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 ATTACK

 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO

 MACMILLAN & CO. , LIMITED LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA MELBOURNE

 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. TORONTO

 ATTACK

 AN INFANTRY SUBALTERN'S IMPRESSIONS OF JULY 1ST, 1916

 BY EDWARD G. D. LIVEING

 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY JOHN MASEFIELD

 New York

 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1918

 _All rights reserved_

 COPYRIGHT, 1918 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

 Set up and electrotyped. Published, April, 1918

 TO

 THE N. C. O. S

 AND

 MEN OF No. 5 PLATOON

 Of a Battalion of the County of London Regiment, whom I had the good fortune to command in France during 1915-1916, and in particular to the memory of RFN. C. N. DENNISON My Platoon Observer, who fell in action July 1st, 1916, in an attempt to save my life

INTRODUCTION

The attack on the fortified village of Gommecourt, which Mr. Liveingdescribes in these pages with such power and colour, was a part of thefirst great allied attack on July 1, 1916, which began the battle ofthe Somme. That battle, so far as it concerns our own troops, may bedivided into two sectors: one, to the south of the Ancre River, asector of advance, the other, to the north of the Ancre River, acontaining sector, in which no advance was possible. Gommecourtitself, which made a slight but important salient in the enemy line inthe containing sector, was the most northern point attacked in thatfirst day's fighting. 

Though the Gommecourt position is not impressive to look at, most ofour soldiers are agreed that it was one of the very strongest pointsin the enemy's fortified line on the Western Front. French and Russianofficers, who have seen it since the enemy left it, have described itas "terrible" and as "the very devil. " There can be no doubt that itwas all that they say. 

The country in that part is high-lying chalk downland, something likethe downland of Berkshire and Buckinghamshire, though generally barerof trees, and less bold in its valleys. Before the war it wascultivated, hedgeless land, under corn and sugar-beet. The chalk isusually well-covered, as in Buckinghamshire, with a fat clay. As theFrench social tendency is all to the community, there are few lonelyfarms in that countryside as there would be with us. The inhabitantslive in many compact villages, each with a church, a market-place, awatering-place for stock, and sometimes a château and park. Most ofthe villages are built of red brick, and the churches are of stone, not (as in the chalk countries with us) of dressed flint. Nearly allthe villages are planted about with orchards; some have copses oftimber trees. In general, from any distance, the villages stand outupon the downland as clumps of woodland. Nearly everywhere near thebattlefield a clump of orchard, with an occasional dark fir in it, isthe mark of some small village. In time of peace the Picardy farmingcommunity numbered some two or three hundred souls. Gommecourt andHébuterne were of the larger kind of village. 

A traveller coming towards Gommecourt as Mr. Liveing came to it, fromthe west, sees nothing of the Gommecourt position till he reachesHébuterne. It is hidden from him by the tilt of the high-lying chalkplateau, and by the woodland and orchards round Hébuterne village. Passing through this village, which is now deserted, save for a fewcats, one comes to a fringe of orchard, now deep in grass, and ofexquisite beauty. From the hedge of this fringe of orchard one seesthe Gommecourt position straight in front, with the Gommecourt salientcurving round on slightly rising ground, so as to enclose the leftflank. 

At first sight the position is not remarkable. One sees, to the left, a slight rise or swelling in the chalk, covered thickly with theremains and stumps of noble trees, now mostly killed by shell-fire. This swelling, which is covered with the remains of Gommecourt Park, is the salient of the enemy position. The enemy trenches here jut outinto a narrow pointing finger to enclose and defend this slight rise. 

Further to the right, this rise becomes a low, gentle heave in thechalk, which stretches away to the south for some miles, becominglower and gentler in its slope as it proceeds. The battered woodlandwhich covers its higher end contains the few stumps and heaps of brickthat were once Gommecourt village. The lower end is without trees orbuildings. 

This slight wooded rise and low, gentle heave in the chalk make up theposition of Gommecourt. It is nothing but a gentle rise above a gentlevalley. From a mile or two to the south of Gommecourt, this valleyappearance becomes more marked. If one looks northward from this pointthe English lines seem to follow a slight rise parallel with theother. The valley between the two heaves of chalk make the No Man'sLand or space between the enemy trenches and our own. The salientshuts in the end of the valley and enfilades it. 

The position has changed little since the attack of July 1. Then, asnow, Gommecourt was in ruins, and the trees of the wood were mostlykilled. Then, as now, the position looked terrible, even though itsslopes were gentle and its beauty not quite destroyed, even after twoyears of war. 

The position is immensely strong in itself, with a perfect glacis andfield of fire. Every invention of modern defensive war helped to makeit stronger. In front of it was the usual system of barbed wire, stretched on iron supports, over a width of fifty yards. Behind thewire was the system of the First Enemy Main Line, from which manycommunication-trenches ran to the central fortress of the salient, known as the Kern Redoubt, and to the Support or Guard Line. ThisFirst Main Line, even now, after countless bombardments and ninemonths of neglect, is a great and deep trench of immense strength. Itis from twelve to fifteen feet deep, very strongly revetted withtimberings and stout wicker-work. At intervals it is strengthened withsmall forts or sentry-boxes of concrete, built into the parapet. Greatand deep dug-outs lie below it, and though many of these have now beendestroyed, the shafts of most of them can still be seen. At the mouthsof some of these shafts one may still see giant-legged periscopes bywhich men sheltered in the dug-out shafts could watch for the comingof an attack. When the attack began and the barrage lifted, thesewatchers called up the bombers and machine-gunners from theirunderground barracks, and had them in action within a few seconds. 

Though the wire was formidable and the trench immense, the realdefences of the position were artillery and machine-guns. Themachine-guns were the chief danger. One machine-gun with ampleammunition has concentrated in itself the defensive power of abattalion. The enemy had not less than a dozen machine-guns in and infront of the Kern Redoubt. Some of these were cunningly hidden inpits, tunnels and shelters in (or even outside) the obstacle of thewire at the salient, so that they could enfilade the No Man's Land, orshoot an attacking party in the back after it had passed. The sites ofthese machine-gun nests were well hidden from all observation, andwere frequently changed. Besides the machine-guns outside and in thefront line, there were others, mounted in the trees and in the higherground above the front line, in such position that they, too, couldplay upon the No Man's Land and the English front line. The artilleryconcentrated behind Gommecourt was of all calibres. It was a greaterconcentration than the enemy could then usually afford to defend anyone sector, but the number of guns in it is not known. On July 1 itdeveloped a more intense artillery fire upon Hébuterne, and theEnglish line outside it, than upon any part of the English attackthroughout the battlefield. 

In the attack of July 1, Gommecourt was assaulted simultaneously fromthe north (from the direction of Fonquevillers) and from the south(from the direction of Hébuterne). Mr. Liveing took part in thesouthern assault, and must have "gone in" near the Hébuterne-BucquoyRoad. The tactical intention of these simultaneous attacks from northand south was to "pinch off" and secure the salient. The attack to thenorth, though gallantly pushed, was unsuccessful. The attack to thesouth got across the first-line trench and into the enemy positionpast Gommecourt Cemetery almost to the Kern Redoubt. What it faced ingetting so far may be read in Mr. Liveing's account. Before our menleft the trenches outside Hébuterne they were in a heavy barrage, andthe open valley of the No Man's Land hissed, as Mr. Liveing says, likean engine, with machine-gun bullets. Nevertheless, our men reachedthe third line of enemy trenches and began to secure the ground whichthey had captured. 

During the afternoon the enemy counter-attacked from the south, and, later in the day, from the north as well. Our men had not enough bombsto hold back the attackers, and were gradually driven back, after verysevere hand-to-hand fighting in the trenches, to an evil little bendin the front line directly to the south of Gommecourt Cemetery. Atabout 11 P. M. , after sixteen hours of intense and bitter fighting, they were driven back from this point to their own lines. 

Mr. Liveing's story is very well told. It is a simple and most vividaccount of a modern battle. No better account has been written inEngland since the war began. I hope that so rare a talent fornarrative may be recognised. I hope, too, that Mr. Liveing may soon beable to give us more stories as full of life as this. 

 JOHN MASEFIELD. 

