated machine on they came — all done under a murderous fire, but never a flinch. It was a marvel of coolness and iron discipline. After witnessing that advance of the North- umberland Fusileers and the Cheshires I have ceased to marvel at the Great Retirement of Mons; those wonderful feats of fighting seem to me now to be the entirely natural thing for the British soldier to do. Suddenly on our left a bedlam of German cheers cleared all doubts of their being through, and the order came for us to retire. Back we went to save ourselves from being flanked. So close a call was it that the last man was only fifty yards from Fritz. Our old major asked our boys to leave him, and of course they refused; but it was by the skin of their teeth they got him out. Thank God the old major is still living and 176 HOLDING THE LINE back again with his boys. He refused a comfort- able staff billet in England on his recovery. "My place is with the boys," he said, and he is with them today. God bless him ! By some marvel we fell back safely till we met the Northumberlands, but how we did it is more than I can tell. One thing I shall always remember. As we filed out of the trench Sergeant Campbell stood in full view of the oncoming Ger- mans till the last sound man was out, quietly seeing to it that we did not get unsteady. After we were all out, with the exception of some of the wounded — alas, some of them had to be left, and I leave the reader to guess their fate — we joined up with the Northumberlands, and as we came past these Tommies they let out a terrific cheer for us. More to us than all the eulogies of generals or newspapers was that cheer from our brother sol- diers. And when one remembers that it was given while a hail of bullets was being poured upon them, and they were dropping down, killed and wounded, some idea may be had of the uncon- querable spirit of those men and the sporting PIERE THEY COME 177 blood that courses through their veins. And if you have never known it before, you now know why they are able to "play the game" as the Germans never can. That cheer was an acknowledgment to the men from Canada for the work we had done. CHAPTER XXIII FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES WHEN we joined on with the Fighting Fifth, as the Northumberland boys are so aptly named, I was sent with a message to the O. C. of the Cheshires, but could not get back to my own battalion, so I stayed with the North- umberlands. How can I describe the scene ! The riot of noise, the never-ceasing hell-hiss, the scream and roar of shells, everywhere blazing buildings and everywhere writhing or ominously still figures. Star shells were beginning to flare up as it was almost twilight, the weird green lights glinting on the bayonets of the oncoming Germans. Firmly the Northumberlands waited, quietly and con- fidently, and then I learned what disciplined cour- age really is. With wild shouting and trumpeting and a kind of prolonged "Ah-h-h" the mass of [178] FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES 179 Bochc infantry came steadily on. I began to fidget; I preferred the noise Fritz was making to the awful quiet of our own men. Silently, yet with celerity, little short of mar- velous, ammunition boxes were ripped open and bandoliers distributed in a quarter of the time it takes to write it. A burly corporal, noticing my itching to fire, chuckling, said, "Take thy toime, lad." The corporal gave me almost confidence, so cool was he. I felt better and waited for the word. At last, when they were within fifty yards, the order came to "Let go." It was then I under- stood what rapid fire meant. The way the troops worked their Lee-Enfields made me doubly curse that Ross toy. The Ross rifle at this stage of the game verified the prophecy of the corporal of the East Lanks. The reader will remember the conversation in the dugout at Armentieres. To my dismay, when I began to fire with rapidity, the cursed bayonet shook itself clear of the rifle. I had fired about six rounds when the bolt refused to work. The rifle was hopelessly jammed, and I tried to ham- i8o HOLDING THE LINE mer the bolt open by placing the butt on the floor of the trench and stamping on the knob of the bolt with my heel. It was hopeless, however, and I hurled "the thing" in the direction of the ad- vancing Germans, with a scream of fury that pierced even that infernal din. The flimsy magazine-spring of these rifles often fails to work, and, generally, at the most critical moment. As a sniper's rifle, the Ross is every- thing to be desired; but when fifteen rounds per minute have to be ripped off to make up for a lack of machine guns, the Ross is a miserable failure. The front of the Germans just crumpled. It was horrible. From yelling it changed to one pro- longed wail. Firing like lightning, but with awful effect, the two machine guns pumping into their midst, the boys held them back. So close a shave was it, that a few of them penetrated right on to our parapet. They were bayoneted on the instant. They were fine big men, mostly Prussians and Ba- varians, but terrible was the price they paid for their advance. FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES 181 I thought of our poor fellows writhing in agony from the gas poisoning, and any feelings of pity were easily suppressed. In