Part 9

While we were in the wine shop the order came for us to close up on A Company, who had pushed some distance forward. The ground at this point sloped up to some more cottages and farm buildings which lay at the top of the rise. A and C Companies had worked their way through the cottages and lined out beyond them facing the outskirts of the town. They were unable to go any farther, as the ground in front was a dead flat stretch of root crops, which the Germans could sweep with rifle and machine-gun fire. The cottages in front to a certain extent covered the advance up to this point, but not completely, as Mulligan, in charge of the right platoon of the next supporting company, discovered to his cost. We were advancing in extended order up the rise, my company being well protected by the cottages, but Mulligan had a gap in the buildings in front of him. About half-way across the field he evidently came into range of a German machine-gun. The gun opened a brisk fire, and in as many seconds twenty of his men were down, Mulligan himself getting a bullet through the shoulder, and his servant, who was beside him, being killed. From an infantryman's point of view a Maxim is like water to a mad dog. It will stop him when nothing else will. There is something particularly deterring about the sound of a Maxim, with its ping-ping-ping-ping as it sweeps down a line of advancing troops, spurting lead like a hose-pipe. The great art from an infantryman's point of view is to locate these guns, and avoid going over ground they cover. It is, humanly speaking, hopeless to try to advance straight against them. Word soon goes along a line, "They've got a Maxim along that road," or "Machine-guns are on that corner of the field or gap in the hedge," and the road, or corner of the field, or gap in the hedge is avoided like a plague spot accordingly.

After we had lain behind the cottages on the rise for a little while, the commander of A Company sent back to say he would like a platoon from the supports sent up to him. Goyle told me to take up No. 6. Hutson, who was commanding A Company, was a capital fellow to work under, and was moving about behind his trenches giving directions to the men as coolly as if he had been on manœuvres instead of only separated by a root field from the first line of the German army. He showed me the bit of trench he wanted my platoon to occupy, gave some instructions about putting out an advanced post, and said the officers of A Company were having a stew cooked in the kitchen of one of the cottages, if I would care to come in when it was dark and all was straight for the night. He said he did not think we should try to advance any farther that night, but hold on where we were.

I lined my men out along the section of trench I was to occupy, which had mostly still to be made, and got them to work. It was growing dusk, and buildings along the outskirts of the town were standing out clearly against the sky-line. Just in front of us was what appeared to be a large factory. As I watched I saw a shell crash against the roof of the factory, followed by another and another. Soon flames sprang from a corner of the building, but still the shells were sent against it, and in ten minutes the whole building was ablaze.

Our guns stopped firing when the smoke and fire showed they had done their work. Dark figures could be seen running about from point to point silhouetted against the flames. Our men fired at the figures, and made jokes about the discomfiture of the enemy, who could not move now without being shown up by the flames, while they themselves were secure in the darkness.

Then as I watched I saw a very dashing piece of work on the part of the enemy, for up galloped a section of horse artillery right into the firing-line, unlimbered, and opened fire. Their target was soon plain: a row of haystacks just behind our lines. In five minutes these stacks, too, were blazing merrily, and our lines were lit up as clearly as the Germans'.

The whole scene made a wonderful stage battle effect, with the two rival lines of trenches and the flames behind each shooting luridly to the sky.

Later Hutson came up to me.

"By Jove!" he said, "my young subaltern did a good bit of work just now. You know when those German guns started on our stacks. Well, he got three men with buckets, filled 'em at a pump, and dashed at the first stack and tried to put it out. A bit of a fireman, to get to work like that while the object he was trying to extinguish was still under shell fire."

I am glad to say that the deed of the young subaltern referred to was mentioned in dispatches and that he received the D.S.O. and the three men with him the D.C.M.

