S.O.S. Stand to! Part 6

Crawling along on his hands and knees, with the wire running through his hand, he came to a little bush, where it slipped away from him, denoting that there was the break. At that moment the sniper got him in the leg, but he held to until he repaired it, and was in touch with headquarters, reporting that he had mended the break, when the wire was again cut. The bleeding from his wound now made it necessary for him to mend that break first, and he bandaged it as quickly as his nervous fingers would work.

Again he took hold of the wire, crawling and stumbling along until he again came to the break, and again mended it. He was being closely watched now, as the bullets were whistling about him ceaselessly. Again he turned his attention to his wound, adjusting the bandage, and he noticed a British soldier crawling toward him on his hands and knees.

"h.e.l.lo, matey, what you doing out here?" he asked.

"I'm mendin' me bloomin' leg now," Butler answered.

"Well, if you hadn't been out here you wouldn't have got it. Why didn't you stay in your trenches?"

"Someone's got to repair the wire," said Butler. He was growing perceptibly weaker from the loss of blood.

"Oh, repairing the wire, were you? Well, don't repair any more"--and Butler had just time to see him level his revolver and then he dropped unconscious. The bullet had hit him in the thigh. But his communication had reached headquarters that he was wounded and it was not long before the stretcher bearers came out and found him. They took him to the dressing station, where it was found necessary to amputate his leg, but he parted gladly with his dented member when the O.C. told him that his grit and endurance were a splendid example for the entire unit,--"Aye,"

he added, "and for the whole Empire."

Service was being held here in the field one Sunday morning and an incident occurred that makes me shake every time I think of it,--not so much at the incident itself as in the surrounding circ.u.mstances. In the midst of the service, a buzzing overhead announced the presence of German hawks and a dropping of bombs further announced that they had seen us and intended paying their respects.

A face turned upward is one of the most easily detected objects by an airplane, and although we had strict orders on no account to look up, the temptation for some was too strong. Meantime, the minister continued to read the service, but the responses were not as hearty as they had been, and he himself was standing with shoulders hunched up to the back of his neck, the book pulled up to his nose, and furtively trying to see through his eyebrows the danger-birds in the blue. In the midst of the solemn moment an officer, glimpsing some of the men turning their faces skyward, bellowed, "d.a.m.n you, keep those mugs down."

It was our good fortune that none of the messages reached their intended destination.

CHAPTER VII

SANCTUARY WOODS

(_3rd Battle of Ypres_)

The third battle of Ypres commenced June 2, lasting until June 15, 1916.

Sanctuary Woods was a cl.u.s.ter of trees, comprising about one thousand in number, and they were the very finest and n.o.blest specimens of their various types,--oak, elm, ash and beech. They were located just one mile outside the city in a northwesterly direction. One of our trenches ran northeast and southwest through the middle of the woods.

The line had been exceptionally quiet for the s.p.a.ce of a week. My battery of six guns was located at a chateau known as the Belgian Garden, about 600 yards in the rear of the wood. Two guns were ordered into the wood as a sacrifice battery, and my usual luck attached me to one of them. We were located in a dry ditch, 300 yards back from the front line. Our orders, as usual in the case of the sacrifice battery, were to wait until the Germans, when they broke through, if they did, were almost in line with our guns.

The morning of the 2nd was a beautiful summer's day; nature was in perfect repose; the birds sang gayly, the humming of bees and fragrance of flowers filled the air. We were busily engaged making our morning ablutions in some sh.e.l.l holes when, like a bolt from the blue, h.e.l.l broke loose in the form of the most violent bombardment I had experienced up to that time, lasting twenty minutes, missiles of every kind raining down on us on all sides. "Stand to!"--and we waited.

At the end of twenty minutes our men started jumping out of their trenches ahead of us and charging across. They were met by the enemy in ma.s.s formation and overwhelmed. They died to a man. The Germans pressed the attack home and came on, yelling like fiends incarnate, drunk with the joy of their apparent success and promised victory. On they came, apparently irresistible. We commenced firing, and I had the satisfaction of seeing gaps blown in their ranks and many of them biting the dust.

Our poor little battery, however, feazed them but little.

And I want to say right at this time that the idea that seems to be prevalent in the minds of many that the German is not a good fighting man is a lamentable mistake; he is a good fighter. He has not perhaps the initiative of the British, or the avalanche-like ardor in a charge of the French soldier, but with his officers pressing him behind and in ma.s.s formation, he is as formidable a foe as can be imagined.

