TALES OF HEROES.
Before I proceed with the story of the critical day in the great struggle for Ypres, let me give you a few soldiers' stories of the fighting which took place during the month of October. Hundreds of attacks and counter-attacks were made and repelled during that terrible month, and a thousand deeds of the utmost gallantry were performed. Some of them won the highest award of valour, as we shall learn at the close of this chapter; but hundreds of others, equally splendid, went unrecorded and unrecognized, probably because they were not witnessed by superior officers. We must always remember, when we read accounts of gallant deeds done in battle, that they are but few out of many which deserve to be inscribed on the roll of fame. It has been well said that during the month of October 1914 the Victoria Cross was won a dozen times every day.
Here is a story of a boy hero, a private in the D Company of the 2nd Manchesters, of whose exploits you have already read. His name was Preston; he was eighteen years of age, and was known as the "baby" of his regiment. On 20th October the Manchesters were surrounded, and their trenches were enfiladed by German fire. First the lieutenant was wounded, then the sergeant, and the company was left without a single officer in command. While the men were wondering what to do, Private Preston threw up his cap and shouted, "Fix bayonets, lads!" The company obeyed his order, and he led them in a wild and successful charge against the enemy. Six days later this gallant and resourceful boy was killed in action.
The R.A.M.C. rendering First Aid in the Trenches. By permission of The Sphere.
A private of the South Wales Borderers tells how some Germans disguised as gravediggers attempted to rush a British trench. "We knew that the Germans had a recognized corps of gravediggers," he says, "but we found that the supposed gravediggers now advancing were armed not only with picks and shovels, but with rifles also. When they came within range they fired. We did likewise, and soon saw their backs. Later we caught three of them—an officer and two privates. The officer was a tall, brawny fellow, six feet in his stockings. A little Cockney in our regiment went up to the German officer, and, not supposing that he would be understood, said fiercely, 'For two pins I'd knock your blooming head off.' Imagine his surprise when the German giant, looking down upon him, replied in perfect English, 'Don't! I can't help this war. Like yourself, I must fight for my country.'"
You have already heard from Mr. C. Underwood of the fine work done by Lieutenant Jardine of the R.A.M.C. on the Gheluvelt-Menin road during 29th October. An eye-witness says: "There was a man of small stature, Lieutenant Jardine, of the 21st Field Ambulance, who made frequent journeys from the shelter of a château at Gheluvelt to the trenches. He continually faced a hurricane of fire, and to see the little man coming back with a heavy burden on his shoulders was a sight not to be forgotten. After he had visited the trenches a number of times he had the appearance of a butcher straight from the slaughter-house. Many men owe to him the fact that they are alive to-day." Nor must we forget the Field Ambulance men, who "time after time came into the open to carry the more seriously wounded from the trenches."
Don't forget that there is plenty of opportunity for the display of courage, even behind the firing line. The following little story illustrates the steadfastness and resource of a man in the Army Ordnance Corps—that is, the branch of the service which conveys ammunition to the places where it is needed. Five motor lorries conveying ammunition had been cut off by the Germans. The men in charge of them blew up the ammunition and made off across country. One, however, refused to leave, and remained hidden in a wood near the side of the road. The Germans, finding the ammunition destroyed, passed on, and the hidden soldier came out of his hiding-place. Finding the wheels of the lorries intact, he managed to start one of the motors. He then hitched the other four lorries behind, and slowly brought the convoy safely into the British camp.
Major Viscount Dalrymple, of the Scots Guards, the first member of Parliament to be taken prisoner, gives the following account of his adventures:—
"We came out in a great hurry in the dark and pouring rain on the night of 25th October, having heard that a trench held by Major Willie Holbeck and a platoon on the right flank had been overwhelmed. It was a beastly trench, next to the one I was in on the previous day, and by nightfall the Germans were entrenched only 100 yards in front of it. Willie was shelled and shot at in it all day, and they rushed him in large numbers in the dark of the evening. He and Corporal Maclean and a few others bolted back a hundred yards or so, and then tried to retake it with the bayonet, but failed. Major Hugh Fraser and I, with the remainder of the right flank and the left flank under Captain Fox, hurried off to the village, and when we got there we heard that a lot of Germans—more than 1,000—were marching along the street away from us.
"We were not sure whether to try to clear the village first, or whether to try to retake the lost trench. Eventually Major Fraser and Major Holbeck started up the track straight to the lost trench. When Fraser got fairly near the trench he found it full of Germans. He shouted, 'Have a go at them!' and charged practically by himself. He was shot at once, as were, I think, most of his men. Major Willie Holbeck had his right thigh bone broken by a bullet. I did not hear much firing, and had no idea of what had happened until Holbeck crawled back.
"Meanwhile I had discovered that a house near by us was full of Germans, so I sent Captain Fox along the road nearly opposite, and advanced on it myself with a platoon and a few more men. When we got within twenty yards or so they started firing at us. I shouted to the men to charge, and rushed over the hedge at the enemy. I was just going to bayonet an officer, when my men shot him, and he pulled me over by the leg as he fell. Then the Germans came out of the house, swarms of them. Some gave themselves up, while others fired at us out of a wood alongside, only about five yards away; until I got hold of a prisoner, and, pushing him round in front of me, told him to tell the others to surrender. He did so, and they surrendered to the number of 188 men and seven officers. Two of their officers had been killed, and a good many of their men; but I had two of my best sergeants and I don't know how many men killed and wounded. It took the whole left flank company to take the prisoners away, and I was not left with enough to attack the lost trench.