XV. A NIGHT PATROL

The regiment was acting as advance guard to the brigade, so considerable responsibility rested on Goyle, who was senior officer of the three companies employed. Goyle had been through the war from the beginning, and had learnt the difference between reckless dash and careful handling of men. Goyle had had four of his subalterns killed and most of his original company replaced by reinforcements. He had held the canal bank at Mons and fought slowly backwards from house to house at Le Cateau. What he did not know of the Germans and their methods of fighting no general knew, nor staff officer with red-banded, brass-rimmed cap. Perhaps the generals and their staff officers knew as much theoretically and had learnt a good deal from the result of actions in which the divisions and units under their command had been engaged, but none knew more than Goyle, who was a plain regimental officer and lived daily in the firing-line. Had many but he been in command that night the advance guard would have been cut up.

We had covered the first part of our march uneventfully, and were now moving along a stretch of open road which ran between two deep ditches with ploughland on either side. The Dorchesters were following us, and they, we knew, had reached a village about half a mile behind. Goyle was from the first extremely anxious not to let the gap between ourselves and the Dorchesters get too wide. Our orders were to halt on a cross-road at some point farther down along the road on which we were marching. It was quite dark, and we were proceeding very slowly, as we were uncertain of the whereabouts or strength of the enemy. Goyle had got all the men off the road, and was making them move single file by companies along the ditches. We proceeded some distance in this way, but no cross-roads could be found, and after a bit Goyle halted and sent back for further instructions. He discovered at the same time that communication had not been maintained with the brigade on the right, and that the Dorchesters showed no inclination to leave the village they had reached, but were disposed to billet there. In fact, everything pointed to a slight muddle having arisen, as a result of which the three companies of my regiment might be severe sufferers in their isolated position if the enemy suddenly attacked. It was the sort of occasion when many officers less experienced than Goyle might have done something which would have led to a disaster. Many, for instance, would have pushed boldly on until they found the cross-roads or met the enemy. They would have said that those were their orders and that it was not for them to wonder whether there was any mistake. However, Goyle was not of this sort. He believed in using his own judgment and acting as circumstances seemed to dictate. His first concern was for the lives of his men, which he would throw away as lightly as his own if necessary, but which he always guarded jealously against the possible perils of tactical mistakes.

"I don't like this," he said once or twice, as we were standing there waiting for the reply to the message he had sent back. "It is all very well, you know, but if they came for us now in any strength we should get scuppered." It was dark, and we seemed a long way out along the road from the other troops. I understood what he meant, and saw the danger. Presently the orderly returned with a written message from the Commanding Officer: "You are to go on as far as the _R_ in ----, and remain in the village for the night." Goyle pulled out his map, and we bent over it. ---- was a village of a few cottages, apparently about a quarter of a mile down the road. I could see Goyle did not like the order. "It is all very well," he said; "probably the enemy are in the village--a nice trap we shall be walking into. I shall send on a patrol, and if the village is held I shan't move on till daylight, when we have got some reinforcements up."

It was then decided that I should take out a patrol and go and scout the village. "Take a lance-corporal and a man with you," said Goyle; "and when you get to the village one of you go into the first house, leaving the other two outside; if the one who goes into the house does not come out, another is to follow him in, and if he stays too, the third is to come back and tell me. If we hear shots and none of you return we shall know the village is occupied."

"Very good, sir," I said; and, wishing I was anywhere else, I went off to get the patrol. I called my platoon together, explained the work on hand, and asked for volunteers. I got a N.C.O. without difficulty, but there was no response when I asked for a man. Much disgusted at the want of spirit in the men, I was preparing to go off alone with the lance-corporal rather than force anyone to go with me, when a man stepped out of the ranks and made the party complete. Afterwards Jenkins, my soldier servant, from whom I used to get tips about handling the men and various bits of barrack-room gossip, explained to me why I had got an N.C.O. easily enough, but had had difficulty in getting a man. It appeared that the men had a rooted dislike to patrols composed of an officer, a non-commissioned officer, and a man, as they considered the man was always made the victim of the enterprise, being sent on when the danger point was reached to draw fire. He said that had I asked for two men they would have come forward willingly, but, having got the N.C.O., no one cared to offer himself to take the place of the private.

