The Black Watch Part 10

After this, in recognition of my work as a scout, I was offered the rank of a non-commissioned officer, but I did not wish it. They were picking off the non-coms too fast to suit me, and there was danger enough in the work I was doing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After spending a few more days in this last, very warm position, we moved to billets a little way off behind our left flank, and we certainly needed the rest. There was no indication that these billets had been used before by our troops. Jock Hunter and I were a.s.signed to a barn, and you may be sure I was delighted at the prospect of literally "hitting the hay" as the Americans say.

As there were chickens running around, even over every part of the thatched house, Jock and I went in search of eggs, for oh! how we longed for a change of diet! For weeks it had been bully beef and biscuits, and then biscuits and bully beef. In our search, we climbed up the ladder to the attic, which we found to be very s.p.a.cious, with heaps of straw on the floor here and there. The walls of the structure, I should judge, were about four feet thick, and there was a s.p.a.ce that wide where the parapet of the wall and thatching came near together.

On reaching the attic we could hear the voices of our fellows in the farm yard below. The noise came through the opening between the parapet and thatching which was supported by beams. The aperture must have been about a foot in height. Approaching this--with the intention of playing a trick on the boys by throwing a piece of stone from the top of the wall--I noticed, dangling over the edge, a black leather strap. Carelessly I gave it a sharp tug, when out came a "Colt," the handle of which I instantly caught. I scarcely had it in my hands when a man's head popped up and I found myself facing a German soldier. He started to reach to his side but I had him covered. I do not know whether he or I was the more greatly surprised.

"Hands up, ye swine!" I shouted, holding him cowed with his own revolver, although I was entirely ignorant of its mechanism, and did not even know how to release the safety catch.

He slid out of the recess under the thatch which he had been occupying and stood on the floor. With his hands up, he kept muttering:

"Mercy! _Kamerad! Kamerad!_"

Jock seemed stunned at this sudden and unthought of "find."

I asked him to tie the boche's hands, which he did with his rifle pull-through, and we marched him down to the officers' quarters. The officers were just preparing to eat, and were astounded at the sudden appearance of the boche in the doorway, as we made him walk in first. We left the prisoner and his Colt with the officers. Then we returned to search the loft.

In the deep recess over the wall we found a French rifle, a British rifle, several days' rations, ammunition, and a warm blanket--which Jock and I snuggled under that night. It was a sniper's post and afforded an excellent view of part of our lines, especially the spot at the brook where so many of our boys "went West" in the act of getting water, and where I had had a narrow escape.

The next morning, after reveille, a corporal and three men who had done guard over the sniper got orders to take him to a given place, which was about three miles behind our lines. Also they were ordered to report back within "fifteen minutes from starting time."

We were promised a few days' rest here, but the following day, toward nightfall, we were sh.e.l.led out of the place by the boches' heavy artillery, the "coal boxes" landing all around the place. We had scarcely time to get out of it. Luckily enough, no one "clicked." We then moved to trenches near La Ba.s.see. Here also was a great number of troops concentrating.

We had heard that our native troops from India were to hold part of the lines near us. Also we had been told of the great work the Canadians had done recently around this section, and we were looked upon to do the same.

It was now December, and the sleet and rain poured on us for the first few days without cessation.

In the trenches here, in some parts we were knee deep in slush, and this had a very dispiriting effect. It, together with the continuous downpour of rain and sleet and Fritz's sh.e.l.ling--which never ceased--reduced us to a state of positive misery. We fared badly enough, but we wondered how the native troops (who were now on our left flank), used to a warm climate, could stand it.

We got more tinned rations and in greater variety, here, than I can remember ever having before. There was "Maconochie"--a soup with directions to boil fifteen minutes before opening the tin;--which, of course, was merely satirical. The "Maconochie" was never warmed until it had reached our stomachs. However, it proved a very acceptable change from our "bully beef." That is, it did when it came. It didn't come often. We also had tins of _muckin_ (b.u.t.ter) which Tommy says is a very good quality.

Another tinned product, but not a ration, reached us here. It was the famous jam-tin hand grenade which came into use at about that time.

