by Will R Bird
It was almost three o’clock when we were finally in our line, and I had been walking since eight in the evening. Some kind hero attached himself to my rations while I was on my first journey forward but I did not worry greatly; there would be plenty of chances to salvage for myself later. Zero hour had been set at 4.20 and every one grew tense. We knew that we were not going into the attack until three hours later, but were to leave our position, go down the slope in front and cross the river Luce. After that we would be in the fighting.
As I waited, standing on a firestep, watching the stars fade, Christensen came to me and held out his hand. “Good-bye, Bird,” he said. “I’m going to find out to-day which of us is right.”
He and I had argued about the hereafter, and I had tried hard to convince him everything, even to a blade of grass, cried out that there was a God who governed creation. But … “What’s got into you,” I said. “You’ll not get hit.”
“I’ll be killed,” he said, smiling in a way that startled me. He didn’t seem the least frightened, but was as matter-of-fact as if his leave had come through. “An hour ago,” he said, “something came to me. It was as if every sound in the world was stilled at once, as if there was nothing more for me to hear, and I knew what it meant. I’m not the least bit afraid, and I’ll be satisfied if it comes quick.” It was useless to try to console him, he didn’t want sympathy. Not one man who had mentioned the same thing to me had acted the same as he did. He almost seemed glad, and when I pointed out that, if he were right, there was some power beyond the visible that imparted information, he partially admitted it, and said that he was sorry he had not tried to learn something of religion, to become a Christian, but that he was not the kind to squeal at the last five minutes. Had the right kind of man been there to talk to him I know that in the last half hour he might have changed the Dane, but I could not do it, and I shook hands with him, as convinced as he that he would never see another day.
After he had gone, Tommy came and stood beside me, and it came. One instant we were speaking in low tones, watching a red flicker of artillery away on the right and the next heart beat the very earth seemed to quiver. One great sheet of flame seemed to leap along that twenty-mile front and the roar that made the trench tremble was so fused that we could not distinguish single explosions. It was a stupendous thing. We were shaken, stunned, bewildered. For a moment we could not make ourselves heard, then, gradually, the barrage became more broken, and by shouting we could make ourselves understood. Some one touched me on the shoulder. I turned and there stood Eddie, from thirteen platoon. He reached for my hand and his face was deathly white. I gave him a hearty grip and shouted, “Good luck, old timer.”
He shook his head. “This is my last trip,” he called. I made no reply. What could I say? We stood together, watching the flashes, and then he moved away, slowly, down to his men.
A short time later we filed down the slope to cross the river.
CHAPTER VIII
Parvillers
As we went towards the river black shrapnel began to burst overhead with snarling menace, and on the left there were sudden geysers of soil and smoke. The noise of the barrage prevented any conversation and each man was tingling so that he could hardly keep from shaking. It was interesting to watch the faces of the men. Some were pale and drawn as they thought of the perils ahead, some expressed horror, for certain individuals, like the Professor, lived every event twice. Others were simply anxious about their rifles and bombs.
There was a stone bridge crossing the river but it had been preserved for the use of heavy traffic, and we did not mind such an order. It was very probable that old Fritz knew the exact location of the bridge and could make crossings precarious. The engineers had gone forward and placed pontoon crossings of boats with bath mats spiked across them, rather fragile-looking structures, and we had to cross in single file. The long hours of tramping and going without sleep had been a strain and I had had nothing to eat. The others had had a hurried breakfast just before the barrage opened. When I got out on the swaying, dipping bath mats and saw the muddy river swirling just inches below me I was almost dizzy, and could not have hurried. But the Germans were now shelling all the stream and had wrecked the bridge to our left, used by another company, and every one was moving painfully slow. Shells rained on all the bridge area, but it was a marshy spot and partly under water so that the explosions did little more than shower us with black filth.
