Part 20

“We joined in on the left. There was no time for us any more than the others to get into extended order. We formed another stream converging on the others at the summit. By this time we were all wildly excited. Our shouts and yells alone must have struck terror into the Germans, who were firing their machine guns down the slope. But there was no wavering in the Irish host. We couldn’t run. We advanced at a steady walking pace, stumbling here and there, but going ever onward and upward. That numbing dread had now left me completely. Like the others, I was intoxicated with the glory of it all. I can remember shouting and bawling to the men of my platoon, who were only too eager to go on. The German barrage had now been opened in earnest, and shells were falling here, there, and everywhere in No Man’s Land. They were mostly dropping on our right, but they were coming nearer and nearer, as if a screen were being drawn across our front. I knew that it was a case of ‘now or never’ and stumbled on feverishly. We managed to get through the barrage in the nick of time, for it closed behind us, and after that we had no shells to fear in front of us.

THE MENTAL SIDE OF FIGHTING

“I mention, merely as an interesting fact in psychology, how in a crisis of this sort one’s mental faculties are sharpened. Instinct told us when the shells were coming gradually closer to crouch down in the holes until they had passed. Acquired knowledge, on the other hand—the knowledge instilled into one by lectures and books (of which I have only read one, namely, Haking’s ‘Company Training’)—told us that it was safer in the long run to push ahead before the enemy got the range, and it was acquired knowledge that won. And here’s another observation I should like to make by the way: I remember reading somewhere, I think it was in a book by Winston Churchill, that of the battle of Omdurman the writer could recollect nothing in the way of noise; he had an acute visual recollection of all that went on about him, but his aural recollection was nil; he could only recall the scene as if it were a cinematograph picture. Curiously, this was my own experience at Ginchy. The din must have been deafening (I learned afterward that it could be heard miles away), yet I have only a confused remembrance of it. Shells, which at any other time would have scared me out of my wits, I never so much as heard—not even when they were bursting quite close to me. One landed in the midst of a bunch of men about seventy yards away on my right; I have a most vivid recollection of seeing a tremendous burst of clay and earth go shooting up into the air—yes, and even parts of human bodies—and that when the smoke cleared away there was nothing left. I shall never forget that horrifying spectacle as long as I live, but I shall remember it as a sight only, for I can associate no sound with it.

“IT WAS HELL LET LOOSE”

“How long we were in crossing No Man’s Land I don’t know. It could not have been more than five minutes, yet it seemed much longer. We were now well up to the Boche. We had to clamber over all manner of obstacles—fallen trees, beams, great mounds of brick and rubble—in fact, over the ruins of Ginchy. It seems like a nightmare to me now. I remember seeing comrades falling round me. My sense of hearing returned, for I became conscious of a new sound, namely, the pop, pop, pop of machine guns and the continuous crackling of rifle fire. I remember men lying in shell holes holding out their arms and beseeching water. I remember men crawling about and coughing up blood, as they searched round for some place in which they could shelter until help could reach them. By this time all units were mixed up. But they were all Irishmen. They were cheering and cheering and cheering like mad. It was hell let loose. There was a machine gun playing on us near by, and we all made for it.

“At this moment we caught our first sight of the Germans. They were in a trench of sorts, which ran in and out among the ruins. Some of them had their hands up. Others were kneeling and holding their arms out to us. Still others were running up and down the trench distractedly as if they didn’t know which way to go, but as we got close they went down on their knees, too. To the everlasting good name of the Irish soldiery, not one of these Germans, some of whom had been engaged in slaughtering our men up to the very last moment, was killed. I did not see a single instance of a prisoner being shot or bayoneted. When you remember that our men were now worked up to a frenzy of excitement, this crowning act of mercy to their foes is surely to their eternal credit. They could feel pity even in their rage.

ONLY TWO OFFICERS LEFT

“By this time we had penetrated the German front line, and were on the flat ground where the village once stood, surrounded by a wood of fairly high trees. There was no holding the men back. They rushed through Ginchy, driving the Germans before them. The German dead were lying everywhere, some of them having been frightfully mangled by our shell-fire. As I was clambering out of the front trench, I felt a sudden stab in my right thigh. I thought I had got a ‘blighty’ [a wound serious enough to send him back to Britain], but found it was only a graze from a bullet, and so went on.

[Illustration:

_Drawn by Joseph Cummings Chase._

Captain Douglass Campbell

_Pilot, Air Service_

On May 19, 1918, Captain Campbell shot down an enemy biplane east of Flirey. On May 27th, at Montsec, he shot down one German machine and drove two others behind their lines. On May 28th he brought down a German Albatros and drove five others back. On May 31st, over Lironville, he shot down an enemy plane and routed another. On June 5th, though shot through the back, he destroyed another German machine over Eply.]

