Canada in Flanders, Volume I

by Baron Max Aitken Beaverbrook

But, after all, the supply of bombs ran out, and the casualties resulting from heavy machine-gun and rifle fire from "Stony Mountain" considerably increased the difficulties of holding the line. The bombers could fight no more. One unknown wounded man was seen standing on the parapet of the German front-line trench. He had thrown every bomb he carried, and, weeping with rage, continued to hurl bricks and stones at the advancing enemy till his end came.

Every effort was made to clear out the wounded, and reinforcements from the 3rd Battalion were sent forward.[[2]] But still no work could be done, and a further supply of bombs was not yet available. Bombs were absolutely necessary. At one point four volunteers who went to get more were killed, one after the other; upon that, Sergeant Kranz, of London, England, by way of Vermillion, Alberta, and at one time a private of the Argyll and Sutherland Regiment, went back, and, fortunately, returned with a load. He was followed by Sergeant Newell, a cheese-maker from Watford, near Sarnia, and Sergeant-Major Cuddy, a druggist from Strathroy. Gradually our men in the second German line were forced back along the German communication trench, and the loss of practically all of our officers hampered the fight. The volunteers who were bringing forward a supply of bombs were nearly all killed, and the supply died out with them.

The British Division had been unable to advance on the left owing to the strength of the fortified position at "Stony Mountain," and the German line north of that fort. The Canadians held their ground, however, hoping for the ultimate success of the attack on the left, in the face of heavy pressure on their exposed left flank.

The enemy meanwhile had been accumulating strong forces, and finally, at about half-past nine, the remnants of the Battalion were forced to evacuate all the ground that had been gained. The withdrawal was conducted with deliberation, through a hail of bullets, but it cost us heavily.

One splendid incident among many may perhaps explain the reason. Private Gledhill is eighteen years of age. His grandfather owns a woollen mill in Ben Miller, near Goderich, Ontario. Ben Miller was, till lately, celebrated as the home of the fattest man in the world, for there lived Mr. Jonathan Miller, who weighed 400 lbs., and moved about in a special carriage of his own. Private Gledhill, destined perhaps to confer fresh fame on Ben Miller, saw Germans advancing down the trench; saw also that only three Canadians were left in the trench, two with the machine-gun, and himself, as he said, "running a rifle." Before he had time to observe more, an invader's bomb most literally gave him a lift home, and landed him uninjured outside the trench with his rifle broken. He found another rifle and fired awhile from the knee till it became necessary to join the retreat. During that manoeuvre, which required caution, he fell over Lieut. Brown wounded, and offered to convoy him home. "Thanks, no," said the lieutenant, "I can crawl." Then Private Frank Ullock, late a livery stable keeper at Chatham, New Brunswick, but now with one leg missing, said, "Will you take me?" "Sure," replied Gledhill. But Frank Ullock is a heavy man and could not well be lifted. So Gledhill got down on hands and knees, and Ullock took good hold of his web equipment and was hauled gingerly along the ground towards the home trench. Presently Gledhill left Ullock under some cover while he crawled forward, cut a strand of wire from our entanglements and threw the looped end back, lassoo fashion, to Ullock, who wrapped it round his body. Gledhill then hauled him to the parapet, where the stretcher-bearers came out and took charge. All this, of course, from first to last and at every pace, under a tempest of fire. It is pleasant to think that Frank Ullock fell to the charge of Dr. Murray Maclaren, also of New Brunswick, who watched over him with tender care in a hospital under canvas, of 1,080 beds—a hospital that is larger than the General, the Royal Victoria, and the Western of Montreal combined. Gledhill was not touched, and in spite of his experiences prefers life at the front to work in his grandfather's woollen mills at Ben Miller, near Goderich, Ontario.

Out of twenty-three combatant officers who went into this action only three missed death or wounding. They are Colonel Hill, who fought his men to the bitter end with high judgment and courage; Lieut. S. A. Creighton and Lieut. (now Captain) T. C. Sims, who did their work soldierly and well.

Although the whole plan of attack was prepared by the Corps Commander, the operations of the 1st Canadian Battalion (Ontario Regiment) were brilliantly directed by General Mercer, who commanded the Brigade. He is a man of mature years, a philosopher by nature and a lawyer by profession, always calm and even-tempered, and not given to too many words.

For twenty-five years he took an active part in Canadian Militia affairs, and the 2nd Queen's Own of Toronto held him in high esteem as their Commanding Officer.

As a soldier, in the face of the enemy, he has gained vast experience since he set foot in France, But, in addition, he has the inestimable possession of shrewd common sense, great courage, and an instinctive knowledge of military operations. There can be no finer tribute to his personality than the respect and affection of the men about him.

On the day following the attack, a wounded man was seen lying in the open between the British and the German lines. Lance-Corporal E. A. Barrett, of the 4th Battalion, and at one time the steward of the Edmonton Club, at once went out in broad daylight under heavy shell and rifle fire and brought the wounded man in.