We took up a position allotted to us, and just when we had settled down to it a staff officer came along, and we were told we were going to have a chance of showing whether we were “show” soldiers or the real thing. We could have yelled for joy.... After covering a short distance we were sent across the fields in open order. We found some of our cavalry dismounted and holding a line of trenches quite close to the Germans. Just then we came under fire from the rifles and the machine guns. It was a bit unnerving at first, and some of our chaps didn’t like it, but we pressed steadily on, taking advantage of every bit of cover. It was a matter of lying down every few minutes, and then rushing forward a few yards, until we came right up to their trenches. As we got close the German rifle fire ceased almost, and we saw their infantry stand up in the trenches to receive our attack. I must say they struck me as being game chaps, and after what I had heard about their fear of the bayonet I was a bit surprised. We were now near enough to see the fierce glare in the eyes of the enemy as they waited for us. We gave them one great volley and then bayonets were fixed, and in a long line we charged down on their trenches. The madness of that charge I shall never forget. There was no time to think of fear or danger. We were mad drunk with the excitement. The blood was coursing in our veins at express speed, and our only thought was to close in the death-grip with the foe. Some of our boys yelled out “Scotland for ever!” and others were as silent as the grave. Their lines were strengthened at every point, and they made a great stand against us, but we were fresh, and we slashed right and left with a will. They weakened after the first shock, and gradually fell back, fighting inch by inch, but each step we forced them back, their pace became quicker, and then they broke into a mad race for life: A Member of the London Scottish.
Beside a Windmill
The hardest fight, in my opinion, took place around a block of farm buildings, with a windmill in the centre and cattle quietly grazing close by. There was a Franco-British force of not more than 800 bayonets in possession, and near by some British cavalry were posted. Under cover of darkness the Germans made a sudden sweep round the position, threw back the cavalry after a hot fight, and had the little force completely cut off from headquarters. They brought up artillery and began to batter down the walls of the buildings, and when they had made a big gap in the wall of the stable, a battalion of infantry made a rush for it with the bayonet. The defenders stood there quietly shooting down the Germans as they came along, but it was worse than shooting mosquitoes with automatic pistols. They hit many, but there were others behind, and they kept coming on. The defenders fired their last shot, and the building was rushed by the Germans, who simply swarmed in. Into the corner the handful of men went with their bayonets, determined to sell their lives dearly. The Germans stood at the doorway firing into them, and when only three remained standing the Germans rushed on them and overpowered them. From the stable the attack was then developed in like fashion against the rest of the buildings. One of the gables was sent crumbling down, exposing the defenders to a withering rifle fire, and then the roof toppled in with a crash, burying all that were left of the brave men beneath the ruins. Not a man in that building escaped unhurt, and of the whole force engaged in defending the position only twenty were captured by the Germans unwounded. We avenged them finely the next day: A Private of the Warwickshire Regiment.
Against Big Odds
Our machine gun began yapping, but its noise was little better than that of a toy terrier against a brace of bulldogs, and we didn’t count much on it. Part of the regiment lay in the trenches firing away at the Germans for all they were worth, but we didn’t count much on that either. We knew that the good old bayonet would have to be our mainstay, and so one of the companies was ordered to get ready for the rush across the intervening space. We were out in a brace of shakes, and there was no loitering by the way, for the sooner we got there the easier would it be. Half way across they found our range with the guns, and shrapnel dropped all around. Our chaps were suffering badly, and seemed to get a bit weak in their advance. Nobody could blame them, for it was awful work. The officer in command simply called out, “Remember, men, the Black Watch never wavers. Forward!” That knocked on the head any idea of wavering, and we were off again like a party of merry trippers at the beginning of the Glasgow Fair holidays. We got there in the end, but at a terrible price, and we found the Germans ready for us. We went in without a word or a cheer. After we had driven them off, they were on to us again before we had time to make the position secure. We beat them back, but they came on over and over again. The last time I think it would have gone hard with us, indeed, but for an unexpected diversion. A French aeroplane appeared overhead and began signalling to a point in our rear. This scared the Germans, who feared a big force was moving to cut them off, and they fell back. Before they had had time to find out their mistake a brigade of infantry arrived to our assistance, and then the enemy cleared off for good. That was one of the closest things for us; and it was a miracle that we pulled through against such terrible odds as were thrown against us that night: A Private of the Black Watch.
“Nesting” Time
The Germans took full advantage of the woods. Sharpshooters and even machine guns were posted on the trees, and they did terrible execution amongst our men, who were unable to see them. You approached a wood that appeared quite peaceful and an ideal place for a quiet rest. Suddenly you awoke to the fact that every tree was a fortress, and bullets began to drop all round just like acorns from the trees at home. For an enemy the woods have many advantages, but the disadvantages must not be overlooked. We saw enough of them to bring home to us that tree-fighting is not all a picnic. One day we had reason to suspect that the enemy were trying their trick in the woods on our left. The French artillery opened fire, and as we advanced we found the wood blazing from end to end. From all directions came the agonizing cries of the Germans who were concealed in the trees. They had no hope of getting away in many cases, and simply had to stay in their perches until suffocation brought a merciful end. A few of them did escape, and dashed out to our lines in terror. We ceased fire and did the best we could for them, but that wasn’t much. On another day we advanced into a wood that was held in force by the enemy. They were bent on contesting every inch of the ground, and what we had to do was to shelter behind each tree as we advanced, firing at the next where one or more Germans were posted. We had to keep that sort of thing up for a day, and when night fell it was doubly dangerous work. Still, we had to keep at it, and in the end we drove them out. Our chaps and the French are ready to do their share of “nesting” in the trees when it is necessary to resist the Germans, and we have had plenty of that kind of fighting. It requires a lot of courage, and is terribly risky all through: A Corporal of the Middlesex Regiment.