Our ammunition was exhausted, not a sh.e.l.l remaining, and we grabbed our rifles, retreating with the rest, and sniping and dropping as we fell back. We took parts of the guns with us to prevent Fritz making use of it, and threw them into a sh.e.l.l hole filled with water, as they were too heavy to carry and manipulate our rifles at the same time, and that ability was much more precious to us at that particular time than the gun-parts. One of my chums had been wounded in the pit before we retired, and was later taken prisoner, and two of my other chums were killed in the general retreat. My pals with the other guns, forty feet to our right, did not get all of their ammunition off before the Boches were upon them, and they, too, died there; they were incinerated alive in their little pit by smoke sh.e.l.ls that started everything ablaze as they exploded.

The retreat ended in Maple Copse Woods, where we established ourselves and held the Germans, they resting at the edge of Sanctuary Woods. Under orders, I and my partner started for Zillebeke, about 400 yards back from Maple Copse, where we established an observation station, with the necessary telephonic communication to headquarters, which, when done, was taken in charge by a relief party from another battery, and I returned to Belgian Gardens at 11:30 A.M., where I was put in charge of another gun crew.

I thought I had done a fairly good morning's work and was hoping Fritz would behave himself for the balance of the day, but my hope was a delusion, for inside of half an hour Fritzie thought he would like to see the scenery in Maple Copse, and came on for another try. Heavy firing began, lasting about five minutes, and over they came again. We opened up heavily with our battery of four guns, throwing a barrage in his front as best we could; mine was the only battery left working on this particular sector. Our fellows went out and met Fritz in a hand-to-hand argument, backing up their contention so thoroughly with the cold steel that they sent him flying back to the line he had established at Sanctuary Woods.

But it was necessary, in order to keep him quiet, to keep up a barrage.

Our ammunition had run down to a point where we had only fourteen sh.e.l.ls left, and we received orders to hold two high explosive sh.e.l.ls, one for the muzzle and another for the breech of the gun, to put it out of business in case they broke through.

If it became necessary to resort to the expedient of blowing up the gun, it would be done by placing a sh.e.l.l in the breech of the chamber, the breech closed, another sh.e.l.l inside the muzzle, the lanyard fastened to the firing lever and strung out of the front pit door for a distance of 25 or 30 feet to a large tree standing at our rear, fastened to the tree, and when retreating pull it from there, blowing the gun and the gun pit into as many pieces.

We took all precautions when it became likely that we were going to be overpowered and there was a chance of Fritz taking our gun. It is rarely necessary to take this precaution nowadays, nor has it been for the last two years; the shoe is on the other foot now and the returns showing the number of heavy German guns that we have captured within the last two years and a half, together with the fact that not a single British gun has been lost, shows how well the work is in hand on the Western Front.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Over the Top]

With their unexcelled means of observation, they soon discovered where our little battery was hidden, and decided to end the argument with our troublemaker there and then.

A smothering fire burst upon us, and one of the sh.e.l.ls clipped a large tree as easily as if it had been done with a giant razor, and it crashed down directly in front of our gun, putting it out of business for the time being.

In a few minutes more another sh.e.l.l landed on the gun forty feet to our left, ending its usefulness, killing the crew to a man and leaving but two guns working; a few moments more and another lit in the telephonists' pit fifteen feet to our rear, wiping out three or four of the fellows on duty there. Lord! it was getting hot!

We were then ordered to "Stand Down" (take cover), as the fire was getting hotter each second and it had all the appearance of being a wipe-out. I ordered my crew to beat it for the dugout, staying behind a moment or two to set the sight and fasten the lanyard to blow up the gun if needed. They started out of the gun pit, taking the turn to the right, along the path to the dugout, which was fairly well sheltered by big trees. I finished my work in a minute or two and took the turn to the left. When I reached the dugout the O.C. inquired where the men were.

"They ought to be here, sir; they left ahead of me. I will go at once and find them."

"I'll go with you." And we started through the trees. The dugout was only about forty yards in the rear of the gun pit and half way there we came across my crew lying underneath a huge tree, dead. It had been rooted from the ground, hurled in the air with the same ease as a toy balloon and dropped on the men. The hole torn in the ground at the root was big enough to swallow a horse and cart. Of the five members of my crew four were dead; the remaining man, Bill Clark, had fourteen wounds in one side of his body from splinters of the tree.