“I managed to find my men without difficulty. They had rushed through the ruins of the village and were almost a hundred yards beyond the wood, where the ground dips down slightly into a shallow valley and mounts up gradually to a ridge about half a mile away. We were facing south here, having Delville Wood away to our left and Leuze Wood on our right. —— and I were the only two officers left in the company, so it was up to us to take charge. There were not more than half a dozen officers in this part of the line, and so we had a great deal of work to do. We could see the Germans hopping over the distant ridge like rabbits, and we had some difficulty in preventing our men from chasing them, for we had orders not to go too far.

“We got them—Irish Fusiliers, Inniskillings, and Dublins—to dig in by linking up the shell craters, and though the men were tired (some wanted to smoke and others to make tea), they worked with a will, and before long we had got a pretty decent trench outlined.

SCENES AMONG PRISONERS

“While we were at work a number of Germans who had stopped behind, and were hiding in shell holes, commenced a bombing attack on our right. But they did not keep it up long, for they hoisted a white flag (a handkerchief tied to a rifle), as a sign of surrender. I should think we must have made about twenty prisoners. They were very frightened. Some of them bunked into a sunken road or cutting which ran straight out from the wood in a southerly direction, and huddled together, with hands upraised. They began to empty their pockets and hand out souvenirs—watches, compasses, cigars, pen-knives—to their captors, and even wanted to shake hands with us! There was no other officer about at the moment, so I had to find an escort to take the prisoners down. Among the prisoners was a tall, distinguished-looking man, and I asked him in my broken German whether he was an officer. ‘Ja! mein Herr!’ was the answer I got. ‘Sprechen sie English?’ ‘Jah!’ ‘Good,’ I said, thankful that I didn’t have to rack my brains for any more German words; ‘please tell your men that no harm will come to them if they follow you quietly.’ He turned round and addressed his men, who seemed to be very grateful that we were not going to kill them! I must say the officer behaved with real soldierly dignity, and, not to be outdone in politeness, I treated him with the same respect that he showed me. I gave him an escort for himself and told off three or four men for the remainder. I could not but rather admire his bearing, for he did not show anything like the terror that his men did.

“I heard afterward that when Captain ——’s company rushed a trench more to our right, round the corner of the wood, a German officer surrendered in great style. He stood to attention, gave a clinking salute, and said in perfect English, ‘Sir, myself, this other officer and ten men are your prisoners.’ Captain —— said, ‘Right you are, old chap!’ and they shook hands, the prisoners being led away immediately. So you see there are certain amenities which are observed even on the bloodiest of battlefields. I believe our prisoners were all Bavarians, who are better mannered from all accounts than the Prussians. They could thank their stars they had Irish chivalry to deal with.

“There were a great many German dead and wounded in the sunken road. One of them was an officer. He was lying at the entrance to a dugout. He was waving his arms about. I went over and spoke to him. He could talk a little English. All he could say was, ‘Comrade, I die, I die.’ I asked him where he was hit and he said in the stomach. It was impossible to move him, for our stretcher bearers had not yet come up, so I got my servant to look for an overcoat to throw over him, as he was suffering terribly from the cold. Whether or not he survived the night I do not know.

“Our line was now extended across the sunken road and beyond the corner of the wood to our right. Darkness was coming on. Airplanes were hovering overhead, and shortly afterward our shells began to form a barrage in front. The Germans had evidently rallied, for we could see a long line of them coming up on our right, evidently from the direction of Leuze Wood. Our machine guns opened fire. The counter-attack was hung up, but the Germans must have dug themselves in for the night, for in the morning they gave us a good deal of trouble.

[Illustration:

_Photo by Fairchild, New York._

Lieutenant George H. Pendleton

With two other officers and twenty men he was sent by the Belgian command to get information about the enemy. In a fight with a German patrol he was wounded, but returned to headquarters with the desired information. He is a great-grandson of Francis Scott Key.]

After the counter-attack had subsided, I was ordered to take my men and join up with the rest of the battalion on our right. There we spent the night in a trench. We must have been facing south. It was a miserable night we passed, for we were all very cold and thirsty. We had to keep digging. When morning broke it was very misty. We expected to be relieved at two in the morning, but the relief did not come till noon. Never shall I forget those hours of suspense. We were all hungry. The only food we could get was German black bread, which we picked up all over the place; also German tinned sausages and bully-beef. We had to lift up some of the dead to get at these things. Some of them had water bottles full of cold coffee, which we drank.