I saw what Jenkins meant, and decided to remember the point for future guidance. As a matter of fact, I had decided that we should all go together, anyway until the occasion came for entering the houses, when it would be time enough to arrange who should go first.

Having got my N.C.O. and man together, I explained to them the work that was on foot, and said that at the first shot from the enemy each was to run for himself, and that no one was to wait to reply to the fire; all we had to do was to find out whether or not the place was occupied. Liking the job less each minute, we started off down the road. After going a little way it occurred to me that an old military rule was to keep a Maxim on a road at night, and that we should get rather in the way of this if the enemy had one and opened fire. Accordingly I ordered the patrol off the road on to the ploughland beside. This was a good manœuvre, as we were able to creep over the soft soil noiselessly. We felt our way on for some distance, until I saw two dark objects. These were the first of the houses we had to explore. Praying fervently that they might be empty, I led the way towards them. Suddenly there was a sharp burst of fire ahead along a front of about fifty yards. The shots could not have been fired from more than ten yards range. We had evidently all but walked into a German trench. The enemy had heard us, and blazed into the night. The effect of the shots suddenly fired out of nothing was most startling. As one man we all three turned and bolted in the opposite direction. The corporal dropped his rifle, I lost my cap; the private, being a fine sprinter, got slightly ahead, and we all three ran like mad. After a couple of hundred yards I went head over heels into a ditch. The corporal paused a moment to see if I had been hit, but continued as soon as I got up; the man kept an unchecked course for home, looking neither to the right nor the left. In the fall I slightly dislocated my knee, but this was as nothing, and, hardly hindered by a limp, I followed at full speed in the wake of the rout, the man now holding a good lead, the corporal lying second, and myself a bad third. I bethought me as I ran that we should probably draw the fire of our own men, who would think we were the enemy, and halloaed: "Goyle--Goyle--this is the patrol returning."

"Shut up, you blithering idiot," I heard his voice from the road; "do you want all Germany to know where we are?"

I flung myself on the ground beside him and breathlessly reported what had happened. "H'm," said Goyle, "just what I thought. I shan't try to occupy that village to-night."

Just then the Major commanding the regiment and Adjutant, who had been back with the reserve company, came up. "Well, what is it, Goyle?" said the Major testily; "why don't you push on into the village?"

The Major was a very gallant officer, with considerable war experience behind him. To his mind "dash" was the great thing. But the Major's experiences had been chiefly in savage warfare, and he had no knowledge of German methods. He had only come out from England two days before to take the place of our Colonel, who had been wounded.

Goyle pointed to me, said that he had sent out a patrol, and that the village was occupied. "Oh," said the Adjutant, "probably only two or three half-scared Uhlans. You ought to have tackled them and brought back their helmets"--this to me.

I offered with acid politeness to indicate the position of the "Uhlans" so that the Adjutant could go out himself and get their helmets.

"I think the enemy are entrenched, sir," said Goyle to the Major.

"Well, have at them and drive them out," the latter answered.

"We are rather isolated here, sir, and we are too weak to attack the village by ourselves."

"Maybe--maybe--I should push on, though," the Major answered.

"If you will excuse me, sir, I feel the responsibility rather too great--if you would take command of the attack, sir." This was a master-stroke on Goyle's part, as it brought home to the Major the responsibility of throwing his men without proper support against a position of unknown strength in the dark. He hummed and hawed, and finally decided to leave things as they were till daylight, and returned with the Adjutant to the reserve company.

As things turned out, it was lucky for all of us that Goyle had been firm about advancing farther; for, so far from there only being a few half-scared Uhlans ahead of us, we discovered afterwards that the Germans were in force and strongly entrenched, and any attempt at attack by the three companies must have failed disastrously.

When the Major had gone Goyle decided to move back, so as to get in closer touch with the Dorchesters. We withdrew, therefore, to the outskirts of the village, lined out on the ploughland on either side of the road, and set the men to entrench.