I took him to the dressing station, where his wounds were dressed. As soon as he recovered consciousness he asked what had happened, and when I told him that his pals, including his bosom chum, Jim Chandler, had all been killed, he again lapsed into unconsciousness. He was later taken to the hospital, where, after a nine-months' battle with the Grim Reaper hovering constantly over his bed, he at last regained some of his old-time health. But he will never again be on the firing line.

Every man was now weary, sore and thirsty, and my only grateful recollection of that day's work was the O.C.'s command that we be given an extra ration of rum. I am not a const.i.tutional advocate of the brew that glistens like gold, but that was one time when I thanked the good Lord for that drink.

Information was conveyed to the wagon lines of the terrible toll that had been exacted that day and the number of men that were needed to replace the casualties. Our parson, hearing what was going on in front, volunteered to come and officiate at the burial of the men that night, and mounting his horse he started in company with Archie Meehan and a small relief party.

In the meantime I had made my way back to the cellar of the chateau, which we were using for a dugout, and the battery to our rear, an Imperial battery, was firing when it received an "S.O.S." Suddenly a German airplane hovered over the chateau, describing a half circle behind the Imperial battery, spotting its flash, and immediately wirelessing the location. Our observers, who were stationed at points on either side, did not notice the manipulation of the airplane at the rear of the battery. The "S.O.S." was accompanied by a burst of stars from the Imperial British Infantry, the signal working its way down right into the Canadian lines, where the ammunition was rapidly becoming exhausted.

On account of the trees partially obscuring the flash of the guns of the Imperial battery, the airs.h.i.+p that the battery in the chateau saw did not convey the exact information to the German batteries, and when they opened up on the chateau, chunks out of the building and trees and a general ripping up ensued, but their fire did not reach the battery. In all my experience at the front, in three years, I have never known at one time in one spot such a devastating fire as they put over at that particular time. There were over seven batteries--forty guns--ranging from 3 inch to 8 inch, constantly trip-hammering on the building, and the earth trembled and quivered as though in the throes of an earthquake.

Another gun of our Canadian battery of four guns was here put out of action, leaving two guns out of the six. From off my gun we had removed the fallen tree, enabling us to get it into action again. At this time we were receiving the fire from the German batteries on the left rear, left, front and right, leaving only our right rear free from the destruction which was being waged on every other outlet.

Then we gathered up every sh.e.l.l on which we could lay hands,--sh.e.l.ls that had been discarded as defective, and rammed them in the guns as fast as our arms and hands would work. At that moment the German airplane returned, flying low and turning his machine gun upon us. We sniped at him with our rifles, but failed to get him.

The Germans had been trying all day to reach Maple Copse, but we held there. Our artillery observer at Zillebeke now phoned that the Huns were ma.s.sing in Sanctuary Woods--"Fire must come from somewhere." We pulled the last two guns of the Imperial battery and shoved them out in the open; the crews of the remaining guns of this battery were gone; these guns were 4.05's. On they came, and we let them have it beautifully for a good five minutes, and they faltered and fell back. In another ten minutes they came again, when suddenly h.e.l.l broke loose from our lines,--the Empire batteries had opened up on them. These batteries derived their name from the fact that they were comprised of Australian guns, South African guns, guns from New Zealand, Canada, Scotland, England, in fact every part of the Empire was represented. For a time they smothered the German batteries in Sanctuary Woods. Then a flock of German airplanes flew over these guns and smothered them partially for a few minutes with their machine guns. This entire action had lasted an hour, and at this moment the little relief party, accompanied by our parson, arrived from the wagon lines. Again we were out of ammunition, and the O.C. asked me if I would volunteer to go to the wagon lines after it. "Yes, sir,"--and I mounted the parson's horse and started.

Although it had now started raining, I left the dugout with nothing on but pants, s.h.i.+rt and boots; I had no gas helmet, no coat, no cap, no puttees,--there was no time to be lost--and I was covered with grease and dirt, and must easily have looked like an African.

I had scarcely started when a sh.e.l.l lifted a tree out of its roots and threw it on the road right in front of me, but the horse cleared it with a jump. I pa.s.sed a dressing station and the sight was unspeakably sad; laid in rows as thickly as they could be placed, the wounded men in all stages of agony were patiently waiting their turn,--ah, G.o.d! how patient those men were,--and scattered here and there on both sides of the road were groups of men who had just begun their last sleep, and at sight of them the horse would shy and balk every few yards. I had no spurs with which to control the animal, and my work was cut out for me! he was an ideal parson's horse, for the brute would hardly go faster than a walk.