fact, at the time I fairly exulted in seeing them mown down. Three times that night they launched attacks and at their third attempt succeeded in again forcing us to re- tire by sheer weight. Contrary to so many, I consider the Boche a brave man. Their advance at this time proved it. They were literally mowed down at times when attacking; but, still, they came on, scarcely falter- ing. As an individualist, Fritz is, to a degree, inferior to the poilu or Tommy. The perfection of the Prussian war machine has this flaw — its iron discipline has killed the initiative of its pri- vate soldiers. Without their officers they seem to wilt and, in many cases, promptly surrender. At this time, however, Fritzie was flushed with the thrill of pushing us back, and, therefore, full of fight. Any prisoners we took were always ready to inform us that Germany was invincible, and that their release would soon follow. Do not, dear reader, call the Boche coward be- 1 82 HOLDING THE LINE cause he surrenders. For you, it is easy to say you would fight to the death rather than be taken pris- oner, but consider a man who has endured a week's bombardment — crash ! crash ! crr-r-r-r-mp ! Roar- ing, blasting, one hideous din, for days; every- thing being smashed to smithereens; the smoke, the fumes, the stench, and last, but not least, dead and mangled comrades lying around. Now, think how much fight there would be left in you. Shell fire will destroy the morale of any sol- dier, for when a man is fair enough to look facts in the face, he will acknowledge that courage is common to any nation. No nation has a monop- oly of it, and the German has his share. In these days, perhaps, he gives in rather easily ; but he is getting hell from the Allied artillery — at least on the Western Front. And, who knows, perhaps doubts of their ultimate triumph have be- gun to assail them. I have seen them fight well with the bayonet, and a clump on my head from a Hun no bigger than myself I well remember. I hate to admit it, but he licked me honestly and FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES 183 fairly; and only his sportsmanship saved me. He simply knocked me silly — and passed on. I hate and loathe their barbarity — I hate them for bring- ing this hell upon the world, but I am English, and as such, must give the other fellow his due. In my experience with their infamous deeds in Belgium and France, I always remember two occa- sions when the Huns belied their name. One of them came within range of my own experience. During our retirement one of our men was hit in the leg, and of course fell down. It was impos- sible to take him with us, for we had to get back quickly in order to make conjunction with the other troops who had fallen back. Much as we hated the idea, we had to leave him. That, un- fortunately, is the fate of many of the wounded when retiring. He was taken prisoner and, nat- urally, we thought he had either been bayoneted, or was on his way to Germany. Judge of our sur- prise, when in billets, the man walked into our farmyard. We crowded around, simply crazy to hear how he had hoodwinked the Germans and escaped. We marveled when he told his story. 1 84 HOLDING THE LINE He had been taken by a mob of Saxon troops. He expected either death or capture. These men, however, dressed his wound; inoculated him against the possibility of lockjaw; placed him in a cellar with clean straw to lie on, and when his slight wound permitted him to walk, they allowed him to make his escape to his own lines. Once, since I have returned, I was told a story by one of the Princess Patricia Regiment. At a certain place in Belgium a dozen or so of the Pats were lying behind some cover. The day was a quiet one, and the Pats had that heavenly concoction called " char " in mind. " Char " is tea to those unacquainted with English. They had the wherewithal for the making of the tea with the exception of the water. Of course there was enough lying around to float a boat, but anyone who has smelt that " aqua vitae " would not dream of using it for tea. When a seasoned soldier will not use it, it is pretty bad. A little distance from where they were lying was a pump from which good water could be ob- tained, but covering the pump and the approach FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES 185 to the pump was a sniper. However, a hot drink is worth risking something for and a man started out to try and bring back some water. Crack! down he went. The man was badly hit but not killed, and his chum determined to try and get him in. He went out, expecting to be hit every second, but nothing happened and he carried his stricken chum in. Now Fritzie has a habit of fir- ing on anything that moves, and the Pats won- dered. At last, another man, feeling sure that the sniper had either retired for the day, or had gone to lunch, set forth to fetch the water. Again that ominous crack, and again a prone figure. Again a chum sallies out to at least try and save his stricken comrade, if he is not shot dead. He returns with his chum unhurt. This happened a third time, and then it dawned on the Pats that a soldier who was a gentleman and a sportsman was sniping in the German lines. So long as the British soldier was on his feet, and an active enemy, the sniper was only too pleased to knock