When we were finally across a thick mist had settled over everything and we could not see one hundred yards ahead. Word was passed along that the objective was a hill, Hill 104. We entered a wooded area and found a trench where we stayed for some time, as our jump-off was not until 8.20 a.m. One lone shell came quite near as we waited there and wounded the man who had lost his nerve at Passchendale. He had been very nervous all the while and when we saw he had a “blighty” we felt relieved. As the sun grew stronger and began to clear the mist we saw more trees ahead and soon were filing to them. It was a sparse fringe of wood, and a brick wall came a distance from the left. Some of the men rushed to its cover. The rest of us took shelter behind tree trunks. Wheee-bang. One shell came through the limbs of the trees where Tommy and I were standing and exploded about thirty yards behind us. We looked around and saw a man pitch to earth. It was Eddie. He had “got his ticket” before we saw a German – he had had a clear vision.
We all got near the trees. Just to the left of me I saw Ted cowering behind a big bole. He had his rifle butt on the ground and as he peered around to watch the ground in front he, in some manner, discharged the weapon. His arm was resting over the muzzle. He screamed in agony and we rushed to him to find that he had a fearful wound. There had been a muzzle cap on the Lee-Enfield and he had had it turned over in place. It had been blown through the flesh and muscles, leaving a gaping rent one could thrust his fingers in. We tied a torniquet around his arm and twisted it with a stick, then bandaged the wound. He went white and sank to the ground just as we were signalled to advance.
We went up a long slope. Three Germans rose from the tall grass and shot at us before turning to run. Sparky dropped to his knees and sniped one of them very neatly, his first kill. He was exuberant and raced up the hill to look at his victim. Another of the trio fell before he reached the crest, potted by several bullets, but the third man vanished from view.
On top of the slope we looked down on a short length of grain that had been sown in that forward position. A deep ravine lay just beyond and we could see camouflage that told of gun emplacements. We were now in extended order and everyone was in great spirits. We were back of the first trench, had seen dead Germans sprawled there, very few of our own men among them, and the only boche sighted were on the run. As I rushed along, anxious to reach the ravine, a German suddenly popped up in the grain a few feet ahead of me. He rose so suddenly that I shot without taking aim. Experience had taught me to carry my rifle under my right arm, steadied by my left, a finger on the trigger, and only a pressure was required to beat out the other fellow.
As the German dropped he gave a ghastly groan and then I saw that he was a wizened old chap with steel-rimmed spectacles and a scraggly beard.
Probably an old character like Peter, and all he had wished was to surrender. He had no weapons of any kind. I looked down at him and saw that the bullet had entered his lungs. He tried to get up and I wanted to stop and help him, but Tommy urged me to keep on. We plunged down into the valley. Three guns were there with the canvas covers still over them. A dugout entrance was just in front of me and smoke was coming from the pipe at the side of the stairway. Over on the left, about fifty yards away I saw the fleeing gunners get neatly captured by men of another company. The leader of the men in gray was a fat officer with an Iron Cross dangling over his paunch. He lost it very quickly.
Our officer was vastly excited. It was his first time “over” and he had a brain wave. Why not wheel the guns around and strafe the enemy? He yelled at us to seize on the sheel
s and exert our strength, but I had none to waste. The long rush up the slopes had been a dragging task and I was ready to collapse unless I could get something to eat. Young Russell saw the dugout and ran to it, yelling his find. The others paid no attention to him and I went over. Possibly a Heinie was waiting below with a ready Luger, possibly a cook was down there with breakfast ready. I went down the steps. It was a splendid dugout, very elaborate. A clock was ticking on a shelf, two tumbled beds contained the finest linen; but what caught my eye was a jumbled heap of female finery and dainty slippers under the bed. Some lady had evidently just flown.
