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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18390-8.txt b/18390-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bf951e --- /dev/null +++ b/18390-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5271 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters from France, by C. E. W. Bean + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters from France + + +Author: C. E. W. Bean + + + +Release Date: May 14, 2006 [eBook #18390] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM FRANCE*** + + +E-text prepared by Elaine Walker, Paul Ereaut, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18390-h.htm or 18390-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390/18390-h/18390-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390/18390-h.zip) + + + + + +LETTERS FROM FRANCE + +by + +C. E. W. BEAN + +War Correspondent for the Commonwealth of Australia + +With a Map and Eight Plates + + + + + + + +[Illustration: AUSTRALIANS WATCHING THE BOMBARDMENT OF POZIÈRES +Their mates were beneath that bombardment at the time] + + + + +Cassell and Company, Ltd +London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne + +1917 + + + + +To those other Australians who fell in the Sharpest Action their +Force has known, on July 19, 1916, before Fromelles, these Memories of a +Greater, but not a Braver, Battle are herewith Dedicated + + + + +PREFACE + + +These letters are in no sense a history--except that they contain the +truth. They were written at the time and within close range of the +events they describe. Half of the fighting, including the brave attack +before Fromelles, is left untouched on, for these pages do not attempt +to narrate the full story of the Australian Imperial Force in France. +They were written to depict the surroundings in which, and the spirit +with which, that history has been made; first in the quiet green Flemish +lowlands, then with a swift, sudden plunge into the grim, reeking, naked +desolation of the Somme. The record of the A.I.F., and its now +historical units in their full action, will be painted upon that +background some day. If these letters convey some reflection of the +spirit which fought at Pozières, their object is well fulfilled. The +author's profits are devoted to the fund for nursing back to useful +citizenship Australians blinded or maimed in the war. + +C. E. W. Bean. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + Preface + + 1. A Padre who said the Right Thing + + 2. To the Front + + 3. The First Impression--A Country with Eyes + + 4. The Road to Lille + + 5. The Differences + + 6. The Germans + + 7. The Planes + + 8. The Coming Struggle: Our Task + + 9. In a Forest of France + +10. Identified + +11. The Great Battle Begins + +12. The British--Fricourt and La Boiselle + +13. The Dug-outs of Fricourt + +14. The Raid + +15. Pozières + +16. An Abysm of Desolation + +17. Pozières Ridge + +18. The Green Country + +19. Trommelfeuer + +20. The New Fighting + +21. Angels' Work + +22. Our Neighbour + +23. Mouquet Farm + +24. How the Australians were Relieved + +25. On Leave to a New England + +26. The New Entry + +27. A Hard Time + +28. The Winter of 1916 + +29. As in the World's Dawn + +30. The Grass Bank + +31. In the Mud of Le Barque + +32. The New Draft + +33. Why He is not "The Anzac" + + + + +LIST OF PLATES + + +Australians Watching the Bombardment of Pozières + +Sketch Map + +"Talking with the Kiddies in the Street" + +"An Occasional Broken Tree-Trunk" + +No Man's Land + +Along the Road to Lille + +The Trenches here have to be Built Above the Ground in Breastwork + +A Main Street of Pozières + +The Church Pozières + +The Windmill of Pozières + +The Barely Recognisable Remains of a Trench + +The Tumbled Heap of Bricks and Timber which the World Knows as Mouquet +Farm + +"Past the Mud-Heaps Scraped by the Road Gangs" + + + + + +[Illustration: Rough sketch showing some of the German defences of +Pozières and the direction of the Australian attacks between July 22 and +September 4, 1916. (From Pozières to Mouquet Farm is just over a +mile.)] + + + + +LETTERS FROM FRANCE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A PADRE WHO SAID THE RIGHT THING + +_France, April 8th, 1916._ + + +The sun glared from a Mediterranean sky and from the surface of the +Mediterranean sea. The liner heaved easily to a slow swell. In the waist +of the ship a densely packed crowd of sunburnt faces upturned towards a +speaker who leaned over the rail of the promenade deck above. Beside the +speaker was a slight figure with three long rows of ribbons across the +left breast. Every man in the Australian Imperial Force is as proud of +those ribbons as the leader who wears them so modestly. + +Australian ships had been moving through those waters for days. High +over one's head, as one listened to that speaker, there sawed the +wireless aerial backwards and forwards across the silver sky. Only +yesterday that aerial had intercepted a stammering signal from far, far +away over the brim of the world. "S.O.S.," it ran, "S.O.S." There +followed half inarticulate fragments of a latitude. That evening about +sundown we ran into the shreds of some ocean conversation about boats' +crews, and about someone who was still absent--just that broken fragment +in the buzz of the wireless conversation which runs around the world. A +big Australian transport, we knew, was some twelve hours away from us +upon the waters. Could it be about her that these personages of the +ocean were calling one to another? Days afterwards we heard that it had +not been an Australian or any other transport. + +Somewhere in those dazzling seas there was an eye watching for us too, +just above the water, and always waiting--waiting--waiting--. It would +have been a rich harvest, that crowded deck below one. If the monster +struck just there he could not fail to kill many with the mere +explosion. But I don't believe a man in the crowd gave it a thought. The +strong, tanned, clean-shaven faces under the old slouch hats were all +gazing up in rapt attention at the speaker. For he was telling them the +right thing. + +He was not a regular chaplain--there was no regular padre in that ship, +and we were likely to have no church parade until there was discovered +amongst the reinforcement officers one little subaltern who was a padre +in Tasmania, but who was going to the front as a fighting man. We had +heard other padres speak to troops on the eve of their plunging into a +great enterprise, when the sermon had made some of us wish that we only +had the power and gift to seize that wonderful opportunity as it might +be seized, and have done with texts and doctrines and speak to the men +as men. Every man there had his ideals--he was giving his life, as like +as not, because, however crude the exterior, there was an eye within +which saw truly and surely through the mists. And now when they stood on +the brink of the last great sacrifice, could he not seize upon those +truths--? + +But this time we simply stood and wondered. For that slip of a figure in +khaki, high up there with one hand on the stanchion and the other +tapping the rail, was telling them a thousand times better than any of +us could ever have put it to himself exactly the things one would have +longed to say. + +He told them first, his voice firm with conviction, that God had not +populated this world with saints, but with ordinary human men; and that +they need not fear that, simply because they might not have been +churchgoers or lived what the world calls religious lives, therefore God +would desert them in the danger and trials and perhaps the death to +which they went. "If I thought that God wished any man to be tortured +eternally," he said, "to be tortured for all time and not to have any +hope of heaven, then I would go down to Hell cheerfully with a smile on +my lips rather than worship such a being. I don't know whether a man may +put it beyond the power of God to help him. But I know this, that +whether you are bad or good, or religious or not religious, God is with +you all the time trying to help you. + +"And what have we to fear now?" he went on, raising his eyes for a +moment from the puckered, interested brown foreheads below him and +looking out over the shimmering distant silver of the horizon, as if +away over there, over the edge of the world, he could read what the next +few months had in store for them. "We know what we have come for, and we +know that it is right. We have all read of the things which have +happened in Belgium and in France. We know that the Germans invaded a +peaceful country and brought these horrors into it, we know how they +tore up treaties like so much paper; how they sank the _Lusitania_ and +showered their bombs on harmless women and children in London and in the +villages of England. We came of our own free wills--we came to say that +this sort of thing shall not happen in the world so long as we are in +it. We know that we are doing right, and I tell you that on this mission +on which we have come, so long as every man plays the game and plays it +cleanly, he need not fear about his religion--for what else is his +religion than that? Play the game and God will be with you--never fear. + +"And what if some of us do pass over before this struggle is ended--what +is there in that? If it were not for the dear ones whom he leaves behind +him, mightn't a man almost pray for a death like that? The newspapers +too often call us heroes, but we know we are not heroes for having come, +and we do not want to be called heroes. We should have been less than +men if we hadn't." + +The rapt, unconscious approval in those weather-scarred upturned faces +made it quite obvious that they were with him in every word. In those +simple sentences this man was speaking the whole soul of Australia. He +looked up for a second to the wide sky as clear as his own conscience, +and then looked down at them again. "Isn't it the most wonderful thing +that could ever have happened?" he went on. "Didn't everyone of us as a +boy long to go about the world as they did in the days of Drake and +Raleigh, and didn't it seem almost beyond hope that that adventure would +ever come to us? And isn't that the very thing that has happened? And +here we are on that great enterprise going out across the world, and +with no thought of gain or conquest, but to help to right a great wrong. +What else do we wish except to go straight forward at the enemy--with +our dear ones far behind us and God above us, and our friends on each +side of us and only the enemy in front of us--what more do we wish than +that?" + +There were tears in many men's eyes when he finished--and that does not +often happen with Australians. But it happened this time--far out there +on a distant sea. And that was because he had put his finger, just for +one moment, straight on to the heart of his nation. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +TO THE FRONT + +_France, April 8th._ + + +So the Australians are in France. A great reception at the port of +landing, so we hear. A long, weary train journey in a troop train which +never alters its pace, but moves steadily on, halts for meals, jogs on +again, waits interminably outside strange junctions. Some days ago it +landed the first units, somewhere behind the front. + +We reached France some time after the first units. The excitement of +seeing an Australian hat had long since evaporated. A few troops had +been left in camp near the port, and we met some of those on leave in +the big town. They might have been there since their babyhood for all +they or the big town cared. + +And there we first heard mentioned the name of a town to which our +troops were supposed to have gone. It was quite a different town from +the one which we had heard of on board ship. It was snowing up there +where our men were, they said. + +The train took us through beautiful country not yet touched by the +spring of the year. There were magnificent horses in the rich brown +fields--great draught horses such as I have never seen in any country +yet. But the figure that drove the harrow was always that of an old man +or a young boy; or, once or twice, of a woman. There were women digging +in the fields everywhere; or trudging back along the roads under great +bundles of firewood. The country was almost all cultivated land, one +vast farming industry. And they had managed to get through the whole +year's work exactly as if the men were there. As far as we could see +every field was ploughed, every green crop springing. It is a wonderful +performance. + +We had not the least idea where we were going until in the end we +actually got there. Travelling in France is quite different from +travelling in Egypt or England. In Egypt you still exercise your brain +as to which train you shall travel by and where you will stay and where +you will change. But in France there is no need for you to think out +your own journey--it is useless for you to do so. The moment you reach +France the big hand of General Headquarters takes hold of you; and from +that instant it picks you up and puts you down as if you were a pawn on +a chessboard. Whatever the railway station, there is always a big +British policeman. The policeman directs you to the Railway Transport +Officer and the Railway Transport Officer tells you how long you will +stay and when you will leave and where you will go to next. And when you +get to the next place there is another policeman who sends you to +another Railway Transport Officer; until you finally come to a policeman +who directs you from the station and up the street of a little French +town, where, standing on the wet cobbles at the corner of the old city +square, under dripping stage scenery gables, you find another British +policeman who passes you to another policeman at another corner who +directs you under the very archway and into the very office which you +are intended by General Headquarters to reach. + +And if you go on right up to the very trenches themselves you will find +that British policeman all the way; directing the traffic at every +country cross-road where there is likely to be a congestion of the great +lumbering motor-lorries; standing outside the ruined village church +which the long-range guns have knocked to pieces in trying to get at a +supply dump or a headquarters; waiting at the fork-roads where you +finally have to leave your motor-car and walk only in small parties if +you wish to avoid sudden death; on point duty at the ruined farmhouses +which it is unhealthy at certain hours of the day to pass. At the corner +where you finally turn off the road into the long, deepening +communication trench; even at the point where the second line trenches +cross the communication trench to the front trenches--in some cases you +find that policeman there also, faithfully telling you the way, +incidentally with a very close and critical eye upon you at the same +time. + +He is simply the British policeman doing his famous old job in his +famous old way. He is mostly the London policeman, but there are +policemen from Burnley, from Manchester, from Glasgow amongst them. And +up near the lines you find the policeman from Sydney and Melbourne +waving the traffic along with a flag just as he used to do at the corner +of Pitt and King Streets. Just as he used to see that the by-laws of the +local council were carried out, so he now has to see to the rules and +orders made by the local general. It is a thankless job generally; but +when they get as far as this most people begin to be a little grateful +to the policeman. + +Our railway train and the policeman had carried us over endless +farmlands, through forests, beside rivers, before we noticed, drawn up +along the side of a quarter of a mile of road, an endless procession of +big grey motor-lorries. Every one was exactly like the next--a tall grey +hood in front and a long grey tarpaulin behind. It was the first sign of +the front. Presently a French regiment went by along a country road--not +at all unlike our Australian troops in some ways--biggish fellows in +grey-blue overcoats, all singing a jolly song. They waved to us in the +same light-hearted way Australians have. There were more fair-haired +men, among some of the French troops we have seen, than there would be +in one of our own battalions. + +After this there came great stores at intervals, and timber yards--hour +after hour of farmhouses and villages where there was a Tommy in every +doorway, Tommies in every barn, a Tommy's khaki jacket showing through +every kitchen window; until at last towards evening we reached a country +populated by the familiar old pea-soup overcoats and high-necked +jackets and slouch hats of Australians. + +There they were, the men whom we had last seen on the Suez Canal--here +they were, already, in the orchard alongside of the old lichened, +steep-roofed barn--four or five of them squatting round a fire of +sticks, one stuffing his pipe and talking, talking, talking all the +while. I knew that they were happy there before ever they said it. A +track led across a big field--there were two Australians walking along +it. A road crossed the railway--two Australians were standing at the +open door of the house, and another talking to the kiddies in the +street. There was a platoon of them drilling behind a long barn. + +A long way ahead of that, still going through an Australian country, we +stopped; and a policeman showed us to the station entrance where there +was a motor-car which took us and our baggage to the little house where +we were billeted. On the green door of the house next to it, behind the +pretty garden, was scrawled in chalk, "Mess--five officers." That was +where we were to feed. + +[Illustration: "TALKING WITH THE KIDDIES IN THE STREET"] + +It was as we came back from tea that I first noticed a distant +sound--ever so familiar--the far-off heavy roar of the big guns at +Cape Helles. It was guns firing along the lines away to the east of us. + +And as we walked back after dinner that night from the little mess-room, +across the garden hedge and over the country beyond, there flashed ever +and anon hither and thither a distant halo of light. It was the field +guns firing, and the searchlights flashing over a German parapet. + +Yesterday for the first time an Anzac unit entered the trenches in +France. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE FIRST IMPRESSION--A COUNTRY WITH EYES + +_France, April, 1916._ + + +Rich green meadows. Rows of tall, slender elm trees along the hedges. +Low, stunted and pollarded willows lining some distant ditch, with their +thick trunks showing notched against a distant blue hill-side like a row +of soldiers. Here and there a red roof nestled among the hawthorn under +the tall trees just bursting into green. Violets--great bunches of +them--in the patches of scrub between the tall trunks and yellow +cowslips and white and pink anemones and primroses. You see the +flaxen-haired children out in the woods and along the roadside gathering +them. A rosy-cheeked woman stands in the doorway of a farm at the +cross-roads, and a golden-haired youngster, scarce able to run as yet, +totters across the road to her, laughing. + +Only this morning, as we passed that same house, there was the low +whine of a shell, and a metallic bang like the sound of a dented +kerosene tin when you try to straighten the bend in it. Then another and +another and another. We could see the white smoke of the shells floating +past behind the spring greenery of a hedgerow only a few fields away. It +drifted slowly through the trees and then came another salvo. There were +some red roofs near--those of a neighbouring farm--but we could not see +whether they were firing at them, or at some sign of moving troops, or +at a working party if there were any; and I do not know now. As we came +back that way in the afternoon there was more shelling farther along. +The woman in the doorway simply turned her head in its direction for a +moment, and so did a younger woman who came to the doorway behind her. +Then they turned to the baby again. + +Through the trees one could see that the farmhouses and cottages farther +on had mostly been battered and broken. There was a road running at a +little distance, and every roof and wall in it had been shattered. There +was a feverish, insane disorder about the little groups of buildings +there, all shattered, burnt and gaping, like the tangled nightmare of +desolation on the morning after a great city fire. Farther still was +open country again, where long communication trenches began to run +through the fields--but you could see none of this from where we stood. +Only in the distant hedgerows, perhaps, we might have noticed, if we had +looked for it, an occasional broken tree trunk--snapped off short or +broken down at a sharp angle by shell fire. + +Those distant trees would be growing over our firing line--or the +German. + +It is a more beautiful country than any we saw in Gallipoli, in spite of +its waterlogged ditches and the rain which had fallen miserably almost +every day since we arrived. There is green grass up to within a few +yards of the filthy mud of the front trenches; and not a hinterland of +powdered white earth which was all we had at Anzac or at Helles. Here +you have hedgerows just bursting into spring, and green grass, which on +a fine day fairly tempts you to lie on it if you are far enough away +from the lines. The country is flat and you see no sign of the enemy's +trenches, or your own--the hedgerows shut them out at half a mile as +completely as if they did not exist. + +[Illustration: "AN OCCASIONAL BROKEN TREE-TRUNK--SNAPPED OFF SHORT, OR +BROKEN DOWN AT A SHARP ANGLE, BY SHELL FIRE"] + +[Illustration: NO MAN'S LAND The barrier which stretches from Belgium to +the Swiss border and which not the millions of Rockefeller could enable +him to cross] + +But you realise, when you have been in that country for a little while, +that you have eyes upon you all the time--you are being watched as +you have never been watched in your life before. You move along the +country road as you would walk along the roads about your own home, +until, sooner or later, things happen which make you think suddenly and +think hard. You are passing, a dozen of you together instead of the +usual two or three, through those green fields by those green hedgerows +when there is a sharp whiz and a crash, and a shrapnel shell from a +German seventy-seven (their field gun) bursts ten yards behind you. You +are standing at a corner studying a map, and you notice that a working +party is passing the corner frequently on some duty or another. You were +barely aware that there was a house near you. + +Twenty-four hours later you hear that that house was levelled to the +ground next morning--a shrapnel shell on each side of it to get the +range--a high explosive into it to burst it up--and an incendiary shell +to burn the rubbish; and one more French family is homeless. + +It takes you some time to realise that it was _you_ who burnt that +house--you and that working party which moved past the cross-roads so +often. Somebody must have seen you when the shell burst alongside that +hedge. Somebody must have been watching you all the time when you were +loitering with your map at that corner. Somebody, at any rate, must have +been marking down from the distance everything that happened at those +cross-roads. Somebody in the landscape is clearly watching you all the +while. And then for the first time you recall that those grey trees in +the distance must be behind the German lines; that distant roof and +chimney notched against a background of scrub is in German ground; the +pretty blue hill against which the willows in the plain show out like a +row of railway sleepers is cut off from you by a barrier deeper than the +Atlantic--the German trenches; and that from all yonder landscape, which +moves behind the screen of nearer trees as you walk, eyes are watching +for you all day long; telescopes are glaring at you; brains behind the +telescopes are patiently reconstructing, from every movement in our +roads or on our fields, the method of our life, studying us as a +naturalist watches his ants under a glass case. + +Long before you get near the lines, away over the horizon before you, +there is floating what looks most like a flat white garden grub--small +because of its distance. Look to the south and to the north and you will +see at wide intervals others, one after the other until they fade into +the distance. Every fine day brings them out as regularly as the worms +rise after rain; they sit there all day long in the sky, each one +apparently drowsing over his own stretch of country. But they are +anything but drowsy. Each one contains his own quick eyes, keen brain, +his telescope, his telephone, and heaven knows what instruments. And out +on every beautiful fresh morning of spring come the butterflies of +modern warfare--two or three of our own planes, low down; and then a +white insect very, very high--now hidden behind a cloud, now appearing +again across the rift. It is delightful to stand there and watch it all +like a play. The bombs, if they drop 'em, are worth risking any day. + +But it isn't the bombs that matter, and it isn't _you_ who run the risk. +The observer is not there to drop bombs, in most cases, but to watch, +watch, watch. A motor standing by the roadside, a body of men about some +work, extra traffic along a road--and a red tick goes down on a map; +that is all. You go away. But next day, or sometimes much sooner, that +red tick comes up for shelling as part of the normal day's routine of +some German battery. + +So if these letters from France ever seem thin, remember that the war +correspondent does not wish to give to the enemy for a penny what he +would gladly give a regiment to get. On our way back is a field +pock-marked by a hundred ancient shell-holes around a few deserted +earthworks. On some bygone afternoon it must have been wild, raging, +reeking hell there for half an hour or so. Somebody in this landscape +put a red tick once against that long-forgotten corner. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE ROAD TO LILLE + +_France, April._ + + +There is a house at a certain corner I passed of late. On it, in big +white letters on a blue ground, is written "To Lille." Every township +for a hundred miles has that same signpost, showing you the way to the +great city of Northern France. But Rockefeller himself with all his +motor-cars could not follow its direction to-day. For the city to which +it points is six miles behind the German lines. You can get from our +lines the edge of some outlying suburb overlapping a distant hill-top. + +And that is all that the French people can see of the second city of +their State. The distant roofs, the smoke rising from some great centre +of human activity nestled in a depression into which you cannot look; +you can peer at them all day long through a telescope and wonder why it +is they are stoking their chimneys, or what it is that causes the haze +to hang deeply on such and such a day over this or that corner--you can +study the place as an astronomer studies the faint markings upon the +surface of Mars. But to all intents and purposes that country is as much +cut off from you as is the farthest star. + +For the war in which we are engaged means this--that you may travel from +any part of the world with the freedom of this twentieth century and all +its conveniences, until you come to the place where we are to-day. But, +when you come thus far, there is a line in front of you which no power +that has yet been produced in this world, from its creation to the +present day--not all the money nor all the invention--not all the +parliamentarians nor the philosophers--not all the socialism nor the +autocracy, the capital, nor the labour, the brain, nor the physical +power in the whole world has yet been able to pass. The German nation, +for reasons of its own, has put this line across another people's +country and made a fool of all the progress and civilisation on which we +relied so confidently up to a couple of years ago. I suppose it will all +grow unbelievable again some day--two hundred years hence they will +smile at such talk just as we did two years ago. But it will be as true +then as it is to-day--that a nation of officials and philosophers gone +mad has been able to place across the world a line which no man can at +present move. + +I have seen that line at a fair number of places--since writing these +words, many miles away in my billet, working in the brick-floored +cottage bedroom by the light of an oil lamp, I have stepped to the door, +and there I can see it now, always flickering and flashing like faint +summer lightning under the clouds on the horizon. When you come to the +very limit--to the farthest point which you or any man on earth can +possibly reach by yourself--it is just a strip of green grass from +twenty to four hundred yards wide, straggling across France and Belgium +from the sea to the Swiss border. I suppose that French and English men +have sanctified every part of that narrow ribbon by dying there. But the +grass of those old paddocks grows unkempt like a shock head of hair. And +it has covered with a kindly mantle most of the terrible relics of the +past. A tuft, perhaps thicker than the rest, is all that marks where +last year lay a British soldier whose death represented the latest +effort of the world to cross the line the Germans laid. + +You cannot even know what is going on in the country beyond that line. +You have to build up a science for deducing it from little signs, as a +naturalist might study the habits of a nest of ants. The Germans are +probably much more successful at that than we are. + +It is strange to us that there are towns and cities over there only a +few miles away from us, and for a hundred miles back from that, of whose +life we know nothing except that they have been ravished and ruined by +the heavy hand of Prussian militarism. But, for the people who live +around us here, it is a tragedy of which I had not the least conception +until I actually saw it. + +We had a cup of coffee the other day in the house of an old lady whose +husband had been called out two years ago, a few days after the war +began. + +"All my own people are over there, monsieur," she said, nodding her head +towards the lines. "They were all living in the invaded country, and I +have not heard of them for eighteen months. I do not know whether they +are alive or dead. I only know that they are all ruined. They were +farmers, monsieur, comfortably off on a big farm. But consider the fines +that the Boches have put upon the country. + +"The only thing we know, monsieur, it was from a cousin who was taken +prisoner by the Boches. You know we are allowed to write to the +prisoners, and they have the privilege to write to people in the invaded +country. So my family wrote to my cousin to ask news of my mother, who +was a very old woman. And after weeks and weeks the answer came +back--'Mother dead.' + +"It was not so terrible that, monsieur, because my mother was old. But +then--he who was my dear friend," she always referred to her husband by +this term, "my dear friend used to write to us every day in those times. +He was fighting in Alsace, monsieur, and for his bravery he had been +promoted upon the field of battle to be an officer. He wrote every +single day to me and the children. We were always so united--never a +harsh word between us during all the years we were married--he was +always gentle and tender and affectionate--a good husband and father, +monsieur, and he sent the letter every day to my brother-in-law, who is +a soldier in Paris, and my brother-in-law sent it on to us. + +"There came one day when he wrote to us saying that he was out behind +the trenches waiting for an attack which they were to make in two hours' +time. He had had his breakfast, and was smoking his pipe quite content. +There the letter ended, and for three days no letter came from my dear +friend. And then my brother-in-law wrote to his officer, and the answer +arrived--this, monsieur," she said, fumbling with shaking fingers in a +drawer where all her treasures were, and trying to hide her tears; and +handed me a folded piece of paper written on the battlefield. + +It was from his captain, and it spoke of the death of as loyal and brave +a soldier as ever breathed. He was killed, the letter said, ten yards +from the enemy's trenches. + +And it is so in every house that you go into in these villages. When the +billeting officer goes round to ask what rooms they have, it is +continually the same story. "Room, monsieur--yes, there is the room of +my son who was killed in Argonne--of my husband who was killed at +Verdun. He is killed, and my father and mother they are in the invaded +country, and I know nothing of them since the war." + +[Illustration: ALONG THE ROAD TO LILLE] + +But the road to the invaded country will be opened some day. These +people have not a doubt of it. If one thing has struck us more than any +other since we came to France, it is the spirit of the French. We came +here when the battle at Verdun was at its height; and yet from the +hour of landing I have not heard a single French man or woman that was +not utterly confident. There is a quiet resolution over this people at +present which makes a most impressive contrast to the jabber of the +world outside. Whatever may be the case with Paris, these country people +of France are one of the freshest and strongest nations on earth. + +They are living their ordinary lives right up under the burst of the +German shells. Three of them were killed here the other day--three +children, playing about one minute at a street corner in front of their +own homes before Australian eyes, were lying dead there the next. Yet +the people are still there--it is their home, and why should they leave +it? An autocracy has no chance against a convinced, united, determined +democracy like this. More than anything I have seen it is this +surprising quiet resolution of the French which has made one confident +beyond a doubt that Frenchmen will pass some day again, by no man's +leave except their own, along the road to Lille. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE DIFFERENCES + +_France, April 25th._ + + +The cottage door is open to the night. The soft air of a beautiful +evening following on a glorious day brushes past one into the room. As I +stand here the nightingale from a neighbouring garden is piping his +long, exquisite, repeated note till the air seems full of it. Far away +over the horizon is an incessant flicker like summer lightning, very +faint but quite continuous. Under the nightingale's note comes always a +dull grumble, throbbing and bumping occasionally, but seldom quite +ceasing. Someone is getting it heavily down there--it is not our +Australians; I think I know their direction. + +It was just such a glorious day as this one has been, a year ago, when +this corps of untried soldiers suddenly rushed into the nightmare of a +desperate fight. At this moment of the night the rattle of rifle fire +was incessant all round the hills. Men were digging and firing and +digging in a dream which had continued since early dawn and had to +continue for two more days and nights before there was the first chance +of rest. They were old soldiers within twenty-four hours, as their +leader told them in an order which was circulated at the time. Only a +sprinkling of the men who were there are in the Anzac units to-day. But +they are the officers and the N.C.O.'s, and that means a great deal. + +We have been here long enough now to discover the differences between +this front and the old fighting-line in Gallipoli. The rain has been +heavier in March than for thirty-five years, and April until yesterday +seemed almost as bad. The trenches are made passable by being floored +with a wooden pathway which runs on piles--underneath which is the +gutter of water and mud which is the real floor of the trench. Sometimes +the water rises in the communication trenches so that the boards float +or disappear, and if you happen to step into an interval between them +you may quite well sink to your waist in thin clay mud. The actual +firing trenches and the dug-outs there are mostly dry by comparison, +except where the accumulated task of draining them has been gaining on +some regiment which garrisons them, and the rear of the line is a morass +of foul-smelling clay. + +This difficulty never really reached us in Gallipoli, though we might +possibly have found the trenches falling in upon us in the rains of +winter if we had stayed. The trenches in France are full of traces of +old dug-outs and mouldering sandbags, collapsed through rain in the dim +past before the timbering of all works was looked on as a necessity. In +Anzac we never had the timber for this, and one doubts if we ever could +have had it had we stayed. The soil there was dry and held well, and the +trenches were deep and very elaborate to a degree which one has not seen +approached in France. There may be some parts here where such trenches +are possible, and where they exist; but I have not seen them. It must be +remembered that in many places in France there are stretches of line +where it is impossible to dig a trench at all in winter, because you +meet water as soon as you scratch the surface; and therefore both our +line and the German are a breastwork built up instead of a trench dug +down. The curious thing is that in the trenches themselves you scarcely +realise the difference. Your outlook there is bounded in either case by +two muddy walls over which you cannot wisely put your head in the +daylight. The place may be a glorious green field, with flowers and +birds and little reedy pools, if you are two feet over the parapet. +But you see nothing from week-end to week-end except two muddy walls and +the damp, dark interior of a small dug-out. You see no more of the +country than you would in a city street. Trench life is always a city +life. + +[Illustration: THE TRENCHES HERE HAVE TO BE BUILT ABOVE THE GROUND IN +BREASTWORK AND NOT DUG BELOW IT] + +The trench routine is much the same as it was in Gallipoli, except that +in no part which I have seen is the tension anything like so great. At +Anzac you were hanging on to the edge of a valley by your finger-nails, +and had to steal every yard that you could in order to have room to +build up a second line, and if possible a third line beyond that. Here +both you and the enemy have scores of miles behind you, and two or three +hundred yards more or less makes no difference worth mentioning. + +For this reason you would almost say that the German line in this +country was asleep compared with the line we used to know. A hundred and +fifty yards of green grass, with the skeleton that was once some old hay +wagon up-ended in the middle of it, and sky-blue water showing through +the grass blades in the depressions; a brown mud wall straggling along +the other side of the green--more or less parallel to your breastwork, +with white sandbags crowning it like an irregular coping; the +inevitable stumpy stakes and masses of rusted barbed wire in front. You +might watch it for an hour and the only sign of life you would see would +be a blue whiff of smoke from some black tin chimney stuck up behind it. +If you fire at the chimney probably it will be taken down. The other +day, chancing to look into a periscope, I happened for a moment to see +the top of a dark object moving along half hidden by the opposing +parapet. Some earth was being thrown up over the breastwork just there, +and probably the man had to step round the work which was going on. It +was the first and only time I have seen a German in his own lines. + +The German here really snipes much more with his field gun than with his +rifle. He does use his rifle, too, and is a good shot, but slow. A spout +of dust on the parapet--and a periscope has been shattered in the +observer's hand within a few yards of us. But it is generally the German +field gun that does his real sniping for him, shooting at any small body +of men behind the lines. Half a dozen are quite enough to make a target, +if he sees them. + +The Turks used to snipe us at times with their field guns and mountain +guns, but generally at certain fixed places--down near the mouth of the +Aghyl Dere, for example. The German snipes with them more generally. +There is no place that I have visited which can compare for perpetual +"unhealthiness" to Anzac Beach, but it is quite possible that such +places do exist. + +The German gives you the impression of being a keener observer than the +Turk. The hills and trees behind his lines are really within view of you +over miles of your own country, though you scarcely realise it at first, +and they are full of eyes. Also every fine day brings out his balloons +like a crop of fat grubs--and also our own. In Gallipoli our ships had +the only balloons--the Turks had all the hill-tops. + +The aeroplane here affords so big a part of the hourly spectacle of +warfare, and makes so great a difference in the obvious conditions of +the fight, that he deserves a letter to himself. But of all the +differences, by far the greatest is that our troops here have a +beautiful country and a civilised, enlightened population at the back of +them, which they are defending against the invading enemy whom they have +always hoped to meet. They are amongst a people like their own, living +in villages and cottages and paddocks not so different from those of +their own childhood. Right up into the very zone of the trenches there +are houses still inhabited by their owners. As we were entering a +communication trench a few days ago we noticed four or five British +soldiers walking across the open from a cottage. The officer with me +asked them what they were doing. "We've just been to the inn there," +they said. + +The people of that house were still living in it, with our trenches +wandering through their orchard. + +In Gallipoli there were brigade headquarters in the actual fire +trenches. From the headquarters of the division or the corps you could +reach the line by ten minutes' hard walking, any time. It is a Sabbath +day's journey here--indeed, the only possible way of covering the longer +distances regularly is by motor-car or motor-cycle, and no one dreams of +using any other means. Nearly the whole army, except the troops in the +actual firing-line, lives in a country which is populated by its normal +inhabitants. + +And--wherein lies the greatest change of all--the troops in the trenches +themselves can be brought back every few days into more or less normal +country, and have always the prospect before them at the end of a few +months of a stay in surroundings that are completely free from shell or +rifle fire, and within reach of village shops and the normal comforts +of civilisation. And throwing the weather and wet trenches and the rest +all in, that difference more than makes up for all of them. + +"You see, a fellow must look after himself a bit," one of them said to +me the other day. "A man didn't take any care how he looked in +Gallipoli; but here with these young ladies about, you can't go around +like what we used to there." + +Through one's mind there flashed well-remembered figures, mostly old +slouch hat and sunburnt muscle--the lightest uniform I can recollect was +an arrangement of a shirt secured by safety pins. Here they go more +carefully dressed than if they were on leave in Melbourne or Sydney. + +Yesterday the country was _en fête_, the roads swarming with young and +old, and the fields with children picking flowers. The guns were bumping +a few miles away--mostly at aeroplanes. I went to the trenches with a +friend. Our last sight, as we came away from the region of them, was of +a group of French boys and girls and a few elders around a haystack; and +half a dozen big Australians, with rolled shirtsleeves, up on the +farming machinery helping them to do the work of the year. + +That is _the_ difference. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE GERMANS + +_France, May._ + + +The night air on every side of us was full of strange sound. It was not +loud nor near, but it was there all the time. We could hear it even +while we talked and above the sound of our footsteps on the cobbles of +the long French highway. Ahead of us, and far on either side, came this +continuous distant rattle. It was the sound of innumerable wagons +carrying up over endless cobble stones the food and ammunition for +another day. + +A cart clattered past from the front with the jingle of trace chains and +hammer of metal tyres upon stones. So one driver had finished his job +for the night. Farther on was a sound of voices and a chink of spades; +some way to our left across a field we can make out dark figures--they +may be stunted willows along the far hedge, or they may be a working +party going up, with their spades and picks over their shoulders, to +one of those jobs which in this flat country can only be done by night. + +Twenty miles behind the lines, or more, you can see every night along +the horizon in front of you a constant low flicker of light--the flares +thrown up by both sides over the long ribbon of No Man's Land--the +ribbon which straggles without a break from one end of France to the +other. We were getting very close to that barrier now--within a couple +of miles of it; and the pure white stars of these glorified Roman +candles were describing graceful curves behind a fretwork of trees an +inch or two above the horizon. Every five or six seconds a rifle cracked +somewhere along the line--very different from the ceaseless pecking of +Gallipoli. Then a distant German machine-gun started its sprint, +stumbled, went on again, tripped again. A second machine-gun farther +down the line caught it up, and the two ran along in perfect step for a +while. Then a third joined in, like some distant canary answering its +mates. The first two stopped and left it trilling along by itself, +catching occasionally like a motor-car engine that misfires, until it, +too, stuttered into silence. "Some poor devils being killed, I +suppose," you think to yourself, "suppose they've seen a patrol out in +front of the lines, or a party digging in the open somewhere behind the +trenches." You can't help crediting the Germans--at first, when you come +to this place as a stranger--with being much more deadly than the Turks +both with their machine-guns and their artillery. But you soon learn +that it is by no means necessary that anyone is dying when you hear +their machine-guns sing a chorus. They may chatter away for a whole +night and nobody be in the least the worse for it. Their artillery can +throw two or three hundred shells, or even more, into one of its various +targets, not once but many times, and only a man or two be wounded; +sometimes no one at all. War is alike in that respect all the world +over, apparently; which is comforting. + +Presently the road ends and the long sap begins. You plunge into the +dark winding alley much as into some old city's ugly by-lane. It is +Centennial Avenue. There is room in it to pass another man even when he +is carrying a shoulderful of timber. But you must be careful when you do +pass him, or one of you will find yourself waist deep in mud. I have +said before that you do not walk on the bottom of the trench as you did +in Gallipoli, but on a narrow wooden causeway not unlike the bridge on +which ducks wander down from the henhouse to the yard--colloquially +known as the "duck-boards." The days have probably passed when a man +could be drowned in the mud of a communication trench. But it is always +unpleasant to step off the duck-boards in wet weather. Seeing that the +enemy may have fixed rifles trained on you at any bend of