him over, but as soon as the foe was a stricken, wounded man, he was entitled to 1 86 HOLDING THE LINE everyone's consideration, and for his part he was done with him. I, for one, hope that that German is back in Germany with a nice cushy wound, and getting the best that the Fatherland can give him. Hard as we tried, their reinforcements kept pil- ing in, and finally they effected an entrance at one end of our trench, so to keep in touch with our left, we fell back slowly to an old evil-smelling trench, knee deep with the foulest water I have ever seen. If we had had but two batteries of artillery we could have held them, even with their gas. However, to hope to keep them back with in- fantry alone, against their gas and murderous ar- tillery fire, was something for the Canadians to figure out. As it was, they only succeeded in forcing us back for about a mile. The whole Canadian Division had been sur- rounded, but with the timely arrival of the Tom- mies had fought its way out again. In the early stages of the battle, so close had it been that one battery of artillery had reversed their guns and fired point-blank, at about three hundred yards, FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES 187 into the mob of Germans. The gunners were all killed or taken prisoners, but the price they made Fritz pay was dear indeed. After this our artil- lery was obliged to retire for some short distance back, but there the line held. CHAPTER XXIV THE BOCHES BALKED AFTER we had rested somewhat in the spot to which we had retired, the corporal, of whom I spoke before, asked for someone to go with him to try and find out what Fritz was up to. I felt I would be all right with him, and I almost preferred instant death to the odor of that foul water-hole, so I went along with him. To my horror the first thing he did when we got fairly out was to strike a match and light his pipe. Light lightning I jumped from his side. "My God! Corporal, what are you doing*?" "What's the excitement?" he asked, puffing calmly. "You'll get sniped as sure as fate." Then it was he showed the typical fatalism of the soldier. "Son, if I'm going to get hit, I'll get it; but if [188] THE BOCHES BALKED 189 it's not my turn, I wouldn't get it if I lit a bloom- in' bonfire." "If you take unnecessary chances you'll get it." "Don't be afraid, lad, I'm not throwing my life away. You are as safe with me as you would be up in the trench." We soon ran on to their listening patrol, but my corporal had not been in three campaigns for nothing. He took me, to my excited imagination, almost to their very feet. They were talking like mad and we had evidently been seen a few min- utes before, for they rushed to the spot we had occupied just before they got there. We circled about for a few hours and finally decided that Fritz had dug in for the night. Toward daylight, an order came for all Cana- dians who had stayed behind to go down to the rear, as the Canadians had been relieved. How tired we all were; I did not care if I lived or died. We ran on isolated bunches of Germans, with some of whom we exchanged a few shots. At last we emerged on the road, and, to my dying day, I shall never forget the sights that met 190 HOLDING THE LINE our eyes. Everywhere were shell craters, both on the road and on each side of us. In every shrine, where the Belgians placed their crucifixes, men in agony from the gas had crawled and died there; dead bodies, dead horses, wrecked ambu- lance cars, gun limbers, ammunition limbers, and in one place were six of the very finest horses I have ever seen, with their drivers, dead. Villages, where the people had been living when we went up, were now utterly desolate; everything a smol- dering mass of ruins, such had been the fury of that shell fire. And it was still going on, shells screaming over us or bursting close by. At one place the Boches had pushed so far for- ward that they were only a short distance from the road and they opened up on us, but only succeeded in wounding a few. Finally we came down to an open space and found the brigade busily cooking breakfast. "Hurrah," thought I, "grub and a sleep." Hastily I began to look around for some- thing to eat, but alas, the order came to be ready to advance again. I was utterly weary, but it couldn't be helped. THE BOCHES BALKED 191 Finding my own crowd, who had been fortu- nate enough to get in a few hours' sleep and were correspondingly cheerful, I fell in, and in skir- mishing order we began the advance. Suddenly at our backs came an ear-splitting re- port, and of all the music I ever heard that was the sweetest. It was our own heavy artillery reply- ing to the Germans. We skirmished on in long lines until the order came to " Dig in." I was so hungry and tired that I absolutely did not care whether I got hit or not. Happening to notice my condition, Sergeant Campbell came up to me : "What the hell is wrong with you 4 ?" said he. "Well, if you want to know, Sergeant, I'm hungry, thirsty, and tired out. You people have had an hour or so's rest; I've had none. I'm dead beat and if I get it, so much the better." I spoke the absolute truth, because that was the one time in my life I honestly wanted to die. "You get busy and dig in; we need you; not that you're worth much anyway, but you're the only trained runner we've got