Part 17
“Suddenly a big German stood before me, a deathly pallor on his face, his mouth drawn, his eyes crazed with fear. His terror gave me courage and a feeling of superiority. I jumped on him. He tried to defend himself, but, with all my strength, I plunged my bayonet into his body. ‘_Bravo, caporal!_’ I heard some one call. Scores of my comrades ran past. I tried to catch up with them, stumbled over a body, and fell, with my head to the ground. But immediately I got up again and ran forward, more slowly however; my legs felt weak and powerless. Forward again! The attack had been repulsed. The German guns began thundering again; we had to return to our trenches.
“I took the death of Gaston (and of many others) more calmly than I had feared. This is not so surprising after all. Death may strike any one of us at any moment. We have accepted that chance. But if that is our attitude toward ourselves, why should we not have it toward our friends?
“But it still seems strange to me that I can not reach a definite judgment on my action in this last fight. Certain it is that the circumstances absolutely required my doing what I did, even leaving entirely out of consideration the fact that to every one his own life is dearer than that of a stranger. I can not hesitate in the choice between a French soldier and a German soldier. But it is equally certain that killing men runs counter to my nature and is absolutely irreconcilable with ideas which I had always accepted without question. Efforts to remove the contradiction between these thoughts must inevitably fail. It is in this way that I seek to explain the fact that at one moment I am cheerful, and sing with the rest—that I am invariably rejoicing over my good luck in the last fight, not merely having escaped without even the slightest scratch, but having had besides the good fortune of killing two Germans; while the next moment I sit worrying silently, asking myself, ‘How did it come to be possible that you are taking part in this frightful war—as a volunteer?’”
He was to receive an answer on another plane. The story of Jan R—— seems to have concluded with the three words, “Fell at Souchez.”
TWO HEROES OF HILL 60
Oxford Graduate and Green-Grocer’s Assistant Win Their Spurs in the Same Crisis
Sir John French has described the fight for Hill 60 as “the fiercest fight in which British troops have ever been engaged.” The hill is southeast of Ypres. Its possession was essential to the British, for it dominated the surrounding country. The Germans held it, commanding excellent artillery observation toward the west and northwest. For months the British had been working to mine it. After much hard work the sapping was complete and one hundred tons of explosives placed in position.
Saturday, April 17, 1915, was the appointed day for the great event. The explosion was timed for seven o’clock in the evening, and, according to program, up went the hill—Germans and all. It was like an earthquake. Simultaneously the artillery opened on the spot and poured in shells at the rate of five a minute. At a quarter past seven the infantry attack was launched, and the British were in possession of the ruins.
Then came the second phase—the holding of Hill 60, which was the hardest task of all, for the German reinforcements came to the assault by the thousands; but as fast as they came rifle and gun fire mowed them down.
During the next few days the Germans continued to attack ferociously, so much importance did they attach to the position.
A private in the East Surreys, writing in the London _Evening News_, gave the following vivid word-picture of the battle:
“The fight on Hill 60 was awful. The Germans used every kind of explosive, from small bombs to shells that shook the ground like an earthquake.
“This went on from four o’clock in the afternoon to about four the next morning. Every German gun for miles around was trained on that hill.
“Some of the German shells were filled with a stinking acid, which blinded one. I would rather take my chance in half-a-dozen bayonet charges than face such an awful bombardment again. The enemy charged four times, but we beat them back each time, and kept the hill until we were relieved next morning.”
It was in these nerve-racking engagements that Second Lieutenant Geoffrey Harold Woolley and Corporal Edward Dwyer were awarded their honors for distinguished service.
FROM CURATE TO SOLDIER
Lieutenant Woolley is the youngest son of Rev. G. H. Woolley, Danbury, Essex. He was educated at St. John’s School and Queen’s College, Oxford. While at the University he joined the Officers’ Training Corps. He studied for Holy Orders, and is all but a curate, inasmuch as he was on the eve of being ordained when, at the age of twenty-three, he decided to give his first service to his country.
Lieutenant Woolley has been described as a typical specimen of muscular Christianity. He excels at cricket, tennis, and football, and played the greater game of war with all his heart and soul.
[Illustration:
© _New York Herald._
Directing the Fire of a British Battery
In the foreground the officer in charge of the battery is receiving information from observers who are able to trace the course of each shot.]
He received his commission in the 9th Battalion London Regiment, popularly known as the Queen Victoria Rifles. With the experience of the Officers’ Training Corps to help him, the young lieutenant soon made himself very efficient, and when, in November, 1914, the Queen Victoria Rifles embarked at Southampton for the front, he had already become very popular with his men, and shown high promise as a leader. Soon after landing in France the regiment was at the front, near Ypres, where it was usefully employed, chiefly in trench work.
