Steady, Boys, Steady!
Lyddite, shrapnel, common siege, and other sorts of shells were bursting all around us. The fumes from the terrible lyddite were sickening—we were spitting up yellow stuff three days afterwards. Some of the shrapnel bullets hit our chaps pretty badly, but some were harmless. One fell red-hot across my fingers, but its force was expended. Shortly afterwards a big lump of shell plunged into the earth a few inches from my face. Then every other shell that came seemed to strike the earth a few inches above my head, knocking lumps of earth and stones all over me. I gave up all hope of ever seeing England again, and so did everyone, so I said just a wee fervent prayer, and keeping low down I managed to scribble what I really thought would be the last line to my sister in my pocketbook. Then I remembered that I still possessed half a cigarette, so I managed to strike a match and finish that just as my look-out man saw the German infantry advancing on us about 800 yards away. I can tell you we gave them a warm reception. The German artillery were busy just then trying to drop shells into our artillery, and we gave the German infantry the very best of our attention. Our men simply mowed them down with rifles and machine guns. Still the Germans came on like great waves. My men acted admirably, taking steady aim every time until the fields in front of us were covered with lines and heaps of German dead and wounded: Sergt. J. Williams, Highland Light Infantry.
Scared Gun-Horses
What impressed me most was a battery of artillery under fire. It dashed up to a point that had been marked by a stake with a number on it by the officer who was responsible for allocating the positions. Just as it stopped the Germans, who seemed to have the position to a hair’s-breadth, sent shells shrieking around the battery. The horses got frantic and began prancing and kicking out in terror. The drivers held on like grim death, but the poor animals could not be pacified, and at last they dashed off in the direction of the German lines with the guns. The drivers stuck to their posts and did all they could to restrain the mad horses. Meanwhile a party of new men with horses were brought out and dashed off in pursuit. They caught up soon, and rode alongside to get hold of the runaways. It was no use, however, and now they came within range of more German guns, and the shells were bursting overhead, making the poor animals madder than ever. There was nothing for it but to shoot the mad animals, and this was done after some difficulty. Then it was necessary to take out the dead team and put the new one in, while German shells were dropping around. Half of the men were hit, but they meant to stick to their posts, and not all the Germans in the field could have driven them away. Just as they were getting the guns away a party of German infantry came on the scene, but by that time our battalion had moved out to cover the withdrawal of the guns, and we gave the Germans as much as they could stand: A Corporal, Northamptonshire Regiment.
A Cameron Man
We retired into a wood, and it was here that I got put out of action. I was struck with a piece of shell, and I fell, thinking it was all over with me. The shell had struck my pack, and I was not injured in the least, but the strange thing was that I could not find my pack. The straps on it had been broken. I then got up, and had not gone twenty yards when I got what seemed like a terrible blow on the left thigh with a big forehammer. Looking down, I saw that my kilt was all blood, and I realized I was knocked out. I tried to get up, but my old leg would not come. I saw my chance and seized it. An ammunition pony came flying past me, and I made one desperate jump at it. I did not look for the reins: I got hold of something, and I was pulled right across an open space between the woods. My God, it was something terrible coming over that open ground. The enemy had been waiting for our advance across it all day. This was where most of our fellows fell. The bullets were dropping like hail, shells were bursting all around us, and it was worse than hell, if anything could be. A few got across, but how many I cannot say, for when I got this length I dropped. I never saw the old pony afterwards: Pte. Brooks, Cameron Highlanders.
The Cold Steel
We fixed bayonets and clambered out, and somehow got together some kind of formation and rushed towards the hedge. All we could see was a few strange uniforms a quarter of a mile away. Away we went, and one of our officers was bowled over straight away, whilst many on my right and left dropped out. We shouted out our slogan, and went at them as fast as we could. At last we arrived with a yell at the ditch where the German riflemen were concealed, and they fired at us point-blank, but not one of us went down. Then we went at them with the steel, and the Germans being six feet below us, they had no chance. When we had each “done” our man we had to jump over the ditch and on towards the German guns. We were running like hell, when all of a sudden machine guns poured into us from both sides, knocking dozens of us over in heaps. The officers gave the word to retire, and we came back at a run. When we came to the trench we had already jumped we found that we had not killed all the Germans in it, and as we passed over it again we were shot at, and my pal was nearly bayoneted. We got back, and did not do much good. We killed a few hundred Germans, it is true, but we lost one hundred and fifty men! The Germans will do anything to get away from the cold steel: A Cameron Highlander, at the Aisne.
“Is This Death?”
It was a thousand times worse than being in hell. For six days we were in the same trenches, almost at arm’s reach of the enemy. We could only steal out under cover of darkness for a drink of water. It rained all the time; but we had to make the best of it. Every day was the same as the day before—an advance at daybreak and at night; but every time we were beaten back by frightful odds. Each time we were forced back we left hundreds of our men behind, killed and wounded. Then it was the same old command, “Fall back on the trenches.” My comrades were constantly falling by my side. Day after day, and every minute during the day, German shells were falling around us like rain. We could hear them coming through the air, and we would lie low in the trenches and say, “That is another one that has missed us.” But the fatal one came without us hearing it. Thirteen of us were together, and only one lucky devil escaped. When the blow came I thought my head was taken off. I fell on my knees and put one arm up in the air, and said, “Good God, is this death?” I then put my hand on my face, and I felt the flesh, which was so badly torn. But I felt no pain. It seemed dead. I crept along the top of the trenches until I found the doctor who was with my regiment. He simply put a piece of cotton-wool over my face and laid me under a tree, as the firing was too heavy to get a proper dressing on. For five hours I lay bleeding under that tree, and the German shells were still falling about us like rain: Pte. Kneale, Liverpool Regiment.