Preparations were now in progress for an attack of greater magnitude than any we had yet taken part in. With a number of other scouts, I was sent out to examine the terrain over which our men would advance. The party was discovered by German snipers, and we ran back to our lines as fast as we could go. A piece of a ricochet shot struck my left ankle, but only slightly injured it on account of my heavy spats and leather shoes, so that by having a tight bandage applied at once I was able to take part in the attack.

Hitherto most of our engagements had been more or less surprise affairs--that is, we would get word of the enemy just about in time to be ready for him when the actual charge came. This time it was different. We had been told what time we would go over at them. We had to sit around and wait. Some of the men were carefully cleaning their rifles. Others ran their thumbs along the edges of their bayonets. Many were writing letters.

But almost every face that I could see was pale. The greater part of them were nervously puffing away at f.a.gs, very often unlit.

Here and there a man would glance at his watch--furtively, as if afraid it would be thought that he was hoping the time had not yet come. Others were swearing softly and grumbling because they could not charge at once.

Occasionally a man would joke or tell a funny story. Those who heard him either looked as if they hadn't heard or laughed rather thinly. It is one thing to go at them with steel and rifle, but quite another to sit around and wait for the short blast of the whistle which sends you out to kill or to be killed.

Our artillery was pouring sh.e.l.ls and shrapnel upon the Huns and their guns were replying. The combat wagons with the ammunition and the wagons with the rations had to reach us through a curtain of fire. One hundred extra cartridges were distributed to every man, also extra tins of "bully." I was on my way to regimental headquarters with a message, when a sh.e.l.l squarely struck a transport wagon. It was obliterated. Men were torn into shreds. I saw the whole fore-quarters of a horse blown high into a tree and caught there in a crotch. The stretcher bearers picked up some of the men. Some they could not even find. I was soon back again in the firing trench. We had gouged out little footholds to help us over the top.

At last it came--the little shrill metallic blast we had been waiting for.

It could be heard distinctly above the roar of the artillery. The blood surged back into the faces of the pale men. We were fighting now. It was different from the waiting and thinking--the thinking of what we may be leaving behind us for always.

I was the first man out of the trench--not that I was brave, but because I had already learned that it was the last man up and the last man down who usually are shot. I sped ahead of all the platoon; for in that lay safety.

It is a fact that men in trenches will fire at the ma.s.s in rear rather than stop to aim at a single runner out ahead. Each man seems to feel that he is sure to hit someone if he fires into the ma.s.s and that another will pick off the leader.

We were back again in our own trenches. What had happened in the charge I did not know. I can honestly state that my mind is a blank for the period of time which elapsed after I ran the first fifty yards toward the boches.

I was sitting on the fire-step. We had taken their trenches and had been recalled after our troops from the rear had gone forward to prepare the captured position against the counter attack which would surely come.

My chum, Jock Hunter, was sitting near me.

"Blow 'Coffee up,'" he said to me, laughing. I thought he had lost his senses. I stared at him blankly.

"Blow 'Coffee up,'" he repeated, pointing to my side.

I glanced down at my hip. There was a battered bugle hanging from a cord over my shoulder. I was more bewildered than ever, but I unslung the instrument and we examined it. It was a bugle of the Potsdam Guards and there were thirteen bullet holes in it.

Jock would not believe that I did not know how I came by the thing, and you may find it difficult, too, to accept my statement, but it is a fact.

I do not know how I got it. The period of the charge is a slice of my life which is completely gone from my memory. I do not know what sights I saw nor what sounds I heard.

On our first Sunday in this position, the German artillery became quiet about ten o'clock, and, about half an hour later, we heard strains of music from beyond the slightly risen ground on Fritz's lines. They were holding a Sunday service. But as soon as it was over, we were greeted with a couple of hundred sh.e.l.ls from their artillery, so we came to the conclusion that the sermon must have been rotten.

The weather conditions here were so bad that a number of our fellows were sent to the base hospital with frost-bite, or what is known now as "trench feet." They suffered excruciating pain. I saw one fellow who had to have his shoe cut off; the foot swelled up instantly to very great size and was almost entirely black.