XVI. WITH THE SUPPORTS

The Support trenches lay along a road about fifty yards behind the firing-line. The trenches themselves were made partly from a ditch by the side of the road, and partly excavated from a ploughed field which ran out in the direction of the enemy. The firing-line trenches were beyond in the ploughed field itself; beyond the ploughland again came a stretch of root crop, and at the end of this the enemy.

The Westshires were holding the firing-line, and we were close up behind them in support. In spite of the narrow margin between the supports and firing-line life was a good deal easier for the supports. Indeed, we felt ourselves onlookers compared to the Westshires in front. The ground sloped gently down from their trenches to the road. They could not move without showing up against the sky-line, while we, by crouching, could move about our trenches with comparative freedom.

But the chief blessing of being in support lay in the fact that we were not directly responsible for giving the first alarm. The onus of waiting and watching for the German attack lay on the Westshires, and our men felt themselves to be more or less onlookers for the day, and lay about reading the newspapers and smoking. Evans and I found plenty to occupy ourselves during the afternoon. There was a small farm just by the side of our trench, protected from view by a row of cottages. The owners of the farm had gone the day before, when there had been an attack on the village, and left their home just as it was. We took over the farm for our own use, got a fire going in the kitchen, and set our servants to work to prepare dinner. Jenkins, my servant, had been a chauffeur valet before the war, and had great ideas how things ought to be done. These ideas had on occasion been reduced to making tea during a halt by the roadside in a small black and dirty pot, which he kept fastened to his pack, but with a kitchen stove to cook over and an unlimited supply of crockery he was in his element.

Having annexed the farm as an officers' mess and installed Jenkins in the kitchen we made a tour of the yard. Here we found several things which wanted doing. First there was the farm dog, who had been left behind chained to his kennel. The dog had had nothing to eat for two days, and was ravenous. We got him a large bone and loosed him, so that if we had to scurry he would not have to stay behind. Then we found some cows in a shed in great pain from want of milking. There was a man in my platoon who had been a dairyman, and I set him to work on them. In a barn we found a quantity of straw, which we sent down to the trenches. Finally we got soap and towels from a bedroom, and repaired to the pump for a much-needed cleaning.

After washing ourselves we went out for a stroll before dinner. We found a little group standing in the lee of the cottage across the road--the Adjutant of the Westshires, the regimental doctor, two stretcher-bearers, and an N.C.O. A man had been hit in the trench just ahead of us, and the doctor had been sent for to come up from the field-ambulance. The doctor had just sent word up to the trench to find out the nature of the man's injuries. If he was severely wounded and required immediate attention, the doctor was prepared to send up his stretcher-bearers to have him brought down, but it would be a difficult job and exposing men's lives, and the doctor wanted, if possible, to leave the man there till dark. Doctors attached to regiments have many difficult points to settle, and occasions like this often arise when it is hard for them to decide whether to risk more lives to save one. They are called upon sometimes to go up and attend to cases in all sorts of impossible places, and in the firing-line the old cry of "Send for the doctor" is not quite so easily answered as in other places.

We left the group by the cottage waiting for the reply about the nature of the wounded man's injuries. Not a head showed from the trench where he was lying. The trench itself, though only twenty yards or so away, was hardly visible in the field. Glad it was not our turn to lie like logs in it all the day, we went on down the village street. Nearly all the cottages were empty, but in one we came on a group of inhabitants who had remained. They had all collected in a kitchen and were having a last meal round their table. They had got a little bread and some coffee, which they were sharing with three private soldiers, who in exchange had contributed a tin of bully beef. It made a strange sight to see the weeping, frightened women and the tired dusty soldiers who had come to defend them. The women had given the men a place round the fire, and were waiting on them attentively. The privates could speak no French and the peasants no English, so conversation was impossible, but an interchange of thought could be read in the eyes of both parties; the women looking on the men sadly and devoutedly, realizing they had come there perhaps to give their lives for them, and across the men's faces would come a look of appreciation for the hot comforting coffee, and at other times a look of inscrutable purposefulness, which is hard to describe, but which all our men wear in France, and which is symbolic of the spirit which is carrying them through the campaign.