"Over There" with the Australians

by R. Hugh Knyvett

Although this sector of trench was during eight months known as "a quiet front," as no actual offensive took place, yet there was never a day or night free from peril, and all the time our strength in numbers was being sapped—men left us "going west" or said good-bye as they went to hospital, and sometimes would disappear in No Man's Land—gone, none knew where. We received reinforcements that did not keep pace with our losses and during all the time were never once up to half strength. Always we were on the watch to worst our enemy, and he was by no means napping. Gas was often used and sentries were posted with gas alarm-signals not only in the trenches but in the streets of the villages behind the lines. If by night or day the whitish vapor was seen ascending from the trenches opposite, then such a hullabaloo of noises would pass along the trenches and through the streets of the towns as to make the spirits of the bravest quail, and woe betide even the little child who at that signal did not instantly cover his face with the hideous gas-mask. These noises were made chiefly with klaxon horns, though an empty shell-case struck by iron was found to give out a ringing sound that could plainly be heard above even the screech and crump of the shells.

Our gas-masks are quite efficient protection, and I have been a whole day under gas without injury, by keeping the cloth in my mask damp all the time. Men sometimes lose their lives through lack of confidence in their masks. The chemical causes an irritation of the mucous membrane, and they fancy they are being gassed, and in desperation tear them off. It is the duty of an officer to decide when the danger has passed and test the air. I remember on one occasion I warned some men who were opening their coats that the danger had not passed, but when I returned I found they had removed their masks and three of them were very severely gassed. We are always on the lookout for gas, and when the wind is dangerous a "gas-alert" signal is given, when every man wears his mask in a ready position so that it can be donned without a second's delay.

I was really sorry to leave those trenches. So many months was I there that they were something like a home to me, and who knew what was awaiting one in another and an unknown section? I knew every shell-hole in No Man's Land, and constant observation of the enemy methods enabled me to anticipate his moves. I felt that nowhere else would I be so successful. I even parted with a rat that I had tamed in my dugout with a feeling of regret, though on all his kin I waged a bitter war, spending many hours when I ought to have been sleeping in shooting them with my automatic as they came into the light of the dugout doorway. It was there, too, that I experimented with the enemy grenades, and I remember once nearly scaring an Australian nigger white. He was the only colored man in our brigade, and was just passing in front of the dugout as I threw a detonator on to the hard metal of an old road a few yards away. Evidently he was surprised at being bombed when he thought he was among friends! He, however, received nothing worse than the fright.

CHAPTER XXI

THE VILLAGE OF SLEEP

There was little element of surprise about the "Somme" offensive. Although there must have been some uncertainty in the mind of the German Staff as to just where the blow would be struck, for our papers were filled with rumors of a drive in the north, and troops and big guns were moved north every day and withdrawn at night, yet the intensity of the artillery bombardment around Albert, which day by day waxed ever greater, proclaimed in a shout that here was the point on which our punch would strike.

The selection of this place for an offensive was an indication that it was not the policy of the Allies to attempt to drive the German army out of France, but that their evident intention was to defeat the enemy practically in the present trenches. The German line in France and Belgium is shaped like the letter L, and the Somme battle was waged at the angle of the letter just where the line was farthest from Germany. Of course it would be madness to attempt to finish the war on German soil, if to do it we should have to devastate one-eighth of France and its fairest and richest province.

These smashes are rapidly destroying the morale of the enemy, as well as killing many of them, and will lead to the collapse of the army pretty much where they are now. If they attempt an offensive on the western front, where our armament is now so strong, it will hasten the end. The British artillery had at the end of 1917 a reserve of fifty million of shells, and pity help the German army if they bump into them. The British offensive of 1916 was hastened somewhat by the need of relieving the pressure on Verdun, and though the first blow was not as powerful as it would have been if delayed a few months, it accomplished much more than was expected.

Up the British line there crept news of big doings down south. There was a new sound in the air—a distant continued thunder that was different from any previous sound—the big drums of the devil's orchestra were booming an accompaniment that was the motif of hell's cantata. Up the line ran the rumor of a battle intenser than any yet fought—more guns being massed in a few miles than the world had ever seen before. Into every heart crept the dread of what might await us down there, and to every mind came the question: "When are we going?"