“We all craved a smoke. Fortunately, the German haversacks were pretty well stocked with cigarettes and cigars. I got a handful of cigars off a dead German, and smoked them all morning. Also a tin of cigarettes. His chocolates also came in handy. Poor devil, he must have been a cheery soul when living, for he had a photograph of himself in his pocket, in a group with his wife and two children, and the picture made him look a jolly old sport. And here he was dead, with both legs missing! The trench (between ours and the wood) was stacked with dead. It was full of débris—bombs, shovels, and what not—and torn books, magazines, and newspapers. I came across a copy of Schiller’s ‘Wallenstein.’

FORGETTING ENMITY

“Hearing moans as I went along the trench, I looked into a shelter or hole dug in the side and found a young German. He could not move, as his legs were broken. He begged me to get him some water, so I hunted round and found a flask of cold coffee, which I held to his lips. He kept saying ‘Danke, Kamerad, danke, danke.’ However much you may hate the Germans when you are fighting them, you can only feel pity for them when you see them lying helpless and wounded on the ground. I saw this man afterward on his way to the dressing station. About ten yards further on was another German, minus a leg. He, too, craved water, but I could get him none, though I looked everywhere. Our men were very good to the German wounded. In fact, kindness and compassion for the wounded, our own and the enemy’s, is about the only decent thing I have seen in war. It is not at all uncommon to see a British and German soldier side by side in the same shell hole nursing each other as best they can and placidly smoking cigarettes. A poor wounded German who hobbled into our trench in the morning, his face badly mutilated by a bullet—he whimpered and moaned as piteously as a child—was bound up by one of our officers, who took off his coat and set to work in earnest. Another German, whose legs were hit, was carried in by our men and put into a shell hole for safety, where he lay awaiting the stretcher bearers when we left. It is with a sense of pride that I can write this of our soldiers.

“There was a counter-attack on our left in the morning, and for a few minutes the machine guns were very active, but the Germans were beaten off. At last we were relieved, and made our way back, behind Guillemont, to be taken out of the line. We spent one night in a camp and next day came on here. I am writing this in a picturesque French village. You can see green fields and trees and stacks of corn and cattle when you look through the window. Here, at all events, ‘grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front’. I am not alone in hoping that we shall not have to go back to that hellish place.

“Well, now, that’s the story of the great Irish charge at Ginchy, so far as I can tell it. I suppose by this time the great event has been forgotten by the English public. But it will never be forgotten by those who took part in it, for it is an event we shall remember with pride to the end of our days.

“Need I tell you how proud we officers and men are of the Royal Irish Fusiliers who played as big a part as any in the storming of that stronghold, and who went into action shouting their old battle cry of ‘Faugh-a-Ballagh’—‘Clear the way!’”

* * * * *

The estimated total war bill of the United States is 30 billions, which is equal to approximately $330 apiece for every man, woman and child in this country. The sum includes the 10 billions loaned to the Allies, and is estimated on the appropriations made by the first and second sessions of the 65th Congress, including the appropriations that were authorized, but were not expected to be expended before the fiscal year 1919.

BIG ADAM’S HARE SOUP

How the Scotch Snipers Fortified Themselves Against a German Attack at Dawn

What may be described as a domestic scene in a dugout was presented with a flavor of humor by a correspondent in the mid-year of 1917. It was at a strategic point just behind the British first line trench. Though the men were ignorant of the reasons for a recent move, the fact was that officers were preparing to meet a German attack. The occupants of the dugout were snipers of Scotch nativity and not over fond of “blatherin’.” Unlike the usual failings and infirmities of the dugout, flooded or swampy, this was dry and comfortable. There were shelves on which their rifles were stacked, along with telescope sights and other instruments important to snipers, who are invariably the crack shots of the riflemen. There were pegs—bayonets thrust in between the sandbags—for the equipment of the men. Conveniences and advantages not a few; and room for comfortable grouping.

We are introduced to the scene as preparations for a substantial meal are under way. Though the battalion had been hurried up from a village behind the lines where it had enjoyed a month’s rest, the rations had arrived, and moreover the careful purveyors of the sniper squad had brought along two plump hares shot the day before, and these were being devotionally fitted to the service of the inner man on the principal brazier. Another brazier was assigned to the less honorable office of heating water for tea. A few tallow dips feebly lighted the place and gave curious, half-substantial aspects to the men under the wavering canopy of smoke from pipes and cigarettes.

