The simultaneous engagement of so large a portion of the enemy's line in Belgium and France during the preceding three days had piled difficulty upon difficulty for him, and it was therefore not unreasonable to entertain two expectations—firstly, that our task would be rendered easier by the wide dispersion of the enemy's defensive energies, and, secondly, that he could hardly hope to survive a definite breach in his great defensive line at so critical a place as the Bellicourt tunnel. If that went he would be secure nowhere, and his next possibility of making a stand would be on the line of the Meuse, even if not the line of the Rhine.
The day broke with a familiar mist, and the attack was launched punctually at the appointed time. Quite early in the day news came in that the Ninth Corps on my right hand had achieved an astonishing success, that Bellenglise had been captured, and that the deep canal had been successfully crossed in several places. It was the 46th Imperial Division to which this great success was chiefly due, a success achieved by most careful preparation and gallant execution. Lifebelts, rafts, boats, mats, portable bridges, and every device which ingenuity could suggest had been prepared beforehand for the actual crossing of the water in the canal. There can be no doubt that this success, conceived at first as a demonstration to distract attention from the Australian Corps front, materially assisted me in the situation in which I was placed later on the same day.
The first reports from my own front were in every way satisfactory, and it looked as if everything were going strictly to schedule. That morning the stream of messages pouring into my Headquarters office, from special observers, from the air, from the line divisions, from the Artillery, and from my liaison officers with neighbouring Corps, exceeded in volume and import anything I had met with in my previous war experience. I have the typewritten précis of the "inwards" signal traffic before me as I write. Those received and laid before me on that day cover thirty closely typewritten foolscap pages.
The burden of the earlier messages all pointed to the same conclusion: "30th Division crossed the Canal on time;" "1,000 prisoners, all going well;" "Bony captured;" "Tanks fighting round Bellicourt at 9 a.m.;" "Bellicourt taken."
Those, omitting formal parts, were the burden of all the telegrams up to 10 a.m. They continued in such a favourable strain during the whole of the time that the two American Divisions had command of the battle front.
The time for their arrival at the first objective—i.e., the "green" line—had been computed to be at 9 a.m. The Australian Divisions were to cross the green line at 11 a.m., and at the same hour to take over the command on the front of the battle. Two telegrams then came in which caused me serious anxiety. It may be of interest to set them out in detail:
Received at 11.10 a.m. from 30th American Division:
"Fighting in Bellicourt, owing to Germans having come down along the Canal from the north. Fifth Australian Division hung up."
Received at 11.12 a.m. from Third Australian Division:
"We are dug in on west side of tunnel. Americans are held up in front of us."