The Germans were quiet that night—suggestively quiet. At 4.30 the prelude began; by 5.30 the German gunners had fairly warmed to their work. They were using every kind of shell they had in the locker. Every signal wire the P. P’s possessed had been cut. The brigade commander could not know what was happening to them and they could not know his wishes—except that it may be taken for granted that the orders of any British brigade commander are always to “stick it.”
The shell-fire was as thick at the P. P.’s backs as in front of them. They were fenced in by shell-fire. And they were infantry taking what the guns gave in order to put them out of business so that the way would be clear for the German infantry to charge. In theory they ought to have been buried and mangled beyond the power of resistance by what is called “the artillery preparation for the infantry in attack.”
Every man of the P. P’s knew what was coming. There was relief in their hearts when they saw the Germans break from their trenches and start down the slope of the hill in front. Now they could take it out of the German infantry in payment for what the German guns were doing to them. This was their only thought. Being good shots, with the instinct of the man who is used to shooting at game, the P. P’s “shoot to kill” and at individual targets. The light green of the German uniform is more visible on the deep green background of spring grass and foliage than against the tints of autumn.
At two or three or four hundred yards no one of the marksmen of the P. P’s, and there were several said to be able to “shoot the eye off an ant,” could miss the target. As for Corporal Christy, the old bear hunter of the Northwest, he leaned out over the parapet when a charge began because he could shoot better in that position. They kept on knocking down Germans; they didn’t know that men around them were being hit; they hardly knew that they were being shelled except when a burst shook their aim or filled their eyes with dust. In that case they wiped the dust out of their eyes and went on. The first that many of them realised that the German attack was broken was when they saw green blots in front of the standing figures—which were now going in the other direction. Then the thing was to keep as many of these as possible from getting back over the hill. After that they could dress the wounded and make the dying a little more comfortable. For there was no getting the wounded to the rear. They had to remain there in the trench perhaps to be wounded again, spectators of their comrades’ valour without the preoccupation of action.
In the official war journal where a battalion keeps its records—that precious historical document which will be safeguarded in fireproof vaults one of these days—you may read in cold official language what happened in one section of the British line on the 8th of May. Thus:
“7 A. M. Fire trench on right blown in at several points.... 9 A. M. Lieutenants Martin and Triggs were hit and came out of left communicating trench with number of wounded.... Captain Still and Lieut. de Bay hit also.... 9.30 A. M. All machine guns were buried (by high explosive shells) but two were dug out and mounted again. A shell killed every man in one section.... 10.30 A.M. Lieut. Edwards was killed.... Lieutenant Crawford, who was most gallant, was severely wounded.... Captain Adamson, who had been handing out ammunition, was hit in the shoulder, but continued to work with only one arm useful.... Sergeant-Major Frazer, who was also handing out ammunition to support trenches, was killed instantly by a bullet in the head.”
At 10.30 only four officers remained fit for action. All were lieutenants. The ranking one of these was Niven, in command after Gault was wounded at 7 A. M. We have all met the Niven type anywhere from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Circle, the high-strung, wiry type, who moves about too fast to carry any loose flesh and accumulates none because he does move about so fast. A little man Niven, a rancher, a horseman, with a good education and a knowledge of men. He rather fits the old saying about licking his weight in wild cats—wild cats being nearer his size than lions or tigers.
Eight months before he had not known any more about war than thousands of other Canadians of his type, except that soldiers carried rifles over their shoulders and kept step. But he had “Fanny” Farquhar of the British army for his teacher; and he studied the book of war in the midst of shells and bullets—which means that the lessons stick in the same way as the lesson the small boy receives when he touches the red-hot end of a poker to see how it feels.
Writing in the midst of ruined trenches rocked by the concussion of shells, every message he sent that day, every report he made by orderly after the wires were down was written out very explicitly—which Farquhar had taught him was the army way. The record is there of his coolness when the lid was blown off of hell. For all you can tell by the firm chirography he might have been sending a note to a ranch foreman.
After his communications were cut, he was not certain how much support he had on his flanks. It looked for a time as if he had none. After the first charge was repulsed he made contact with the King’s Royal Rifle Corps on his right. He knew from the nature of the first German charge that the second would be worse than the first. The Germans had advanced some machine guns; they would be able to place their increased artillery fire more accurately. Again green figures started down that hill and again they were put back. Then Niven was able to establish contact with the Shropshire Light Infantry, another regiment on his left. So he knew that right and left he was supported—and by seasoned British regulars. This was very, very comforting—especially so when German machine gun fire was not only coming from the front but in enfilade—which is so trying to a soldier’s steadiness. In other words, the P. P’s were shooting at Germans in front while bullets were whipping crosswise of their trenches and of the regulars on their flanks, too. Some of the German infantrymen who had not been hit or had not fallen back had dug themselves cover and were firing at a closer range.