around." "Not till I get something to eat," I answered, 192 HOLDING THE LINE deliberately defying him. Again that wonderful understanding spirit of dear old Ken showed forth. Instead of telling me the punishment that would follow my insubordination, he said, "All right, son, I'll see what I can do." I lay exhausted on the ground and in a few minutes, to my great happiness, the sergeant re- turned, bringing a dirty old bone, but covered with meat. It was aged, and the flies played upon it, but to my mind and memory no meat ever tasted so sweet. I sunk my teeth in it and the very first bite gave me a new inspiration to live. Again we advanced, but I clung to my bone, and as soon as we halted to dig in again, I buried my face up to the ears in the meat. As soon as I was full I carefully slipped the bone in my belt in order to be prepared for the next hunger- pinch. I then felt a very earnest desire to live, and when the next halt came and the shells were com- ing over in a never-ending stream, I had an intense desire to explore the bowels of the earth. On feeling for my entrenching tool, to my dismay, I found it gone. Grabbing my bayonet from the THE BOCHES BALKED 193 scabbard I went to work, and the way I burrowed with my hands on that bayonet was a caution. I would not have taken a back seat to a prairie badger. CHAPTER XXV FUN AND FURY WE lay here for awhile, every now and then some poor boy going over, although we were fairly safe from shrapnel if we closely hugged our holes. But we had no protection whatever from their high explosive shells; these hit the ground, tearing huge holes, and woe to those who were near. The shell fire was terrific, but our own guns were roaring back magnificently. To show how men will rise to the height of dare-devil coolness, I must tell of the men who were supplying our guns with ammunition. Six horses on a limber, with three drivers, and two carriers on the limbers, would trot steadily to the bomb-proof shelter where the ammunition was kept, load up, and still at the steady trot return to the guns. All the time heavy shrapnel was bursting overhead, and the awful crack of this [194] FUN AND FURY 195 shell is enough to break the strongest nerve. A huge shell burst right overhead, a few yards in front of us, killing some of the gun crew, but with- out a falter, except to remove their dead comrades, the rest went on steadily working their guns. Again we moved forward, and so furious had become the artillery duel, that we could only ad- vance in small parties. A chum of ours died here. We were lying down for a time behind a hedge and one of the heavy shrapnel shells burst a little to the front of us, the forward sweep of the shrapnel landing the bullets right among us. When a shrapnel shell bursts the bullets sweep forward and obliquely to the ground, having a forward range of three hundred yards and a lat- eral zone of fifty yards. The three hundred odd bullets of the German shell fly like a fan. It will be seen that a shell may burst right over your head without injuring anyone, but the men three hun- dred yards or so to your rear are hit. The report of the explosion stunned us for a few seconds, and this chum of ours, as soon as we be- gan to feel that we were still alive, got to his feet 196 HOLDING THE LINE and said, " Boys, I'm hit." " Where ^ " we asked. "Through the head, I think," said poor Dick, and then dropped dead. On examining his body we found that a ball had passed right through his heart. It was now that the British troops again began to deploy over the plains toward the trenches. Line after line, for hour after hour, they pressed steadily on. It was a sight, I can tell you, a les- son in steadiness and coolness. Again we dug in and were ordered to stay and be ready to support the attack the British were making. However, we were not needed and we stayed in our self- made holes for four days under that hail of shells. The casualties were very heavy and our own little band was soon minus some well-known faces. One amusing, yet, in a way, tragic thing hap- pened here. This plain of which I am speaking was not unlike the prairie. All hedges were gone except a few here and there. It was mostly grass land and apparently there had been a crop taken off there the autumn before. Scattered over this place were farmhouses, which of course were in FUN AND FURY 197 ruins, but a bunch of cows had by some means managed to keep alive here, and this same herd were quietly grazing away, while men all around them were burrowing in the ground for their lives. It was most amusing to see a cow calmly lying down and chewing away. Poor creatures, they did not last long. How they managed to live any time was marvelous, considering what was flying around them. Next night, to our great joy, a tea ration was brought up, but our hopes were dashed to the ground by the O. C's. forbidding any fires to be lighted. Of course, there were blazing stacks and buildings everywhere, but not in our vicinity. Water was plentiful enough, but we were obliged to go some distance for drinkable water. Here we were, with tea, sugar and water, yet unable to make a dixie of tea, and it must be remembered that we had had neither hot food nor a hot drink for twelve days. Fritz, however, very obligingly solved our dif- ficulty. We were lying close to a thatched