On the table between the beds were several letters, some unopened, a big parcel not opened, and a pile of German newspapers. I grabbed the parcel and at the same time glanced at the stove. A pan of eggs was still sizzling. Two were too crisp to consume but the others were suitable for me, and there were sausages, a few bottles of beer, and black bread on shelves. We sat down and ate and drank in great style, and Russell found the coffee pot on the floor – full of nice hot coffee. We gorged ourselves and then I slit the parcel open. It contained a few candles, a silk handerkerchief, and a big cake covered with pink frosting. The address said it was from Berlin, so I cut the cake and handed Russell a healthy slice. He gobbled it down and I watched him anxiously while the clock ticked off the minutes. “Do you feel all right?” I asked. “Jake,” he snorted. “Hand us another chunk.”
I did, and then cut a huge slice for myself. We took the rest upstairs and found the officer fuming. Earle and Sparky and a few more loyal lads were straining their muscles as they tried to heave one of the guns around. “Come here, you two,” the lieutenant yelled. “Give a hand.” We ignored him and passed the cake. Russell told the boys how I had him test it and there was a wild hoot. Then we went on over the hill in front and the officer followed. Some of the boys said he marked the guns with chalk in order to prove our capture of them.
No sooner were we on the high ground than we met a party of Germans, prisoners coming back on the trot. There were over twenty of them and at the rear were three doctors who spoke English. One of them was in that helpless nightmare stupor that seems to fall on some of those taken prisoner, but his mates talked with us and seemed real decent fellows. They were more than willing to assist in looking after any wounded and assured us that we would now go far as there were no organized defenses for us to encounter. While Tommy and I talked with them the others had made a thorough search of the remaining prisoners and had acquired quite a haul of souvenirs in the shape of marks, two Iron Crosses, several watches, and fancy trinkets.
We went on over the slope until we were near Claude Wood and well beyond our objective. There was no fighting to mention but a shell dropped near and killed Cockburn and Christensen was hit in the arm by a piece of shrapnel. After he was bandaged I went over to him. “You see now that you were wrong,” I said. “You’re away for Blighty.”
He simply grinned. “Bird,” he said in his slow way. “By night I’ll be a corpse. Remember what I tell you.”
He went on over the hill out of sight and we went on toward the Wood and then extended and lay down on the soft grass. We could see Germans running everywhere on the horizon. Some were in the edge of the Wood hurriedly arranging machine guns, but the majority were fleeing on the other side, racing at top speed, without rifles or helmets. There was a village not far off, Beaucourt, and we could make out the Amiens-Roye Road. An aeroplane crashed down close beside us, startling every one as we had not heard its engine. The airman was a boy of twenty and both his legs had been almost severed with machine gun fire. We helped him to the ground and bandaged him as best we could. He seemed calm and only asked for a cigarette.
All at once there was a shout and we turned from watching the Huns scuttle about the Wood to see one of the finest spectacles, if not the finest, of the whole war. It is certain that very few were privileged to occupy such ringside seats as we had that day, and yet not be forced to take part or suffer from the contact. Over the slope came the cavalry, the Royal Canadian Dragoons, the Fort Garry Horse, the Strathconas, riding like mad, sabres flashing, lances glittering, all in perfect formation. They swept by us with a thundering beat of hoofs and drove at the Wood. Some passed to right and some to left of it. Following them came the whippets, small tanks with remarkable speed and with guns mounted on the top.
The mounted men dashed into the Wood, directly at the waiting gunners. Killing began as if on signal from some master director. The Maxims opened fire and men and horses rolled among the shrubbery or fell in the open. I saw an officer rise in his stirrups and strike a Hun across the neck with his sabre, so that the German’s head lolled oddly. I saw a lancer pierce another gunner so that the weapon stuck out behind his shoulders. A trio of Huns were beaten to earth under the horses’ hoofs as the cavalry rode straight at them. It was whirlwind fighting, so fast and furious that the machine guns did not take half the toll we expected. One crew alone survived the charge and a tank bore straight for them. They fired frantically and we saw a man on the tank slither to the ground, but the tank went on, and right over gun and crew, making the thrust so quickly that not a man escaped. After it had passed, we saw a body rolled on the sod, glistening white, completely stripped of clothing.
