XVIII. "THE —TH BRIGADE WILL ATTACK ——"
We thought we should have to attack that day, as we knew the powers that be were most anxious for —— to be taken.
The regiment had been, so to speak, in the forefront of the battle for the past two or three days; that is to say, we had not had any troops between ourselves and the enemy, and, though the fighting had never been of a brisk nature, nevertheless the men were feeling the strain of constant watchfulness and going without sleep. Even if there is not much firing it is not a restful feeling to have nothing but a stretch of open ploughland between oneself and the enemy, and to feel one may be called upon to advance over the ploughland at any minute. It was a nasty stretch of open country, swept and raked from every corner by the enemy's machine-guns, and to lie there waiting for the order to get up and cross it was rather like sitting inspecting a stiff fence.
Greatly to our relief the Westshire Regiment had been sent up to relieve us at 4 A.M. and we had gone back in support. We had handed over the trenches to them without much reluctance, and with an easy prescience that we had had our share of work, and that it was the turn for a regiment fresh from reserve to come up and take our place.
After being relieved we were marched back to a sugar refinery a mile behind, and here we fully expected to spend the day. The men were issued out rations, and the officers made preparations for breakfast. There was a nice house belonging to the manager of the sugar refinery, and in a kitchen we found some crockery and a fire, also the caretaker of the manager's house and his wife. The latter made us a pot of tea, and with our morning issue of cold bacon, a tin of marmalade, and a loaf of bread there were the materials for a good breakfast for the five of us—Goyle, Evans, myself, and the other two platoon commanders.
Our dream of lolling round the sugar refinery all day in reserve was early dispelled. We had barely finished breakfast when the order came that we were to pack up and march off. We went back the way we had come towards the line we had been holding overnight.
As we were marching along the rumour spread that we were going back in support of the Westshires, and that there was an attack impending. We halted in some dead ground, and lined a ditch four or five hundred yards behind the line the Westshires were holding. As we were lying there an orderly came up with a message which Goyle was to read and pass on. Goyle showed me the bit of paper before folding it up again. The message ran: "The —th Brigade will attack —— at 10 A.M. in support of the French attack on —— on their right."
It was then nine o'clock, so we had an hour to wait. Goyle was much excited by the message, and said we were certain to be sent up to swell the Westshires' line. The men were still wearing the greatcoats they had had on during the night, and he ordered them to be taken off and put away in the packs. He also advised the platoon commanders to take off their mackintoshes, which show up an officer clearly.
While these preparations were going on I took a stroll down the ditch to battalion headquarters, hoping to find somewhere to leave my greatcoat instead of having to carry it. Battalion headquarters were behind a small house at the junction of a cross-roads. Here other people had collected—the stout officer, the doctor, and an artillery observing officer. The artillery observing officer was in telephonic communication with a heavy battery about two miles back, to which he was sending back messages about possible targets and the effect of fire. Outside the scout officer was making an early lunch off a piece of ham which he had found in the mess-box. I joined him, contributing a biscuit.
"The Major is an ass, you know," he said; "he will go showing himself."
He pointed to our senior major, a very gallant officer indeed, but a man who had, as the scout officer said, an unfortunate tendency to expose himself to fire. He was at the moment standing at the cross-roads, beyond the shelter of the cottage, looking through his field-glasses in the direction of the enemy's lines. The cross-roads at which he was standing was a most exposed place. The Major was a smart, dapper-looking man, and he stood with his legs apart, one hand holding the glasses, the other brushing his moustache. Suddenly there was a sharp ping; he dropped the glasses, raised his right foot sharply, and swore. Then he came limping in.
"Curse the brutes—curse the brutes," he said, sitting on the ground and nursing his foot; "they have shot me through the big toe."
The doctor went to the Major's assistance and the scout officer peered round the corner of the house to see if he could make out where the shot had come from. Presently he came back.
"I think they have got a Maxim up in that church tower, sir," he said.
There was a fine church in the town the enemy were holding, and the tower stood high up above the other buildings.
"Have they, by Gad—the brutes," said the Major, still nursing his injured foot, which was causing him acute pain. "Here, let me look" he limped to the corner. A Maxim could plainly be heard firing from somewhere in front, ping-ping-ping—ping-ping-ping.
"By Jove, I believe you are right," said the Major. "Here, just send that gunnery officer to me."
The artillery observing subaltern came up.
"Look here, they've got a Maxim in that church tower—see, over there—thing hit me in the foot just now. Can you telephone back and get your guns to it?"
"Yes, sir," said the gunnery subaltern.
Soon four heavy guns were playing on the church tower, and the tower crumbled. So are churches and other things destroyed in war time.
It was now nearly ten, and we returned to our trench. Soon bullets came whistling overhead, and we knew the attack had been launched. We lay low in the dug-outs waiting till we were wanted. Knowing the ground, I could picture clearly what was going on in front, and I did not envy the Westshires their task. I could imagine them getting out of their trenches and advancing in line over that murderous stretch of ploughland. When we had been in the trenches they were then leaving we had hardly dared show our noses above them; but now the Westshires had the order, and out they had to go, and forward. Phzz-phzz-phzz. The bullets began to come over more quickly, and we could hear the answering fire of the Westshires. It may have been half an hour that we lay there, and then a hot, dusty figure crawled round the corner of the trench.
"Is the Captain of B Company there?"
"Yes, I'm here," Goyle answered.
The new arrival squatted down in the trench. It was the Adjutant of the Westshires. He pulled out his pouch and started to fill his pipe. His hands shook so that he could hardly get the tobacco into the bowl. I shall never forget the way he breathed—hard, noisy gasps. The man was evidently at breaking-point.
"How is it going?" Goyle asked.
"Oh, it's hell," the Adjutant of the Westshires answered.
"It is impossible to expect men to advance over such ground. We have only got about twenty yards. We have had a hundred down already—Leary and Blake are gone—Jones and Barty wounded. It is no good—they can't carry on. Look here; what I came back for was, would you send an officer with me, so that I can show him where we want your men? Our fellows are rather shaken. I think it would be a good thing if they would close up behind. One never knows what might happen."
I could read the Adjutant's thoughts. He dreaded lest his men should break. He knew if they had to advance farther they would be shot down like rabbits. Poor man, he as Adjutant of the regiment was responsible for the men's lives and conduct. The regiment was in danger of being wiped out. No wonder his hand shook, and he breathed in great gasps. Never have I seen a man so cruelly strained. He grew calmer as he sat there, and presently Goyle sent me back with him.
The Adjutant of the Westshires was quite calm as we returned to the firing-line. We found the Colonel of the regiment sitting on the ground behind a wall. He held a message in his hands. "Look there!" He read out the message to the Adjutant.
"The —th Brigade will continue their attack on —— at 11.30 A.M. The attack will be pressed home at all costs."
Both men looked at each other. They knew they had received the regiment's death warrant. No attack could succeed over such ground. The Colonel looked at his watch. I looked at the little iron-grey man sitting there waiting for the hour when he was to send his regiment to their doom. Then the Adjutant took me quietly, and showed me the places where he wished our men to come up. He was quite calm now as we peeped round the corner of a house at the lines which had to be taken at all costs. The firing had stopped now. The Westshires were lying out in the ploughland at the point they had reached. The Germans lined their trenches waiting for them to move.
But the time never came. Ten minutes later a staff officer had come up, inspected the ground, and cancelled the second order for the attack.