As a supposed protection against the conditions which had caused so many cases of "trench feet" some bureau expert over in England had a supply of rubber boots forwarded to us. I have seen many things which were useless supplied to soldiers but never anything to equal these boots. They were so loose and clumsy that they materially interfered with the action of walking and they were just of a height to be entirely submerged in the trench mud, leaving the wearer with an individual and separate bucketful of the stuff to lift with each foot. I heard many a pair wished on the Kaiser's feet. Big ladles with long handles also were distributed among us to be used in sc.r.a.ping out the water from the trenches, and each of us took our turn in acting as "chef," that is, ladling the water out behind the trench wall. Occasionally where a fellow, slow in throwing it over, would hold the ladle up a few seconds too long--ping!--a bullet would go through it. If we wanted to sit down the only thing we could do was to place our packs and equipment on the fire-step and sit on them.

Our position was somewhat lower than that of the Germans, as they occupied a sort of ridge. For days and nights at a time we did nothing but wait, with an occasional raiding party or artillery encounter, with now and again a heavy bombardment, to break the tedium.

We were sitting around in the mud one day when, all of a sudden, a heavy rifle and machine-gun fire swept along our trench. Then we heard a dull m.u.f.fled roar as if some tremendous weight, padded heavily with bales of cotton, had fallen a great height. That is the only way I can describe the sound. Instantly, I wondered what had happened. I do not suppose it was a second later before I knew, but it seemed as if it were a full minute. The earth seemed to rock. There was a swas.h.i.+ng, hissing noise. Mud, water, and stones poured down all around us. Muddy water cascaded into our trench.

Clambering out of it and through a storm of bullets, we made for our reserve trench. Many of our men fell in the act of fleeing for shelter.

This was the result of the Germans having dammed up their own trench which was filled with water, and dug tunnels in our direction as far as they possibly could without our being aware of it. They opened the dams just after commencing the firing. Their intention was to catch with the fire those that escaped drowning, and thus annihilate us, so that they could break through our lines at this point. No doubt it was a clever ruse, but--it did not work.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Our regiment was now s.h.i.+fted from the position where the Germans had tried to drown us out to another section near a place which we afterwards christened "The Glory Hole." The German lines and ours were very near to each other here. On the night of our arrival we could hear the Huns talking, and after we had settled ourselves in our trenches, we could hear them now and again whistling "Highland Laddie." It was evident that they knew who we were, as that is the tune to which we "march past."

I was now initiated into the use of the hand grenades. The kind we got were later termed the "hair-brush." Now and again, the Germans would take a mad turn and lob a few of their grenades over at us, and in turn, we returned the compliment. This form of fighting was then in its infancy, and we nearly all had our own ways of doing it. I used to tie two or three of the bomb handles together with a rope; get hold of the end of it, which was knotted; and, in the same way as an American athlete throws the hammer, I would swing the bombs over my head and let go in the direction of Fritz. In this way I could accomplish a few yards more than anyone who threw in the ordinary way. Sandbags were piled about three feet high on top of the parapet with loopholes through which we fired our rifles. When I wanted to throw the grenades in the fas.h.i.+on I have just described, I would go to the more level ground at the back, throw them, and jump back into the trench where I always had ample room, as the others, with varying criticisms of my enterprise, gladly cleared the way before I started operations. They fully expected me at some time to make a mistake and land the grenades among them instead of in the boches' trench.

As we did not have one common system of throwing these grenades, a few of the non-coms and men were selected to practise--a little way behind the lines--the proper method. Our Acting-Colonel, J. T. C. Murray, and three men were killed when a lance-corporal, in swinging a grenade, accidentally struck the ground with it, causing it to explode.

At times we were treated to some lyddite sh.e.l.ls by the boches (at least we believed them to be lyddite, though I have since learned that they were gas sh.e.l.ls). I was never caught in the fumes myself, but I saw many men who had been. This particular gas simply snuffed the life out of the men without their even knowing what had happened. As they lost consciousness, they turned a yellow-brown colour, and never made any attempt to stir--just went to sleep and did not awaken--while those who got just a slight touch of it, would stagger about, as if deeply intoxicated.