The Author wishes to thank Messrs. Blackwood and Sons for their kindpermission to republish this article, which appeared in _Blackwood'sMagazine_, December, 1917, under the title of "Battle. "

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. GATHERING FOR ATTACK 23

 II. EVE OF ATTACK 28

III. ATTACK 54

 IV. TOLL OF ATTACK 93

ATTACK

CHAPTER I

GATHERING FOR ATTACK

The roads were packed with traffic. Column after column of lorriescame pounding along, bearing their freight of shells, trench-mortarbombs, wire, stakes, sandbags, pipes, and a thousand other articlesessential for the offensive, so that great dumps of explosives andother material arose in the green wayside places. Staff cars andsignallers on motor-bikes went busily on their way. Ambulances hurriedbackwards and forwards between the line and the Casualty ClearingStation, for the days of June were hard days for the infantry who dugthe "leaping-off" trenches, and manned them afterwards through rainand raid and bombardment. Horse transport and new batteries hurried totheir destinations. "Caterpillars" rumbled up, towing the heavierguns. Infantrymen and sappers marched to their tasks round and aboutthe line. 

Roads were repaired, telephone wires placed deep in the ground, treesfelled for dug-outs and gun emplacements, water-pipes laid up to thetrenches ready to be extended across conquered territory, whilesmall-gauge and large-gauge railways seemed to spring to being in thenight. 

Then came days of terror for the enemy. Slowly our guns broke forthupon them in a tumult of rage. The Germans in retaliation sprayed ournearer batteries with shrapnel, and threw a barrage of whizz-bangsacross the little white road leading into the village of Hébuterne. This feeble retaliation was swallowed up and overpowered by thetorrent of metal that now poured incessantly into their territory. Shells from the 18-pounders and trench-mortars cut their wire anddemoralised their sentries. Guns of all calibres pounded their systemof trenches till it looked for all the world like nothing more than aploughed field. The sky was filled with our aeroplanes wheeling aboutand directing the work of batteries, and with the black and whitebursts of anti-aircraft shells. Shells from the 9. 2 howitzers crashedinto strong points and gun emplacements and hurled them skywards. Petrol shells licked up the few remaining green-leaved trees inGommecourt Wood, where observers watched and snipers nested: 15-inchnaval guns, under the vigilant guidance of observation balloons, wrought deadly havoc in Bapaume and other villages and billets behindtheir lines. 

Thrice were the enemy enveloped in gas and smoke, and, as theystood-to in expectation of attack, were mown down by a torrent ofshells. 

The bombardment grew and swelled and brought down showers of rain. Yetthe ground remained comparatively dry and columns of dust arose fromthe roads as hoof and wheel crushed their broken surfaces andbattalions of infantry, with songs and jests, marched up to billetsand bivouacs just behind the line, ready to give battle. 

CHAPTER II

EVE OF ATTACK

Boom! Absolute silence for a minute. Boom! followed quickly by a moredistant report from a fellow-gun. At each bellowing roar from the 9. 2near by, bits of the ceiling clattered on to the floor of the billetand the wall-plaster trickled down on to one's valise, making a soundlike soot coming down a chimney. 

It was about three o'clock in the morning. I did not look at my watch, as its luminous facings had faded away months before and I did notwish to disturb my companions by lighting a match. A sigh or a groancame from one part of the room or another, showing that ourbombardment was troublesome even to the sleepers, and a rasping noiseoccasionally occurred when W----k, my Company Commander, turned rounduneasily on his bed of wood and rabbit-wire. 

I plunged farther down into the recesses of my flea-bag, though itslinings had broken down and my feet stuck out at the bottom. Then Ipulled my British Warm over me and muffled my head and ears in it toescape the regularly-repeated roar of the 9. 2. Though the whole houseseemed to be shaking to bits at every minute, the noise was muffled toa less ear-splitting fury and I gradually sank into a semi-sleep. 

About six o'clock I awoke finally, and after an interval the batterystopped its work. At half-past seven I hauled myself out of my valiseand sallied forth into the courtyard, clad in a British Warm, pyjamas, and gum-boots, to make my toilet. I blinked as I came into the lightand felt very sleepy. The next moment I was on my hands and knees, with every nerve of my brain working like a mill-stone. A vicious"swish" had sounded over my head, and knowing its meaning I had turnedfor the nearest door and slipped upon the cobbled stones of the yard. I picked myself up and fled for that door just as the inevitable"crash" came. This happened to be the door to the servants' quarters, and they were vastly amused. We looked out of the window at the_débris_ which was rising into the air. Two more "crumps" camewhirling over the house, and with shattering explosions lifted more_débris_ into the air beyond the farther side of the courtyard. Followed a burst of shrapnel and one more "crump, " and the enemy'sretaliation on the 9. 2 and its crew had ceased. The latter, however, had descended into their dug-out, while the gun remained unscathed. Not so some of our own men. 

We were examining the nose-cap of a shell which had hit the wall ofour billet, when a corporal came up, who said hurriedly to W----k, "Corporal G----'s been killed and four men wounded. "

The whole tragedy had happened so swiftly, and this suddenannouncement of the death of one of our best N. C. O. S had come as sucha shock, that all we did was to stare at each other with the words:

"My God! Corporal G---- gone! It's impossible. "

One expects shells and death in the line, but three or four milesbehind it one grows accustomed, so to speak, to live in a fool'sparadise. We went round to see our casualties, and I found two of myplatoon, bandaged in the leg and arm, sitting in a group of theirpals, who were congratulating them on having got "soft Blighty ones. "The Company Quartermaster-Sergeant showed me a helmet, which was lyingoutside the billet when the shells came over, with a triangular gashin it, into which one could almost place one's fist. At the body ofCorporal G---- I could not bring myself to look. The poor fellow hadbeen terribly hit in the back and neck, and, I confess it openly, Ihad not the courage, and felt that it would be a sacrilege, to gaze onthe mangled remains of one whom I had valued so much as an N. C. O. Andgrown to like so much as a man during the last ten months. 

Dark clouds were blowing over in an easterly direction; a cheerlessday added to the general gloom. We had a Company Officers' finalconsultation on the plans for the morrow, after which I held aninspection of my platoon, and gave out some further orders. On myreturn to the billet W----k told me that the attack had been postponedfor two days owing to bad weather. Putting aside all thought of ordersfor the time being, we issued out rum to the men, indulged in a few"tots" ourselves, and settled down to a pleasant evening. 

 * * * * *

In a little courtyard on the evening of June 30 I called the oldplatoon to attention for the last time, shook hands with the officersleft in reserve, marched off into the road, and made up a turning tothe left on to the Blue Track. We had done about a quarter of theground between Bayencourt and Sailly-au-Bois when a messenger hurriedup to tell me to halt, as several of the platoons of the L----S---- had to pass us. We sat down by a large shell-hole, and the menlit up their pipes and cigarettes and shouted jokes to the men of theother regiment as they passed by. 

It was a very peaceful evening--remarkably peaceful, now that theguns were at rest. A light breeze played eastward. I sat with my facetowards the sunset, wondering a little if this was the last time thatI should see it. One often reads of this sensation in second-ratenovels. I must say that I had always thought it greatly "overdone";but a great zest in the splendour of life swept over me as I sat therein the glow of that setting sun, and also a great calmness that gaveme heart to do my uttermost on the morrow. My father had enclosed alittle card in his last letter to me with the words upon it of theprayer of an old cavalier of the seventeenth century--Sir JacobAstley--before the battle of Newbury:--"Lord, I shall be very busythis day. I may forget Thee, but do not Thou forget me. " A peculiarold prayer, but I kept on repeating it to myself with great comfortthat evening. My men were rather quiet. Perhaps the general calmnesswas affecting them with kindred thoughts, though an Englishman nevershows them. On the left stood the stumpy spire of Bayencourt Churchjust left by us. On the right lay Sailly-au-Bois in its girdle oftrees. Along the side of the valley which ran out from behindSailly-au-Bois, arose numerous lazy pillars of smoke from the woodfires and kitchens of an artillery encampment. An English aeroplane, with a swarm of black puffs around it betokening German shells, wasgleaming in the setting sun. It purred monotonously, almost drowningthe screech of occasional shells which were dropping by a distantchâteau. The calm before the storm sat brooding over everything. 

