CHAPTER XIV

SAXONS AND PRUSSIANS

We were to take over the trenches from the West Yorkshire Regiment. An illustration of the wonderful spy system of the Germans came under our notice at this time. The West Yorks had no idea that any Canadians were in Flanders, yet on the departure of a relieved German battalion opposite them, the latter shouted across to the West Yorks in good English, "Good-bye, West Yorks, the Canadians will relieve you tomorrow night."

We duly relieved the West Yorks shortly after midnight. The Saxons were in front this time and they gave us no trouble at all. In fact, our listening patrols found a notice fixed on their wire reading, "We will not fire if you don't. Save your ammunition for the Prussians." We could walk up the road any time at night and never be even sniped at. Indeed, for the three days we faced the Saxons, we had only one casualty, a man had his brains blown out, and unfortunately it was due to an accident caused by himself. These Saxons were certainly a different kettle of fish to the Prussians or Bavarians.

I haven't yet mentioned that although we were an infantry battalion, originally we were cavalry and we still kept our name, "Fifth Western Cavalry," as designated by the yellow letters on our shoulders. It was a big joke to our comrades of the Second Infantry Brigade, and indeed to the whole division, and we were designated under various titles, "The Disappointed Fifth," "The Wooden Horse Marines," "The Fifth Mounted Foot," etc. _ad libitum_, and we were always being chipped about it. Judge of our astonishment, when we had taken our places in the trench and were preparing for the night's duties, a hail came from the German trenches. We listened and in perfect English a voice yelled, "Hello, you Fifth, what have you done with your horses?" And in the morning, when peering across to the German parapet through a loophole or periscope, the lookout called our attention to something moving on the German parapet. As it grew lighter we saw that it was a little wooden horse--a child's toy they had probably looted from some house.

"Open fire on it someone; see what they'll do," said the lookout.

Two or three of the boys opened up on the dummy horse and knocked it down into their trench. A roar of laughter went up from our boys a moment or two later when the dummy reappeared, swathed in bandages from head to tail. Fritz displayed a rare sense of humor in this instance and we enjoyed the joke immensely.

At night those fellows would sing songs and our boys would reply. Going along the road I could hear them jeering and chaffing and then start singing to one another. However, on the third night the Prussians relieved our friends, the Saxons, and the difference was striking.

Back came our friends, the snipers, and bursts of rapid fire all night kept one from being bored--or, I might say, kept one bored. Several sentries at different spots on the road were killed at their posts. At one spot a man suddenly leapt out of the darkness onto an isolated post and tried to disarm our sentry, Mitchell, only to receive six inches of steel in his stomach for his pains.

We were never allowed to go anywhere alone, as shots came from every direction and it was suspected that men in civilian clothes were sniping at the back of our lines. One day, at this time one of these incidents was brought very close to me.

Morgan burst into the old cellar as I lay dozing in the early morning:

"What the devil do you want now?" I said irritably. For once he did not reply in his usual manner, he was so full of his news. "What do you think, chum, do you remember that guy that was plowing in the field over yonder? Well, he is the devil that is responsible for the casualties in the ration party and those sentries."

"How is that?" I asked.

"You know Lieutenant M----? Well, the other day the lieutenant looked over at the fellow plowing and he noticed something that we mucks never tumbled to before. Now, think it over, chum; use your own brains; don't you remember that field was never shelled with anything but shrapnel and light shrapnel at that?"

"God! yes," says I, "that's right."

"Well, the lieutenant got suspicious, took over a file of the kids from the cross roads farm and goes over to investigate."

"Yes, yes, go on."

"He reaches the fellow plowing and something in the man's face told him that he had hit it right. Well, you know that straw he had wound around the plow handles and down to the mold board? Well, shoved down in the straw was one of those damned Mauser carbines; you remember the kind the A.S.C. used in Africa? Well, the minute the lieutenant laid his hand on the plow handle, the bloke's face turned ashy gray, and when he grabbed the carbine the dog turned green and flopped down with funk, and then the lieutenant was sure of his man."

A light dawned on me as Morgan stopped for want of breath, as there came back to me the memory of the dead sentry I found when I went to relieve him at that very cross roads.

"For God's sake! What did they do with the cur?"

"Well, I don't know for sure, but it's a safe guess, as they have taken his horses for transport work and you can bet he will do no sniping forevermore."

This was only one of many instances where Germans use all sorts of devices to "get" our boys in the back.

Our billet came in for the German gunners' attention next day and a woman walking up the road was killed. Such a scene of heart-rending grief on the part of the woman's husband and children I do not want to see again.

Carrying barbed wire at night over that awful mud and by those gaping craters was our task and this time it was dangerous work as we were exposed constantly. We were in for five days of it this trick. Big Bill Skerry seemed to fit naturally into dangerous jobs and Bill was the non-com. in the barbed wire gang. His duties took him out in front every night in No Man's Land and his work together with the gang was to repair the wire, set up new wire, cut the enemy's wire, and generally do his damndest to cause Fritz trouble with his own wire.

I was standing in the trench, resting after one of our journeys, when a big figure hoisted itself over the parapet and dropped by my side. It was Bill.

"Hello, Bub," said he, "what do you think of this?" showing me the side of his jersey and pants. A machine gun had narrowly missed cutting him to pieces and the whole of the left side of his clothes was simply riddled; his escape was nothing short of miraculous; in fact, it was uncanny. Bill silently rolled a cigarette and smoked awhile without saying anything. Suddenly, with a "So long, Bub," ("Bub" was my pet name with all my intimates) Bill started to mount the parapet again.

"Where on earth are you going to now?" I asked with a gasp.

"I'm going to try and get that machine gun."

I heard and saw nothing of him until daylight, when he brushed past me.

"Did you get the gun, Bill?"

"I didn't get the gun," he said with a grim smile, but--pointing to his bayonet blade--"there's the gunner." Sure enough it was stained a deep red.

Poor Bill! he was always taking chances of that kind and he always got away with them.

During this time we fed sumptuously as we were bagging hares every day, while potatoes, leeks, onions, etc., were still in good condition in parts of the field.

On our last night in this billet I came almost to earning the D.C.M. (distinguished conduct medal). I was on sentry the two hours after midnight. One has to be very wide awake so near the line, and every little thing that looks in any way suspicious must be investigated. The night was quiet in our own lines, but away to the left a tremendous cannonade and rifle firing was going on. An occasional German souvenir would whine above my head. Things that look very simple and plain at two o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun is shining, have a very different appearance at two o'clock in the morning, on the front line. At the end of my beat was a huge yew bush, giving the place a somber, weird effect. As I was turning my back on the bush during one of my rounds, every single hair of my closely cropped skull rose on end, while my scalp literally crawled, as a rustling noise came from the bush. My first instinct was to start for the south of France, as quickly as my legs could take me, but reason and duty came to my rescue. Still terrified, a blind fury took possession of me at the thing that scared me. Holding my rifle and bayonet at the "ready," I ran into the bush at the top of my speed and lunged with all my might into its depth, being brought up suddenly and sharply by a forked branch under my chin.

The result of my charge was a melancholy meow, and I cursed softly, but with infinite relief at the cause of my panic. Thinking the cat might be a good companion, I made overtures by softly calling to her, and nothing loath she came, and when dawn broke a small figure in khaki might have been seen strolling slowly up and down the road, with a huge black cat alternately dodging between his legs and rubbing her sleek hide against his muddy puttees.