NEUVE CHAPELLE
Canadians' valuable help—A ride in the dark—Pictures on the road—Towards the enemy—At the cross-roads—"Six kilometres to Neuve Chapelle"—Terrific bombardment—Grandmotherly howitzers—British aeroplanes—Fight with a Taube—Flying man's coolness—Attack on the village—German prisoners—A banker from Frankfort—The Indians' pride—A halt to our hopes—Object of Neuve Chapelle—What we achieved—German defences under-rated—Machine gun citadels—Great infantry attack—Unfortunate delays—Sir John French's comments—British attack exhausted—Failure to capture Aubers Ridge—"Digging in"—Canadian Division's baptism of fire—"Casualties"—Trenches on Ypres salient.
"The glory dies not, and the grief is past."—BRYDGES.
"During the battle of Neuve Chapelle the Canadians held a part of the line allotted to the First Army, and, although they were not actually engaged in the main attack, they rendered valuable help by keeping the enemy actively employed in front of their trenches."—Sir John French's Despatch on the Battle of Neuve Chapelle, which began on March 10th, 1915.
It was night when I left the Canadian Divisional Headquarters and motored in a southerly direction towards Neuve Chapelle. It was the eve of the great attack, and in the bright space of light cast by the motor lamps along the road, there came a kaleidoscopic picture of tramping men.
Here at the front there is no need of police restrictions on motor headlights at night as there is in London and on English country roads. The law under which you place yourself is the range of the enemy's guns. Beyond that limit you are free to turn your headlights on, and there is no danger. But, once within the range of rifle fire or shell, you turn your lights on at the peril of your own life. So you go in darkness.
As we rode along with lamps lit, thousands of khaki-clad men were marching along that road—marching steadily in the direction of Neuve Chapelle. The endless stream of their faces flashed along the edge of the pavé in the light of our lamps. Their ranked figures, dim one moment in the darkness, sprang for an instant into clear outline as the light silhouetted them against the background of the night. Then they passed out of the light again and became once more a legion of shadows, marching towards dawn and Neuve Chapelle. The tramp of battalion after battalion was not, however, the tramp of a shadow army, but the firm, relentless, indomitable step of armed and trained men.
Every now and then there came a cry of "Halt," and the columns came on the instant to a stand. Minutes passed, and the command for the advance rang out. The columns moved again. So it went on—halt—march—halt—march—hour by hour through the night along that congested road—a river of men and guns.
For while in one direction men were marching, in the other direction came batteries of guns, bound by another route for their position in front of Neuve Chapelle. The two streams passed one another—legions of men and rumbling, clattering lines of artillery, all moving under screen of the dark, towards the line of trenches where the enemy lay.
This was no time to risk a block in traffic, and my motor, swerving off the paved centre of the road, sank to her axles in the quagmire of thick, sticky mud at the side. The guns passed, and we sought to regain the paved way again, but our wheels spun round, merely churning dirt. We could not move out of that pasty Flemish mud, until a Canadian ambulance wagon came to our aid. The unhitched horses were made fast to the motor, and they heaved the car out of her clinging bed.