barn, which, by another of those miraculous, unexplain- 198 HOLDING THE LINE able things, had not yet been shelled. However, Fritzie must have known our trouble, for bang! bang! and a couple of "hissing Jennies" hit the barn plump, and in an instant that barn was ablaze. It soon burned to the ground and, utterly reckless of shell fire or machine guns, we crowded round the hot embers and brewed our tea. The officers raged at us for a bunch of suicidal fools, as exposing ourselves with a light background was liable to draw half of the Boche artillery on us. The Old Man himself saw us crowding round the embers — a splendid mark on the top of that hill. Over he rushed, his face fairly blazing with rage. "Get into your holes, you suicidal fools," he roared. But, colonel as he was, some one told him where he might go. We all feared for the result of this remark, as it was no less than delib- erate insubordination punishable with a very heavy penalty. If it had been a German private soldier who had answered his commanding officer in such fashion, he would not have had time to say his prayers. But I suppose the Colonel had a heart some- FUN AND FURY 199 where under his belt and he passed it up. It probably brought home to him what his men had been through. So we got our tea, " and of all the drinks I've drunk" my gratitude to Fritz far exceeded Kipling's Tommy to Gunga Din. CHAPTER XXVI YSER WHEN relieved from this hillside we once more marched through Ypres, had two days' rest in the adjoining fields, and were then sent to guard the Yser Canal. Our flanks touched the very city itself and during the day we could see houses falling and the city being systematically pounded to dust. I shall never forget the day that Fritz turned his attention to the canal bank. Most of the bat- talion were in dugouts they had made themselves, just on the sloping side of an orchard; the orchard was the top of a bank; on one side was the Yser River and on the other side was a brook. It will be seen that we were dug in between two streams, with the brook flowing about forty feet below us, and we stationed on the side of the bank in our holes about three quarters of the way up from the bottom. [200] -OQ C-O 1 LU =-g 1 Ox u (3 n uo (0 ro c^ > D z t* o u D D D D D D □ D c c in E in £1 PARKED DDDD ARTILLERY ©5 DDDD ~ "MV 31 ] ] ] ] ] : ] ] 1° ] 5 ] : z £ ™ -_ --, n,o c o o "J "i o f ',, _1* > N -./ V 3J C ■c — >>< «J 1) > 2S > o LEAVING YSER 233 never mention what seems the perfectly natural thing for a British soldier to do. It was to the aid of a sorely-tried remnant of British Tommies that we were sent. They had suffered, only God and themselves knew how much — but they were holding, and reinforcements were needed badly. As usual, we fell in at dusk. The ordinary ban- ter and repartee flashed backwards and forwards, but it seemed to me a trifle forced. I knew it was in my case, but I had to keep up the bluff that I was not afraid. Male readers may smile at my cowardice, that is, those who have not seen men die in battle. But reason it out, O contemptuous ones. You, perhaps, may be brave. I am not, and in addition I have always had a repugnance for fighting. I am afraid in an ordinary fight, and can always, in imagination, feel the impact of a fist landing with a sickening crunch on my features. Before |the war, I have often, only by sheer effort of will, (kept myself from fainting at the killing of a hog. Imagine then, after having had experience with 234 HOLDING THE LINE the killing and maiming of strong men ; after hav- ing seen young boys mangled and dying; heard the pitiful cry of lonely, wounded laddies from the blackness of No Man's Land at night, the gasp for "mother" from some expiring stalwart; the stench; the filth — ah God! how I sweated with horror at the thought of being sent into it again. Yet, thank God, I hold the respect of my surviving comrades, and those in Valhalla will welcome "Bobbie," when he joins them. A letter from one of my officers that reached me in the hospital — just a short pencil-written message — is my greatest treasure on earth. Knowing to the full how fearful I always was in action, and how that constant dread was ever present, I show it to few. I am utterly undeserv- ing of such a message from such a man. Courage is no greater in one nation than in another. Among French, Italian, Russian, Cana- dian, Anzac or British, human self-sacrifice is about equal. Bravery is the monopoly of none, and bravery has so many different sides that it cannot be denned. LEAVING YSER 235 I have seen boys, brought up in refined homes, gentle sweet- faced laddies — the last people in the world one would associate with soldiers — rise to heights of the most superb self-sacrifice. Their very refinement has sent them into the jaws of hell with pale faces and horror-stricken eyes, but the mighty spirit has carried them through. You, mothers or sisters, who fear for your boy, because he is timid, or because he has never left your side, cease troubling your hearts. This con- flict demands more than the physical courage of the animal, and the timid man often turns out the very bravest in action. But back to our campaigning. The order was given to the column to move off, and soon noth- ing was heard but the trudging of feet. March- ing over rough cobbled roads, pock-marked