The kilted platoons having gone on their way, we resumed our journey, dipping into the valley behind Sailly-au-Bois, and climbing thefarther side, as I passed the officers' mess hut belonging to ananti-aircraft battery, which had taken up a position at the foot ofthe valley, and whence came a pleasant sound of clinking glass, a wilddesire for permanent comfort affected me. 

Bounding the outskirts of Sailly-au-Bois, we arrived in the midst ofthe battery positions nesting by the score in the level plain behindHébuterne. The batteries soon let us know of their presence. Redflashes broke out in the gathering darkness, followed by quickreports. 

To the right one could discern the dim outlines of platoons moving upsteadily and at equal distances like ourselves. One could just catchthe distant noise of spade clinking on rifle. When I turned my gaze tothe front of these troops, I saw yellow-red flashes licking upon thehorizon, where our shells were finding their mark. Straight in front, whither we were bound, the girdle of trees round Hébuterne shut outthese flashes from view, but by the noise that came from beyond thosetrees one knew that the German trenches were receiving exactly thesame intensity of fire there. Every now and then this belt of treeswas being thrown into sharp relief by German star-shells, whichrocketed into the sky one after the other like a display of fireworks, while at times a burst of hostile shrapnel would throw a weird, redlight on the twinkling poplars which surrounded the cemetery. 

As we marched on towards the village (I do not mind saying it) Iexperienced that unpleasant sensation of wondering whether I should belying out this time to-morrow--stiff and cold in that land beyond thetrees, where the red shrapnel burst and the star-shells flickered. Iremember hoping that, if the fates so decreed, I should not leave toogreat a gap in my family, and, best hope of all, that I should insteadbe speeding home in an ambulance on the road that stretched along toour left. I do not think that I am far wrong when I say that thosethoughts were occurring to every man in the silent platoon behind me. Not that we were downhearted. If you had asked the question, you wouldhave been greeted by a cheery "No!" We were all full of determinationto do our best next day, but one cannot help enduring rather anunusual "party feeling" before going into an attack. 

Suddenly a German shell came screaming towards us. It hurtled overheadand fell behind us with muffled detonation in Sailly-au-Bois. Severalmore screamed over us as we went along, and it was peculiar to hearthe shells of both sides echoing backwards and forwards in the sky atthe same time. 

We were about four hundred yards from the outskirts of Hébuterne, whenI was made aware of the fact that the platoon in front of me hadstopped. I immediately stopped my platoon. I sat the men down along abank, and we waited--a wait which was whiled away by variousincidents. I could hear a dog barking, and just see two gunnerofficers who were walking unconcernedly about the battery positionsand whistling for it. The next thing that happened was a red flash inthe air about two hundred yards away, and a pinging noise as bits ofshrapnel shot into the ground round about. One of my men, S---- (thepoor chap was killed next day), called to me: "Look at that fire inSailly, sir!" I turned round and saw a great yellow flare illuminatingthe sky in the direction of Sailly, the fiery end of some barn orfarm-building, where a high explosive had found its billet. 

We remained in this spot for nearly a quarter of an hour, after whichR----d's platoon began to move on, and I followed at a good distancewith mine. We made our way to the clump of trees over which theshrapnel had burst a few minutes before. Suddenly we found ourselvesfloundering in a sunken road flooded with water knee-deep. This wasnot exactly pleasant, especially when my guide informed me that he wasnot quite certain as to our whereabouts. Luckily, we soon gained dryground again, turned off into a bit of trench which brought us intothe village, and made for the dump by the church, where we were topick up our materials. When we reached the church--or, rather, itsruins--the road was so filled with parties and platoons, and it wasbecoming so dark, that it took us some time before we found the dump. Fortunately, the first person whom I spotted was the RegimentalSergeant-Major, and I handed over to him the carrying-party which Ihad to detail, also despatching the rum and soup parties--the latterto the company cooker. 

Leaving the platoon in charge of Sergeant S----l, I went with my guidein search of the dump. In the general _mêlée_ I bumped into W----k. Wefound the rabbit wire, barbed wire, and other material in ashell-broken outhouse, and, grabbing hold of it, handed the stuff outto the platoon. 

As we filed through the village the reflections of star-shells threwweird lights on half-ruined houses; an occasional shell screamedoverhead, to burst with a dull, echoing sound within the shatteredwalls of former cottages; and one could hear the rat-tat-tat ofmachine-guns. These had a nasty habit of spraying the village withindirect fire, and it was, as always, a relief to enter the recessesof Wood Street without having any one hit. This communication trenchdipped into the earth at right angles to the "Boulevard" Street. Weclattered along the brick-floored trench, whose walls were overhungwith the dewy grass and flowers of the orchard--that wonderful orchardwhose aroma had survived the horror and desolation of a two years'warfare, and seemed now only to be intensified to a softer fragranceby the night air. 

Arriving at the belt of trees and hedge which marked the confines ofthe orchard, we turned to the right into Cross Street, which cut alongbehind the belt of trees into Woman Street. 

Turning to the left up Woman Street, and leaving the belt of treesbehind, we wound into the slightly undulating ground between Hébuterneand Gommecourt Wood. "Crumps" were bursting round about thecommunication trench, but at a distance, judging by their report, ofat least fifty yards. As we were passing Brigade Headquarters'Dug-out, the Brigade-Major appeared and asked me the number of myplatoon. "Number 5, " I replied; and he answered "Good, " with a touchof relief in his voice--for we had been held up for some time on theway, and my platoon was the first or second platoon of the company toget into the line. 

It was shortly after this that "crumps" began to burst dangerouslynear. There was suddenly a blinding flash and terrific report just toour left. We kept on, with heads aching intolerably. Winding round acurve, we came upon the effects of the shells. The sides of the trenchhad been blown in, while in the middle of the _débris_ lay a dead orunconscious man, and farther on a man groaning faintly upon astretcher. We scrambled over them, passed a few more wounded andstretcher-bearers, and arrived at the Reserve Line. 

Captain W----t was standing at the juncture of Woman Street and theReserve Line, cool and calm as usual. I asked him if New Woman Streetwas blocked, but there was no need for a reply. A confused noise ofgroans and stertorous breathing, and of some one sobbing, came to myears, and above it all, M---- W----'s voice saying to one of his men:"It's all right, old chap. It's all over now. " He told me afterwardsthat a shell had landed practically in the trench, killing two men infront of him and one behind, and wounding several others, but nottouching himself. 

It was quite obvious to me that it was impossible to proceed to thesupport trench via New Woman Street, and at any rate my CompanyCommander had given me orders to go over the top from the reserve tothe support line, so, shells or no shells, and leaving Sergeant S----lto bring up the rear of the platoon, I scaled a ladder leaning on theside of the trench and walked over the open for about two hundredyards. My guide and I jumped into New Woman Street just before ittouched the support line, and we were soon joined by several other menof the platoon. We had already suffered three casualties, and goingover the top in the darkness, the men had lost touch. The ration partyalso had not arrived yet. I despatched the guide to bring up theremainder, and proceeded to my destination with about six men. Aboutfifteen yards farther up the trench I found a series of shell-holesthreading their way off to the left. By the light of some Germanstar-shells I discerned an officer groping about these holes, and Istumbled over mounds and hollows towards him. 

"Is this the support line?" I asked, rather foolishly. 

"Yes, " he replied, "but there isn't much room in it. " I saw that hewas an officer of the Royal Engineers. 

"I'm putting my smoke-bombers down here, " he continued, "but you'llfind more room over towards the sunken road. "

He showed me along the trench--or the remains of it--and went off tocarry out his own plans. I stumbled along till I could justdistinguish the outlines of the sunken road. The trench in thisdirection was blown in level with the ground. I returned to W----k, whose headquarters were at the juncture of New Woman Street and thesupport line, telling him that the trench by the sunken road wasuntenable, and that I proposed placing my platoon in a smaller lengthof trench, and spreading them out fanwise when we started to advance. To this he agreed, and putting his hand on my shoulder in hischaracteristic fashion, informed me in a whisper that the attack wasto start at 7. 30 A. M. As far as I can remember it was about oneo'clock by now, and more of my men had come up. I ensconced them bysections. No. 1 section on the left and No. 4 on the right inshell-holes and the remains of the trench along a distance of aboutforty yards, roughly half the length of the trench that they were tohave occupied. At the same time I gave orders to my right-andleft-hand guides to incline off to the right and left respectivelywhen the advance started. I was walking back to my headquarters, a bitof trench behind a traverse, when a German searchlight, operating fromthe direction of Serre Wood, turned itself almost dead on me. I was inmy trench in a second. 

