SOLDIERS' STORIES OF THE BATTLE OF THE AISNE.
The Battle of the Aisne was a "soldiers' battle." It was, you will remember, a series of attempts to drive the enemy out of strong positions by attacks along his front. In this kind of fighting there is but little scope for what we call "generalship." Everything depends upon the courage and resolution of the rank and file and their company officers. The following stories will show you how nobly our men bore themselves during the perilous crossing of the river, and in the many fierce fights that afterwards took place on the slopes of the plateau.
As the engineers played such a gallant part in the battle, our first story must be the experiences of a sapper. In a letter to his friends at home, Sapper S. Johnson, of the Royal Engineers, wrote as follows:—
"I have got through so far, but I have had a great deal of luck. There was one time, at the Battle of the Aisne, when the shells were dropping all round us. We had just finished a pontoon bridge. There were seven of us standing at one end, and the lieutenant told us to spread out. I had not taken ten paces when a shell killed four and wounded one. I and the other sapper were blown off our feet with the concussion. It was a marvellous escape.
"Then we got into the shelter of a small bridge across a canal. Nine of us sat behind a wall, and the Germans shelled that bridge for all they were worth, and hardly missed it. But we were safe behind the buttress. It would have been certain death if any of us had moved.
"Our major wanted us to retire along the bank; but we told him we would rather chance crossing the bridge, for we should not have got fifty yards without being shelled. Well, we had to dash across, one after the other, and every time a man dashed out there was a hail of shells. We left one man on the bridge. He was shot, and I was the last to leave him. We could not do anything for him. When we returned at night he was dead."
Private J. Green of the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment writes as follows:—
"We came to the river Aisne in the early hours of the 14th, and found that, with a single exception, all the bridges had been blown up. The engineers immediately set to work with their pontoons; but the Germans from a sheltered position had the range perfectly. As quickly as one raft was got into position the poor fellows were knocked over like ninepins by the most murderous fire. When one man fell into the water another took his place, and the river was full of wounded struggling in the water. We fished out all we could. Six times our bridge was destroyed before they were able to get across. The bravery of the chaps was magnificent."
The "Eye-Witness" with the British forces tells us a remarkable story. After our troops had advanced to the Aisne, many small parties of Germans were discovered hiding in the woods behind the British line. One of our officers, who was in charge of a number of riderless horses which were being led along a road, learnt that Germans were in the neighbourhood. He at once gave the order to charge, and the enemy, seeing horses galloping towards them, imagined them to be cavalry. At once they threw down their arms and held up their hands. Three officers and 106 men surrendered as a result of this extraordinary charge.
A Riderless Charge. From the drawing by Lionel Edwards.
Here is the letter of a German officer:—
"My dear Parents,—Our corps has the task of holding the heights south of Cerny[129] in all circumstances till the 15th Corps on our left flank can grip the enemy's flank. We are fighting with English Guards, Highlanders, and Zouaves. The losses on both sides have been enormous. For the most part this is due to the too brilliant French artillery. The English are marvellously trained in making use of the ground. One never sees them, and yet one is constantly under fire. The French airmen perform wonderful feats. We cannot get rid of them. As soon as an airman has flown over us, ten minutes later we get their shrapnel fire on our position. We have little artillery in our corps. Without it we cannot get forward. Three days ago (14th September) our division took possession of these heights, dug itself in, etc. Two days ago, early in the morning, we were attacked by immensely superior English forces, and were turned out of our positions. The fellows took five guns from us. It was a tremendous hand-to-hand fight. How I escaped myself I am not clear. I then had to bring up supports on foot. My horse was wounded, and the others were too far in rear. Then came up the supports, and, with help of the artillery, drove back the fellows out of the position again. Our machine guns did excellent work. The English fell in heaps. In our battalion three Iron Crosses[130] have been awarded—one to the commanding officer, one to the captain, one to the surgeon. Let us hope that we shall be the lucky ones next time. During the first two days of the battle I had only one piece of bread and no water; spent the night in the rain, without my greatcoat. The rest of my kit was on the horses, which have been left miles behind with the baggage; which cannot come up into the battle, because as soon as you put your nose out from behind, the bullets whistle. The war is terrible. We are all hoping that the decisive battle will end the war, as our troops have already got round Paris.[131] If we first beat the English, the French resistance will soon be broken. Russia will be very quickly dealt with. Of this there is no doubt. We received splendid help from the Austrian heavy artillery at Maubeuge. They bombarded one of the forts in such a way that there was not thirty feet of parapet which did not show enormous craters made by shells. The armoured turrets were found upside down."
It was during the fighting of 14th September that Captain Mark Haggard, while leading the Welsh Regiment in the 3rd Brigade, met his death. Private Derry of his company thus tells the story:—"The Welsh were ordered to advance. When about twenty yards from the crest of a hill Captain Haggard ran forward to the top, saw the Germans, and shouted, 'Fix bayonets, boys; here they are!' We fixed, and were prepared to follow him anywhere; but we were checked by a storm of Maxim fire. We knew by the sound that we were up against a tremendous force. There was only one game to play now—bluff them into the belief that we were as strong as they were. So we were ordered rapid firing, which gives an enemy the impression that the firing force is strong. We popped away like this for three hours, never moving an inch from our position. Just near the men was lying our brave captain, mortally wounded. He had charged on to the enemy's Maxims, and had been hit as he was laying out the enemy with the butt of an empty rifle, laughing as he did it. As the shells burst over us he would occasionally open his eyes, so full of pain, and call out, but in a very weak voice, 'Stick it, Welsh! stick it, Welsh!' So our brave lads stuck it until our artillery got in action, and put 'paid' to the score. Captain Haggard died that evening, his last words being, 'Stick it, Welsh!' He died as he had lived—an officer and a gentleman."