with shell holes, is not conducive to conversation. We met small groups of Tommies on their way to rest. The wonder of it ! Plastered with mud, scarcely able to walk from sheer fatigue, they joshed us unmercifully, telling us with grim humor what we were in for. Whole platoons 236 HOLDING THE LINE from the regiments of these men lay out in No Man's Land, never to hear the word of command again, yet their comrades who survived had the stomach to crack jokes at our expense. And then came a bunch of the guards. Cut to ribbons at La Bassee, only a day or so before, yet here were the survivors, tired out as they must be, march- ing along to the music of a few mouth-organs, with that little swaggering swing of the shoul- ders — "a touch of the London swank." Dear reader, when some skeptical anti-British friend asks why France should be called upon to do it all, please tell them that the British Guards Brigade has been remade no less than twenty-five times since the war began. Not reinforced, but REMADE — new men, new equipment, new everything. How could we see all this, is asked, if it was dark. Out in France, near the firing line, flares and searchlights are continually lighting up the whole country side. Ambulances with their moaning freight would roll past us. The sight of these again caused my LEAVING YSER 237 heart to tighten, as though clutched by some big hand. Their number was appalling, and so near to the firing line were they, that we knew the righting was terribly severe. Still, I was not given much time to let my feel- ings of horror work on me. There was work to be done. No sooner had the last ambulance passed us than we began to click casualties. I was despatched with different messages up and down the column. Round the corner we swung. Wh-o-o-f ! Crump ! a big one landed just over the heads of the lead- ing platoon. Woo-00-oo! screamed a "coal box" (5.9 shell), landing and exploding with a mighty rumble only a few yards away from the major. Fritz was getting ready to give the roads a thorough searching. To defeat his plans as much as possible, we deployed from the road into the fields on our left. The Boche, unfortunately for us, chose this moment to send up a series of flares. He evidently grew suspicious and had probably seen us moving. T-r-r-r-r-r-r said his magic (ma- chine) guns. " God ! " " Oh mother ! " from here and there as some poor lad went over. We dived 238 HOLDING THE LINE into shallow ditches and, crouching under this frail cover, tried to avoid the shower. We were suc- cessful in dodging the machine guns, but shelling was a different matter. However, both died down after awhile, and we began to stretch ourselves. In utter darkness we moved off. We turned once I know, but it was not till day broke that we found we were behind a low parapet, built of nothing but earth covered with sods. As pro- tection from fire, it, of course, was useless, but it served its purpose by affording cover from view. It was about a thousand yards from the second line, was hard to reach by machine gun fire, but an easy prey to artillerymen. While we occupied this flimsy defense, however, we were fortunate in getting off for several hours without casualties. The Colonel was agreeably surprised when I took the message from the major to him, stating that we had had no casualties that day. Although it was our good fortune to escape that day, such was not the case with a battery of artil- lery that was parked some six hundred yards at the back of us. This battery about four o'clock in LEAVING YSER 239 the afternoon opened up for a few rounds on the Fritz position. Probably the gunners were an- noyed at the repeated efforts of the Germans to locate them. Big shells had landed uncomfort- ably close to the copse in which the British bat- tery was hidden throughout the day, and it was evident the German gunners were searching for them. In all probability, some wandering Ger- man airman had seen the battery open fire, and of course directed the fire of his own guns. A huge shell dropped into the very center of the copse, to be followed almost instantly by another. Trees and " camouflage " of grass and boughs were blown to ribbons, while half the body (the head and forelegs) of a horse landed on the front side of our flimsy defenses. The battery of course was silenced, and presently the dazed, shell-shocked men were incoherently telling the story of what had happened to their guns. As the sun went down a storm of strafing began, while up and down the line flares soared skyward, and an incessant stream of rapid fire told us that either one side or the other had attacked. The 24Q HOLDING THE LINE order came "Stand to." We were not to be launched into it, however, for the firing died down into an intermittent rifle exchange, but the Hun guns never ceased their hateful roaring till almost daylight. The limit to which human endurance can go was practically reached one afternoon, when, throwing myself down for an hour's sleep, I was aroused and told to report to the major. He gave me a message and told me to get to headquarters with it as quick as my legs could carry me. Head- quarters, as the crow flies, was about a mile away, and instead of the usual road, I thought I would go straight to it. That decision came very nearly preventing the writing of this