Shortly afterwards Sergeant S----r arrived with No. 8 platoon. Ishowed him one or two available portions of trench, but most of hismen had to crowd in with mine. The Lewis-gunners, who arrived last, found only a ruined bit of trench next to my "headquarters, " whilethey deposited their guns and equipment in a shell-hole behind. 

It was somewhere about four or half-past when I made my lastinspection. I clambered over the back of the trench and stood stillfor a moment or so. Everything was uncannily silent. There was just asuspicion of whiteness creeping into the sky beyond the rising groundopposite. Over towards the left rose the remains of Gommecourt Wood. Half its trees had gone since the last time that I had seen it, andthe few that remained stood, looking like so many masts in a harbour, gaunt and charred by our petrol shells. 

The men in the left fire-bay seemed quite comfortable. But, standingand looking down the trench, it suddenly dawned upon me that I wasgazing right into a line of chalky German trenches, and consequentlythat the enemy in those trenches could look straight into this trench. I left instructions with the corporal in charge of that section tobuild up a barricade in the gap before daybreak. As I went along therest of our frontage, Sergeant S----l doled out the rum. 

I retired to my "headquarters, " but not so Sergeant S----l, who seemednot to bother a bit about the increasing light and the bullets whichcame phitting into the ground in rather an unpleasant quantity. I wasglad when I had finally got him down into the trench. W----k had alsotold him to get in, for he remarked--

"Captain W----k, 'e says to me, 'Get into the trench, S----l, youb---- fool!' so I've got in. "

He was just in time. A prelude of shrapnel screamed along, burstingoverhead, and there followed an hour's nerve-racking bombardment. 

CHAPTER III

ATTACK

Dawn was breaking. The morning was cool after a chill night--a nightof waiting in blown-down trenches with not an inch to move to right orleft, of listening to the enemy's shells as they left the guns andcame tearing and shrieking towards you, knowing all the time that theywere aimed for your particular bit of trench and would land in it orby it, of awaiting that sudden, ominous silence, and then thecrash--perhaps death. 

I, for my part, had spent most of the night sitting on a petrol tin, wedged between the two sides of the trench and two human beings--mysergeant on the left and a corporal on the right. Like others, I hadslept for part of the time despite the noise and danger, awakened nowand then by the shattering crash of a shell or the hopeless cry forstretcher-bearers. 

But morning was coming at last, and the bombardment had ceased. Thewind blew east, and a few fleecy clouds raced along the blue skyoverhead. The sun was infusing more warmth into the air. There was thefreshness and splendour of a summer morning over everything. In fact, as one man said, it felt more as if we were going to start off for apicnic than for a battle. 

"Pass it down to Sergeant H---- that Sergeant S----l wishes him thetop o' the mornin', " said my sergeant. But Sergeant H----, who was incharge of the company's Lewis-guns, and had been stationed in the nextfire-trench, was at present groping his way to safety with a lump ofshrapnel in his back. 

An occasional shell sang one way or the other. Otherwise all wasquiet. We passed down the remains of the rum. Sergeant S----l pressedme to take some out of a mess-tin lid. I drank a very little--thefirst and last "tot" I took during the battle. It warmed me up. Sometime after this I looked at my watch and found it was a minute or twobefore 6. 25 A. M. I turned to the corporal, saying--

"They'll just about start now. "

The words were not out of my mouth before the noise, which hadincreased a trifle during the last twenty minutes, suddenly swelledinto a gigantic roar. Our guns had started. The din was so deafeningthat one could not hear the crash of German shells exploding in ourown lines. 

Sergeant S----l was standing straight up in the trench and lookingover to see the effects of our shells. It was a brave thing to do, butabsolutely reckless. I pulled him down by the tail of his tunic. Hegot up time and again, swearing that he would "take on the wholeb----German army. " He gave us pleasing information of the effects ofour bombardment, but as I did not want him to lose his lifeprematurely, I saw to it that we kept him down in the trench till thetime came for a display of bravery, in which he was not lacking. 

We had been told that the final bombardment that day would be the mostintense one since the beginning of the war. The attack was to encirclewhat was almost generally considered the strongest German "fortress"on the Western Front, the stronghold of Gommecourt Wood. There wasneed of it, therefore. 

Just over the trenches, almost raising the hair on one's head (we werehelmeted, I must say, but that was the feeling), swished the smallershells from the French . 75 and English 18-pounder batteries. They gaveone the sensation of being under a swiftly rushing stream. The largershells kept up a continuous shrieking overhead, falling on the enemy'strenches with the roar of a cataract, while every now and then a noiseas of thunder sounded above all when our trench-mortar shells fellamongst the German wire, blowing it to bits, making holes like minecraters, and throwing dirt and even bits of metal into our owntrenches. 

I have often tried to call to memory the intellectual, mental andnervous activity through which I passed during that hour of hellishbombardment and counter-bombardment, that last hour before we leaptout of our trenches into No Man's Land. I give the vague recollectionof that ordeal for what it is worth. I had an excessive desire for thetime to come when I could go "over the top, " when I should be free atlast from the noise of the bombardment, free from the prison of mytrench, free to walk across that patch of No Man's Land and opposingtrenches till I got to my objective, or, if I did not go that far, tohave my fate decided for better or for worse. I experienced, too, moments of intense fear during close bombardment. I felt that if I wasblown up it would be the end of all things so far as I was concerned. The idea of after-life seemed ridiculous in the presence of suchfrightful destructive force. Again the prayer of that old cavalierkept coming to my mind. At any rate, one could but do one's best, andI hoped that a higher power than all that which was around would notoverlook me or any other fellows on that day. At one time, not verylong before the moment of attack, I felt to its intensest depth thetruth of the proverb, "Carpe diem. " What was time? I had anothertwenty minutes in which to live in comparative safety. What was thedifference between twenty minutes and twenty years? Really and trulywhat was the difference? I was living at present, and that was enough. I am afraid that this working of mind will appear unintelligible. Icannot explain it further. I think that others who have waited to "goover" will realise its meaning. Above all, perhaps, and except whenshells falling near by brought one back to reality, the intensecascade-like noise of our own shells rushing overhead numbed for themost part of the time one's nervous and mental system. Listening tothis pandemonium, one felt like one of an audience at a theatre andnot in the least as if one was in any way associated with it oneself. 

Still, the activity of a man's nerves, though dulled to a greatextent inwardly, were bound to show externally. I turned to thecorporal. He was a brave fellow, and had gone through the Gallipolicampaign, but he was shaking all over, and white as parchment. Iexpect that I was just the same. 

"We must be giving them hell, " I said. "I don't think they're sendingmuch back. "

"I don't think much, sir, " he replied. 

I hardly think we believed each other. Looking up out of the trenchbeyond him, I saw huge, black columns of smoke and _débris_ rising upfrom our communication trench. Then, suddenly, there was a blinding"crash" just by us. We were covered in mud which flopped out of thetrench, and the evil-smelling fumes of lyddite. The cry forstretcher-bearers was passed hurriedly up the line again. Followed"crash" after "crash, " and the pinging of shrapnel which flicked intothe top of the trench, the purring noise of flying nose-caps and softthudding sounds as they fell into the parapet. 

It was difficult to hear one another talking. Sergeant S----l wasstill full of the "get at 'em" spirit. So were we all. The men werebehaving splendidly. I passed along the word to "Fix swords. "

We could not see properly over the top of the trench, but smoke wasgoing over. The attack was about to begin--it was beginning. I passedword round the corner of the traverse, asking whether they could seeif the second wave was starting. It was just past 7. 30 A. M. The thirdwave, of which my platoon formed a part, was due to start at 7. 30 plus45 seconds--at the same time as the second wave in my part of theline. The corporal got up, so I realised that the second wave wasassembling on the top to go over. The ladders had been smashed or usedas stretchers long ago. Scrambling out of a battered part of thetrench, I arrived on top, looked down my line of men, swung my rifleforward as a signal, and started off at the prearranged walk. 