the trench, it +is unwise to carry a light; and in a dark night and an unaccustomed +trench you are almost sure to flounder. + +A party of men loaded with new duck-boards is blocked ahead of you. As +you stand there talking to another wayfarer and waiting for the unknown +obstacle to move, a bullet flicks off the parapet a few feet away. It +was at least a foot above the man's head and was clearly fired from some +rifle laid on the trench during the daytime. Every now and then the +parapet on one side becomes dense black against a dazzling white sky, +and the trench wall on the other side becomes a glaring white background +on which the shadow of your own head and shoulders sail slowly past you +in inky black silhouette. The sharp-cut shadow gradually rises up the +white trench wall, and all is black again until the enemy throws +another flare. + +As you talk there comes suddenly over the flats on your left a brilliant +yellow flicker and a musical whine: "Whine--bang, whine--bang, +whine--bang, whine--bang," just like that spoken very quickly. + +"That's right over the working party in Westminster Abbey," says the +last man in the procession. "Some bally fool lit a pipe, I suppose." + +The man next him reckons it was about Lower George Street that got it +that time. "They been registerin' that place all day on an' off," he +says. + +There was just that one swift salvo, and nothing more. Presently, when +the procession moved on, we came across men who had a shower of earth +thrown down their backs by the burst of those shells. Just one isolated +salvo in the night on one particular spot. Goodness knows what the +Germans saw or thought they saw. No one was hit, nothing was interfered +with. But it is a great mistake to think it all foolishness. The most +methodical soldier in the world is behind those other sandbags, and he +doesn't do things without reason. + +Farther on we came through a series of hovels, more like dog +kennels than the shelters of men, to the dark parapet where men +are always watching, watching, across a hundred yards or so of +green pasture, the dark mud parapet on the other side. Here and +there over a dug-out there fidgets a tiny toy aeroplane such as +children make, or a miniature windmill. The aeroplane propeller is +revolving slowly, tail away from the enemy, clicking and rattling as +it turns. "Just-a-perfect-night-for-gas"--that is what the aeroplane +propeller is saying. + +Once only in the night there is a clatter opposite--one machine-gun +started it, then two together, then forty or fifty rifles. Perhaps they +think they saw a patrol. The Turks used to get precisely similar +nerve-storms on Russell's Top. Nobody even troubles to remark it. Dawn +breaks over the watching figures without one incident to report. + +It is after the light has grown and become fixed that you will notice, +if you look carefully for it, a thin film of blue smoke floating upwards +from behind the sandbags on the other side of No Man's Land. Only a +hundred and fifty yards away from you the German cook must be fitting +his old browned and burned dixies and kerosene tins over their early +morning fire. + +We had our early morning coffee, too. And as we walked homewards we +found that from a particular point we were looking straight at a distant +barn roof which is in German territory. Near it, towards his trenches, +ran a road. Of curiosity we turned our telescopes on to that path, and +while we watched there strolled along it two figures in grey--grey +tunics, grey loose trousers, little grey buttony caps, walking down the +path towards us, talking, at their ease. Twenty seconds later along came +another pair. + +Clearly they had said to themselves, "We must not walk about here except +in twos or threes or we shall draw a shell from one of those Verfluchte +British whizz-bangs." + +And so those Germans strolled--as we did--from their breakfast to their +daily work. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PLANES + +_France, May._ + + +Gallipoli had its own special difficulties for aeroplanes. There was no +open space on which they could dream of alighting at Anzac; and one +machine which had to come down at Suvla was shelled to pieces as soon as +it landed. So planes had to live at Imbros, and there were ten miles of +sea to be crossed before work began and after it finished, and some +planes, which went out and were never heard of, were probably lost in +that sea. There were brave flights far over the enemy's country. But, +until the very last days at Helles, there was scarcely ever an enemy's +plane which put up a successful fight against our own. + +In France the enemy is almost as much in the air as we are. He has to be +reckoned with all the time, and fierce fighting in the air, either +against German machines or in face of German shell-fire such as we +scarcely even imagined in watching the air-fighting of Gallipoli, is +the daily spectacle of the trenches. We have seen a brave flight by a +German low down within rifle-shot. But never anything to compare with +the indifference to danger of the British pilots. + +I was in the lines the other day when there sounded close at hand salvo +after salvo so fast that I took it for a bombardment. The Germans were +firing at one of our aeroplanes. It was flying as low as I ever saw a +plane fly in Gallipoli--you could make out quite clearly the rings +painted on the planes, which meant a British machine. A sputtering rifle +fire broke out from the German trenches opposite--their infantry were +firing at him. Then came that salvo again--twelve reports in quick +succession--a sheaf of shells whining overhead like so many +puppies--burst after burst in the sky, some short, some far past +him--you would swear they must have gone through him--one right over +him. + +The hearts of our men were in their mouths as they watched. He sailed +straight through the shrapnel puffs, turned sharply, and steered away. A +new salvo broke out over the sky where he should have been. He +immediately swerved into it like a footballer making a dodging run, then +turned away again. A minute later a third sheaf of shells burst behind +him, following him up. "He ought to be safe now," one thought to +oneself, "but my word, they nearly got him--" + +And then, as we were congratulating him on having escaped with a whole +skin, and breathing more freely at the thought--he turned slowly and +came straight up towards those guns again. + +The Australians holding the trenches were delighted. "My word, he's got +more guts than what I have," said one. Sheaf after sheaf of shells burst +in the air all about him; but he steered straight up the middle of them +till he reached the point he wanted to make, and then wheeled and made +his patrol up and down over the trenches. He was flying higher but still +low, and the crackle of rifles again broke out from the German lines. He +was within the range of the feeblest "Archie" even at his highest. They +were literally just so many big shot-guns, firing at a great bird; only +this bird came up time and again to be shot at, simply trusting to the +chance that they would not hit him. + +"The rest may take their luck, but I should be dead sick if they was to +get him," grunted a big Australian as he tugged a pull-through out of +his rifle. + +Of course they will get him if he does that often--you only need two +eyes to know that. The communiqués tell of it every week. As you scurry +past the hinterland of the lines in your motor-car you will sometimes +see two or three aeroplanes flying like great herons overhead. They seem +to be in company, keeping station almost, and holding on the same +course, all mates together--until you catch the cough of a machine-gun, +and realise that they are actually engaged in the deadliest sort of duel +which can possibly be fought in these days. In a battle of infantry you +are mostly hit by an unaimed shot, or a shot aimed into a mass of men. +Even if a man fires at you once, it is probably someone else whom he +aims at next time. But in the air the man who shoots at you is coming +after you, and intends to go on shooting at you until he kills. The +moment when you see an enemy's plane, and realise that you have to fight +it, must be one to set even the strongest nerves tingling. + +Generally the aeroplane with the black crosses on its wings is very +high--barely visible. Sometimes, when the other planes are near it, it +swoops steeply to earth behind the German lines. Or it may be that, far +behind our own lines, you see a plane diving to earth at an angle which +makes you wonder whether it is falling or being steered. It straightens +out suddenly, and lands a few fields away. By the time you are there, a +cluster of khaki is already round it. An English boy steps out of it, +flushed and excited, and with intense strain written in his eyes and in +every jerk of his head. Out of the seat just behind him they are lifting +a man with a terrible wound in his side. In the arms of the seat from +which they lift him are two holes as big as a shell would make--but they +were not made by a shell. A cluster of bullets from the machine-gun of a +German plane at close range has passed in at one side of the seat and +out at the other. The rifle which the observer was carrying dropped from +his hands out into space, and the pilot saw it fall just before he +dived. + +The German pilots are sometimes youngsters too--not very unlike our own. +Our first sight of active war in France was when the train stopped at a +country siding many miles behind the lines, and two British soldiers +with fixed bayonets marched a third man--a youngster with a slight fair +moustache--over the level crossing in front of us. He wore a grey peaked +cap and a short overcoat jacket with a warm collar and tall, +tight-fitting boots--very much like those of our own officers; and he +walked with a big, swift stride, looking straight ahead of him. +Somewhere, far over behind the German lines, they were probably +expecting him at that moment. His servant would be getting ready his +room. He had left the aerodrome only an hour before, and flown over +strange lines which we have never seen, but which had become as familiar +as his home to him, with no idea than to be back, as he always was +before, within an hour or so. And then something seems to be wrong with +the plane--he has to come down in a strange country; and within an hour +he is out of the war for good and all. He strides along biting his lip. +His comrades will expect him for an hour or so. By dinner-time they will +realise that there is another member gone from their mess. + +While I am writing these words someone runs in to say that a German +aeroplane has been shot down--came down in flames, they say, and tore a +great hole in the roadside. There seems to be some such news every day, +now it is one of ours, now one of theirs. It is a brave game. + +I suppose it needs a sportsman, even if he is a German, to fight in a +service like that. The pity of it that he is fighting for such an ugly +cause. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE COMING STRUGGLE: OUR TASK + +[Up to this time the Australians had been in quiet trenches in the green +lowlands near Armentières. From this time the coming struggle began to +loom ahead.] + +_France, May 23rd._ + + +I sat down to write an article about a log-chopping competition. But the +irony of writing such things with other things on one's mind is too much +even for a war correspondent. One's pen goes on strike. One impression +above all has been brought home in the two months we have spent in +France. For some reason, people at home are colossally ignorant of the +task now in front of them. We have now seen three theatres of war, and +it was the same everywhere. Indeed, in Gallipoli we ourselves were just +as ignorant of the state of affairs elsewhere. All the news we had of +Salonica came from the English newspapers. We thought, "However +difficult things may be here, at any rate the Salonica army is only +waiting for a few more men before it cuts the railway to +Constantinople." Then somebody came from Salonica, and we found that the +army there was comforting itself with exactly the same reflections about +us. As for England, everyone who reached us from there arrived with the +conviction that we needed only a few more men to push through. + +When the attempt to get through from Suvla failed the public turned to +Bulgaria, and, on the strength of what they read, many of those on the +Peninsula could not help doing the same. Now that we see with our eyes +the nature of Britain's task in France, there is only one depressing +thing about it, and that is that one doubts if the British people have +any more idea of its magnitude than it had of the difficulties of +Gallipoli. + +The world hears from the British public vague talk of some future +offensive. It goes without saying that we hear nothing of any plans +here. If there were any, it would be in London that they would first +become common knowledge. But if such an offensive ever does happen, have +the British people any idea of its difficulties? In this warfare, when +you have brought up such artillery as was unbelievable even in the +first year of the war, and reduced miles of trenches to powder, and have +walked over the line of the works in front of you, a handful of batmen +and Headquarters' cooks may still hold up the greatest attack yet +delivered, and you may spend the next month dashing your strength away +against a barrier of ever-increasing toughness. + +If an offensive ever is made, we know it will not be made without good +reason for its success. But everything which one has seen points to the +conclusion that a vague belief in the success of such an offensive ought +not to be the sole mental effort that a great part of the nation makes +towards winning the war. And yet, from what I saw lately during a recent +visit to Great Britain, I should say that such was the case. "If we fail +to break through," the public says, "surely the Russians will manage it, +or the French will succeed this time." Wherever we have seen the war +there is always this tendency to look elsewhere for success. There is +not the slightest doubt we have success in our power. The game is in our +hands if we will only play it. The talk about our resources and staying +power is not all "hot air," as the Americans say. The resources were +there, and it was always known that in the later stages of the war, +when Germany and our Allies who entered the war at final strength, had +used most of their resources, then those of Britain would become +decisive because she had not yet used them. That stage we are reaching +now--Britain's resources measured against those of Germany. We have the +advantage in entering it. The danger is that while we squander our +wealth without organisation, the German, by bringing all his brains and +resolution to bear on the problem, may so eke out his strained resources +as to outstay our rich ones. + +One sees not the least sign that the British people understand this. I +do not know how it is in Australia, but in Britain life runs its normal +course. Gigantic sums flow away daily, and the only efforts at economy +one hears of are a Daylight Saving Act adopted only because Germany +adopted it first; a list of prohibited imports and petty economies, +which we mistook when first we read it for an elaborate satire; and a +pious hope, in the true voluntary and official British style, that meat +would be shunned on two days in the week. + +By way of contrast there are dished out for our encouragement reports of +all the pains which the Germans are put to to economise food in their +country. Potatoes instead of flour, meat twice a week, food strictly +regulated by ticket, children taught to count between each mouthful in +order to avoid over-eating. We are supposed to draw comfort from this +contrast. + +It is the most depressing literature we have. The obvious comment is, +"Well, there is a nation organised to win a war--that is the sort of +nation which the men in the opposite trenches have behind them. A nation +which has organised itself for war, and is already organising itself for +peace after the war"; and all that we, who are organised neither for war +nor peace, have, in answer to a national effort like that, is an +ignorant jeer at what is really the most formidable of the dangers +threatening us. + +If the British Empire took the war as business, were ready to disturb +its daily life, alter its daily habits, to throw on the scrap-heap its +sacred individualism, and do and live for the national cause, no one +doubts but we could win this war so as to avoid an inconclusive peace. +Some of us were talking to a middle-aged British merchant. We had left +our fellows in France cheerfully facing unaccustomed mud and frosts, +cheerfully accepting the chance of being blown into undiscoverable +atoms or living horribly maimed in mind or body, cheerfully accepting +all this with the set, deliberate purpose of fighting on for a +conclusive settlement--one which put out of question for the future the +rule of brute force, or tearing up of treaties, or renewal of the +present war. We had left those fellows fighting for an ideal they +perfectly well realised, and cheerful in the belief that they would +attain it. + +The merchant was dressed in black morning coat and black tie, and looked +in every way a very respectable merchant. He was full of respectable +hopes. But when we spoke of a long war he drew a long face and talked +lugubriously of dislocated trade and strain upon capital--doubted how +long the industry could stand it, and shook his head. + +Whenever one thinks of that worthy man one is overcome with a +great anger. What he meant was that if the war went on he might be +broken, and that was a calamity which he could not be expected to +face. We thought of all those fellows in France--British, Australians, +Canadians--cheerfully offering their lives for an ideal at which this +worthy citizen shied because it might cost him his fortune. Suppose it +did, suppose he had to leave his fine home and end his days in a villa, +suppose he had to start as a clerk in someone else's counting-house, +what was it beside what these boys were offering? I think of a fair head +which I had seen matted in red mud, of young nerves of steel shattered +beyond repair, of a wild night at Helles, when I found, stumbling beside +me in the first bitterness of realisation, a young officer who a few +yards back had been shot through both eyes. And here was this worthy man +shaking his head for fear that their ideals might interfere with his +business. + +As to which, one can only say that, if the British nation, or the +Australian nation, because it shirks interference with its normal life, +because it is afraid of State enterprise, because of any personal or +individual consideration whatever, lets this struggle go by default, and +by inconclusive peace, to the people which is organised body and soul in +support of the grey tunics behind the opposite parapet, then it is a +betrayal of every gallant heart now sleeping under the crosses on +Gallipoli, and of every boyish head that has reddened the furrows of +France. + +There are good reasons for saying that the struggle is now with the +British Empire. With your staying power you can win. But in Heaven's +name, if you wish to win, if you have in you any of the ideals for which +those boys have died, cast your old prejudices to the winds and organise +your staying power. Organise! Organise! Organise! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +IN A FOREST OF FRANCE + +_France, May 26th._ + + +It was in "A forest of France," as the programme had it. The road ran +down a great aisle with the tall elm trees reaching to the sky, and +stretching their long green fingers far above, like the slender pillars +of a Gothic cathedral. Down the narrow road below sagged a big +motor-bus, painted grey, like a battleship; and, after it, a huge grey +motor-lorry; and, in front and behind them, an odd procession of +motor-cars of all sizes, bouncing awkwardly from one hollow in the road +to another. + +Out of the dark interior of the motor-bus, as we passed it, there groped +a head with a grey slouch hat. It came slowly round on its long, brown, +wrinkled neck until it looked into our car. "Hey, mate," it said, "is +this the track to the races?" Then it smiled at the landscape in general +and withdrew into the interior like a snail into its shell. In this bus +was an Australian Brass Band. + +We drew up where there was a collection of motor-cars, lorries, and odd +riding horses along the roadside, exactly as you might see at the picnic +races. We struck inland up one of those glades which the French +foresters leave at intervals running from side to side of their +well-managed forests. The green moss sank like a soft carpet beneath our +feet. The little watergutters bubbled beneath the twigs as we trod +across them. The cowslips and anemones nodded as our boots brushed them. +Hundreds of birds sang in the branches, and the sunlight came down in +shafts from the lacework patches of sky far above, and lit up patches of +grass, and fallen leaves, and moss-covered tree trunks, on which sat a +crowd chiefly of Australians and New Zealanders. As one of the English +correspondents said, "It was just such a forest as Shakespeare wrote +about." Who would have thought that scene believable two years before? + +A contest had been arranged between Australasians and Canadians in +France to decide which could fell trees in the quickest time. It began +really with the French forest authorities, who insisted on the +well-known forest rule that no young trees under one metre twenty in +girth must be felled after the middle of May, because if you cut the +young tree after the sap begins to rise it will not grow again. The +British officer in control of the forest had obtained an extension until +the end of May, but he had to get felled by then all the young timber +that he wanted before September. He had borrowed some Maoris to help, +and he noticed how they cut and the sort of sportsmen they were. He was +struck with an idea. A French forest officer was with him. "How long do +you think it would take a New Zealander to chop down a tree like that?" +asked the Frenchman. "A minute," was the answer. "Unbelievable," +exclaimed the Frenchman. A Maori was called up, and the tree was down in +forty seconds. + +After that a contest was arranged between Maoris and French +wood-cutters. Trees had to be cut in the French style, which, it must be +admitted, is much neater and more economical, and about five times as +laborious. The trees are cut off at ground level, and so straightly that +the stump would not trip you if it were in the middle of the road. Each +team consisted of six men, and felled twelve small trees, using its own +accustomed axes. The Maoris won by four minutes. + +It was out of this that the big contest sprang. The Canadians and +Australasians challenged one another. This time the teams were to be of +three men. Each team was to cut three trees--only service axes to be +used; but otherwise each man could cut in any style he wished. The trees +averaged about two feet thick--hard wood. The teams started to practise. +And the forest officers' problem was solved. + +The teams tossed for trees, and tossed for the order in which they were +to cut. I believe that when some question arose out of this toss, the +Maoris immediately offered to toss again, in order to have no advantage +from the result. + +It was interesting to see the difference of style. All three types of +colonial woodsmen cut the tree almost breast high, but the Australian +seemed to be the only one that took advantage of that understroke, with +a hiss through the clenched teeth, which looks so formidable when you +watch our timber-getters. It was a Canadian team which started. They cut +coolly, and the one whom I watched struck one by his splendid condition. +A wiry man, not thick-set, but well built and athletic, who never turned +a hair. I think he was perhaps too cool to win. His comrades were not +quite so fast as he. They cut the tree with a fairly narrow scarf, the +top cut coming down at a steep angle, and the lower cut coming straight +in to meet it, so that the upper end of the stump, when the tree falls, +is left cut off as straight as a table top. Their first tree crashed in +fourteen minutes, the next in fifteen, and then they all three tackled +the last and toughest, which fell in twenty-one; fifty minutes +altogether when the three times were added. + +The next team was Australian. From the first rapid swing one's anxiety +was whether they could possibly stand the pace. They tackled the job so +much more fiercely than the Canadians. I watched a young Tasmanian, his +whole soul in it, brow wrinkled, and sweat pouring from his face. You +would have thought that he was cutting almost wildly, till you noticed +how every cut went home exactly on top of the cut before. These +Australians--they were Western Australians mostly--made a wide scarf, +the top cut coming down at an angle, and the lower cut coming up at a +similar angle to meet it, making a wide open angle between the two. The +odds would, I think, have been taken by most of those who went there as +being in favour of the Canadians; and it was a great surprise when the +three Australian trees were all down in thirty-one minutes and eight +seconds. + +The New Zealanders cut third. Their team consisted of Maoris. They did +not seem to be cutting with the fire of the Australians. There was not +the visible energy; their actions struck one as easier, and one doubted +if their great, lithe, brown muscles were carrying them so fast. + +Yet the time told the truth. Their three trees were down in twenty-two +minutes and forty seconds, and no one else approached them. One Canadian +team improved the Canadian time to forty-five minutes twenty-two +seconds. The Maoris seemed mostly to cut with a narrower scarf even than +the Canadians, both upper and lower cuts sloping downward at a narrow +angle. In fairness it must be said that the Maoris had practised about +six weeks, the Canadians and Australians about one week. + +An Australian won the log-chopping competition; and the Canadians won +with the crosscut saw. A New Zealander won the competition for style. + +Later the men were mostly sitting watching the Frenchmen, workers in the +forest, giving an exhibition cut. Two of a Canadian team were sitting on +a log next to me, yarning in the slow, quizzical drawl of the Canadian +countryman, when some of their mates sat down beside them. The man next +me turned to them, and the next instant they were all talking French +among themselves, talking it as their native tongue. Their officer, a +handsome youngster, spoke it too. It was not till that moment that I +realised that most of these Canadian woodsmen here were French. + +Meanwhile the exhibition chop went on. The French woodsmen were digging +at the roots of their trees with long, ancient axes, more like a cold +chisel than a modern axe. "I think I could do as well with a knife and +fork," said one great kindly Australian as he watched with a smile. + +But, to my mind, that exhibition was the most impressive of all. For +every one of those who took part in it was either an old man or a slip +of a slender boy. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +IDENTIFIED + +_France, June 28th._ + + +It was about three months ago, more or less. The German observer, +crouched up in the platform behind the trunk of a tree, or in a chimney +with a loose brick in it--in a part of the world where the country +cottages, peeping over the dog-rose hedges, have more broken bricks in +them than whole ones--saw down a distant lane several men in strange +hats. The telescope wobbled a bit, and in the early light all objects in +the landscape took on much the same grey colour. + +The observer rubbed his red eyes and peered again. Down the white streak +winding across a distant green field were coming a couple more of these +same hats. I expect Fritz saw a good number of them in those days. Many +of the wearers of those hats had never seen an aeroplane before; much +less two aeroplanes, fighting a duel with machine-guns at close range, +10,000 feet over their heads, or being sniped at by a battery of hidden +15-pounder guns, every shot marking itself for the open-mouthed +spectators by its little white cotton-wool shell burst. + +The German observer spent several hours jotting painful notes into a +well-thumbed pocket-book, staring in the intervals through his +telescope. Then the tree shook. Something ponderous from below felt its +way up the creaking ladder. A red face, like the face of the sun, peered +over the platform. + +"Anything new, Fritz?" it puffed. + +"Ja; those new troops we have noticed yesterday--I think they were +Australians." + +So the observer sent it back to his officer, and his officer sent it +back to the brigade, and the brigade sent it on to the division. The +division was a little sceptical. "That crowd is always making these wild +discoveries," grunted the divisional Intelligence Officer, but he +thought it worth while passing it on to the Army Corps, who in their +turn sent it to the Army; and so, in due course, it arrived in those +awe-inspiring circles where lives the great German military brain. + +"So that is where they have turned up," said a very big man with +spectacles--a big man in more ways than one. And a note went down in +red ink in a particular page of a huge index, to appear duly printed in +the next edition of that portentous volume. Only, after the note, there +was a query. + +Far away at the front, Fritz told his mates over their evening coffee +that the new regiment whose heads they had been noticing over the +parapet opposite were Australians. + +"Black swine dogs, one of them nearly had me as I was bringing the +mail-bags," snorted a weedy youth scarcely out of his teens, looking +over the top of his coffee pot. "I always said that was a dangerous gap +where the communication trench crosses the ditch." + +"You babies should keep your stupid heads down like your elders," +retorted a grizzled reservist as he stuffed tobacco into the green china +bowl of a real German pipe. + +The talk gradually went along the front line for about the distance of +one company's front on either side, that there had been a relief in the +British trenches, and that there were Australians over there. One man +had heard the sergeant saying so in the next bay of the trench; it meant +exactly as much to them as it would to Australian troops to hear the +corps opposite them was Bavarian or Saxon or Hanoverian. They knew the +English and the French possessed some of these colonial corps. They had +been opposite the Algerians in the Champagne before they came to this +part of the line. + +"They are ugly swine to meet in the dark," they thought. "These white +and black colonial regiments." + +Fritz lives very much in his dug-out--is very good at keeping his head +below the parapet--and he thought very little more about it. His head +was much fuller of the arrival of the weekly parcel of butter and cake +from his hardworking wife at home, and of the coming days when his +battalion would go out of the trenches into billets in the villages, +when he might get a pass to go to a picture theatre in Lille--he had +kept the old pass because a slight tear of the corner or a snick +opposite the date would make it good for use on half a dozen occasions +yet. He did not bother his head about what British division was holding +the trenches opposite to him. + +But that divisional Intelligence Officer did--he worried very much. He +wanted to get a certain query removed from an index as soon as possible. + +It is always best to get information for nothing. A good way to do this +is to make the enemy talk; and you may be able to make him talk back if +you send over a particular sort of talk to him. So a message was thrown +over into our lines, "Take care"; and "You offal dogs must bleed for +France." + +This effort did not fetch any incriminating reply; and so, on a later +night, a lantern was flashed over the parapet, "Australian, go home," it +winked. "Go in the morning--you will be dead in the evening; we are +good." + +Later again appeared a notice-board, "Advance Australia fair--if you +can." + +Indeed, Fritz became quite talkative, and put up a notice-board, +"English defeat at sea--seven cruisers sunk, one damaged, eleven other +craft sunk. Hip! Hip! Hurrah!" + +This did draw at last some of the men in the front line, and they +slipped over the parapet a placard giving a British account of the +losses in the North Sea fight. The putting up of notices is an irregular +proceeding, and this placard had to be withdrawn at once, even before +the Germans could properly read it. The result was an immediate message +posted on the German trenches, "Once more would you let us see the +message?" Still there was no sign from our trenches. So another +plaintive request appeared on the German parapet, "We beg of you to +show again the table of the fleet." + +But they were Saxons. Clearly they did not believe all that their +Prussian brother told them about his naval victory. Another day they +hoisted a surreptitious request, "Shoot high--peace will be declared +June 15." They evidently had their gossip in the German trenches just as +we have it in ours--and as we had it in Sydney and Melbourne--absurd +rumours which run all round the line for a week, and which no amount of +experience prevents some people from believing. + +"After all, these 'furphies' make life worth living in the trenches," as +one of our men said to me the other day. All the Germans, in a certain +part of the line opposite, now firmly believe that the war is going to +end on August 17th. + +But this is merely the gossip of the German trenches telegraphed across +No Man's Land. I do not know how far the divisional Staff Officer +satisfied himself as the result of all his messages, but he did not +satisfy the gentleman with the big index. + +"There is one way to find out who is there," the Big Man said, "and that +is always the same--to go there and bring some of them back." + +And so twice in the next three weeks the German artillery fired about +£30,000 worth of shells, and a party of picked men stole across the +open, and in spite of a certain loss on one occasion they took back a +few prisoners. And the query went out of the index. + +It would be quite easy to present to the German for a penny the facts +which it cost him £60,000 and good men's lives to obtain. When you know +this, you can understand why the casualties reported in the papers do +not any longer state the units of the men who have suffered them. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE GREAT BATTLE BEGINS + +_France, July 1st._ + + +Below me, in the dimple beyond the hill on which I sit, is a small +French town. Straight behind the town is the morning sun, only an hour +risen. Between the sun and the town, and, therefore, only just to be +made out through the haze of sunlight on the mists, are two lines--a +nearer and a farther--of gently sloping hill-tops. On those hills is +being fought one of the greatest battles in history. It is British +troops who are fighting it, and French. The Canadians are in their lines +in the salient. The Australians and New Zealanders--it has now been +officially stated--are at Armentières. + +A few minutes ago, at half-past six by summer-time, the British +bombardment, which has continued heavily for six days, suddenly came in +with a crash, as an orchestra might enter on its grand finale. Last +night, some of us who were out here watched the British shells playing +up and down the distant skyline, running over it from end to end as a +player might run the fingers of one hand lightly over the piano keys. +There were three or four flashes every second, here or there in that +horizon; night and day for six days that had continued. Within the last +few minutes, starting with two or three big heart bangs from a battery +near us, the noise suddenly expanded into a constant detonation. It was +exactly as though the player began, on an instant, to use all the keys +at once. + +We now ought to be able to see, from where we sit with our telescopes, +the bursts of our shells on those distant ridges. But I cannot swear +that I see a single one. The sound of the bombarding is like the sound +of some titanic iron tank which a giant has set rolling rapidly down an +endless hill. We can hear the soft whine of scores of shells hurrying +all together through the air. Every five minutes or so a certain +howitzer, tucked into some hiding-place, vents its periodical growl, and +we can hear the huge projectile climbing slowly, up his steep gradient +with a hiss like that of water from a fire-hose. There is some other +heavy shell which passes us also, somewhere in the middle of his flight. +We cannot distinguish the report of the gun, and we do not hear the +shell burst; but at regular intervals we can quite distinctly hear the +monster making his way leisurely across our front. + +We can distinguish in the uproar the occasional distant crash of a heavy +shell-burst. But not one burst can I see. The sun upon the mist makes +the distant hill crests just a vague blue screen against the sky. + +There is one point on those hills where the two lines of trenches ought +to be clearly visible to us. With a good glass on a clear day you should +be able to distinguish anything as big as a man at that distance--much +more a line of men. Within less than an hour, at half-past seven, the +infantry will leave our trenches over twenty miles of front and launch a +great attack. The country town below us is Albert--behind the centre of +the British attack. One can see the tall, battered church tower rising +against the mist, with the gilt figure of the Virgin hanging at right +angles from the top like the arm of a bracket. On the hills beyond can +just be made out the woods of Fricourt behind the German line. They are +in the background behind Albert church tower. The white ruins of +Fricourt may be the blur in the background south of them. We shall be +attacking Fricourt to-day. + +The Germans have not a single "sausage" in the air that I can see. The +sausage is the very descriptive name for the observation balloon. We +have twenty-one of them up, specking the sky as clearly as a +bacteriologist's slide is specked with microbes. + +The Germans used to have a whole fleet of them looking down over us. But +a week ago our aeroplanes bombed all along the line, and eight of them, +more or less, went down in flames within a single afternoon. + +7.10 a.m.--Six of our aeroplanes are flying over, very high, in a +wedge-shaped flight like that of birds. Single British aeroplanes have +been coming and going since the bombardment started. I have not seen any +German plane. The distant landscape is becoming fainter. The flashes of +our guns can be seen at intervals all over the slopes immediately below +us, and their blast is clearly shown by the film of smoke and dust which +hurries into the air. The haze makes a complete screen between us and +the battle. + +7.15 a.m.--Our fire has become noticeably hotter. Some of us thought it +had relaxed slightly after the first ten minutes. I doubt if it really +did--probably we were growing accustomed to the sound. There is no doubt +about its increase now. We can hear the _crump_, _crump, crump_ of +heavy explosives almost incessantly. I fancy our heavy trench mortars +must have joined in. + +7.20 a.m.--Another sound has suddenly joined in the uproar. It is the +rapid detonation of our lighter trench mortars.[1] I have never heard +anything like this before--the detonation of these crowds of mortars is +as rapid as if it were the rattle of musketry. Indeed, if it were not +for the heavy detonation one would put it down for rifle fire. Only +eight minutes now, and the infantry goes over the parapet along the +whole line. + +[1] Note.--What I took for the sound of trench mortars was almost +certainly that of the British field guns. These heavy Somme bombardments +were then a novelty, and the idea that field guns could be firing like +musketry did not enter one's head. What I took for the sound of heavy +trench mortars was also, certainly, that of German shells. + +7.27 a.m.--The heaviness of the bombardment has slightly decreased. A +large number of guns must be altering range on to the German back lines +in order to allow our infantry to make their attack. The hills are +gradually becoming clearer as the sun gets higher, but the haze will be +far too thick for us to see them go over. + +7.29 a.m.--One minute to go. I have not seen a single German shell burst +yet. They may be firing on our trenches; they are not on our batteries. + +7.32 a.m.--Ever so distant, but quite distinctly, under the thunder of +the bombardment I can hear the sound of far-off rifle firing. + +So they are into it--and there are Germans still left in those trenches. + +7.35 a.m.--Through the bombardment I can hear the chatter of a +machine-gun. And there is a new thunder added, quite distinguishable +from the previous sounds. It is only the last minute or so that one has +noticed it--a low, ceaseless pulsation. + +It is the drumming of the German artillery upon our charging infantry. +Behind that blue screen they must be in the thick of it. God be with our +men! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE BRITISH--FRICOURT AND LA BOISELLE + +_France, July 3rd._ + + +Yesterday three of us walked out from near the town of Albert to a +hill-side within a few hundred yards of Fricourt. And there all day, +lying amongst the poppies and cornflowers, we watched the fight of the +hour--the struggle around Fricourt Wood and the attack on the village of +La Boiselle. + +To call these places villages conveys the idea of recognisable streets +and houses. I suppose they were villages once, as pretty as the other +villages of France; each with its red roofs showing out against its +dark, overshadowing woodland. They are no more villages now than a +dust-heap. Each is a tumbled heap of broken bricks, like the remains of +a Chinese den after it has been pulled down by order of the local +council. Through this heap runs a network of German trenches, here and +there breaking through some still recognisable fragment of a wall. + +It was by the sight of two or three English soldiers clambering up one +of these jagged fragments and peering into whatever lay beyond it, that +we knew, as we came in sight of Fricourt, that the village had already +been taken. A string of men was winding past the end of the dust-heap +into the dark wood behind it, where they became lost to view. Somewhere +in the heart of the wood was the _knock-knock_ of an occasional rifle. +So the fight had gone on thither. + +In front of us was a long gentle hill-slope, gridironed with trenches +which broke out above the green grass like the wandering burrow of a +mole. The last visible trench was in redder soil and ran along the crest +of the hill. It passed through or near to several small woods and clumps +of trees--the edges of them torn to shreds with shell-fire. They stood +up against the skyline. In one of them, clearly visible, was a roadside +crucifix. + +Our men possessed the whole of that slope right into the trench at the +top. We could see occasional figures strolling about the old German +trenches--probably from posts established here or there behind the line +of battle. All day long odd men wandered up or down some part of the +hill-side--a guard with a German prisoner coming down, a messenger or +stretcher-bearers going up. Now and then one could even see heads, with +our flat steel helmets on them, showing out from the red trench against +the skyline. So the fighting could not be severe at the moment on the +crest of the hill. + +Yet we were clearly not holding the whole of that skyline trench. On its +southern or right-hand shoulder the hill ran into Fricourt Wood, which +covered all that end of it. At the lower end of the wood, standing out +against it, was the dusty yellow ruin which once was Fricourt. Behind +that shoulder of the hill was a valley, of which we could see the gentle +green slopes stretching away to Mametz and Montauban, both taken the day +before, in the first half-day's fighting. The green slopes must have +been covered with the relics of that attack. But the kindly grass, the +uncut growth of two years, hid them; and the valley, except for a few +thin white trench lines, might have been any other smiling summer +landscape. + +When the wave of our attack swept through that country the Germans in +Fricourt village and wood still held on. Another promontory was left +jutting out into the wave of our attack in a similar village on our +left--La Boiselle, where the main road for Bapaume runs straight out +from our lines through the German front. We could see this heap of +yellow-brown ruins sticking up beyond the left shoulder of the opposite +hill much as Fricourt did on its right. There was a valley between, but +it could only be guessed. Boiselle, too, had the remains of a small wood +rising behind it. The bark hung from its ragged stumps as the rigging +droops from the broken masts of a wreck. + +We were looking another way, watching our troops trying to creep up to +the extreme right-hand end of the red trench on the top of the hill. We +could see them on the centre of the crest; but here, where the trench +ran into the upper end of Fricourt Wood, there was apparently a check. +Men were lined up at this point, not in the trench, but lying down on +the surface a little on our side of it. From beyond that corner of the +wood there broke out occasionally a chatter of machine-gun fire. +Evidently the Germans still hung on there. The bursts of machine-gun +must have been against small rushes of our men across the open. I +believe that one British unit was attacking round this left-hand corner +of the wood while another was attacking around its right. The drive +through the wood was going forward at the same time. Clearly they were +having some effect; for out of the wood there suddenly appeared a number +of figures. Someone thought they were our men coming back, until it was +noticed that they were unarmed, and held their hands up. They were a +party of the enemy who had surrendered, and for the next quarter of an +hour we watched them being marched slowly down the hill-side opposite. + +Our advance here seemed to be held up by some cause we could not see. +German 5.9 shell were falling just on our side of Fricourt village, and +in a line from there up the valley behind our attack. It was not a +really heavy barrage--big black shell-bursts at intervals on the ground, +helped by fairly constant white puffs of shrapnel in the air above them. +Just then our attention was attracted in quite another direction: La +Boiselle. + +It had been fairly obvious for some time that La Boiselle was about to +be attacked. While the rest of the landscape before us was only treated +to an occasional shell-burst, heavy explosions had been taking place in +this clump of ruins. Huge roan-coloured bouquets of brickdust and ashes +leaped from time to time into the air and slowly dissolved into a tawny +mist which floated slowly beyond the scarred edge of the hill. It must +have been a big howitzer shell, or perhaps a very large trench mortar +bomb, which was making them. Gradually most of our artillery in the +background to the left of us seemed to be converging upon this village. +Suddenly, at a little before 4 p.m., there lashed on to the place the +shrapnel from three or four batteries of British field guns. They seemed +to be fired as fast as they could be served. Shell after shell laid whip +strokes across the dry earth as swiftly as a man could ply a lash. One +knew perfectly well that our