record or the deliv- ery of that message. Just as I started out the Germans began a furious strafe and, at the same time, the French seventy-fives and our own few sixty-pounders raised their voices in a mighty chorus. Shells were bursting everywhere and the din simply stunned me. In addition I was continually fall- ing over a wreck of barbed wire and trip wires, LEAVING YSER 241 into shell holes and my face once coming in con- tact with that of a dead guardsman's almost caused me to lose my reason, then — blank. All I remember was reaching the road, sitting down and trying to remember what my name was, what I was there for, and where I was. Another runner happening to notice my plight, took me to head- quarters himself. What happened I was not con- scious of. It was told me later. The Colonel, growing black in the face, trying to elicit what I was there for, was fast losing his temper. I tried to make him understand, but all I could do was to open my mouth and make a gasping sort of noise. My wind and senses had absolutely left me. A captain standing near guessed what the trouble was, took hold of me kindly, bathed my face and head in cold water and revived me sufficiently to enable me to deliver my message. CHAPTER XXIX MORE HELL THE next morning the word was passed for runners, and the company runners hied themselves to the major. He in turn told us we were to report to the Colonel for detailed instruc- tions, and that we were to find out as much about our whereabouts as possible, the best routes to headquarters,, to the front line, etc. This we promptly proceeded to do, and in due time ar- rived before the Old Man. His words to us I have forgotten, but we left him with an apprecia- tion of the ticklish work on hand. On our way back we all took different routes back to the company. The idea, of course, was to get a knowledge of all the best roads to take when things were hot. Each man mapped out a rough sketch of the road he had taken for the ben- efit of the others. My road took me for about a [242] .MORE HELL 243 quarter of a mile down the cobbled road, where I turned off for the major's headquarters. I parted from another of the runners here, his route taking him through the village. Incidentally, this cool- est of all cool fishes, stopped amongst the shattered houses to see, as he afterwards phrased it, "If there was anything there that nobody had any use for." I might say the Germans were always busy with their guns on the devastated place, but the inci- dent only goes to show the very peculiar fatalism, that every soldier unconsciously acquires. If he was to be killed in that village, he would get it; that is all there was to it, so he calmly searched the brick piles. The horribly mangled trunk of a tall soldier did not make me any too happy when I stumbled over it directly after leaving my part- ner. Still I carefully mapped out my route, and meeting another clan runner, we walked the rest of the trip to the major's quarters together. "Hi mates," said a voice apparently from the bowels of the earth, "come and 'ave a drink o' tea." 244 HOLDING THE LINE The voice came from a field kitchen cunningly hidden in a bank of the road. "You bet," was our reply together. The owner of the voice, a short sturdy Cock- ney, filled a dixie and handed it to me. I took a long drink, then handed the canteen to my chum. " I think I'll stretch me legs," said our host. Forthwith he stepped from his shelter into the road. He had barely taken a dozen steps, when a small shell landed quite a distance in front of him. About a second after the explosion, with a cry, the man threw himself flat on his face and lay still. Both of us knew that the shell had landed too far up the road to be very dangerous to him. We ran to our host, turned him over, only to find that he was stone dead. "Well I'm jiggered," said my runner chum. "What is it 4 ?" I asked. "Killed by a stone." It was quite true. The shell had hit the cobbles, and a flying splinter of stone had taken him in the head, killing him instantly. MORE HELL 245 We helped to bury him. Killed in the very act of showing kindness to a comrade ! Another debt to brother Boche. That day the company was gradually moved to a more advanced position, and again my heart tightened as I listened to the roar of the fight in front. I was kept busy carrying messages back- wards and forwards to headquarters, to the front line, to the signallers, and with frequent messages to the artillery. It may be of interest to some for me to relate how I saw one of my messages acted upon. My message was a verbal one, and I delivered it as I received it as follows: " To O. C. 2nd Artillery Brigade : " Please search wood on my left flank, range about 2,000 yards." " From O. C. No. 2 Co. 5th Battalion. " Time, 3 P. M." The artillery O. C. in charge was seated in the forked branches of a tall elm tree, which by an- other of those unaccountable miracles had escaped Fritz's attention. Knowing the Boche's methods, 246 HOLDING THE LINE I expected every minute to see the tree smashed to flinders by a salvo from his guns. The mes- sage, however, had to be delivered to him, so up the tree I scrambled. I felt as though forty dif- ferent Boche artillery observers had their eyes glued upon me when I climbed that tree. Nothing happened however to the tree or its