When his men were forced to retire to a new position, they had to leave him behind; but his soldier-servant, Lance-Corporal Fuller, ran out from the new trenches and, under a heavy fire, carried him into his own lines. For this deed, as you will hear later, the gallant soldier received the Victoria Cross.
Gunner Thomas Joy, of the Royal Field Artillery, thus describes a night attack on the Aisne:—
"'It's a fine night for the Germans' is what we say out there when it's so dark that you can hardly see your finger before you; and it was just on such a night that I got nicked while serving my gun. The enemy had been quiet all day, for a wonder, and we were just taking a well-earned rest after the hot time we had been having. Just about two in the morning, when the faintest traces of light were to be seen creeping across the sky, there was a heavy rattle of rifle fire on the hill where our advanced men were posted, and soon the whole camp was alive with noise and bustle as the men sprang to arms.
"We always sleep beside our guns, so as to be ready for anything, and in five minutes we were at our posts waiting for information about the range. That came later, and then we began plugging away for all we were worth. We caught sight of a mass of Germans swarming up a slope on the right, to take cover in a wood there; but they didn't know what we knew. We dropped a few shells into them, just to liven things up a bit and keep them from thinking too much about the Fatherland; but we had to be careful, because some of our own chaps were posted in that wood.
"The Germans kept rushing along gaily, and there was not the slightest sound from the wood where our men were securely posted behind the felled trees. Now the German searchlights began to play all around, and the air was lit up with bursting shells. We could see the Germans get nearer and nearer to the wood.
"Suddenly the whole side of the wood was one big sheet of flame, as our hidden men sent volley after volley ripping through the ranks of the advancing Germans. They were fairly staggered by the suddenness of the fire, and before they had time to collect their wits a big body of our chaps were into them with the bayonet, thrusting right and left, and sweeping the Germans away as a scavenger sends the mud before his brush on a dirty day.
"Just when this little show was in full blast, the Germans obliged us with more limelight, and we saw it clearly. We spoiled the German appetite for breakfast in that part of the field; though, from what we learned later, there was no doubt that this was the point where they expected to break through. They cleared off quickly.
"Then they began to press their attack in another part of the field, and there was some dandy bayonet work within the trenches as the Germans tried to rush them. Our boys were on the lookout, and gave it them hot. Our artillery found the German infantry advancing to the attack—a fine target—and we tore holes in their tightly-packed ranks that it would take some tinkering to make right again, I can tell you. Their artillery did all their gunners knew to silence ours and help their attacking parties; but it was no good, and by six o'clock they drew off, leaving us nice time to get breakfast."
A private of the 12th Lancers gives the following account of a ride for life. He does not tell us where the incident took place, but it may have been at Bourg.
"We had," he says, "to cross a river and canal by means of pontoon bridges, as the permanent iron ones were blown away by the enemy. Half of the brigade got safely across, when the enemy started shelling the bridges with six big guns. The half that had not yet come over returned to safety; not so we. We were trapped in the town, and had to take shelter as best we could along the street. It was about the worst experience one could have gone through. To see those sixty-pound shells hit houses twenty and thirty yards away, and explode in the centre of troops, was awful.
"One shell burst in a garden ten yards from where I was standing, but luckily there was a heavy wall between. I was knocked flat by the shock of the explosion; and soon the place became too hot to hold us, as it was in flames. Then the ride through death took place. One by one we had to retire at full gallop across a pontoon with six big guns trained on it, and two or three explosions taking place every half-minute. I was next man after the colonel to cross, so I set my horse to it, murmured a prayer, and won through. What a cheer from the chaps when we got back to safety! They had given us up for lost; but, thank God! we came across with but few casualties, although it seemed impossible."
Let me now tell you how the youngest soldier of the 127th French regiment of infantry won the military medal, which is the French equivalent to our Victoria Cross. His name was Léon Lemaire, and he was twenty years of age. During the Battle of the Aisne it was necessary to send a message to the captain of one of the companies in an advanced trench. Lemaire was chosen for the purpose. He had no sooner shown himself on the level ground, ready to run forward on his errand, than the Germans, whose trenches were at short range, fired volleys at him. First, a bullet passed through his greatcoat; then his cap was struck; his haversack and water-bottle were riddled with shots; and a hole was bored through the scabbard of his bayonet. Through this hurricane of fire Lemaire advanced with great coolness, and actually reached the trench without a wound! Some days later his regiment was paraded in his honour at a place behind the firing line. His general pinned the little silver medal for valour on his breast, embraced him, and placed him by his side, where he remained while the whole regiment, with colours flying, and the band playing the "Marseillaise," marched past him and saluted. Thus does the French army honour its heroes.