infantry must now be advancing for the +attack, and that this hailstorm was to make the garrison, if any were +left, keep its heads down. But the shoulder of the hill prevented us +from seeing where the infantry was going to issue. + +In the turmoil which covered that corner we scarcely noticed that the +nature of the shelling had suddenly changed. Our shell-bursts had gone +much farther up the hill--one realised that; and heavy black clouds were +spurting into the air below Boiselle, just behind the hill's shoulder. +The _crash, crash, crash, crash_ of four heavy shells, one following +another almost as quickly as you would read the words, focused all +one's attention on that point. The fire on it was growing. The Germans +were shooting down a valley, almost a funnel, invisible to us. But we +could see that the fire was increasing every minute; 4.2's were joining +in, and field guns; the lighter guns firing shrapnel, the heavier guns +high explosive. The black smoke of German high explosive streamed up the +valley like a thundercloud. La Boiselle was entirely hidden by it. + +There could be no doubt now where our infantry was to attack. That +cauldron was the barrier of shell fire which the German artillery was +throwing in front of them. + +It seemed no living thing could face it. Our fire had lengthened at +about 4 o'clock. The German barrage began almost immediately after. +Minute after minute passed without a sign of any troops of ours. Our +spirits fell. "It is one of these fearful attacks on small objectives," +one thought, "where the enemy knows exactly where you must come out, and +is able to converge an impenetrable artillery fire on that one small +point. If you attack on a wide front, your artillery is bound to leave +some of the enemy's machine-guns unharmed. And when you have to mop up +the small points that are left, and attack on a small front, he gets +you with his artillery--you get it one way or the other." One took it +for granted that the head of this attack had been turned. + +Suddenly, out of the mist, came the sound of a few rifle shots. Then +bursts of a machine-gun. It could only be the Germans firing on +advancing British infantry. + +And presently they came out, running just beyond the shoulder of that +hill. We could only see their heads at first, tucked down into it as a +man bends when he hurries into a hailstorm. Presently the track on which +they were advancing--I don't know whether it was originally a road or a +trench, but it is a sort of chalky sandhill now[2]--brought them for a +moment rather to our side of the hill into partial shelter. Each section +that reached the place crouched down there for a moment. Spurts of +shrapnel lashed past them whirling the white dust. Black rolling clouds +sprang into existence on the earth beside them. Every minute one +expected to see one of them obliterate the whole party. But, at the end +of a minute or so, someone would pick himself up and run on--and the +remainder would follow. + +[2] What we thought was a road or sandhill I afterwards found to be the +upturned edge of one of the two giant mine craters, south of La +Boiselle. + +Not all of them. Some there were who did not stir with the rest. Other +figures came running up, heads down into it, often standing out black +against white bursts of chalk dust. I saw one gallant fellow racing up +quite alone, never stopping, running as a man runs a flat race. But +there were an increasing number who never moved. And, though we watched +them for an hour, they were still there motionless at the end of it. + +For thirty minutes batches continued to come up. We could see them +building up a line a little farther up the hill, where another bank gave +cover. Then movement stopped and our heavy shell-bursts in La Boiselle +began again. The whole affair was being repeated a step farther forward. +The last we saw was the men leaping over the bank and down into the +space between them and the village. + +This morning we went to the same view point. The firing had gone well +beyond Fricourt Wood. They were German shells which were now falling on +the smoking site of La Boiselle. + +On the white bank there still lay twelve dark figures. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE DUG-OUTS OF FRICOURT + +_France, July 3rd._ + + +Yesterday from the opposite slope of a gentle valley we watched Fricourt +village taken. This morning we walked down through the long grass across +what two days ago was No Man's Land into the old German defences. The +grass has been uncut for two years on these slopes, and that is why +there springs from them such a growth of flowers as I have rarely seen. +I think it was once a wheat field that we were walking through. It is a +garden of poppies, cornflowers, and mustard flower now. + +Half-way down the slope we noticed that we were crossing a line which +seemed to have been strangely ruled through the wheat field. It was +covered with grass, but there was a line of baby apple trees on each +side of it. It took one some seconds to realise that it was a road. + +We jumped across trench after trench of our own. At the bottom of the +valley we stepped over a trench which had a wire entanglement in front +of it. It was the old British front line. The space in front of it had +been No Man's Land. + +Some of our men were still lying where shrapnel or rifle fire had caught +them. By them ran another old road up the valley. Beyond the road the +railway trucks were still standing as they have stood for two years in +what once was Fricourt siding. The foundations of Fricourt village stood +up a little beyond, against the dark shades of Fricourt Wood. +Immediately before us, in front of this battered white ash heap, were +the remains of the rusted wire which had once been the maze in front of +the German line. + +We found fragments of that wire in the bottom of the trenches +themselves; lengths of it were lying among the shattered buildings +behind the lines. The British shells and bombs must have tossed it about +as you would toss hay with a rake. In the tumbled ruins behind the lines +you simply stepped from one crater into another. Into many of those +craters you could have placed a fair-sized room. One big shell, and two +unexploded bombs like huge ancient cannon balls, lay there on a shelf +covered with rubbish. + +Through this rubbish heap were scattered odd fragments of farming +machinery--here an old wagon wheel--there a ploughshare or a portion of +a harrow--in another place some old iron press of which I do not know +the use. The rest of the village was like a deserted brick-field, or the +remains of some ancient mining camp--I do not think there were three +fragments of wall over 10 feet high left. And in and out of this debris +wandered the German front line. We jumped down into those trenches where +some shell had broken them in. They were deep and narrow, such as we had +in Gallipoli. Back from them led narrow, deep, winding communication +trenches which, curiously enough, in parts where we saw them, seemed to +have no supports to their walls such as all the trenches in the wet +country farther north must have. Here and there some shell-burst had +broken or shaken them in. + +As we made our way along the front line we found, every few yards or so, +a low, squared, timbered opening below the parapet. A dozen wooden steps +led down and forwards into some dark interior far below. + +We clambered down into the first of these chambers. It was exactly as +its occupants had left it. On the floor amongst some tumbled blankets +and odd pieces of clothing, socks for the most part, was scattered a +stock of German grenades, each like a grey jampot with a short handle. +The blankets had come from a series of bunks which almost filled up the +whole dark chamber. These bunks were made roughly of wood, in pairs one +over another, packed into every corner of the narrow space with as much +ingenuity as the berths in an emigrant ship. There were, I think, six of +them in that first chamber. Inlet into the wall, at the end of one set +of bunks, was a wooden box doing service for a cupboard. In it were a +penny novel, and three or four bottles of a German table water. At least +one of these was still full. So the garrison of Fricourt was not as hard +put to it for supplies as some of the German prisoners with whom I spoke +the day before. They had told me that for three or four days no water +could be brought to them up their communication trenches owing to the +British bombardment. + +I expect that the garrison of Fricourt had been almost entirely in those +dug-outs during the bombardment. The chambers seemed to have more than +one entrance in some cases, and one suspects they also led into one +another underground. A subterranean passage led forward beneath the +parapet to a door opening into No Man's Land--you could see the daylight +at the end of it. + +The fire trench was battered in places out of recognition. But here and +there we came across a bay of it which the bombardment had left more or +less untouched. There were slings of cartridges still hanging against +the wall of the trench. There were the two steel plates through which +they had peered out into No Man's Land, the slits in them half covered +by the flap so as just to give a man room to peep through them. There +was the machine-gun platform, with a long, empty belt still lying on it. +There was the periscope standing on its spike, which had been stuck into +the trench wall. It looked out straight across No Man's Land, but both +mirrors were gone. + +As we picked our way through the brick heaps there came towards us a +British soldier with fixed bayonet, and an elderly bareheaded man. The +elderly man's hair was cut short, and was grizzly. He had not shaved for +three days. He was stout, but his face had a curious grey tinge shot +through the natural complexion. His lips were tightly compressed. He +looked about him firmly enough, but with that open-eyed gaze of a wild +animal which seemed to lack all comprehension. It was the face of a man +almost witless. He wore the uniform of a German captain. + +He was one of the men who had been through that bombardment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE RAID + +_France, July 9th._ + + +During the first week of the battle of the Somme the Anzac troops far to +the north, near Armentières, raided the German trenches about a dozen +times. Here is a sample of these raids. + +We were late. For some reason we had decided to watch this one from the +firing-line. We had stayed too long at Brigade Headquarters getting the +details of the night's plan. Just as we hurried out of the end of the +communication trench into the dark jumble of the low sandbag +constructions which formed this part of the firing-line, there came two +bangs from the southward as if someone had hit an iron ship's tank with +a big drumstick. It was our preparatory bombardment which had begun. + +A light showed dimly from one or two crevices in our trenches. We peeped +into one. It was very small, and someone was busy in there. The +bombardment was not half a minute old, but it was now continuous along +the whole horizon behind us. The noise was that of a large orchestra of +street boys each heartily banging his kerosene-tin drum. Our shells +streamed overhead with an almost continuous swish. + +I do not know why, but some curious sense made one keep low in ducking +round to a bay of the front trench. The enemy's reply was not due for +some minutes yet. There was a sudden lurid red glare with a heavy crash +over the parapet to our right--perhaps 150 yards away. "That's not one +of their 5.9's, surely?" exclaims a friend. + +"One of our trench mortars, I think," says another. As we sit in the +narrow trench, with our knees tucked up to our chins, there is no doubt +whatever of the advent of a new sheaf of missiles through the air above +our heads. We can hear the swish of our own shells, perhaps 100 feet up, +and the occasional rustle of some missile passing overhead a good deal +higher than that. One knows that this must be one of our howitzer shells +making his slow path, perhaps 200 or 300 feet above us, on his way to +fall on some German communication trench, and blow it in. I do not know, +but I rather suspect his duty is so to jumble up the walls and banks of +that trench as to prevent German supports from reaching their front line +without clambering into the open fields where our shrapnel is falling +like hail. + +But under those two streams of overhead traffic is a third quite easily +distinguishable. It comes with short, descending screams--sheafs of them +together. + +At the end of each there is a momentary glare over the sandbags, and the +bang as of an exploding rocket. + +That is German shrapnel, bursting in the air and projecting its pellets +in a cone like a shot-gun. A little to the south of us there is a much +more formidable crash, always recurring several times in the minute. We +always know when that crash is coming by a certain fierce orange glare +which lights up the tops of our sandbags immediately before we hear the +sound. Three or four times the crash and the glare came together, and a +big cloud of stuffy-smelling white smoke drifted low overhead, and bits +of mud and earth cascaded down upon us from the sky above; and just for +two minutes the sheaf of four shells from some particular field battery, +which sent them passing as regularly as a clock about five times a +minute overhead, seemed to lower and burst just above us; and one or +two odd high-explosive bursts--4.2, I should say--crept in close upon us +from the rear, while the parapet gave several ponderous jumps towards us +from the other direction. One would swear that it had shifted inwards a +good inch, though I do not suppose it had. The dazzling orange flashes +and crashes close around us were rather like a bad dream. One could not +resist the reflection that often comes over a man when he begins his +holiday with a rough sea crossing, "How on earth did I ever imagine that +there was advantage to be obtained out of this?" + +That was the moment which was chosen by one of the party to go along and +see that the men were all right. There was a sentry in the next bay of +the trench. All by himself, but "right as rain," as he puts it. Shrapnel +was breaking in showers on the parapet, swishing overhead like driven +hail. While the enemy is bursting shell on your parapet he cannot come +there himself. Provided that your sentry's nerves are all right, and +that a "crump" does not drop right into his little section of trench, +there is not much that can go wrong. And there is nothing much wanting +in the nerves of this infantry. + +However, something had clearly gone wrong with this attack. It was +quite obvious that the enemy somehow or another knew that it was coming +off, and where; for he had begun to shoot back within a very few minutes +of our opening shot, and he was shooting very hard. Clearly he had +noticed some point in our preparations, and he too had prepared. "I will +teach these people a lesson this time," he thought, as he laid his guns +on the likely section. + +Right in the midst of all this uproar we heard one of his machine-guns +cracking overhead. Then another joined in--we could hear them traversing +from flank to front and round to flank again. "Of course, the raiders +cannot have got in," one thought. "Perhaps he has seen them crossing No +Man's Land, and those machine-guns are on to them in the open. Poor +beggars! Not much chance for them now"--and one shivered at the thought +of them out there, open and defenceless to that hail. As the minutes +slipped on towards the hour, and our bombardment slackened, but the +enemy's did not, and no one stirred at all in the trenches, one felt +quite sure of it--of course, we had failed this time--well, we ought to +expect such failures; we cannot always hope to jump into German trenches +exactly whenever we please. + +Just then a dark figure crept round the traverse of the buttress of the +trench. "Room in here?" he asked. + +Two others came after him, bending, and then a fourth. We squeezed along +to make room. + +"Was you hit?" asked the second man of the first. + +"Only a bang on the scalp, and I wouldn't have got that if it hadn't +been for the prisoner--waiting to get him over." + +"Keep your head down, Mac, you'll only get hit," said a third. "Where's +Mr. Franks--you all right, sir?--Mr. Little was hit, wasn't he?" + +So these were the raiders, and they had come through it after all. They +were rather distracted. The man next me wiped his forehead, and took a +cigarette. He looked disinterestedly up at the shell-bursts, but he +talked very little. He looked on the raid as a bit of a failure, +clearly. + +An hour later we heard all about it. The racket had quietened down. The +enemy was contenting himself with throwing a few shrapnel shells far +back over communication trenches. We were in a room lighted with +candles. In the midst of an interested crowd of half a dozen young +officers was a youngster in grey cloth, with a mud be-spattered coat, a +swollen face, and two bandaged hands. On the table were a coffee-pot, +some cups, and biscuits, and a small heap of loot--gas masks and +bayonets, and such stuff from German dug-outs. Most of the crowd was +interestedly fingering a grey steel helmet with a heavy steel shield or +visor in front of the forehead, evidently meant to be bullet-proof when +the wearer looked over the parapet. The prisoner was murmuring something +like "Durchgeschossen," "Durchgeschossen." + +"He says he's shot through," said someone, who understood a little +German. + +"Oh, nonsense," broke in a youth; "you were shot through the hand, old +man, but you were not shot there." The prisoner was pointing to his +ribs. + +"Oh, you've got a rat," said the youngster, as the man went on pointing +to the same place. But he tore the man's shirt open quickly. "Yes, you +have, sure enough," he exclaimed, showing the small, neat entry hole of +a bullet in the side. "Here, sit down, old man, and take this," he added +tenderly, giving the man a cup of warm coffee, and pressing him to a +chair. The whole attitude had changed to one of solicitude. + +It was while the prisoner sat there that we heard about the raid. They +clearly considered it something of a failure. They had to get through a +ditch full of water to their necks, then some trip-wire, then a +knee-deep entanglement, then a ditch full of rusty wire, then some +"French" coils of barbed wire, then more wire knee-deep, with trip-wire +after that. Moreover, the enemy's artillery fire was heavy. They simply +went on over the parapet into the enemy's trench for a few minutes and +killed with their bombs about a dozen Germans, and brought in as +prisoners those who were left wounded. Every man of their own who was +wounded they carried carefully back through the tempest in No Man's +Land. The Germans had spent at least as much artillery ammunition as we +had, and in spite of all the noise they had done wonderfully little +damage. We put a dozen of them out of action till the end of the war--a +dozen that our men saw and know of; and they may have put out of action +five of ours. + +As we took a tired prisoner to the hospital through the grey light of +morning, I thought I would give, for a change, an account of a +"failure." + +[It was almost immediately after this that the Australians were brought +down to the Somme battle. From this time on they left the neighbourhood +of green fields and farmhouses and plunged into the brown, ploughed-up +nightmare battlefield where the rain of shells has practically never +since ceased. They came into the battle in its second stage, exactly +three weeks after the British.] + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +POZIÈRES + +_France, July 26th._ + + +I have been watching the units of a certain famous Australian force come +out of action. They have fought such a fight that the famous division of +British regular troops on their flank sent them a message to say that +they were proud to fight by the side of them. + +Conditions alter in a battle like this from day to day. But at the time +when the British attack upon the second German line in Longueval and +Bazentin ended, the farther village of Pozières was left as the hub of +the battle for the time being. This point is the summit of the hill on +which the German second line ran. And, probably for that reason, the new +line which the Germans had dug across from their second line to their +third line--so as to have a line still barring our way when we had +broken through their second line--branched off near Pozières to meet the +third line near Flers. The map of the situation at this stage of the +battle will show better than a page of description why it was necessary +that Pozières should next be captured. + +There were several days' interval between the failure of the first +attack on Pozières and the night on which the Australians were put at +it. The Germans probably had little chance of improving their position +in the meanwhile, for the village was kept under a slow bombardment with +heavy shells and shrapnel which made movement there dangerous. Our +troops could see occasional parties of Germans hurrying through the +tattered wood and powdered, tumbled foundations. The garrison lost men +steadily, and on about the night of Thursday or Friday, July 20th or +21st, the Second Guard Reserve Division, which had been mainly +responsible for holding this part of the line, was relieved; and a fresh +division, from the lines in front of Ypres, was put in. The new troops +brought in several days' rations with them, and never lacked food or +water. It was probably a belated party of these new-comers that our men +noticed wandering through the village in daytime. + +During the afternoon of Saturday our bombardment of Pozières became +heavier. Most of these ruined villages are marked on this shell-swept +country by the trees around them. It is not that they originally stood +in a woodland; but when the village is a mere heap of foundations +powdered white the only relic of it left standing erect, if you except a +battered wall or two, is the shredded trunks and stumps of trees which +once made the gardens or orchards or hedges behind the houses. Our +troops had three obstacles before them--first a shallow, hastily dug +trench in the open in front of the trees around the village; then +certain trenches running generally through the trees and hedges and +behind a trench railway; thirdly, such lines as existed in the village +itself. The village is strung out along a stretch of the Albert-Bapaume +road up which the battle has advanced from the first. Just beyond the +village, near what remains of the Pozières Mill on the very top of the +hill, is the German second line still (at time of writing) in possession +of the Germans. Another line crossing the road in front of the village +was then in their hands. + +On Saturday afternoon our heavy shells were tearing at regular intervals +into the rear of the brickheaps which once were houses, and flinging up +branches of trees and great clouds of black earth from the woods. A +German letter was found next day dated "In Hell's Trenches." It added: +"It is not really a trench, but a little ditch, shattered with +shells--not the slightest cover and no protection. We have lost 50 men +in two days, and life is unendurable." White puffs of shrapnel from +field guns were lathering the place persistently, so that when the +German trenches were broken down it was difficult to repair them or move +in them. + +Our men in their trenches were cleaning rifles, packing away spare kit, +yarning there much as they yarned of old over the stockyard fence or the +gate of the horse paddock. + +That night, shortly after dark, there broke out the most fearful +bombardment I have ever seen. As one walked towards the battlefield, the +weirdly shattered woods and battered houses stood out almost all the +time