G. A. Leask in _Heroes of the Great War_ says:
“On the very first day that he went into the trenches, Lieutenant Woolley showed his mettle. A hand grenade was flung into his trench; without a moment’s hesitation the young officer picked it up, and before the fuse had burned to the charge, flung it out. His prompt and plucky act saved not only his own life, but the lives of at least six or seven of his men.
“On the night of April 20-21 the Germans made a desperate attack on the trench held by Lieutenant Woolley’s regiment. The Queen Victoria Rifles fought with dogged determination not to be excelled by the most seasoned Regulars. Every German gun for miles around was trained on the hill. Again and again the Germans charged with the ferocity of despair.
“One by one Lieutenant Woolley’s superior officers—a major, captain, and a lieutenant—had been killed.
“The force under Lieutenant Woolley numbered at the start 150, including some Regulars. As the German attack grew fiercer, he noted how his little company was being thinned. The young officer did not despair. He was in sole command of Hill 60, and he realized that a hard and terrible time awaited them before relief came, but he summoned up all his courage and made up his mind to hold on at all costs. He went up and down the line calling to his brave men to ‘stick it’ and he infused all with his dauntless spirit.
“A particularly fierce onslaught by the Germans commenced. Guns raked the trench with shells, enemy troops swarmed up, throwing bombs. Lieutenant Woolley moved among his men, giving orders as coolly as if on parade. The already diminished band of heroes dwindled more and more. Lieutenant Woolley knew that the situation was perilous, but he had no thought of giving in. The knowledge that so much depended upon him stirred his blood, and called forth every ounce of his fighting spirit and powers of leadership.”
A DETERMINED BOMBER
“He organized counter-attacks and led his men in throwing bombs at the vastly superior force of the enemy. Standing on the parapet of the trench, fully exposed to the enemy, Woolley hurled bomb after bomb. His men urged him to seek shelter, but he refused. For some time this amazing contest continued, a handful of British against thousands of Germans. But this little band of heroes by their superb bravery, led by a hero, kept the enemy at bay. When welcome relief eventually came, the company of 150 men had been thinned to 20-14 Territorials and 6 Regulars, a pathetic proof of the dauntless fight put up by those men.”
The second hero of Hill 60 is one of the most popular medal winners of the war. Lance-Corporal Edward Dwyer at the time he obtained the coveted decoration was only eighteen years old, and had been a green-grocer’s assistant before the war.
“This boy hero took the public imagination by storm, and with the possible exception of Sergeant O’Leary, no V.C. was more noticed on his return to England. He received enough hero-worship to last a lifetime. When home on leave Dwyer was bombarded by the attentions of admirers, kissed by women in the streets, and, as he confessed, subjected to greater trials than on the bomb-swept slopes of Hill 60.”
TOO MUCH FUSS FOR HIM
“There was something romantic about the slim boy of eighteen who proved himself so heroic in the field, and his handsome appearance and jolly ways captivated every one. As his father confessed, with no little humor, ‘They’re making such a fuss that Ted wants to get back to the battlefield for a rest.’”
Dwyer had been fighting in France for nine months when the struggle at Hill 60 provided his great opportunity.
“During a particularly fierce attack on the morning of the 20th, Lance-Corporal Dwyer was in a trench on the side of Hill 60, about fifteen yards distant from where the Germans had entrenched themselves. So close were they, in fact, that Dwyer says he could actually hear them ‘talking their lingo.’ His section had suffered severely, and Dwyer risked his life by tending many of them as best he could. Some he brought from the open to the side of the trench, leaving the comparative safety of his position in order to save their lives.
“Then, later on, he heard some one call out: ‘The Germans are coming!’
“He looked through a spy-hole in the parapet and saw a number of the enemy creeping silently and stealthily across the intervening space between the trenches.
“Like the methodical soldier he is, Dwyer had kept a number of hand grenades, some fifty, all ready to fire.
“Thus provided, he gallantly sprang on to the parapet of the trench. The Germans were creeping forward, thinking to surprise the British, but they had reckoned without Lance-Corporal Dwyer. He stood fully exposed to their fire, and threw his deadly missiles steadily and with excellent effect. For five minutes this eighteen-year-old hero stood all alone hurling grenade after grenade at the oncoming foe.
“The Germans, led by an officer, showed great stubbornness. Had they known that a lad of eighteen alone was guarding the trench, they would have doubtless redoubled their efforts to capture it. Young Dwyer kept throwing his grenades. He had now sent twenty into the ranks of the enemy; now he had used up thirty. At this juncture the officer who was leading the Germans was hit, and this loss seemed to damp the ardor of the attackers.
“Dwyer, however, began to show the first signs of uneasiness. His stock of grenades was fast running out. He had only half a dozen left, soon these had each found a target. Then in the nick of time reinforcements arrived, and the trench was saved. Dwyer alone had saved the situation.”
COLONEL FREYBERG, V.C.