A continuous hissing noise all around one, like a railway engineletting off steam, signified that the German machine-gunners hadbecome aware of our advance. I nearly trod on a motionless form. Itlay in a natural position, but the ashen face and fixed, fearful eyestold me that the man had just fallen. I did not recognise him then. Iremember him now. He was one of my own platoon. 

To go back for a minute. The scene that met my eyes as I stood on theparapet of our trench for that one second is almost indescribable. Just in front the ground was pitted by innumerable shell-holes. Moreholes opened suddenly every now and then. Here and there a few bodieslay about. Farther away, before our front line and in No Man's Land, lay more. In the smoke one could distinguish the second lineadvancing. One man after another fell down in a seemingly naturalmanner, and the wave melted away. In the background, where ran theremains of the German lines and wire, there was a mass of smoke, thered of the shrapnel bursting amid it. Amongst it, I saw CaptainH----and his men attempting to enter the German front line. The Bocheshad met them on the parapet with bombs. The whole scene reminded me ofbattle pictures, at which in earlier years I had gazed with muchamazement. Only this scene, though it did not seem more real, wasinfinitely more terrible. Everything stood still for a second, as apanorama painted with three colours--the white of the smoke, the redof the shrapnel and blood, the green of the grass. 

If I had felt nervous before, I did not feel so now, or at any ratenot in anything like the same degree. As I advanced, I felt as if Iwas in a dream, but I had all my wits about me. We had been told towalk. Our boys, however, rushed forward with splendid impetuosity tohelp their comrades and smash the German resistance in the front line. What happened to our materials for blocking the German communicationtrench, when we got to our objective, I should not like to think. Ikept up a fast walking pace and tried to keep the line together. Thiswas impossible. When we had jumped clear of the remains of our frontline trench, my platoon slowly disappeared through the line stretchingout. For a long time, however, Sergeant S----l, Lance-corporal M----, Rifleman D----, whom I remember being just in front of me, raising hishand in the air and cheering, and myself kept together. EventuallyLance-corporal M---- was the only one of my platoon left near me, andI shouted out to him, "Let's try and keep together. " It was not long, however, before we also parted company. One thing I remember very wellabout this time, and that was that a hare jumped up and rushed towardsand past me through the dry, yellowish grass, its eyes bulging withfear. 

We were dropping into a slight valley. The shell-holes were less few, but bodies lay all over the ground, and a terrible groaning arose fromall sides. At one time we seemed to be advancing in little groups. Iwas at the head of one for a moment or two, only to realise shortlyafterwards that I was alone. 

I came up to the German wire. Here one could hear men shouting to oneanother and the wounded groaning above the explosions of shells andbombs and the rattle of machine-guns. I found myself with J----, anofficer of "C" company, afterwards killed while charging a machine-gunin the open. We looked round to see what our fourth line was doing. Mycompany's fourth line had no leader. Captain W----k, wounded twice, had fallen into a shell-hole, while Sergeant S----r had been killedduring the preliminary bombardment. Men were kneeling and firing. Istarted back to see if I could bring them up, but they were too faraway. I made a cup of my mouth and shouted, as J---- was shouting. Wecould not be heard. I turned round again and advanced to a gap in theGerman wire. There was a pile of our wounded here on the Germanparapet. 

Suddenly I cursed. I had been scalded in the left hip. A shell, Ithought, had blown up in a water-logged crump-hole and sprayed me withboiling water. Letting go of my rifle, I dropped forward full lengthon the ground. My hip began to smart unpleasantly, and I left acurious warmth stealing down my left leg. I thought it was the boilingwater that had scalded me. Certainly my breeches looked as if theywere saturated with water. I did not know that they were saturatedwith blood. 

So I lay, waiting with the thought that I might recover my strength (Icould barely move) and try to crawl back. There was the greaterpossibility of death, but there was also the possibility of life. Ilooked around to see what was happening. In front lay some wounded;on either side of them stakes and shreds of barbed wire twisted intoweird contortions by the explosions of our trench-mortar bombs. Beyondthis nothing but smoke, interspersed with the red of bursting bombsand shrapnel. 

From out this ghastly chaos crawled a familiar figure. It was that ofSergeant K----, bleeding from a wound in the chest. He came crawlingtowards me. 

"Hallo, K----, " I shouted. 

"Are you hit, sir?" he asked. 

"Yes, old chap, I am, " I replied. 

"You had better try and crawl back, " he suggested. 

"I don't think I can move, " I said. 

"I'll take off your equipment for you. "

He proceeded very gallantly to do this. I could not get to a kneelingposition myself, and he had to get hold of me, and bring me to akneeling position, before undoing my belt and shoulder-straps. Weturned round and started crawling back together. I crawled very slowlyat first. Little holes opened in the ground on either side of me, andI understood that I was under the fire of a machine-gun. In frontbullets were hitting the turf and throwing it four or five feet intothe air. Slowly but steadily I crawled on. Sergeant K---- and I lostsight of one another. I think that he crawled off to the right and Ito the left of a mass of barbed wire entanglements. 

I was now confronted by a danger from our own side. I saw a row ofseveral men kneeling on the ground and firing. It is probable thatthey were trying to pick off German machine-gunners, but it seemedvery much as if they would "pot" a few of the returning wounded intothe bargain. 

"For God's sake, stop firing, " I shouted. 

Words were of no avail. I crawled through them. At last I got on myfeet and stumbled blindly along. 

I fell down into a sunken road with several other wounded, and crawledup over the bank on the other side. The Germans had a machine-gun onthat road, and only a few of us got across. Some one faintly called myname behind me. Looking round, I thought I recognised a man of "C"company. Only a few days later did it come home to me that he was myplatoon observer. I had told him to stay with me whatever happened. He had carried out his orders much more faithfully than I had evermeant, for he had come to my assistance, wounded twice in the headhimself. He hastened forward to me, but, as I looked round waiting, uncertain quite as to who he was, his rifle clattered on to theground, and he crumpled up and fell motionless just behind me. I feltthat there was nothing to be done for him. He died a hero, just as hehad always been in the trenches, full of self-control, nevercomplaining, a ready volunteer. Shortly afterwards I sighted theremains of our front line trench and fell into them. 

At first I could not make certain as to my whereabouts. Coupled withthe fact that my notions in general were becoming somewhat hazy, thetrenches themselves were entirely unrecognisable. They were filledwith earth, and about half their original depth. I decided, with thatquick, almost semi-conscious intuition that comes to one in moments ofperil, to proceed to the left (to one coming from the German lines). As I crawled through holes and over mounds I could hear the viciousspitting of machine-gun bullets. They seemed to skim just over myhelmet. The trench, opening out a little, began to assume its oldoutline. I had reached the head of New Woman Street, though at thetime I did not know what communication trench it was--or trouble, forthat matter. The scene at the head of that communication trench isstamped in a blurred but unforgettable way on my mind. In the remainsof a wrecked dug-out or emplacement a signaller sat, calmlytransmitting messages to Battalion Headquarters. A few bombers werewalking along the continuation of the front line. I could distinguishthe red grenades on their arms through the smoke. There were more ofthem at the head of the communication trench. Shells were coming overand blowing up round about. 

I asked one of the bombers to see what was wrong with my hip. Hestarted to get out my iodine tube and field dressing. The iodine tubewas smashed. I remembered that I had a second one, and we managed toget that out after some time. Shells were coming over so incessantlyand close that the bomber advised that we should walk farther down thetrench before commencing operations. This done, he opened my breechesand disclosed a small hole in the front of the left hip. It wasbleeding fairly freely. He poured in the iodine, and put the bandageround in the best manner possible. We set off down the communicationtrench again, in company with several bombers, I holding the bandageto my wound. We scrambled up mounds and jumped over craters (rather apainful performance for one wounded in the leg); we halted at times inalmost open places, when machine-gun bullets swept unpleasantly near, and one felt the wind of shells as they passed just over, blowing up afew yards away. In my last stages across No Man's Land my chiefthought had been, "I must get home now for the sake of my people. "Now, for I still remember it distinctly, my thought was, "Will myname appear in the casualty list under the head of 'Killed' or'Wounded'?" and I summoned up a mental picture of the two alternativesin black type. 