occupants, and I hailed the beaming artillery O. C. "Hello!" roared he. "Hello, sir." "Great work the boys are doing." "Yes, sir." Then I repeated my message. "Yours to command," said he, and bellowed an order through the mouthpiece of his 'phone. "Do you want to see what happens*?" said he. "By gum, yes," said I, forgetting his rank in my excitement. True enough the wood was tapped at the very first shot, but after a few rounds, although the shooting was excellent, he gave the order to " Cease fire." "What have you quit for, sir*?" " No more shells," laconically. MORE HELL 247 I descended the tree and returned to the major. All this time the fight increased in intensity, the Germans putting over a fearful bombardment, both on the front line and away to the rear. Cas- ualties were coming by our location in an endless stream. Some were being carried to the dressing station, but those who could walk or hobble at all, were making their way back as well as they could. It was a pitiful, yet a wonderful sight. Their battered uniforms, plastered with mud and filth, bandages of various hues on their heads, and dress- ings on their limbs and bodies. Some were being helped along by their comrades; others limped past with the aid of a rifle used as a crutch. Some would stop for a rest, and we would do all we could to help them, at the same time asking how things were going up in front. They told a story of tremendous bombing attacks, on both sides, but Fritz was having the better of the argument, being more liberally supplied with bombs. On hearing this, I felt again that gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach, for I knew there would soon be some ticklish work for me. Suddenly the 248 HOLDING THE LINE sight of that stream of wounded sickened me and I turned to hide my face, and ran straight into Campbell's arms. "Good God! Ken, I shall go crazy if I don't do something, those poor devils are getting on my nerves." "Pluck up, son," said he, "you'll feel better when we go up, and I for one am expecting it any minute." No word of condemnation at my funk, just en- couragement. Such was our Ken Campbell. Brave as a lion himself, yet possessed of a rare sympathy for those not so blessed. The cheeriness of these wounded was wonder- ful, and, in spite of their hurts, they regaled us as they passed with the story of the times they were going to have in Blighty. Then my call came. " Pass the word for a run- ner." Away I went to the major. "You know the way to headquarters well?" "Yes, sir." "Take this to Colonel T — , and on your way up you will leave a squad of bombers at the bot- MORE HELL 249 torn of the road leading to Colonel L — 's trenches." The bombers were all ready for me, and string- ing out in a line we began our journey. We were lucky, and I left the bombers, minus two who had been slightly wounded by shrapnel, at the ap- pointed place. Wishing them luck I managed to reach the Old Man, terribly scared, but unhurt. Just as I started on my return journey a fusil- lade of bullets began to chip up everything, and I crawled along thanking heaven I was a little man, and wishing at the same time I was half as big. By and by I arrived in safer territory, and in spite of the nature of the ground, finished the trip at a jog trot. Again the boys were moved nearer to the first line. Under a terrific shell fire, in small bodies they stole to the dugouts in the grounds of what had been a beautiful residence. An order came that night for the boys to go up on a working party. I was utterly worn out, but gritting my teeth I fell in with the rest. Once more Ken Campbell showed his great heart. "God bless him and rest him 250 HOLDING THE LINE where he lies." His superior does not exist, and he will always be my soldier ideal so long as I live. " Say, Baldwin, you stay behind." "What for, Sergeant-major?" " Don't answer me back; you're to stay here and sleep." Without a word I fell out, and walked to a dug- out where I stretched myself out to sleep. But sleep would not come. I was worried. I was wondering whether it was really a working party the boys were detailed for. I imagined what they would think of me if I stayed back when they faced it. Sleep was out of the question, so I walked out to the sentry on the road. "Say, Alec," said I, "do you think the boys are going to take part in an attack tonight 1 ?" "Don't know, Bobbie, but why should you worry'?" "Hell! the boys will think I funked." Further conversation, for awhile, stopped as we crouched, while Fritz treated the dressing sta- MORE HELL 251 tion opposite to two big shells. We were unhurt. Wounded men were now passing in streams, and I asked if any of the Fifth were there. "No," was the reply, "the Fifth went over to- night." "Oh, heavens! Alec, they've been in a charge and they'll think I funked." "Don't be a blankety-blank fool, Bub. You have done your share today and you were ordered to stay back." But my mental agony increased. What would Fritz and Lib think of me"? What would Muir- head, Shields and the others think 4 ? Presently a breathless runner stopped and asked, " Do either of you guys know the way to head- quarters'?" "Sure," said I, "come on." "What's doing?" said I, as we trotted along. "Oh Fritz has the wind up (excited) and is rapid firing." " Is that all % You're from the Eighth, eh