Those who had gone toward the village appeared to be in difficulties and we got more thrills. More pounding horses came into view, a battery of heavy guns. They rushed by us and over on the wide plateau swung about and into action with astounding speed. We saw the shells striking in the village, sending up great clouds of smoke and dust, and soon the cavalry pressed on.
After noon a long column of men came in sight, battalions of the Fourth Division going through to carry on the attack. I saw the 85th Battalion and hurried over to see my brother but he had gone by. Suddenly the fighting seemed far away. No shells were falling near us and no Germans except prisoners and dead men were in sight. The tanks had gone and the big ones were lumbering up, one laden with water and ammunition. We went on to Claude Wood and the dead Huns were searched for souvenirs. At dusk we had wandered far beyond and had found many things of interest. I had picked up a sabre, a long-bladed thing, that was very supple steel, and Tommy had got a very nice revolver, a German Luger.
We slept in the wood. Our cooks had come up and served a hot meal and the 49th had also come to the same area for the night. I saw Sergeant-major Davies and he told me that he had seen Eddie away back by the trees. Then he said. “Wasn’t it funny about Christensen?”
“What?” I asked.
“He was alone, going through the same place, when a shell came and he was killed by shrapnel. He was away back there and one would have thought him safe for Blighty.”
Tommy and I looked at each other, and said nothing.
We moved to Folles Village and there saw many signs of hurried German flight. All kinds of equipment and clothing lay about. A dressing station was nearby. Two dead Germans lay under blankets ready for burial. Other cots were just as the patients had been taken from them. Outside, packs and rifles and helmets and gas masks, piled in a passage way, were eloquent of heavy casualties. The weather continued dry and sultry and at evening the western sky was lovely, opalescent, radiant, a riot of colour. There were streamers of rose and onyx, flecks of pearl, lights of crimson and gold. We hated the smell of the building and occupied unique resting-places – wooden coffins that were stood against the rear end of the building. They were dry and fairly comfortable.
The next day we went on and halted at night by a field near the quarters occupied by the transport section. Tommy and I had our bed on a grassy bank near the road and I went over to the cobbled yard of the farmhouse where the transport men were staying. I had our water bottles and filled them at the pump there. When I had done so I strolled over to talk to a chap I knew who was smoking by a gate. Someone touched me on the arm and I swung around. It was light enough to see plainly as a harvest moon was overhead, and no one was there!
I left the man
in the middle of my sentence, for I had become very sensitive to such touches. In a moment I was away from the yard and hurrying back to Tommy. Suddenly I heard a zoom-zoom-zoom above me – Boche bombing planes – and before I had taken another stride a gash of scarlet flame spurted from the very gate at which I had been standing. More bombs crashed, and several were the kind the boys called the “spring” variety. They seemed to explode above the ground a few feet and spread death in a wide circle. Many horses were killed before the raid was over, thirty-six, a soldier said as we went forward to inquire. The man to whom I had been talking was horribly mangled. Two others had been killed and ten wounded.
We went to Parvillers. As we marched into the village and saw the square with its church still intact we thought that the war had become a grand picnic, but inside the hour our thoughts had changed. Salvos of shells came in among the buildings with diabolical accuracy. We ran for shelter, hurried around corners and headed for the old trenches of that area. We were to relieve a Borderer regiment but when we met their guides they seemed bewildered. They said the Hun was established in strength and that they had lost nearly three-quarters their strength in trying to drive him back. We grew impatient as the companies huddled about, too closely grouped, and nothing was done. Shells were coming very near. One dropped beside the officers as they conversed. Our colonel was talking to the colonel of the Borderers, and while he was not hurt the Borderer had his arm blown off and died before morning.
At length Williams and “Waterbottle” and I were called to the front and asked to find the way we should go. We managed to get the platoons into position shortly before daylight. We were in old grassed trenches, with concrete emplacements quite plentiful, and as we scanned the sector in the breaking light and saw wide tangles of rusting barbed wire in every direction, and dead Borderers strewn everywhere, we knew that we were to meet a grim proposition.