After many escapes we reached the Reserve Line, where a militarypoliceman stood at the head of Woman Street. He held up the men infront of me and directed them to different places. Some one told himthat a wounded officer was following. This was, perhaps, as well, forI was an indistinguishable mass of filth and gore. My helmet wascovered with mud, my tunic was cut about with shrapnel and bullets andsaturated with blood; my breeches had changed from a khaki to a purplehue; my puttees were in tatters; my boots looked like a pair of verymuddy clogs. 

The military policeman consigned me to the care of some excellentfellow, of what regiment I cannot remember. After walking, or ratherstumbling, a short way down Woman Street, my guide and I came upon agunner Colonel standing outside his dug-out and trying to watch theprogress of the battle through his field-glasses. 

"Good-morning, " he said. 

"Good-morning, sir, " I replied. 

This opening of our little conversation was not meant to be in theleast ironical, I can assure you. It seemed quite natural at the time. 

"Where are you hit?" he asked. 

"In the thigh, sir. I don't think it's anything very bad. "

"Good. How are we getting on?"

"Well, I really can't say much for certain, sir. But I got nearly totheir front line. "

Walking was now becoming exceedingly painful and we proceeded slowly. I choked the groans that would rise to my lips and felt a coldperspiration pouring freely from my face. It was easier to get alongby taking hold of the sides of the trench with my hands than by beingsupported by my guide. A party of bombers or carriers of somedescription passed us. We stood on one side to let them go by. Inthose few seconds my wound became decidedly stiffer, and I wondered ifI would ever reach the end of the trenches on foot. At length thecommunication trench passed through a belt of trees, and we foundourselves in Cross Street. 

Here was a First Aid Post, and R. A. M. C. Men were hard at work. I hadknown those trenches for a month past, and I had never thought thatCross Street could appear so homelike. Hardly a shell was falling andthe immediate din of battle had subsided. The sun was becoming hot, but the trees threw refreshing shadows over the wide, shallowbrick-floored trenches built by the French two years before. TheR. A. M. C. Orderlies were speaking pleasant words, and men not too badlywounded were chatting gaily. I noticed a dresser at work on a man nearby, and was pleased to find that the man whose wounds were beingattended to was my servant L----. His wound was in the hip, a nastyhole drilled by a machine-gun bullet at close quarters. He showed mehis water-bottle, penetrated by another bullet, which had inflicted afurther, but slight, wound. 

There were many more serious cases than mine to be attended to. Afterabout five or ten minutes an orderly slit up my breeches. 

"The wound's in the front of the hip, " I said. 

"Yes, but there's a larger wound where the bullets come out, sir. "

I looked and saw a gaping hole two inches in diameter. 

"I think that's a Blighty one, isn't it?" I remarked. 

"I should just think so, sir!" he replied. 

"Thank God! At last!" I murmured vehemently, conjuring up visions ofthe good old homeland. 

The orderly painted the iodine round both wounds and put on a largerbandage. At this moment R----, an officer of "D" company, came limpinginto Cross Street. 

"Hallo, L----, " he exclaimed, "we had better try and get down tohospital together. "

We started in a cavalcade to walk down the remaining trenches into thevillage, not before my servant, who had insisted on staying with me, had remarked--

"I think I should like to go up again now, sir, " and to which proposalI had answered very emphatically--

"You won't do anything of the sort, my friend!"

R---- led the way, with a man to help him, next came my servant, thentwo orderlies carrying a stretcher with a terribly wounded Scottishprivate on it; another orderly and myself brought up the rear--and avery slow one at that!

Turning a corner, we found ourselves amidst troops of the battalion inreserve to us, all of them eager for news. A subaltern, with whom Ihad been at a Divisional School, asked how far we had got. I told himthat we were probably in their second line by now. This statementcaused disappointment. Every one appeared to believe that we had takenthe three lines in about ten minutes. I must confess that the nightbefore the attack I had entertained hopes that it would not take usmuch longer than this. As a matter of fact my battalion, or theremains of it, after three hours of splendid and severe fighting, managed to penetrate into the third line trench. 

Loss of blood was beginning to tell, and my progress was gettingslower every minute. Each man, as I passed, put his arm forward tohelp me along and said a cheery word of some kind or other. Down thewide, brick-floored trench we went, past shattered trees and batteredcottages, through the rank grass and luxuriant wild flowers, throughthe rich, unwarlike aroma of the orchard, till we emerged into thevillage "boulevard. "

The orderly held me under the arms till I was put on a wheeledstretcher and hurried along, past the "boulevard pool" with itssurrounding elms and willows, and, at the end of the "boulevard, " up astreet to the left. A short way up this street on the right stood theAdvanced Dressing Station--a well-sandbagged house reached through theusual archway and courtyard. A dug-out, supplied with electric lightand with an entrance of remarkable sandbag construction, had beentunnelled out beneath the courtyard. This was being used foroperations. 

In front of the archway and in the road stood two "padrés" directingthe continuous flow of stretchers and walking wounded. They appearedto be doing all the work of organisation, while the R. A. M. C. Doctorsand surgeons had their hands full with dressings and operations. These were the kind of directions:

"Wounded Sergeant? Right. Abdominal wound? All right. Lift himoff--gently now. Take him through the archway into the dug-out. "

"Dead? Yes! Poor fellow, take him down to the Cemetery. "

"German? Dug-out No. 2, at the end of the road on the right. "

Under the superintendence of the R. C. "padré, " a man whose sympathyand kindness I shall never forget, my stretcher was lifted off thecarrier and I was placed in the archway. The "padré" loosened mybandage and looked at the wound, when he drew in his breath and askedif I was in much pain. 

"Not an enormous amount, " I answered, but asked for something todrink. 

"Are you quite sure it hasn't touched the stomach?" he questioned, looking shrewdly at me. 

I emphatically denied that it had, and he brought a blood-stained mugwith a little tea at the bottom of it. I can honestly say that I neverenjoyed a drink so much as that one. 

Shells, high explosives and shrapnel, were coming over every now andthen. I kept my helmet well over my head. This also served as a shadefrom the sun, for it was now about ten o'clock and a sultry day. I wasable to obtain a view of events round about fairly easily. From timeto time orderlies tramped through the archway, bearing stretcher-casesto the dug-out. Another officer had been brought in and placed on theopposite side of the archway. The poor fellow, about nineteen, wasmore or less unconscious. His head and both hands were covered inbandages crimson with blood. So coated was he with mud and gore that Idid not at first recognise him as an officer. At the farther end ofthe arch a young private of about eighteen was lying on his side, groaning in the agony of a stomach wound and crying "Mother. " Thesympathetic "padré" did the best he could to comfort him. Out in theroad the R. A. M. C. Were dressing and bandaging the ever-increasing flowof wounded. Amongst them a captive German R. A. M. C. Man, in greenuniform, with a Red Cross round his sleeve, was visible, hard atwork. Everything seemed so different from the deadly strife athousand or so yards away. There, foe was inflicting wounds on foe;here were our men attending to the German wounded and the Germansattending to ours. Both sides were working so hard now to save life. There was a human touch about that scene in the ruined village streetwhich filled one with a sense of mingled sadness and pleasure. Herewere both sides united in a common attempt to repair the ravages ofwar. Humanity had at last asserted itself. 

It was about eleven o'clock, I suppose, when the "padré" came up againto my stretcher and asked me if I should like to get on, as there wasa berth vacant in an ambulance. The stretcher was hoisted up and slidinto the bottom berth of the car. The berth above was occupied by anunconscious man. On the other side of the ambulance were four sittingcases--a private, a sergeant, a corporal, and a rifleman, the lastalmost unconscious. Those of us who could talk were very pleased withlife, and I remember saying: "Thank God, we're out of that hell, boys!"

"What's wrong with him?" I asked the corporal, signifying theunconscious man. 

"Hit in the lungs, sir. They've set him up on purpose. "

The corporal, pulling out his cigarette case, offered cigarettes allround, and we started to smoke. The last scene that I saw in Hébuternewas that of three men dressing a tall badly wounded Prussian officerlying on the side of the road. The ambulance turned the corner out ofthe village. There followed three "crashes" and dust flew on to thefloor of the car. 

