Brave Belgians

by Camille Buffin

Towards four in the morning, we went to the relief of our comrades. To reach the trenches, we had to cross the shaky bridge again. We did this in Indian file and then kept close to the shattered walls. We went down the narrow streets filled with rubbish and, here and there, with the dead. We were constantly obliged to fling ourselves suddenly down, no matter where, and behind no matter what, as the big calibre shrapnels kept coming all the time. At a certain moment they followed us, and several of us were seriously wounded. After a hundred incidents, we managed, by crawling along, to cross the park and reach the trenches. Our companions in misfortune went silently away and we organised the position. Behind us, in the mysterious darkness, we kept seeing long blood-red trails, and these were followed by terrible explosions. Our cannons were carrying death, in their turn, to the enemy lines. I shall never forget those doleful whizzings, that clanging sound of steel, that noise of air filling the vacuum, roaring like a wild sea and then, in the distance, those formidable explosions which intoxicate one and make one thrill with excitement.

It was almost dawn on the 24th, and we were concealing ourselves as best we could, for it was impossible to come out for anything whatever. Everything had to be done secretly, as the German captive balloons were overhead watching everything. The bombardment began once more and the whole earth shook. Over our heads, the shells kept flying. We heard them burst, with a terrible noise, either in the park behind us, or on the town. One of them entered the cellar of a large house and exploded in the midst of our musicians, who were hiding there. Some of them were killed and many of them were wounded. As for us, we were all crouching down in the trenches. Some of us were watching and the others talking. No one could smile that day, and our only occupation was to keep watch on the horizon, in the direction of the enemy, and to notice where the shells exploded.

Sometimes we were aimed at, and then we could do nothing but collect ourselves together, as it were, with our knapsacks on our backs and wait anxiously until the whizz should pass over us. The number of projectiles which fell beyond our positions is incredible. In front of us, we were faced by death and behind us by devastation. The ground between us and the wood in which the enemy was sheltering was covered with dead animals, cows, horses, pigs, and sheep. At times, I saw one of these animals move. There were even two sheep which were browsing tranquilly, but all the life that remained was doomed to destruction. There was not the slightest lull in the storm all day long. At four in the afternoon, a violent Infantry attack began. This attack was repulsed and the bombardment began again as fresh as ever. All night long, there was a succession of bombardments of the trenches and of all the neighbouring ground, followed by Infantry attacks. The latter were no longer like the attacks we had been having. I had the impression that there was a certain confusion in the direction of them, and that it was more difficult to commence them. After a few minutes, though, there was more zeal and it was a terrible struggle all along the line, finishing with the assault. The attack did not last very long and, almost before the end of it, the bombardment began again. In the execution of these operations, there was admirable co-ordination, on the enemy's side, between the Infantry and the Artillery action, and this co-ordination was such that when our troops no longer heard the fall of shells in the immediate neighbourhood of the trenches, they were certain of the Infantry attack. As soon as the bombardment ceased, there was firing all along the line and then, as the line approached, the shouts of the assault could always be heard. As the night advanced, the firing was no longer regular but by fits and starts. Hesitation could be felt. As to the defence, full latitude was given to the Commanders of every Company. "As soon as the assault has failed," the Major had said, "get your men in hand again as much as possible, and fire in volleys." Each time I heard these volleys I was glad, for, as I said to myself, the enemy is beating a retreat at some point. The second the volleys ceased, the bombardment recommenced and our Infantry, crouching in the trenches, did not reply. The damage was not very serious, as it is extremely difficult to hit very slight trenches, so that it was only from time to time that an enemy shell really reached them, burying a few men and breaking up the line. When this did happen, we were quickly at work re-establishing our communication, getting the victims from under the ground and sometimes burying them a few yards behind the line. It is impossible to find words of sufficient praise for the heroism of our soldiers in such frightful circumstances. It must be remembered that our poor troops were facing masses of Infantry in overwhelming superiority of number, that they were exposed to a huge quantity of heavy field Artillery, and that they could not reckon on the support of our field batteries, as these were held at bay by huge German cannons of very much longer range.

Beyond our lines, Dixmude was burning. The continual bombardment had reduced its houses to ashes. The streets were no longer practicable, as the high pile of ruins made it impossible for a foot-passenger to walk through them. This fact greatly complicated the question of ammunition supply. From the rear, we had been informed that the waggons could no longer cross the Yser bridge, nearly a mile away from our positions. Men were sent constantly through the town to fetch sacks of cartridges and, on account of the great quantity of ammunition needed, this going backwards and forwards was continual. This ammunition was brought to a kind of stable near, and then carried to our fighting posts by supply agents.

On the 25th, as soon as it was daylight, the bombardment began again more violently than ever. With my field-glasses, I looked at the plain. Here and there I could see enemy patrols and trenches. At the fringe of the wood, just beyond, I saw troops gliding along and I thought I could see a German on the lookout behind the chimney of a house. At a certain moment, a battery of the enemy Light Artillery took position about 1500 yards away from us. It began firing and its projectiles almost grazed us. We informed our Artillery, which answered feebly. We were furious at this, for we did not know that our gunners were short of ammunition. We had lost our Antwerp stores and the French supply was not yet organised.[9] In spite of all this, and with our poor resources, we resisted these mass attacks prepared by a diabolical Artillery. On that day, I still had courage enough to write a few words in my note book, whilst Dixmude was crumbling away under the 210 and 280 shells. Everything trembled, the heavens, the earth and—the men. The Taubes were hovering over us constantly. They were trying to discover our positions, which they indicated by dropping white fuses. A shower of shrapnels and shells informed us of the result of this information.