"About 7 a.m. on the 26th the shelling began, and there was a lot of sniping from the village at my right rear. Presently I saw about sixty Germans, who had been hiding, bolting across our rear, and I think, between our fire and the German shelling, they must have been wiped out. Then the shelling got terrific, absolutely all over us. At one time for two consecutive minutes I counted over sixty shells a minute bursting within fifty yards or so of my trench. I was twice hit by pieces, which, however, did no harm, and none of my little section were touched. Our trench got pretty uninhabitable—fired at from front and rear and on one flank, the shells coming thick all the time.
"Then word came from the trench on my left, held by a mixture of Staffords and Grenadiers and my men, that the Grenadiers on the left had retired. I shouted back that it was nonsense, and to stick to the trenches and fire whenever opportunity offered. I did not think there could be any genuine attack until they stopped shelling us.
"About 3.30 I suddenly heard a bugle sounding 'Cease fire,' or something or other, on our right, and saw the next trench on the right full of Germans, and our people surrendering. . . . The Germans were all round except on the left, and I think our people had gone from there; so I told our men to lie low in the trenches, in case the Germans did not come so far, which they unfortunately did." Viscount Dalrymple and his little force were surrounded and forced to surrender. "I was marched off with about sixty men, mostly Staffordshires and King's Company Grenadiers, only about eight of my own, and one Staffordshire subaltern. At a village some way off I found the rest of our people.
"Eight of us were in a second-class compartment for forty-eight hours—that is, every seat full—and were not allowed to lie down, stand up, or look out of the windows. If we opened a window it was generally shut again. After we had been in this compartment for about thirty hours we were given a plateful of potato soup with a little meat in it. We had not had anything to eat or drink for twenty-four hours previous to being captured, and had been under heavy fire the whole of the time."
Private G. Owen of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, who was mentioned in dispatches for conspicuous bravery on the field, thus describes the incident which won him the proud distinction:—"You will be surprised to hear about me getting mentioned in dispatches for helping a wounded comrade who had been shot in the leg and had had his thigh broken. I will tell you shortly how it happened. We had been warned to draw rations from a farmhouse just on the other side of our trenches, which was being shelled, and had a Maxim playing on it. Well, we had drawn tea for our comrades, and we had to go back for some eatables. We made a run for it. I was first, and got through the gate into the field, when I heard a shout of 'O Jerry, I'm hit!'
"I ran back, and saw my mate lying in the road with his thigh broken by a bullet from the sniper with the Maxim. I caught hold of him the best way I could, and got him to safety with the help of the officer in charge, while the bullets and shells were screaming round for more victims."
A newspaper correspondent tells us of a little Welshman who made a great reputation as a sniper[70] during the fighting in front of Ypres. "If there is one thing," he says, "that the German soldier is beginning to be an adept in it is sniping. He has learnt many tricks, and the British soldier in the trenches pays him the utmost respect. He climbs trees, he worms along the ground, sometimes as stealthily as a Gurkha; in a field of roots he sticks a turnip on the spike of his helmet, and, thus disguised, sends quick death among an incautious enemy. He shoots straight, and is not afraid. But this little Welshman is claimed by his comrades to be king of them all. He spends each night at it, and his regiment's trenches are now rarely disturbed by even the most venturesome German sharpshooters. He steals forward as lightly as a cat, fires, and, slipping aside, awaits the enemy's reply. The flashes of their rifles give him a mark. He shoots at the nearest, and repeats the performance as often as the enemy will oblige him by disclosing their positions.
"A London scoutmaster was sent out one night to ascertain the enemy's intentions. He found the Welshman ahead, and in whispers explained his object. The sniper bade him follow, and the scoutmaster quickly found himself less than twenty yards from the German trenches, undiscovered and unsuspected. This little Welshman in private life is a revivalist preacher."
An American correspondent who witnessed the British monitors[71] shelling the German trenches tells us the following story of a gallant British naval officer who fell while trying to aid the stricken Belgians. "As we watched the fighting we were joined by a Belgian captain, who told us the story of an English lieutenant[72] who had landed that morning. This officer came ashore from the monitor Severn with twenty men and three machine guns. Reaching Nieuport, he saw that the Belgians by losing a farm that morning had weakened their position. Accordingly he started with his twenty men across the bullet-swept area right to the trenches. Men who saw him say he walked as calmly as if on a tour of inspection, calling orders to his men, and signalling with his hands. In vain the Belgian officers shouted that their position was already occupied by Germans. Either he did not hear or he was determined to accomplish the task at all costs. When fifty yards from the coveted goal the young officer fell dead, a bullet having struck him between the eyes. The men retreated, carrying with them the guns and the memory of a hero worthy in all respects of the high traditions of the British navy."