"Whizz-bangs, " was the corporal's laconical remark. 

We had passed the German road barrage, and were on our way to peaceand safety. 

CHAPTER IV

TOLL OF ATTACK

We climbed the little white road which led through the batterypositions now almost silent, topped the crest, and dipped intoSailly-au-Bois. The village had been very little shelled since thenight before, and appeared the same as ever, except that the intensetraffic, which had flowed into it for the past month, had ceased. Limbers and lorries had done their work, and the only objects whichfilled the shell-scarred streets were slow-moving ambulances, littleblood-stained groups of "walking wounded, " and the troops of a newdivision moving up into the line. 

Though we were all in some pain as the ambulance jolted along throughthe ruts in the side of the road, we felt rather sorry for those poorchaps as they peered inside the car. Our fate was decided, theirsstill hung in the balance. How often on the march one had looked backoneself into a passing ambulance and wished, rather shamefully, for a"Blighty" one. Sunburnt and healthy they looked as they shouted afterus: "Good luck, boys, give our love to Blighty. "

At the end of the village the ambulance swung off on a road leading tothe left. It must have crossed the track by which my platoon and I hadgone up the night before. About 11. 30 A. M. We arrived at Couin, theheadquarters of the First Field Ambulance. 

A hum of conversation and joking arose from every side, and, with someexceptions, you could not have found such a cheery gathering anywhere. The immediate strain of battle had passed, and friends meeting friendscompared notes of their experiences in the "show. " Here a man with abandaged arm was talking affectionately to a less fortunate "pal" on astretcher, and asking him if he could do anything for him; it isextraordinary how suffering knits men together, and how much sympathyis brought out in a man at the sight of a badly wounded comrade:yonder by the huts an orderly assisted a "walking case, " shot throughthe lungs and vomiting blood freely. 

Near by I recognised E----'s servant of the L---- S----. When he hadfinished giving some tea or water to a friend, I hailed him and askedhim if Mr. E---- was hit. Mr. E----, he told me, had been laid up forsome days past, and had not taken part in the attack. He was, however, going round and writing letters for the men. Would I like to see him?We were fairly good acquaintances, so I said that I should. Presentlyhe arrived. 

"Bad luck, old chap. Where have you caught it?" he asked. 

"In the thigh, " I replied. 

He wrote two post-cards home for me, one home and another torelatives, and I did my best to sign them. I remember that on one ofthem was inscribed: "This is to let you know that E---- has beencaught bending, " and wondering what my grandfather, a doctor, wouldmake out of that!

The sun was beating down on us now, and since, after I had been dulylabelled "G. S. W. (gun-shot wound) Back, " a Medical Staff Officeradvised that I should be transferred into the officers' hut, I enteredits cooler shades with much gladness. 

Captain W----t came in soon afterwards. In the second line Germantrench he had looked over the parados to see if any opposition wascoming up from the third line trench, and had been hit by amachine-gun bullet in the shoulder. In making his way home he had beenhit twice again in the shoulder. H---- also put in an appearance witha bullet wound in the arm. He had taken a party of "walking wounded"up to Sailly-au-Bois, and got a car on. A doctor brought round thefamiliar old beverage of tea, which in large quantities, and incompany with whisky, had helped us through many an unpleasant day inthe trenches. Captain W----t refused it, and insisted on having somebread and jam. I took both with much relish, and, having appeased anunusually large appetite, got an orderly to wash my face and hands, which were coated with blood. 

"I dare say you feel as you was gettin' back to civilisation again, sir, " he said. Much refreshed, and quietly looking at a new number of_The Tatler_, I certainly felt as if I was, though, in spite of an airring, the wound was feeling rather uncomfortable. At the end of thehut two or three poor fellows were dying of stomach wounds. It was apeculiar contrast to hear two or three men chatting gaily just outsidemy end of the hut. I could only catch fragments of the conversation, which I give here. 

"When Mr. A---- gave the order to advance, I went over like a bird. "

"The effect of the rum, laddie!"

"Mr A---- was going strong too. "

"What's happened to Mr. A----, do you know?"

"Don't know. I didn't see 'im after that. "

"'E's all right. Saw him just now. Got a wound in the arm. "

"Good. Isn't the sun fine here? Couldn't want a better morning for anattack, could you?"

The hut was filling rapidly, and the three stomach cases being quitehopeless were removed outside. A doctor brought in an officer of theK----'s. He was quite dazed, and sank full length on a bed, passinghis hand across his face and moaning. He was not wounded, but had beenblown up whilst engaged in cutting a communication trench across NoMan's Land, they told me. It was not long, however, before herecovered his senses sufficiently enough to walk with help to anambulance. A "padré" entered, supporting a young officer of the ----, a far worse case of shell shock, and laid him out on the bed. He hadno control over himself, and was weeping hysterically. 

"For God's sake don't let me go back, don't send me back!" he cried. 

The "padré" tried to comfort him. 

"You'll soon be in a nice hospital at the Base, old chap, or probablyin England. "

He looked at the padré blankly, not understanding a word that he wassaying. 

A more extraordinary case of shell shock was that of an officer lyingabout three beds down from me. In the usual course of events anR. A. M. C. Corporal asked him his name. 

"F----, " he replied in a vague tone. 

The corporal thought that he had better make certain, so with aspolite a manner as possible looked at his identification disc. 

"It puts Lt. B---- here, " he said. 

There followed a lengthy argument, at the end of which the patientsaid--

"Well, it's no use. You had better give it up. I don't know what myname is!"

A Fusilier officer was carried in on a stretcher and laid next to me. After a time he said--

"Is your name L----?"

I replied affirmatively. 

"Don't you recognise me?" he questioned. 

I looked at him, but could not think where I had seen him before. 

"My name's D----. I was your Company Quartermaster-Sergeant in theSecond Battalion. " Then I remembered him, though it had been hard torecognise him in officer's uniform, blood-stained and tattered atthat. We compared notes of our experiences since I had left the secondline of my battalion in England nearly a year before, until, soonafterwards, he was taken out to an ambulance. 

At the other end of the hut it was just possible to see an officertossing to and fro deliriously on a stretcher. I use the word"deliriously, " though he was probably another case of shell shock. Hewas wounded also, judging by the bandages which swathed the middlepart of his body. The poor fellow thought that he was still fighting, and every now and again broke out like this--

"Keep 'em off, boys. Keep 'em off. Give me a bomb, sergeant. Get down!My God! I'm hit. Put some more of those sandbags on the barricade. These damned shells! Can I stand it any longer? Come on, boys. Comealong, sergeant! We must go for them. Oh! my God! I must stick it!"

After a time the cries became fainter, and the stretcher was takenout. 

About three o'clock I managed to get a doctor to inject me withanti-tetanus. I confess that I was rather anxious about getting thisdone, for in crawling back across No Man's Land my wound had beencovered with mud and dirt. The orderly, who put on the iodine, told methat the German artillery was sending shrapnel over the ridge. Thiswas rather disconcerting, but, accustomed as I had become to shrapnelat close quarters, the sounds seemed so distant that I did not bothermore about them. 

It must have been about four o'clock when my stretcher was picked upand I passed once again into the warm sunlight. Outside an orderlyrelieved me of my steel and gas helmets, in much the same way as thecollector takes your ticket when you pass through the gates of aLondon terminus in a taxi. Once more the stretcher was slid into anambulance, and I found myself in company with a young subaltern of theK----'s. He was very cheery, and continued to assert that we shouldall be in "Blighty" in a day or two's time. When the A. S. C. Driverappeared at the entrance of the car and confirmed our friend'sopinion, I began to entertain the most glorious visions of themorrow--visions which I need hardly say did not come true. 

"How were you hit?" I asked the officer of the K----'s. 

"I got a machine-gun bullet in the pit of the stomach while diggingthat communication trench into No Man's Land. It's been pretty bad, but the pain's going now, and I think I shall be all right. "

Then he recognised the man on the stretcher above me. 

"Hullo, laddie, " he said. "What have they done to you?"