A New Zealand Soldier with the Qualities of a Fenimore Cooper Hero
Colonel Freyberg is another winner of England’s highest military honor—the Victoria Cross. “For enduring courage and brilliant leadership his achievement,” writes the London _Times_, “was unsurpassed by any act for which the Cross was conferred.”
To begin with he carried an initial attack straight through the enemy’s front system of trenches, but after the capture of the first objective his command was much disorganized owing to mist and a heavy fire of all descriptions. The Colonel himself rallied and reformed his own men, as well as men from other units who had become intermixed. His own contempt of danger inspired the troops. He was finally able to lead them to the successful attack of the second objective. Colonel Freyberg had by this time been wounded twice, but he again rallied his men and reformed them, and, although under heavy artillery and machine-gun fire in a very advanced position and unsupported, still he held his ground for the rest of the day and throughout the night. On the following morning, having been reinforced, he organized an attack on a strongly fortified village, and such was his dash and enterprise that the village was captured and 500 prisoners were taken. For the third time the officer was wounded, and later in the afternoon he was again wounded, this time seriously, but he refused to leave the line until he had issued final instructions.
[Illustration:
_Brown & Dawson._
Getting the Range
A range-finding station at a coast fortification. To the layman it is a combination of engineer’s office, telephone exchange, and telegraph office where soldiers work out the distance from the muzzle of their cannon to the enemy. In coast-defense work three range-finding stations usually coöperate in working out the distance.]
“The personality, valor, and utter contempt of danger on the part of this single officer enabled the lodgment in the most advanced objective of the Corps to be permanently held, and on this _point d’appui_ the line was eventually formed.” So closed the official version of the gallant colonel’s performance.
Colonel Freyberg was by birth a New Zealander. He was not yet twenty-eight years of age. Born in Wellington, he developed both the physique and resourcefulness that were essential for the success of some of the enterprises which he undertook in the war. He won fame throughout Australasia as an exceptionally fine swimmer; he grew to be six feet in height, and broad and powerful in proportion; he achieved renown as an oarsman, a footballer and a boxer, and his physique won for him the affectionate nickname of “Tiny.” Leaving New Zealand he went to America, and drifting to Mexico found full scope for his adventurous aspirations; he fought in Mexico’s Civil War.
In 1914, the London _Times_ says, Freyberg came home, joined the Royal Naval Division, and was wounded in the hand at Antwerp. With good service to his record he went to Gallipoli with his battalion, being already a lieutenant-commander. In Gallipoli he again distinguished himself. General Paris was in charge of a force which was to make a feint landing at Bulair, the narrow neck of the Peninsula. Freyberg was given charge of the party, but, while prizing the honor, he proposed an alternative scheme which, he believed, would protect the lives of the men. This idea was that he should take colored flares and swim ashore, that he should then light the flares, as if a landing was anticipated, and then swim out again to a waiting destroyer. This he did, stripping, and painting his face and shoulders a dark color, so that he should not be seen swimming. Freyberg landed on the beach, lit the flares, made a reconnaissance, and swam off again, but owing to the darkness and the current he missed the boat which was to pick him up, and it was almost two hours before he was hauled on to the deck of the destroyer, more dead than alive. This remarkable feat of endurance and resourcefulness, more suggestive of an adventure from Mayne Reid or Fenimore Cooper than a sober act of modern war, won for the young officer the D. S. O.
ONE OF THE D. S. C. MEN
An Act of Heroism and Martyrdom that Hardly May be Matched
A Distinguished Service Cross is a proud possession. It is at once a token of bravery and an evidence that bravery has been displayed in valiant service for the good or the saving of others. It implies a great risk taken, a danger faced, a sacrifice made—a something done that, however creditable to the man, is of special value because of its benefit or advantage to many besides the man. For that reason one Distinguished Service Cross differs from another in proud significance to the winner or to the relative to whom the cross comes as an after death testimony to the winner’s worth. The formal official paragraph that announces the award of the cross to this one or that one tells nothing or little of the service that gained the distinction, because the official estimate makes no discrimination between the sentimental values of the respective services, distinguished service being distinguished service.
But there are varying qualities of bravery, different kinds of incitement to heroism, different elements in the acts of sacrifice; and one might like to know the varying values of the instant motives behind the acts—say, of a man who, in the heat and excitement of an engagement, rushes through a withering fire of shell and bullet to perform a serviceable act of desperate valor, with one chance in a thousand of coming safely off; or, of a man, without the stimulus of brain aflame and with the absolute certainty of death, who unhesitatingly, immediately lays down his life for his friends. Which is the higher courage?
[Illustration:
_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._
Private Harold J. Devereaux
_32nd Division, 125th Infantry, Company “M”_
While crossing the River Ourcq near Sergy, July 31, 1918, the corporal of his squad was wounded by machine-gun fire. The enemy continued to fire on the wounded man and Private Devereaux, alone, with the fire of his rifle, attacked the machine-gun and put it out of action.]