A huge Scot is hanging solicitously over the cooking hares, wholly absorbed in the delightful occupation. He gives no heed to the men surrounding him in critical inspection of his performance, eagerly expectant of the result. These critical watchers are exceedingly careful, however, to make no comment to reflect upon the culinary skill of the man sedulously stirring the savory contents of the “dixie” over the brazier. The group reminded the correspondent of the gnomes Rip Van Winkle found in the Catskill mountains; solemn they were, grave with a sense of their responsibility. The Scots are not over given to gaiety, however sensitive to humor of their own conceiving.

Gravest of all the assembly are those seated nearest the brazier, where the hare soup is stewing, and it is not difficult to infer that they are the veterans, the supersnipers, of the section. Their age, the manner in which the younger snipers defer to them and give them place, the cool confidence of their every look and movement, all mark them out as leaders among men.

A notable group it was. Says the correspondent:

“Each a man of distinct personality, yet collectively the deadliest unit on the whole battle-line; each of a name known outside the division and of a skill which has brought the section success in the trenches and credit on the test rifle-ranges behind the lines. Yet no trace of arrogance shows itself in their demeanor, and the careless observer might possibly have only caught a hint of the great reserve strength embodied in each of them. And all sit gravely and watch big Adam, who wields the spoon, stir the soup.”

Suddenly there is a diversion from the other end of the dugout. Here two or three younger men have been sitting, and their conversation, gradually rising in key, has been slowly breaking in as a disturbing factor to the solemnity of their elders round the brazier. The noise now reaches a climax and an indignant voice exclaims:

“Ye’re just a blether, Jimmy Duffus; just a big, bletherin’ eediot.”

[Illustration:

© _New York Herald._

The Scots in the Village of Loos

A Highlander Is Rescuing a Little French Girl from a Danger Alley.]

“But I tell ye, Wullie, I heard the officer sayin’ so,” says Jimmy aggrievedly.

“Well, even tho ye did,” rejoins Willie, “what richt hae ye to be turnin’ ower what the officer says in public?”

“He didna tell me to keep it quate, Wullie Black.”

“He didna tell ye onything at a’. It was jist thae big lugs o’ yours happened by at the time. And noo, like the big mooth ye are, ye goun clyping it a’ ower the place.”

Jimmy rose threateningly, and Willie was not a whit behind him. Both were prepared for an immediate settlement. Another second and they would have come to blows, but the sergeant intervened.

“Come ower here, baith o’ ye,” he said sternly, and the two slunk up to him.

“It was Duffus here, sairgeant, was sayin’ that the officer was sayin’ that the Germans wud attack——”

“Be quate, Black,” broke in the sergeant. “Ye’re but a poor, ignorant boy, Wullie,” he continued, speaking with great deliberation, “only good to hold the horse by the head. Go and clean that rifle or I’ll tak it from ye a’thegither.”

Completely subdued by so dire a threat, Willie went off to this task with alacrity. Not only did he love his rifle, but he feared his sergeant’s eloquence. “And as for you, Duffus,” said the latter, turning to the other culprit, “if you do not keep your mooth shut aboot what your betters say, ye’ll be oot o’ the section the morn’s mornin’. Jist mind in future that onything the officer wants the section to know, I’ll tell ye.”

Jimmy subsided discreetly, abashed but not extinguished, and still bursting to blab. The sergeant adjusted himself to some bags of charcoal and dozed off. When the muffled sounds of impending snores assured Jimmy that the sergeant was asleep, he leaned eagerly forward and in a momentous whisper heard by the others discharged his high-tensioned information:

“The officer said the Germans will attack at dawn!”

Big Adam leaned forward and roused the sergeant. The younger man looked up inquiringly, expecting some authoritative statement on the subject. But as the sergeant lifted his head attentively, Big Adam, taking appreciative sips from the spoon, said only:

“This is grand hare soup! Will ye tak’ a sup, Andra?”

A “BLUE GRASS” CANADIAN

Sergeant McClintock Was Brave Enough to Confess War Has Its Scare

While the war was at its worst one of our boys, a Lieutenant, who had done trench service from “support” to going “over the top,” was, after serious wounds, invalided home as a training officer. He wore a medal on his breast that attested his bravery, but in a little talk at a club dinner he said, “If you hear any fellow say he was not scared when going ‘over the top’ or when scuttling around under shell and gun fire, you may safely set him down as a darned liar or as a mental defective. We do get scared a plenty—but we keep on fighting. It is true a man may forget his scare in the excitement of action, and generally does; but he has moments when the red goes out of his face.”