Getting through the gas barrage, I came to a camouflage hedge, used to screen and protect the traffic on the road, which sheltered me for four or five hundred yards further, and then I emerged again into the open, and again I was spotted. At this point a set of new dressing stations had been established, and they were as busy as bees looking after wounded men, and every moment of the time they were engaged in their work the machine guns of the enemy planes were hammering the stretcher bearers and the wounded men as industriously as though they were attacking fighting men. It was quite evident they knew I was a dispatch rider, and I was a target every step of the way, sh.e.l.ls being planted before me, behind me and on each side of me. But I knew the Major's thought was with me every foot of the way; I knew he was counting the seconds until I would reach the wagon lines and deliver the message--and the only message--that would save the position; I knew he was praying for me that very moment and I knew that every man in the battery was doing the same thing. If I failed! It was not with me a question of my life; I didn't care a d.a.m.n for that, and every man of us, on that day anyway, felt the same. But I must hasten with all the speed that was in me, and I must keep my life, and my head as well, that the others might live.

Finally, I got the horse started on a straight run, came to a bridge crossing the Rampart Ca.n.a.l, but they were sh.e.l.ling the bridge so violently it would have been certain destruction to have attempted getting across. Jumping off, I pulled the horse into a ruined building, and there in the twilight I had a splendid opportunity to view the efficiency of the German observation work. They were making the most determined effort to prevent any communication being sent to the wagon lines for ammunition, and one continual stream of sh.e.l.ls was following me down the road; they were dropping as thickly as hailstones for the entire distance up and down the road as far as I could see. I waited there ten minutes and then led the horse out, walking a hundred yards towards the bridge. Then came another burst of sh.e.l.ls; again I stopped for a few minutes, made another hundred yards, and another bursting storm of sh.e.l.ls. I was walking the horse all this time, but I made up my mind the time had come to make a dash for it. I jumped on his back, lay flat as a pancake, and with a good stout stick I lammed that poor brute as few horses ever were lammed, made a dash for the bridge and got safely across.

About 100 yards over and down came a burst of concussion sh.e.l.ls, flying and blowing everything around to smithereens. I was now very close to the square and could see it was being strafed for fair. My experience in watching and timing sh.e.l.l fire now stood me in good stead. I was able by the action of the sh.e.l.ls to instantly determine whether the German guns were jumping, rendering their aim uncertain, and, also, to know when the next burst would come, where it would strike, and about how it would operate,--whether gas, shrapnel, or what not. Men were clinging to the walls, trying to take shelter, and it was clearly impossible to get through with the horse. I retraced my steps half way to the ruined building I had just left ten minutes before; I was looking longingly at it, wis.h.i.+ng for its friendly shelter, when a sh.e.l.l struck it, blowing it to dust. I then led the horse, hugging the walls as closely as I could, until I got to the edge of the square, then made a run for it across, and had just cleared it when another cl.u.s.ter burst, wounding the horse in the leg. Notwithstanding his wound, he managed to bear me up until I got to the railroad crossing, lying southwesterly from the square about 500 yards distant. Here the airplane spotted me again and directed a barrage to stop me crossing, but I took the chance and got through it.

Every step of the way to the bridge crossing the Yser Ca.n.a.l, sh.e.l.ls were being planted at my heels. I can only liken my state of mind to that of the tenderfoot in the saloon of the Wild and Woolly, when Halfbreed Harvey, just for the fun of it, took a revolver in each hand and commenced sending the nuggets of lead into the floor at the unoffending feet of the "Lady from the East," just to see him dance. When I came to within 50 yards of it I saw it was clearly impossible to cross on account of the heavy sh.e.l.l cl.u.s.ters that were raining down.

I waited for a lull in the storm, then slipped on the animal's back, dug my heels in its ribs and rushed for it. I was spattered with mud from head to foot from the exploding sh.e.l.ls, but not a single splinter reached me.

As I left the bridge of the ca.n.a.l a hole was blown into it, and a working party, that was kept there all the time for the especial purpose of keeping it in repair, crawled out of their hiding places to engage in their perilous task. It was vitally necessary to keep this bridge intact to facilitate the supplies crossing and recrossing every minute of the night.