"I've been hit in the left wrist and the leg, sir. I hope you aren'tvery bad. "

The engine started, and we set off on our journey to the CasualtyClearing Station. For the last time we passed the villages, which wehad come to know so intimately in the past two months during rest fromthe trenches. There was Souastre, where one had spent pleasantevenings at the Divisional Theatre; St. Amand with its open square infront of the church, the meeting-place of the villagers, now desertedsave for two or three soldiers; Gaudiempré, the headquarters of anArmy Service Corps park, with its lines of roughly made stables. Atone part of the journey a 15-inch gun let fly just over the road. Wehad endured quite enough noise for that day, and I was glad that itdid not occur again. From a rather tortuous course through bye-laneswe turned into the main Arras to Doullens road--that long, straight, typical French highway with its avenue of poplars. Shortly afterwardsthe ambulance drew up outside the Casualty Clearing Station. 

The Casualty Clearing Station was situated in the grounds of achâteau. I believe that the château itself was used as a hospital forthose cases which were too bad to be moved farther. We were taken intoa long cement-floored building, and laid down in a line of stretcherswhich ran almost from the doorway up to a screen at the end of theroom, behind which dressings and operations were taking place. On myright was the officer of the K----'s, still fairly cheery, though in acertain amount of pain; on my left lay a rifleman hit in the chest, and very grey about the face; I remember that, as I looked at him, Icompared the colour of his face with that of the stomach cases I hadseen. A stomach case, as far as I can remember, has an ashen pallorabout the face; a lung case has a haggard grey look. Next to him a boyof about eighteen was sitting on his stretcher; he was hit in the jaw, the arms, and the hands, but he calmly took out his pipe, placed it inhis blood-stained mouth, and started smoking. I was talking to theofficer of the K----'s, when he suddenly fell to groaning, and rolledover on to my stretcher. I tried to comfort him, but words were of noavail. A doctor came along, asked a few questions, and examined thewound, just a small hole in the pit of the stomach; but he lookedserious enough about it. The stretcher was lifted up and its torturedoccupant borne away behind the screen for an operation. That was thelast I saw of a very plucky young fellow. I ate some bread and jam, and drank some tea doled out liberally all down the two lines ofstretchers, for another line had formed by now. 

My turn came at last, and I was carried off to a table behind thescreen, where the wound was probed, dressed, and bandaged tightly, andI had a foretaste of the less pleasant side of hospital life. Therewere two Army nurses at work on a case next to mine--the first Englishwomen I had seen since I returned from leave six months before. Mywound having been dressed, I was almost immediately taken out and putinto a motor-lorry. There must have been about nine of us, three rowsof three, on the floor of that lorry. I did not find it comfortable, though the best had been done under the circumstances to make it so;neither did the others, many of whom were worse wounded than myself, judging by the groans which arose at every jolt. 

We turned down a road leading to the station. Groups of peasants werestanding in the village street and crying after us: "Ah! les pauvresblessés! les pauvres Anglais blessés!" These were the last words ofgratitude and sympathy that the kind peasants could give us. We drewup behind other cars alongside the hospital train, and theengine-driver looked round from polishing his engine and watched uswith the wistful gaze of one to whom hospital train work was no longera novelty. Walking wounded came dribbling up by ones and twos into thestation yard, and were directed into sitting compartments. 

The sun was in my eyes, and I felt as if my face was being scorched. Iasked an R. A. M. C. N. C. O. , standing at the end of the wagon, to get mesomething to shade my eyes. Then occurred what I felt was an extremelythoughtful act on the part of a wounded man. A badly woundedlance-corporal, on the other side of the lorry, took out hishandkerchief and stretched it over to me. When I asked him if he wassure that he did not want it, he insisted on my taking it. It wasdirty and blood-stained, but saved me much discomfort, and I thankedhim profusely. After about ten minutes our stretchers were hauled outof the lorry. I was borne up to the officers' carriage at the far endof the train. It was a splendidly equipped compartment; and when Ifound myself between the sheets of my berth, with plenty of pillowsunder me, I felt as if I had definitely got a stage nearer to England. Some one behind me called my name, and, looking round, I saw my oldfriend M---- W----, whose party I had nearly run into the night beforein that never-to-be-forgotten communication trench, Woman Street. Hetold me that he had been hit in the wrist and leg. Judging by hisflushed appearance, he had something of a temperature. 

More wounded were brought or helped in--men as well as officers--tillthe white walls of the carriage were lined with blood-stained, mud-covered khaki figures, lying, sitting, and propped up in variouspositions. 

The Medical Officer in charge of the train came round and asked uswhat we should like to drink for dinner. 

"Would you like whisky-and-soda, or beer, or lemonade?" he questionedme. This sounded pleasant to my ears, but I only asked for a lemonade. 

As the train drew out of the station, one caught a last glimpse ofwarfare--an aeroplane, wheeling round in the evening sky amongst aswarm of tell-tale smoke-puffs, the explosions of "Archie" shells. 

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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The following pages contain advertisements of a few ofthe Macmillan books on kindred subjects. 

Ambulance 464: Encore des Blesses

BY JULIEN H. BRYAN

 _Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo. _

 Here we have the story of the experiences of a Princeton Junior--a boy of seventeen, who went to the war and drove an ambulance car in the Verdun and Champagne sectors. He tells exactly what he saw and heard in the American Ambulance Corps, bringing his story down to August, 1917. His accounts are modest, interesting, sometimes amusing--always vivid. 

 War books by soldiers are very popular these days. The author-fighter has contributed some of the most informing volumes that have been issued on the great conflict. Of all of those who have been to the front and have returned to write about it, no one, perhaps, has had more unusual experiences than fell to the lot of this youth. He has written a book in which he tells what happened to him and his immediate associates; a book that is remarkable for the thrilling character of its narrative, the spirit of good humor, of adventure and excitement which runs through it. 

 Mr. Bryan had his kodak with him and his text is illustrated with many altogether unusual pictures, giving a new and clear idea as to the war and its method of prosecution. 

 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York

_MASEFIELD'S NEW WAR BOOK_

The Old Front Line

BY JOHN MASEFIELD

 _Illustrated. Cloth, 12mo. $1. 00_

 What Mr. Masefield did for the Gallipoli Campaign, he now does for the Campaign in France. His subject is the old front line as it was when the battle of the Somme began. His account is vivid and gripping--a huge conflict seen through the eyes of a great poet, this is the book. 

 Of the importance of the battle, Mr. Masefield writes:

 "The old front line was the base from which the battle proceeded. It was the starting place. The thing began there. It was the biggest battle in which our people were ever engaged, and so far it has led to bigger results than any battle of this war since the Battle of the Marne. It caused a great falling back of the enemy armies. It freed a great tract of France, seventy miles long, by from ten to twenty-five miles broad. It first gave the enemy the knowledge that he was beaten. "

 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York

A War Nurse's Diary

 _Illustrated, Cloth, $1. 25_

 High courage, deep sympathy without sentimentality, and an all-saving sense of humor amid dreadful and depressing conditions are the salient features of this little book. The author, who preserves her anonymity, has been "over the top" in the fullest sense. She has faced bombardments and aerial raids, she has calmly removed her charges under fire, she has tended the wounded and dying amid scenes of carnage and confusion, and she has created order and comfort where but a short time before all was chaos and suffering. And all the while she marvels at the uncomplaining fortitude of others, never counting her own. Many unusual experiences have befallen this "war nurse" and she writes of them all in a gripping, vivid fashion. 

 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York

Victor Chapman's Letters from France

 _Illustrated, $2. 00_

 Victor Chapman was studying architecture in Paris when the war broke out and at once he joined the French Foreign Legion. A year later he was transferred to the Aviation Corps and went to the front as pilot in the American Escadrille. This volume comprises his letters written to his family, covering the full period of his service from September, 1914, to a few days before his death. "They are, " says the _New York Times_ in commenting on them, "graphic letters that show imaginative feeling and unusual faculty for literary expression and they are filled with details of his daily life and duties and reflect the keen satisfaction he was taking in his experiences. He knew many of those Americans who have won distinction, and some of them death, in the Legion and the Aviation Service, and there is frequent reference to one or another of them. .. . In few of the memorials to those who have laid down their lives in this war is it possible to find quite such a sense of a life not only fulfilled but crowned by its sacrifice, notwithstanding its youthfulness, as one gets from this tribute to Victor Chapman. "

 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York

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