Our soldiers presently began to complain. They had nothing to smoke, and some of them began to cut the handles of their knapsacks into shreds. Several of them were ill from this privation and among these was our Lieutenant, the only one left among us. Life now was a martyrdom. After all our overwork and fatigue, we had nothing with which to sustain ourselves, and we felt our strength giving way. We could not get any more provisions and we had no more warm food, as our kitchen had been destroyed at Dixmude by the shells.

The enemy was approaching and we wondered whether we were going to be relieved or reinforced. Alas, no! There was nothing for it but to go on watching, with our bayonets ready, whilst the "big blackies" fell round us all the time. Quite near to us, on the Keyem road and in the park, huge trees were mown clean down and enormous craters, with charred edges, hollowed by these murderous engines of warfare. Sometimes fragments of the shells fell at our feet, or passed over our shelter with a whizz, burying themselves deeply in the ground. Certain projectiles entered the ground without bursting, causing us great anxiety. Our flasks had long been empty and we were literally dying of thirst. Our Commander asked if a few men would volunteer to fetch some wine from the town. I went with three or four comrades. Dixmude was a lamentable sight. The streets were all torn up and filled with ruins and rubbish of all kinds. The houses were all destroyed and as empty as eggshells. What was underneath all that? Probably, both living and dead, riches and art-treasures. I saw the body of a poor mother, with haggard eyes and clenched teeth. She seemed to me like a reproach to the Germans for their odious war. Near her was a young child, which looked as though it were sleeping. What a number of wrecked houses! Furniture, carpets, and curtains strewed the ground, all this saccaged by man returned to a savage state. If the enemy should take the unfortunate city, I thought, he will only have conquered ruins. At the relief station, I found my Lieutenant stretched out on the ground between two Boches. One of these was groaning all the time, the other one was a very young man, scarcely seventeen, I should think. To see my Lieutenant near these two gave me a pang.

We managed to get some wine and then returned to the trench. The distribution of this precious liquid caused our men a little joy and made them more hopeful. Each of them was ready to go to work again with fresh energy. A little later, my friend Job went with a few other men to get some more wine and some cartridges. They were less lucky than we were, for one of them had both legs broken. Another one had the good luck to escape uninjured, although the bottle he was holding was smashed by a bullet.

When the darkness came on again, things looked very threatening. After sprinkling our trenches with projectiles of every calibre, the German Artillery bombarded the town, in order to prevent any reserves from coming to our relief. The enemy then came out from a wood and moved a little to our right, in the direction of the cemetery, where our 2nd Battalion was lying in wait. The shells fell there in quantities, damaging the tombs and causing a fearful scene. The vaults and tombs opened under the fire and coffins were exposed to view. When our courageous soldiers fell, in the midst of this furnace, we saw what will probably never be seen again, the living buried alive and the dead brought out of their graves....

At daybreak, on the 25th of October, the Germans, in a compact mass, came out of a small wood and moved rapidly, with heads lowered, marching in column, four abreast, towards a canal which separated them from us and which was crossed by only one bridge. By means of a little ditch along the bank, they were able to deploy as sharp-shooters and, in this way, they attempted to cross the bridge. Our men were watching though, and sprinkled the passage with shot, which meant death to the enemy. The bridge was soon obstructed and the dead men were piled up one on the top of the other. The heaps of dead were as high as a man. In spite of this, these loathsome beasts, for they are no longer human beings, crawled up behind their brothers-in-arms, climbed up on to the top of the dead men and ... fell down from there, under the fire of our machine-guns. The more lucky ones, those who were not hit, fell into the ditch and, getting up again, rushed on to the assault with hoarse cries, only to be killed as they came nearer to us. They were in such quantities though, and they came on so quickly, that we could not bring them all down and some of them crossed to the right of us. Mad with excitement and eager for carnage, three or four hundred Boches crossed our line and rushed on into Dixmude, uttering wild beast cries and hoping to cause a panic amongst us. The wild band was stopped at the Yser bridge by the fire of our machine-guns. Several fell under the murderous storm and rolled into the canal; the others wheeled round and divided into several detachments. In the town itself, there was now a terrible chase, and a sanguinary hand-to-hand struggle between the Boches and us. We were able to take some of them prisoners though. Hidden in the cellars, as soon as they caught sight of our patrols, they held up their hands in fear and trembling, and begged for mercy. Those who offered the least resistance were shot down. Soon after, our advance sentinels captured some of the enemy who had escaped the massacre. They were crawling along the canal side, hoping to get back to their lines. These were the last of the band. In spite of all their efforts, the Germans had not crossed the Yser, nor broken our resistance. The Belgians and the French Fusiliers were the conquerors. The entrances to our trenches were strewn with enemy equipment and arms, and a few yards in front of us lay dead bodies pêle-mêle. Our soldiers searched these bodies and handed over a lot of things to the chiefs. Certain sums of money and jewellery and watches found on the enemy were given back to us, as we frequently had the proof that these objects had been taken from the Belgians.