In the great list, the never fully-to-be-completed list of heroic deeds in the four years’ war, is there any deed more sublime in essential quality than that of Sergt. Willard D. Purdy, Company A, 127th Infantry, A. E. F.? You never heard of it? That’s the amazing thing—that this splendid exhibition of the highest character of devoted courage is hardly known at all! Really, it was so great a heroism that it seemed a commonplace in the telling. Here is the story. It reads very simply in the bald despatch of a newspaper man reporting the facts from Washington.
THE MARTYR HERO
“Washington, D. C., May 30.—[Special.]—The heroism of a Wisconsin sergeant, who deliberately sacrificed his own life to save those of his men in the fight at Hegenbach, Alsace, July 4, 1917, is told with official brevity and skeletonized simplicity in to-day’s war department report announcing the award of distinguished service crosses for bravery in action.
“The martyr hero was Sergt. Willard D. Purdy, a member of Company A, 127th Infantry. During the engagement at Hegenbach, Sergt. Purdy, after returning with his patrol from a reconnaissance of the enemy’s line, was engaged in calling the roll of his men and collecting their hand grenades when the pin of one of the grenades became disengaged.
“Seeing the grenade could not be thrown away without making certain the wounding of American troops—most probably some of his own men—Sergt. Purdy instantly commanded his men to run. Then he himself seized three of the grenades and, bending over, held them against his stomach. The grenades exploded, killing Sergt. Purdy instantly, but his presence of mind and self-sacrificing action had saved the lives of his companions.
“When the pin of a grenade becomes disengaged nothing can be done to prevent the bomb from exploding within six or eight seconds.
“Sergt. Purdy’s home address was Box 632, Marshfield, Wis., and his next of kin was given as Mrs. Esther Purdy, his mother.”
No grand adventure; no risk with cheering comrades in a mad assault; no thrill with the consciousness of perils to be met and with luck avoided; no taking of hazards with the hope of an achieved success. Not like a flight into the air to shoot down, after vivid combat, an enemy plane. Not much of a story for the press. But think about it. Match it.
COLORED TROOPS REACH THE RHINE
Though They Had More Than Their Share of Trouble to Get to France
Everybody knows what a record the 15th New York Colored Regiment made in the war, how splendidly it fought, the heroism it displayed and the honors it received, but not everyone knows what adversities it had to contend with before it could get to France. The Colonel of that remarkable regiment (which revived the memory of the Civil War military reports that “the colored troops fought nobly”), Col. William D. Hayward, has given a humorous account of those difficulties. This was in one of the many talks Hayward—who has put off the title of Colonel and returned to the civilian simplicity of “Mister”—has been compelled to make in response to public requests. He said, broadly smiling:
“The first thing I ever did in my life that anybody approved of was getting up that regiment. After I gathered my crowd of Harlem waiters, bellhops, indoor chauffeurs, and elevator boys I thought I’d never get them across. When the minute finally came for sailing I think every elevator on Riverside Drive stopped automatically.
[Illustration:
_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._
Second Lieutenant Carl C. Mayhew
_26th Division, 101st Infantry._
Cited for skill and courage displayed May 8, 1918, while making a daring patrol in the enemy’s front line trenches resulting in the death of 2 German officers and the gathering of valuable information. He participated in 44 raids, receiving 3 citations.]
“When our ship left in 1917 we sailed a little way, then broke down, came back, and tied up at Hoboken with our cargo of Thanksgiving turkeys and black troops. We got fixed up and started again. We didn’t get quite as far as before when the ship caught fire. I sneaked back and reported the mishap to General Shanks at the port of embarkation. Our ship was overhauled and a third time we set out full of hope, but the machinery broke down again. When I reported to General Shanks this time, he said: ‘Goodness gracious, Colonel, are you ever going to get those coons and turkeys to France?’
“When at last we reached the French front in the Argonne Forest I reported to the French officer in command that I had arrived with the 15th New York Infantry and would place myself and men at his disposal. ‘It is impossible!’ exclaimed the officer. ‘There’s no such American unit due here.’ Finally he said in surprise, ‘Are you the 369th Infantry Regiment of the United States?’ and I replied, ‘I are.’
GAVE THEM BOLOS
“Then they took all our American ordnance away and gave us bolos, which are knives modeled after those used by the Cubans. I was glad afterward, although I think my boys would have done better with razors. When we were leaving France I was told that the regiment would be presented with three thousand razors by the French. When we received the gift we found they were safety-razors. The regiment was insulted.
“From March, 1918, until the following January we were with the Fourth French Army, under General Gouraud. On July 15 I wrote Governor Whitman that the German Army was licked. They were at maximum strength and we at minimum, but ten American divisions were arriving monthly.