against one continuous band of flickering light along the eastern +skyline. Most of it was far away to the east of our part of the +battlefield--in some French or British sector on the far right. There +must have been fierce fire upon Pozières, too, for the Germans were +replying to it, hailing the roads with shrapnel and trying to fill the +hollows with gas shell. They must have suspected an attack upon this +part of their line as well, and were trying to hamper the reserves from +moving into position. + +About midnight our field artillery lashed down its shrapnel upon the +German front line in the open before the village. A few minutes later +this fire lifted and the Australian attack was launched. + +The Germans had opened in one part with a machine-gun before that final +burst of shrapnel, and they opened again immediately after. But there +would have been no possibility of stopping that charge with a fire +twenty times as heavy. The difficulty was not to get the men forward, +but to hold them. With a complicated night attack to be carried through +it was necessary to keep the men well in hand. + +The first trench was a wretchedly shallow affair in places. Most of the +Germans in it were dead--some of them had been lying there for days. The +artillery in the meantime had lifted on to the German trenches farther +back. Later they lifted to a farther position yet. The Australian +infantry dashed at once from the first position captured, across the +intervening space over the tramway and into the trees. + +It was here that the first real difficulty arose along parts of the +line. Some sections found in front of them the trench which they were +looking for--an excellent deep trench which had survived the +bombardment. Other sections found no recognisable trench at all, but a +maze of shell craters and tumbled rubbish, or a simple ditch reduced to +white powder. Parties went on through the trees into the village, +searching for the position, and pushed so close to the fringe of their +own shell fire that some were wounded by it. However, where they found +no trench they started to dig one as best they could. Shortly after the +bombardment shifted a little farther, and a third attack came through +and swept, in most parts, right up to the position which the troops had +been ordered to take up. + +As daylight gradually spread over that bleached surface Australians +could occasionally be seen walking about in the trees and through the +part of the village they had been ordered to take. The position was +being rapidly "consolidated." German snipers in the north-east of the +village and across the main road could see them, too. A patrol was sent +across the main road to find a sniper. It bombed some dug-outs which it +found there, and from one of them appeared a white flag, which was waved +vigorously. Sixteen prisoners came out, including a regimental doctor. +There were several other dug-outs in this part and various scraps of +old trenches, probably the site of an old battery. The Germans, now that +they had been driven from their main lines, were naturally fighting from +the various scraps of isolated fortification which exist behind all +positions. During the afternoon two patrols were sent to clear out other +snipers from these half-hidden lurking places. But the garrison was +sufficiently organised to summon up some sort of reserve, and the +patrols had to come back after a short, sharp fight more or less in the +open. + +After dark, the Australians pushed across the road through the village. +By morning the position had been improved, so that nearly the whole +village was secure against sudden attack. + +An official report would read: "The same progress continued on Tuesday +night, and by Wednesday morning the whole of Pozières was consolidated." +That is to say--in the heart of the village itself there was little more +actual hand-to-hand fighting. All that happened there was that, from the +time when the first day broke and found the Pozières position +practically ours, the enemy turned his guns on to it. Hour after +hour--day and night--with increasing intensity as the days went on, he +rained heavy shell into the area. It was the sight of the battlefield +for miles around--that reeking village. Now he would send them crashing +in on a line south of the road--eight heavy shells at a time, minute +after minute, followed up by burst upon burst of shrapnel. Now he would +place a curtain, straight across this valley or that, till the sky and +landscape were blotted out, except for fleeting glimpses seen as through +a lift of fog. Gas shell, musty with chloroform; sweet-scented tear +shell that made your eyes run with water; high bursting shrapnel with +black smoke and a vicious high explosive rattle behind its heavy +pellets; ugly green bursts the colour of a fat silkworm; huge black +clouds from the high explosive of his 5.9's. Day and night the men +worked through it, fighting this horrid machinery far over the horizon +as if they were fighting Germans hand-to-hand--building up whatever it +battered down; buried, some of them, not once but again and again and +again. + +What is a barrage against such troops! They went through it as you would +go through a summer shower--too proud to bend their heads, many of them, +because their mates were looking. I am telling you of things I have +seen. As one of the best of their officers said to me, "I have to walk +about as if I liked it--what else can you do when your own men teach +you to?" The same thought struck me not once but twenty times. + +On Tuesday morning the shelling of the day before rose to a crescendo, +and then suddenly slackened. The German was attacking. It was only a few +of the infantry who even saw him. The attack came in lines at fairly +wide intervals up the reverse slope of the hill behind Pozières +windmill. Before it reached the crest it came under the sudden barrage +of our own guns' shrapnel. The German lines swerved away up the hill. +The excited infantry on the extreme right could see Germans crawling +over, as quickly as they might, from one shell crater to another, grey +backs hopping from hole to hole. They blazed away hard; but most of our +infantry never got the chance it was thirsting for. The artillery beat +back that attack before it was over the crest, and the Germans broke and +ran. Again the enemy's artillery was turned on. Pozières was pounded +more furiously than before, until by four in the afternoon it seemed to +onlookers scarcely possible that humanity could have endured such an +ordeal. The place could be picked out for miles by pillars of red and +black dust towering above it like a Broken Hill dust-storm. Then +Germans were reported coming on again, as in the morning. Again our +artillery descended upon them like a hailstorm, and nothing came of the +attack. + +During all this time, in spite of the shelling, the troops were slowly +working forwards through Pozières; not backwards. Every day saw fresh +ground gained. A great part of the men who were working through it had +no more than two or three hours' sleep since Saturday--some of them none +at all, only fierce, hard work all the time. + +The only relief to this one-sided struggle against machinery was the +hand-to-hand fighting that occurred in the two trenches +before-mentioned--the second-line German trench behind Pozières and the +similar trench in front of it. The story of it will be told some day--it +would almost deserve a book to itself. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AN ABYSM OF DESOLATION + +_France, August 1st._ + + +When I went through Boiselle I thought it was the limit that desolation +could reach. A wilderness of powdered chalk and broken brick, under +which men had burrowed like rats, but with method, so as to make a city +underneath the shattered foundations of the village. And then their rat +city had been crushed in from above; and through the splintered timbered +entrances you peered into a dark interior of dishevelled blankets and +scattered clothing. It was only too evident that there had been no time +as yet, in the hustle of battle, to search these ghastly, noisome +dug-outs for the Germans who had been bombed there. The mine craters in +the white chalk of La Boiselle are big enough to hide a large church. + +But for sheer desolation it will not compare with Pozières. On the top +of a gently rising hill, over which the Roman road ran as is the way +with Roman roads, was a pretty village, with its church, its cemetery +under the shady trees; its orchards and picturesque village houses. When +the lines crystallised in front of Albert it was some miles behind the +German trenches. Our guns put a few shells into it; but six weeks ago it +was still a country village, somewhat wrecked but probably used for the +headquarters of a German regiment. Then came the British bombardment for +a week before the battle of the Somme. + +The bombardment shattered Pozières. Its buildings were scattered as you +would scatter a house of toy bricks. Its trees began to look ragged. By +the time Boiselle and Ovilliers were taken, and the front had pushed up +to within a quarter or half a mile of Pozières, a tattered wood was all +that marked the spot. Behind the brushwood you could still see in three +or four places the remains of a pink wall. Some way to the north-east of +the village, near the actual summit of the hill, was a low heap of +bleached terra-cotta. It was the stump of the Pozières windmill. + +Since then Pozières has had our second bombardment, and a German +bombardment which lasted four days, in addition to the normal German +barrage across the village which has never really ceased. You can +actually see more of the buildings than before. That is to say, you can +see any brick or stone that stands. For the brushwood and tattered +branches which used to hide the road have gone; and all that remain are +charred tree stumps standing like a line of broken posts. The upland +around was once cultivated land, and it should be green with the weeds +of two years. It is as brown as the veldt. Over the whole face of the +country shells have ploughed up the land literally as with a gigantic +plough, so that there is more red and brown earth than green. From the +distance all the colour is given by these upturned crater edges, and the +country is wholly red. + +[Illustration: A MAIN STREET OF POZIÈRES IN A QUIET INTERVAL DURING THE +FIGHT] + +[Illustration: THE CHURCH, POZIÈRES] + +But even this did not prepare one for the desolation of the place +itself. Imagine a gigantic ash heap, a place where dust and rubbish have +been cast for years outside some dry, derelict, God-forsaken up-country +township. Imagine some broken-down creek bed in the driest of our dry +central Australian districts, abandoned for a generation to the goats, +in which the hens have been scratching as long as men can remember. Then +take away the hens and the goats and all traces of any living or moving +thing. You must not even leave a spider. Put here, in evidence of some +old tumbled roof, a few roof beams and tiles sticking edgeways from the +ground, and the low faded ochre stump of the windmill peeping over the +top of the hill, and there you have Pozières. + +I know of nothing approaching that desolation. Perhaps it is that the +place is still in the thick of the fight. In most other ruins behind +battlefields that I have seen there are the signs of men again--perhaps +men who have visited the place like yourself. There is life, anyhow, +somewhere in the landscape. In this place there is no sign of life at +all. When you stand in Pozières to-day, and are told that you will find +the front trench across another hundred yards of shell-holes, you know +that there must be life in the landscape. The dead hill-side a few +hundred yards before you must contain both your men and the Germans. But +as in most battlefields, where the warmest corner is, there is the least +sign of movement. Dry shell crater upon shell crater upon shell +crater--all bordering one another until some fresh salvo shall fall and +assort the old group of craters into a new one, to be reassorted again +and again as the days go on. It is the nearest thing to sheer desert +that I have seen since certain lonely rides into the old Sahara at the +back of Mena Camp two years ago. Every minute or two there is a crash. +Part of the desert bumps itself up into huge red or black clouds and +subsides again. Those eruptions are the only movement in Pozières. + +That is the country in which our boys are fighting the greatest battle +Australians have ever fought. Of the men whom you find there, what can +one say? Steadfast until death, just the men that Australians at home +know them to be; into the place with a joke, a dry, cynical, Australian +joke as often as not; holding fast through anything that man can +imagine; stretcher bearers, fatigue parties, messengers, chaplains, +doing their job all the time, both new-joined youngsters and old hands, +without fuss, but steadily, because it _is_ their work. They are not +heroes; they do not want to be thought or spoken of as heroes. They are +just ordinary Australians doing their particular work as their country +would wish them to do it. And pray God Australians in days to come will +be worthy of them! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +POZIÈRES RIDGE + +_France, August 14th._ + + +You would scarcely realise it from what the world has heard, but I think +that the hardest battle ever fought by Australians was probably the +battle of Pozières Ridge. + +There have been four distinct battles fought by the Australian troops on +the Somme since they made their first charge from the British trenches +near Pozières. The first was the heavy three days' fight by which they +took Pozières village. The second was the fight in which they tried to +rush the German second line along the hill-crest behind Pozières. The +third was the attack in which this second line was broken by them along +a front of a mile and a half. The fourth has been the long fight which +immediately began along the German second line northwards from the new +position, along the ridge towards Mouquet Farm. It has been hard +fighting all the way, and what was three weeks ago a German salient +into the British line is now a big Australian salient into the German +line. But I think that the hardest fight of all was that of the second +and third phases--the battle for Pozières Ridge. + +Pozières village itself was not on the crest of the hill. It was on the +British side of it, where the German was naturally hanging on because it +was almost the highest point in his position and gave him a view over +miles of our territory. On the other hand, the German main second line +behind Pozières was practically on the summit; in some parts farther +north it was actually on or just over the summit. It was from two to +seven hundred yards beyond the village itself. + +The German line on the hill-crest was attacked as soon as ever the +village was properly cleared. The Australians went at it in the night +across a wide strip of waste hill-top. The thistles there, and the brown +earth churned up in shell craters, and the absolute absence of any kind +of movement (simply because it was too dangerous to move), call to one's +mind Shakespeare's old stage direction of a "blasted heath." There had +been a short artillery preparation; the attack reminded one of our old +raids up on the Armentières front. + +I have seen Germans who were in the line in front of that attack. They +state that they were not surprised. In the light of their flares they +had seen numbers of "Englishmen" advancing over the shoulder of the +hill. When the rush came, one German officer told me, he, in his short +sector of the line alone, had three machine-guns all hard at work. The +attack reached the remnants of the German wire. Some brave men picked a +path through the tangle, and, in spite of the cross-fire, managed to +reach the German trench. They were very few. We have since discovered +men in the craters even beyond the front German trench. The German +officer told me that his men had afterwards found an Australian who had +been lying in a crater in front of his line for four days. He had been +shot through the abdomen and had a broken leg, but he had been brought +in by the Germans and was doing well. We also afterwards brought in both +Australians and Germans who had been out there for six days, wounded, +living on what rations they had with them. + +It was a brave attack. On the extreme left it succeeded. But the +trenches won by the Victorians there were on the flank, not on the +hill-top. The country behind that crest, sloping gradually down to the +valley of Courcelette and beyond, where the German field batteries were +firing and where the Germans could come and go unseen--all this was so +far an unknown land into which no one on the British side had peered +since the battle began. + +Six days later the Australians went for that position again. They +attacked just after dusk. There was enough light to make out the face of +the country as if by a dim moonlight. They were the same troops who had +made the attack a week before, because there was a determination that +they, and they alone, should reach that line. The artillery had been +pounding it gradually during the week. + +The German troops who were holding that part were about to be relieved. +They had suffered from the slow, continual bombardment. There were deep +dug-outs in their trenches, where they saved the men as far as possible, +but one after another these would be crushed or blocked by a heavy +shell. The tired companies had lost in some cases actually half their +men by this shell fire, losing them slowly, day by day, as a man might +bleed to death. The remainder had their packs made up ready to march out +to rest. The young officer of one of the relieving battalions was +actually coming into the trenches at the head of his platoon--when there +crashed on them a sudden hail of shell fire. The officer extended his +men hurriedly and pushed on. It was about half-past ten by German time, +which is half-past nine by ours. + +The first sight that met him, as he reached the support line of German +trenches, was two wounded Australians lying in the bottom of it. So the +British must be attacking, he thought. He ordered his platoon to advance +over the trench and counter-attack. But in the dark and the dust they +lost touch and straggled to the north--he saw no more of them. He +tumbled on with two men into a shell crater and began to improve it for +defence--then they found Australians towering around them in the dark. +They surrendered. + +It was a most difficult business to get the various parties for our +attack into position in the night, and some of the troops behind had to +be pushed forward hurriedly. In consequence the officers out in front +had to carry on as if theirs were the only troops in the attack, and see +the whole fight through without relying upon supports. The way in which +junior officers and N.C.O.'s have acted upon their own initiative during +some of this fighting has been beyond praise. The attack went through +up to time. The supports had to come in parties organised in the dark on +the spur of the moment. The Germans had several machine-guns going. But +as another German officer told me, "This time they came on too thick. We +might have held them in front, but they got in on one side of us; then +we heard they were in on the other; then they came from the rear as +well--on all four sides. What could we do?" + +Almost immediately after the Australians reached the trenches, watchers +far behind could see the horizon beyond them lit by five slow +illuminations, about ten minutes' interval between each. They were +beyond the crest of the hill. I do not know, but I think the German must +have been blowing up his field-gun ammunition. + +The men in the new trenches may, or may not, have seen this. What they +did notice, as soon as the battle cleared and they had time to look into +the darkness in front of them, was a succession of brilliant glares from +some position just hidden by the slope of the hill. It was the flash of +the German guns which were firing at them. It is, as far as I know, the +first time in this battle that our men have seen the actual flash of +the enemy's guns. + +When day broke they found beyond them a wide, flat stretch of hill-top, +with a distant hill line beyond. Far down the slope there were Germans +moving. And in the distant landscape they saw the German gun teams +limber up and hurry away with the field guns which for a fortnight had +been firing upon our men. + +The Germans have twice afterwards attacked that position. In the early +light of the first morning a party of them came tumbling up from some +trench against a sector of the captured line. In front of them was an +officer, well ahead, firing his automatic pistol as he went, levelling +it first at one Australian, then at another, as he saw them in the +trenches before him. He was shot, and the attack quickly melted; it +never seemed very serious. Two days later, after a long, heavy +bombardment, the Germans attacked again--this time about fifteen hundred +of them. They penetrated the two trenches at one point, but our company +officers, again acting on their own initiative, charged them straight, +on the instant, without hesitation. Every German in that section was +captured, and a few Australians, whom they had taken, were released. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE GREEN COUNTRY + +_France, August 28th._ + + +For a mile the country had been flayed. The red ribs of it lay open to +the sky. The whole flank of the ridge had been torn open--it lies there +bleeding, gaping open to the callous skies with scarcely so much as a +blade of grass or a thistle to clothe its nakedness--covered with the +wreckage of men and of their works as the relics of a shipwreck cover +the uneasy sea. + +As we dodged over the last undulations of an unused trench, the crest of +each crater brought us for an instant into view of something +beyond--something green and fresh and brilliant, like new land after a +long sea journey. Then we were out of view of it again, for a time; +until we came to a point where it seemed good to climb and peep over the +low parapet. + +It was a peep into paradise. Before us lay a green country. There was a +rich verdure on the opposite hills. Beyond them ran a valley filled with +the warm haze of summer, out of which the round tree-tops stood dark +against the still higher hills beyond. The wheat was ripe upon the far +hill slopes. The sun bathed the lap of the land with his midday summer +warmth. Along the crest of the distant hills ran the line of tall, +regular trees which in this country invariably means a road. A church +spire rose from a tree clump on a nearer crest. Some of the foreground +was pitted with the ugly red splashes which have become for us, in this +horrible area, the normal feature of the countryside. But, beyond it, +was the green country spread out like a picture, sleeping under the heat +of a summer's sun. + +It was the promised land--the country behind the German lines--the +valley about Bapaume where the Germans have been for two years +undisturbed in French territory, until our troops for the first time +peeped over the ridge the other day at the flashes of the very German +guns which were firing at them. + +Quite close at hand was a wood. The trees were not more than half a mile +away, if that. It was a growing wood--with the green still on the +branches, very different from the charred posts and tree stumps which +are all that now remain of the gardens and orchards of Pozières. I +remember a little over a month ago, when some of us first went up near +to Pozières village--on the day when the bombardment before our first +attack was tearing branches from off the trees a hundred yards +away--Pozières had a fairly decent covering then. There was enough dead +brushwood and twigs, at any rate, to hide the buildings of the place. A +few pink walls could then be half seen behind the branches, or topping +the gaps in the scrub. + +Within four days the screen in front of Pozières had been torn to +shreds--had utterly disappeared. The German bombardment ripped off all +that the British had left. The buildings now stood up quite naked, such +as they were. There was the church--still recognisable by one window; +and a scrap of red wall at the north-east end of the village, past which +you then had to crawl to reach an isolated run of trench facing the +windmill. Both trench and red wall have long since gone to glory. I +doubt if you could even trace either of them now. The solitary arched +window disappeared early, and a tumbled heap of bricks is all that now +marks Pozières church. One scrap of gridironed roof sticking out from +the powdered ground cross-hatches the horizon. There is not so much +foliage left as would shelter a cock sparrow. + +But here were we, with this desolation behind us, looking out suddenly +and at no great distance on quite a respectable wood. It tempted you to +step out there and just walk over to it--I never see that country +without the feeling that one is quite free to step across there and +explore it. + +There are men coming up the farther side of the slope--men going about +some normal business of the day as our men go about theirs in the places +behind their lines. + +Those men are Germans; and the village in the trees, the collection of +buildings half guessed in the wood, is Courcelette. It has been hidden +ground to us for so long that you feel it is almost improper to be +overlooking them so constantly; like spending your day prying over into +your neighbour's yard. Away in the landscape behind, in some hollow, +there humps itself into the air a big geyser of chestnut dust. One has +seen German shell burst so often in that fashion, back in our +hinterland, that it takes a moment to realise that this shell is not +German but British. I cannot see what it is aimed at--some battery, I +suppose; or perhaps a much-used road; or some place they suspect to be a +headquarters. Clearly, it is not always so safe as it seems to be in the +green country behind the German lines. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +TROMMELFEUER + +_France, August 21st._ + + +The Germans call it _Trommelfeuer_--drum fire. I do not know any better +description for the distant sound of it. We hear it every day from some +quarter of this wide battlefield. You will be sitting at your tea, the +normal spasmodic banging of your own guns sounding in the nearer +positions five, ten, perhaps fifteen times in the minute. Suddenly, from +over the distant hills, to left or right, there breaks out the roll of a +great kettledrum, ever so far away. Someone is playing the tattoo softly +and very quickly. If it is nearer, and especially if it is German, it +sounds as if he played it on an iron ship's tank instead. + +That is _Trommelfeuer_--what we call intense bombardment. When it is +very rapid--like the swift roll of a kettledrum--you take it that it +must be the French seventy-fives down South preparing the way for a +French assault. But it is often our own guns after all--I doubt if +there are many who can really distinguish between the distant sound of +them. + +Long afterwards--perhaps in the grey of the next morning--one may see +outside of some dug-out, in a muddy wilderness of old trenches and +wheel-tracks, guarded by half a dozen Australians with fixed bayonets, a +group of dejected men in grey. The cold Scotch mist stands in little +beads on the grey cloth--the bayonets shine very cold in the white light +before the dawn--the damp, slippery brown earth is too wet for a +comfortable seat. But there is always some Australian there who will +give them a cigarette; a cheery Melbourne youngster or two step down +into the crowd and liven them with friendly chaff; the blue sky begins +to show through the mist--the early morning aeroplane hums past on its +way to the line, low down, half hidden in the wrack. The big bushman +from Gippsland at a neighbouring coffee stall--praise heaven for that +institution--gives them a drink of the warm stuff. And I verily believe +that at that moment they emerge for the first time out of a frightful +dream. + +For they are the men who have been through the _Trommelfeuer_. + +Strong men arrive from that experience shaking like leaves in the wind. +I have seen one of our own youngsters--a boy who had fought a great +fight all through the dark hours, and who had refused to come back when +he was first ordered to--I have seen him unable to keep still for an +instant after the strain, and yet ready to fight on till he dropped; +physically almost a wreck, but with his wits as sharp and his spirits as +keen as a steel chisel. I have seen other Australians who, after doing +glorious work through thirty or forty hours of unimaginable strain, +buried and buried and buried again and still working like tigers, have +broken down and collapsed, unable to stand or to walk, unable to move an +arm except limply, as if it were string; ready to weep like little +children. + +It is the method which the German invented for his own use. For a year +and a half he had a monopoly--British soldiers had to hang on as best +they could under the knowledge that the enemy had more guns and more +shell than they, and bigger shell at that. But at last the weapon seems +to have been turned against him. No doubt his armaments and munitions +are growing fast, but ours have for the moment overtaken them. And hell +though it is for both sides--something which no soldiers in the world's +history ever yet had to endure--it is mostly better for us at present +than for the Germans. I have heard men coming out of the thick of it +say, "Well, I'm glad I'm not a Hun." + +Now, here is what it means. There is no good done by describing the +particular horrors of war--God knows those who see them want to forget +them as soon as they can. But it is just as well to know what the work +in the munition factories means to _your_ friends--_your_ sons and +fathers and brothers at the front. + +The normal shelling of the afternoon--a scattered bombardment all over +the landscape, which only brings perhaps half a dozen shells to your +immediate neighbourhood once in every ten minutes--has noticeably +quickened. The German is obviously turning on more batteries. The light +field-gun shrapnel is fairly scattered as before. But 5.9-inch howitzers +are being added to it. Except for his small field guns, the German makes +little use of guns. His work is almost entirely done with howitzers. He +possesses big howitzers--8-inch and larger--as we do. But the backbone +of his artillery is the 5.9 howitzer; and after that probably the 4.2. + +The shells from both these guns are beginning to fall more thickly. Huge +black clouds shoot into the air from various parts of the foreground, +and slowly drift away across the hill-top. Suddenly there is a +descending shriek, drawn out for a second or more, coming terrifyingly +near; a crash far louder than the nearest thunder; a colossal thump to +the earth which seems to move the whole world about an inch from its +base; a scatter of flying bits and all sorts of under-noises, rustle of +a flying wood splinter, whir of fragments, scatter of falling earth. +Before it is half finished another shriek exactly similar is coming +through it. Another crash--apparently right on the crown of your head, +as if the roof beams of the sky had been burst in. You can just hear, +through the crash, the shriek of a third and fourth shell as they come +tearing down the vault of heaven--_crash--crash_. Clouds of dust are +floating over you. A swifter shriek and something breaks like a glass +bottle in front of the parapet, sending its fragments slithering low +overhead. It bursts like a rainstorm, sheet upon sheet, _smash, smash, +smash_, with one or two more of the heavier shells punctuating the +shower of the lighter ones. The lighter shell is shrapnel from field +guns, sent, I dare say, to keep you in the trench while the heavier +shell pounds you there. A couple of salvos from each, perhaps twenty or +thirty shells in the minute, and the shrieks cease. The dust drifts +down the hill. The sky clears. The sun looks in. Five minutes later down +comes exactly such another shower. + +That is the beginning. As the evening wears on, the salvos become more +frequent. All through the night they go on. The next morning the +intervals are becoming even less. Occasionally the hurricane reaches +such an intensity that there seems no interval at all. There is an +easing in the afternoon--which may indicate that the worst is over, or +merely that the guns are being cleaned, or the gunners having their tea. +Towards dusk it swells in a wave heavier than any that has yet come. All +through the second night the inferno lasts. In the grey dawn of the +second day it increases in a manner almost unbelievable--the dust of it +covers everything; it is quite impossible to see. The earth shakes and +quivers with the pounding. + +It is just then that the lighter guns join in with the roll as of a +kettledrum--_Trommelfeuer_. The enemy is throwing out his infantry, and +his shrapnel is showering on to our lines in order to keep down the +heads of our men to the last moment. Suddenly the whole noise eases. The +enemy is casting his shrapnel and big shell farther back. + +The chances are that most men in those racked lines do not know whether +the enemy ever delivers the attack or not. Our artillery breaks the head +of it before it crosses No Man's Land. A few figures on the skyline, +hopping from crater to crater, indicate what is left of it. As soon as +they find rifle fire and machine-guns on them the remnant give it up as +hopeless. They thought our men would have run--and they found them still +at their post; that is all. + +And what of the men who have been out there under that hurricane, night +and day, until its duration almost passed memory--amidst sights and +sounds indescribable, desperately tried? I was out there once after such +a time as that. There they were in their dusty ditch in that blasted, +brown Sahara of a country--Sydney boys, country fellows from New South +Wales, our old friends just as we knew them, heavy eyed, tired to death +as after a long fight with a bush fire or heavy work in drought +time--but simply doing their ordinary Australian work in their ordinary +Australian way. And that is all they had been doing and all they wished +anyone to believe they had been doing. + +But what are we going to do for them? The mere noise is enough to break +any man's nerves. Every one of those shrieking shells which fell night +and day might mean any man's instant death. As he hears each shell +coming he knows it. He saw the sights around him--he was buried by earth +and dug out by his mates, and he dug them out in turn. What can we do +for him? I know only one thing--it is the only alleviation that science +knows of. (I am talking now of the most modern and heaviest of battles, +and of the thick and centre of it; for no men have ever been through a +heavier fight than Pozières.) We can force some mitigation of all this +by one means and one alone--if we can give the Germans worse. The chief +anxiety in the mind of the soldier is--have we got the guns and the +shells--can we keep ahead of them with guns and our ammunition? That +means everything. These men have the nerve to go through these infernos, +provided their friends at home do not desert them. If the munition +worker could see what I have seen, he would toil as though he were +racing against time to save the life of a man. + +I saw yesterday a letter picked up on the battlefield--it was from an +Australian private. "Dear Mother, sisters, brothers and Auntie Lill," it +said. "As we are about to go into work that must be done, I want to ask +you, if anything should happen to me, not to worry. You must think of +all the mothers that have lost ones as dear to them. One thing you can +say--that you lost one doing his little bit for a good cause. + +"I know you shall feel it if anything does happen to me, but I am +willing and prepared to give my life for the cause." + +Such lives hang from hour to hour on the work that is done in the +British factories. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE NEW FIGHTING + +_France, August 20th._ + + +It is a month this morning since Australians plunged into the heart of +the most modern of battles. They had been in many sorts of battle +before; but they had never been in the brunt of the whole war where the +science and ingenuity of war had reached for the moment their highest +pitch. One month ago they plunged into the very brunt and apex of it. +And they are still fighting there. + +People have spoken of this war as the war of trenches. But the latest +battles have reached a stage beyond that. The war of trenches is a +comfortable out-of-date phase, to be looked upon with regret and perhaps +even some longing. The war of to-day is a war of craters and potholes--a +war of crannies and nicks and crevices torn out of the earth yesterday, +and to be shattered into new shapes to-morrow. It may not seem easy to +believe, but we have seen the Germans under heavy bombardment leaving +the shelter of their trenches for safety in the open--jumping out and +running forward into shell holes--anywhere so long as they got away from +the cover which they had built for themselves. The trench which they +left is by next day non-existent--even the airmen looking down on it +from above in the mists of the grey dawn can scarcely tell where it was. +Then some community of ants sets to work and the line begins to show +again. Again it is obliterated, until a stage comes when the German +decides that it is not worth while digging it out. He has other lines, +and he turns his energy on to them. + +The result of all this is that areas of ground in the hot corners of +battles like that of the Somme and Verdun, and especially disputed hill +summits such as the Mort Homme or this Pozières Ridge, become simply a +desert of shell craters. + +A few days back, going to a portion of the line which had considerably +altered since I was there, I went by a trench which was marked on the +map. It was a good trench, but it did not seem to have been greatly used +of late, which was rather surprising. "You won't find it quite so good +all the way," said a friend who was coming down. + +Presently, and quite suddenly, the trench shallowed. The sides which had +been clean cut were tumbled in. The fallen earth blocked the passage, +and the journey became a switchback over tumbled rubbish and into the +trench again. Someone had before been living in the trench, for there +were tools in it and bits of soldiers' gear. Here and there a shattered +rifle stuck out of the terra-cotta soil. The trench shallowed still +further. There had been little hastily scraped dug-outs in the sides of +it. They were more than three parts filled with earth; but in them, +every now and again, there showed a patch of muddy grey cloth above the +debris. It was part of the uniform of a German soldier buried by the +shell that killed him. It must have been an old German trench taken by +our men some weeks before. It can scarcely have been visited since, for +its garrison lay there just as the shells had buried them. Probably it +had been found too broken for use and had been almost forgotten. + +The trench led on through these relics of battle until even they were +lost altogether; and it came out into a region where it was really a +puzzle to say what was trench and what was not. Around one stretched a +desert of shell craters--hole bordering upon hole so that there was no +space at all between them. Each hole was circular like the ring of earth +at the mouth of an ants' nest several thousand times magnified, and they +stretched away like the waves of the sea. Far to the left was a bare, +brown hill-side. In front, and to the right, billows of red shell-holes +rose to the sharp-cut, white skyline a hundred yards away. + +You feel as a man must feel in a very small boat lost in a very wide +ocean. In the trough of a shell-hole your horizon was the edges of the +crater on a level with your head. When you wandered over from that +shell-hole into the next you came suddenly into view of a wide stretch +of country all apparently exactly the same as that through which you +were plunging. The green land of France lay behind you in the distance. +But the rest of the landscape was an ocean of red craters. In one part +of it, just over the near horizon, there protruded the shattered dry +stubble of an orchard long since reduced to about thirty bare, black, +shattered tree stumps. Nearer were a few short black stakes protruding +among the craters--clearly the remains of an ancient wire entanglement. +The trench was still traceable ten or twelve paces ahead, and there +might be something which looked like the continuation of it a dozen +yards farther--a line of ancient parapet appeared to be distinguishable +there for a short interval. That was certainly the direction. + +It was the parapet sure enough. There, waterlogged in earth, were the +remains of a sandbag barricade built across the trench. A few yards on +was another similar barrier. They must have been the British and German +barricade built across that sap at the end of some fierce bomb fight, +already long-forgotten by the lapse of several weeks. What Victoria +Crosses, what Iron Crosses were won there, by deeds whose memory +deserved to last as long as the race endures, God only knows--one trusts +that the great scheme of things provides some record of such a +sacrifice. + +Here the trench divided. There was no sign of a footprint either way. +Shells of various sizes were sprinkling the landscape impartially--about +ten or fifteen in the minute; none very close--a black burst on the +brown hill--two white shrapnel puffs five hundred yards on one side--a +huge brick-red cloud over the skyline--an angry little high-explosive +whizzbang a quarter of a mile down the hill behind. It is so that it +goes on all day long in the area where our troops are. + +[Illustration: THE WINDMILL OF POZIÈRES AND THE SHELL-SHATTERED GROUND +AROUND IT] + +[Illustration: THE BARELY RECOGNISABLE REMAINS OF A TRENCH] + +One picked the likeliest line, and was ploughing along it, when a +bullet hissed not far away. It did not seem probable that there were +Germans in the landscape. One looked for another cause. Away to one +side, against the skyline, one had a momentary glimpse of three or four +Australians going along, bent low, making for some advanced position. It +must be some stray bullet meant for them. Then another bullet hissed. + +So out on that brown hill-side, in some unrecognisable shell-hole +trench, the enemy must still have been holding on. It was a case for +keeping low where there was cover and making the best speed where there +was not; and the end of the journey was soon reached. + +Now that is a country in which I, to whom it was a rare adventure, found +Australians living, working, moving as if it were their own back yard. +In that country it is often difficult, with the best will in the world, +to tell a trench when you come to it. One of the problems of the modern +battle is that, when men are given a trench to take, it is sometimes +impossible to recognise that trench when they arrive at it. The stretch +in front of the lines is a sea of red earth, in which you may notice, +here or there, the protruding timber of some old German gun position +with its wickerwork shell-covers around it--the whole looking like a +broken fish basket awash in a muddy estuary. An officer crawled out to +some of this jetsam the other day, and, putting up his head from the +wreckage, found nothing in the horizon except one solitary figure +standing about two hundred yards in front of him; and it was a German. + +Imagine the factory hand from Saxony set down to do outpost duty in this +sort of wilderness. I spoke the other day to a little tailor or +bootmaker, with a neck that you could have put through a napkin ring, a +tremendous forehead, and big, startled eyes. "Yes, we were put out there +to dig an outpost trench," he said. "The sergeant gave us a wrong +direction, I think. We took two days' rations and went out hundreds of +yards. No one came near us. There was firing on all sides, and we did +not know where we were. Our food was finished--we saw men working--we +did not know who they were--but they were English, and we were +captured." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ANGELS' WORK + +_France, August 28th._ + + +It had been a wild night. Not a first-rate full-dress attack on a big +front, but one of those fierce struggles on a small front which have +been so frequent in the stubborn fight northwards, up the Pozières Ridge +towards Mouquet Farm. Along a good part of the line the troops were back +in the trenches they had left, or had dug themselves a new trench only +slightly in advance of it. At other points they were in the trenches +they had gone out for. + +The bombardment, which had been turned on as though somebody held the +key to the thunderstorm, and which had crashed and flashed into the +hill-side nearly all the night, had gradually died down. The artillery +Staff officers on both sides had long since read the last pink signal +form, and had given instructions to cover any possible trouble, and had +turned into bed. The normal early morning gun was sending its normal +shell at intervals ranging up the long valley--_rattle, rattle, rattle_, +until the echo died away up the slopes, like that of a vanishing railway +train, or the long-drawn bark of a dog. As it died another gun would +bark, and another, until for a few seconds the noise dwindled and died +altogether, and there was a silence; as if somebody, just for a second +or two, had stopped the battle. The German artillery Staff had left its +gun barking too--every now and again the little shell came and spat over +the hill-side. + +The morning broke very pale and white through the mist--as though the +earth were tired to death after that wild nightmare. The soft white hand +of the fog covered the red land, so that your sight ranged no more than +three hundred yards at most, and often not a hundred. We were stumbling +over ground smashed in by the last night's fire--red earth new turned. +Only a few hundred yards away another fold of the land loomed out of the +mist--you could see the crest rising dull grey out of the white vapour +in the dip between. That hill-crest was in German territory--not ours. +For which good reason we hurried to the shelter of a trench. + +It was while we did so that I noticed a little grey procession coming +towards us from the ground out beyond the trench in front of the German +lines. It came very slowly--the steady, even pace of a funeral. The +leader was a man--a weatherbeaten, square-jawed, rugged old bushman--who +marched solemnly, holding a stick in front of him, from which hung a +flag. Behind him came two men carrying, very tenderly and slowly, a +stretcher. By them walked a fourth man with a water-bottle. + +They were the stretcher-bearers bringing in from out there some of the +wreckage of the night before. We went along the trench farther, and at a +later stage we could see men in the mist in ones and twos out in front +of the line. A rifle or two from somewhere behind the mist were pecking +regularly--sniping from some German outpost; and it seemed not wise to +show yourself too freely--the mist was lifting, and you never knew +whether the Germans were this side of it or not. But though those +bullets pecked constantly at the small parties or at stragglers of the +night's attack hopping back from advanced shell-holes, the little +procession with the flag passed through unharmed. If the sniper saw it +he must have turned his rifle for the moment somewhere else. + +We made our way back, when we went, across a hill-side literally flayed +of all its covering. The barrage of the night before, and of other days, +had fallen there, and the slope was simply a ploughed field. I could not +get rid of that impression at the time, and it is the only one that I +have of it still--that we were hurrying up a ploughed countryside along +a little, irregular, newly-made footpath. We had come out upon a road +and crossed it at one point. After a second or two's thought one +recognised that it _was_ a road, because the banks of it ran straight. +It had been like coming on the body of a man without his skin--it took +you some time to realise that this flayed thing was a road at all. + +There was a shrapnel shell regularly spitting across that country. We +knew we should have to pass it, and one was naturally anxious to be +under cover at the moment. At this time I noticed on our left a little +group of figures, faintly seen in the mist, attending to some job in the +open. We came in sight of the trench we were making for, and they hailed +us asking the way. We told them, and they came slowly across the open +towards us. They were standing above the trench intent on some business +which needed care when the expected shell whizzed over the hill and +burst. I ducked. + +The men, standing on the brink above the trench there, did not even turn +a head to look at it. Five or six angry pieces hissed by, but they no +more heeded them than if it were a schoolboy pelting mud. They were +intent on their business and nothing else. They did not ask for a trench +to get into, but only to be shown the way. Their burden was carried +easier over the open. They were stretcher-bearers. + +We started home a good deal later from another part of the line by a +short cut. Five minutes after we had set out, the Germans happened to +turn their barrage across a patch whither our aged trench seemed certain +to lead. There may not have been more than fifteen shells in the minute, +but it seemed, looking along that path, more like thirty. They were of +all sorts mixed--ugly, black, high-explosive shrapnel bursting with the +crash of a big shell; little, spiteful whizzbang field gun tearing into +the brown earth; 5.9 shells flinging up fountains of it. We pushed on +until the shelter petered out and the shorter shells were already +bursting behind us, and the trench was little more than a crater to nip +into when you heard them singing towards you--and then we decided to +give it up. At one time, as we dodged back, a visitor came singing so +straight that we dived headlong into a crater just as you would dive +into the sea. + +A few minutes later we were back in the comfort of a fair trench, +perfectly snug, watching the storm. As we reached that trench and turned +into it, two men were clambering up on to the bank to join a party of +five others who were standing up there already, in the open. They were +stooping down to arrange with others the lifting of something up to +them. + +They were stretcher-bearers--Australian stretcher-bearers. The two pair +on the bank already had their load, and the others were lifting theirs +up thither. They were just setting out to carry their burden overland on +a track which led straight to the barrage which had turned us back. + +I learned more about Australian stretcher-bearers that morning than I +had known since the first week in Gallipoli. I cursed my fate that I was +not permitted to have a camera there, to prove to Australians that these +things are true. As luck would have it, the next time I saw that same +scene the British official photographer was beside me. We saw the smoke +of a barrage on the skyline. And coming straight from it were two +little parties each headed by a flag. + +We hurried to the place--and there it is on record, in the photograph +for every man to see some day just as we saw it, the little party coming +down the open with the angry shells behind them. + +I asked those stretcher-bearers as I looked up at the shell-bursts how +the Germans treated them. + +"They don't snipe us so long as we have this flag," one of them said. +"You see, we started it by not firing on theirs when they came out to +their wounded. Of course, we can't help the artillery," he added, +looking over his shoulder at the place from which he had come, where a +line of black shell-bursts was fringing the hill. "That's not meant for +us." + +That understanding, if you can maintain it honourably and trust the +enemy to do the same, means everything--everything--to the wounded of +both sides. The commander who, sitting safely at his table, condemns his +wounded and the enemy's in No Man's Land to death by slow torture +without grounds for suspecting trickery, would incur a responsibility +such as few men would face the thought of. + +Load after load, day and night, mile upon mile in and out of craters +across the open and back again--assuredly the Australian +stretcher-bearer has not degenerated since he made his name glorious +amongst his fellow soldiers at Gallipoli. Hear them speak of him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +OUR NEIGHBOUR + +_France, October 10th._ + + +There are next to us at present some Scotsmen. + +Australians and New Zealanders have fought alongside of many good mates +in this war. I suppose the 29th Division and the Navy and the Indian +Mountain Batteries and Infantry were their outstanding friends in +Gallipoli. In France--the artillery of a certain famous regular +division. And the Scotsmen. + +It is quite remarkable how the Australian seems to forgather with the +Scotsman wherever in France he meets him. You will see them sharing each +other's canteens at the base, yarning round each other's camp fires at +the front. Wherever the pipers are, there will the Australians be +gathered together. + +I asked an Australian the other day how it was that he and his mates had +struck up such a remarkable friendship with some of these Highland +regiments now camped near them. "Well, I think it's their sense of +humour," he said. + +We looked at him rather hard. + +"You see, they can understand our jokes," he said. "They don't seem to +take us too serious like." + +And I think he had just hit it. The Australian has a habit of pulling +his mate's leg, and being on his guard against a leg-pull in return. He +has sharpened his conversation against the conversation of his friends +from the time he could speak--his uncles are generally to blame for it; +they started him on the path of repartee by pulling his legs before +those same legs had learnt to walk. As a result he is always sparring in +conversation--does not mean to be taken seriously. And the Scotsman, +cautious and always on the look-out for a feint, is seldom caught by it. +If he is, the chances are he gives it back--with interest. + +It is a grim, old, dry variety of humour, and it goes with a wonderful, +grim, sturdy nature. Few people here see a Scottish regiment passing +without waiting, if they have the time, to watch the last square figure +disappear down the road. Many look at the perfect swing of the kilts, +and the strong bare knees. For myself I can never take my eyes off +their faces. There is a stalwart independence in their strong mouths and +foreheads and chins which rivets one's interest. Every face is different +from the next. Each man seems to be thinking for himself, and ready to +stand up for his own decision against the world. There is a sort of +reasoned determination uniting them into a single whole, which, one +thinks, must be a very terrible sort of whole to meet in anger. + +And it is. The Scotsman is, I think, the most unrelenting fighter that I +have come across. The Australian is a most fierce fighter in battle, but +he is quite ready to make friends afterwards with his enemy. Once he has +taken a German prisoner, he is apt to treat him more liberally than most +troops--more so even, I think, than the English soldier--and that is +saying a good deal. To the Scotsman, when he escorts his prisoners home, +those prisoners are Germans still. He has never forgotten the tremendous +losses which Scottish regiments suffered at the beginning of the war. He +does not feel kindly towards the men who inflicted them. With the +Australian, once the fight is over, the bitterness is left behind. The +Scotsman makes prisoners, but he does not make friends. + +I shall not forget a talk that I had, some time since, with a Scottish +driver who had been very badly wounded during the first winter. He had +not been in the Army Service Corps in those days. He was in a certain +famous regiment of infantry--joined up in the first weeks of the war as +a recruit, and was sent to the front with a draft almost at once--by +some process which I do not now understand--to replace heavy casualties. +He was with them through that first winter in their miserable, +overflowing apology for a trench. It was a shallow ditch with a wretched +parapet, and all they could do for weeks on end was to send the men into +the trench over the top of the ground at night--they had actually to +approach this trench from the front, at times, because the rear was a +marsh--get into it over the parapet, and sit there on the back of the +trench until nightfall, sheltered only by the parapet, since the trench +was too wet to live in. + +At last there came a dawn when the regiment charged, to cover operations +elsewhere. They left their ditch, and half-way across No Man's Land John +Henderson--it is not his name, but it will do as well as another--John +Henderson was hit. He lay out there for a day and a night. A brave +officer bandaged him and passed on to others. John Henderson was +brought in at last, delirious, with two bullets in him and a heavy +rheumatism. He was invalided out of the service, and as soon as he +thought himself well enough he came back and enlisted at another place, +under another name, in another corps; he could not face his native +village if he remained out of it, and at the same time he could not get +into the fight again if the authorities knew he had once been invalided. +His dread still was that they might find out. He would not ask for his +leave, when it became due, for fear of causing inquiries; he preferred +to stick it out at the front. + +He was as stern against the German after two years as he was on the day +when he enlisted. "It's a funny thing," he said to me, "but Ah was no +worrying about anything at all that night, when Ah was lying out there +wounded, excepting that they might tak me a prisoner. Ah was kind of +deleerious, ye know, but there was always just that thought running +through ma head. I just prayed to God that He wad tak ma life." + +And, oddly, I found that he was of the same mind still. + +That spirit makes great fighting men; and the friendship between the +Scot and the Australian persisted into the fighting. A Scottish unit has +been alongside of the Australians for a considerable time. I was told +that an Australian working party, while digging a forward trench, was +sniped continually by a German machine-gunner out in front of his own +line in a shell-hole. One or two men were hit. The line on the flank of +the working party happened to be held by Scottish troops. An officer +from the Australians had to visit the Scottish line in order to make +some preparations for a forthcoming attack. + +He found the Scotsmen there thirsting for that sniper's blood, +impatiently waiting for dark in order to go over the parapet and get +him--they could scarcely be held back even then, straining like hounds +in the leash. + +The sniper was bagged later, and his machine-gun. It was a mixed affair, +Scottish and Australian; and I believe there was an argument as to which +owned the machine-gun. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +MOUQUET FARM + +_France, September 7th._ + + +On the same day on which the British took Guillemont and reached Ginchy +and Leuze Wood; on the same day on which the French pushed their line +almost to Combles; at the same time as the British attacked Thiépval +from the front, the Australians, for the fifth time, delivered a blow at +the wedge which they have all the while been driving into Thiépval from +the back, along the ridge whose crest runs northwards from Pozières past +Mouquet Farm. + +It was a heavy punch this time. I cannot tell of all these fierce +struggles here--they shall be told in full some day. In the earliest +steps towards Mouquet British troops attacked on the Australian flank, +and at least once the fighting which they met with was appallingly +heavy. Victorians, South Australians, New South Welshmen have each dealt +their blow at it. The Australians have been in heavy fighting, almost +daily, for six solid weeks; they started with three of the most terrible +battles that have ever been fought--few people, even here, realise how +heavy that fighting was. Then the tension eased as they struck those +first blows northwards. As they neared Mouquet the resistance increased. +Each of the last five blows has been stiffer to drive. On each occasion +the wedge has been driven a little farther forward. This time the blow +was heavier and the wedge went farther. + +The attack was made just as a summer night was reddening into dawn. Away +to the rear over Guillemont--for the Australians were pushing almost in +an opposite direction from the great British attack--the first light of +day glowed angrily on the lower edges of the leaden clouds. You could +faintly distinguish objects a hundred yards away. Our field guns, from +behind the hills, broke suddenly into a tempest of fire, which tore a +curtain of dust from the red shell craters carpeting the ridge. A few +minutes later the bombardment lengthened, and the line of Queenslanders, +Tasmanians and Western Australians rushed for the trenches ahead of +them. + +On the left, well down the shoulder of the hill towards Thiépval, was +the dust-heap of craters and ashes, with odd ends of some shattered +timber sticking out of it, which goes by the name of Mouquet Farm. It +was a big, important homestead some months ago. To-day it is the +wreckage of a log roof, waterlogged in a boundless tawny sea of craters. +There is no sign of a trench left in it--the entrances of the dug-outs +may be found here and there like rat-holes, about half a dozen of them, +behind dishevelled heaps of rubbish. They open into craters now--no +doubt each opening has been scratched clear of debris a dozen times. You +have to get into some of them by crawling on hands and knees. + +The first charge took the Western Australians far beyond the farm. They +reached a position two hundred yards farther and started to dig in +there. Within an hour or two they had a fairly good trench out amongst +the craters well in front of the farm. The farm behind them ought to be +solidly ours with such a line in front of it. A separate body of men, +some of them Tasmanians, came like a whirlwind on their heels into the +farm. The part of the garrison which was lying out in front in a rough +line of shell craters found them on top of the craters before they knew +that there were British troops anywhere about. They were captured and +sent back. The Australians tumbled over the debris into the farm itself. + +The fight that raged for two days on this ridge was not one of those in +which the enemy put up his hands as soon as our men came on to him. Far +on the top of the hill to the right, and in the maze of trenches +between, and in the dug-outs of the farm on the left, he was fighting +stiffly over the whole front. In the dim light, as the party which was +to take the farm rushed into it, a machine-gun was barking at them from +somewhere inside that rubbish yard itself. They could hear the bark +obviously very close to them, but it was impossible to say where it came +from, whether thirty yards away or fifty. They knew it must be firing +from behind one of the heaps of rubbish where the entrances of the +dug-outs probably were, firing obliquely and to its rear at the men who +rushed past it. They chose the heap which seemed most probable, and +fired six rifle grenades all at once into it. There was a clatter and +dust; the machine-gun went out like a candle. Later they found it lying +smashed at the mouth of a shaft there. + +[Illustration: THE TUMBLED HEAP OF BRICKS AND TIMBER WHICH THE WORLD +KNOWS AS MOUQUET FARM] + +[Illustration: "PAST THE MUD-HEAPS SCRAPED BY THE ROAD GANGS" (_See p. +192_).] + +The Germans fought them from their rat-holes. When a man peered down the +dark staircase shaft, he sometimes received a shot from below, +sometimes a rifle grenade fired through a hole in a sandbag barricade, +which the Germans had made at the bottom of the stair. Occasionally a +face would be seen peering up from below--for they refused to come +out--and our men would fling down a bomb or fire a couple of shots. But +those on the top of the stair always have the advantage. The Germans +were bombed and shot out of entrance after entrance, and at last came up +through the only exit left to them. Finding Australians swarming through +the place, they surrendered; and the whole garrison of Mouquet Farm was +accounted for. Those who were not lying dead in the craters and +dust-heap were prisoners. Mouquet Farm was ours, and a line of +Australian infantry was entrenching itself far ahead of it. + +On the ridge the charge had farther to go. It swarmed over one German +trench and on to a more distant one. The Germans fought it from their +trench. The rush was a long one, and the German had time to find his +feet after the bombardment. But the men he was standing up to were the +offshoot of a famous Queensland regiment; and, though the German +guardsmen showed more fight than any Germans we have met, they had no +match for the fire of these boys. The trench is said to have been +crowded with German dead and wounded. On the left the German tried at +once to bomb his way back into the trench he had lost, and for a time he +made some headway. Part of the line was driven out of the trench into +the craters on our side of it. But before the bombing party had gone +far, the Queenslanders were into the trench again with bomb and bayonet, +and the trenches on the right flank of the attack were solidly ours. + +The Queenslanders who reached this trench and took it, found themselves +looking out over a wide expanse of country. Miles in front of them, and +far away to their flank, there stretched a virgin land. They were upon +the crest of the ridge, and the landscape before them was the country +behind the German lines. Except for a gentle rise, somewhat farther +northward behind Thiépval, they had reached about the highest point upon +the northern end of the ridge. + +The connecting trenches, between Mouquet Farm and the ridge above and +behind it, were attacked by the Tasmanians. The fire was very heavy, and +for a moment it looked as if this part of the line, and the +Queenslanders immediately next to it, would not be able to get in. +Officer after officer was hit. Leading amongst these was a senior +captain, an officer old for his rank, but one who was known to almost +every man in the force as one of the most striking personalities in +Gallipoli. He had two sons in the Australian force, officers practically +of his own rank. He was one of the first men on to Anzac Beach; and was +the last Australian who left it: Captain Littler. + +I had seen him just as he was leaving for the fight, some hours before. +He carried no weapon but a walking-stick. "I have never carried anything +else into action," he said, "and I am not going to begin now." He was +ill with rheumatism and looked it, and the doctor had advised that he +ought not to be with his company. But he came back to them that evening +for the fight; and one could see that it made a world of difference to +them. He was a man whom his own men swore by. Personally, one breathed +more easily knowing that he was with them. It would be his last big +fight, he told me. + +Half-way through that charge, in the thick of the whirl of it, he was +seen standing, leaning heavily upon his stick. It was touch and go at +the moment whether the trench was won or lost. "Are you hit, sir?" +asked several around him. Then they noticed a gash in his leg and the +blood running from it--and he seemed to be hit through the chest as +well. + +"I will reach that trench if the boys do," he said. + +"Have no fear of that, sir," was the answer. A sergeant asked him for +his stick. Then--with the voice of a big man, like his officer, the +sergeant shouted, and waved his stick, and took the men on. In the +half-dark his figure was not unlike that of his commander. They made one +further rush and were in the trench. + +They were utterly isolated in the trench when they reached it. A German +machine-gun was cracking away in the same trench to their right, firing +between them and the trench they had come from. There was barbed wire in +front of it. When they tried to force a way with bombs up the trench to +the gun, German bombers in craters behind the trench showered bombs on +to them. Then a sergeant crawled out between the wire and the +machine-gun--crawled on his stomach right up to the gun and shot the +gunner with his revolver. "I've killed three of them," he said, as he +crawled back. Presently a shell fell on him and shattered him. But our +bombers, like the Germans, crept out into craters behind the trench, +and bombed the German bombers out of their shelter. That opened the way +along the trench, and they found the three machine-gunners, shot as the +sergeant had said. The Tasmanians went swiftly along the trench after +that, and presently saw a row of good Australian heads in a sap well in +front of them. There went up a cheer. Other German guardsmen, who had +been lying in craters in front of the trench, and in a scrap of trench +beyond, heard the cheering; seeing that there were Australians on both +sides of them, they stumbled to their feet and threw up their hands. +They were marched off to the rear, and the Tasmanians joined up with the +Queenslanders. + +So the centre was joined to the right. On the left it was uncertain +whether it was joined or not. There was a line of trench to be seen on +that side running back towards the German lines. It was merely a more +regular line of mud amongst the irregular mud-heaps of the craters; but +there were the heads of the men looking out from it--so clearly it was a +trench. As the light grew they could make out men leaning on their arms +and elbows, looking over the parapet. Every available glass was turned +on them, but it was too dark still to see if they were Australians. Two +scouts were sent forward, creeping from hole to hole. Both were shot. A +machine-gun was turned at once on to the line of heads. They started +hopping back down their tumbled sap towards the German rear. Clearly +they were Germans. The machine-gun made fast practice as the line of +backs showed behind the parapet. + +There were Germans, not Australians, in the trenches on the Tasmanians' +left--in the same trench as they. The flank there was in the air. There +was nothing to do except to barricade the trench and hold the flank as +best they could. + +And for the next two days they held it, shelled with every sort of gun +and trench mortar, although fresh companies of the Prussian Guard +Reserve constantly filed in to the gap which existed between this point +and Mouquet Farm. Their old leader, who had promised to reach that +trench with them, was not there. They found him lying dead within a few +yards of it, straight in front of the machine-gun which they had +silenced. So Littler had kept his promise--and lost his life. They had a +young officer and a few sergeants. All through that day their numbers +slowly dwindled. They held the trench all the next night, and in the +grey dawn of the second day a sentry, looking over the trench, saw the +Germans a little way outside of it. As he pointed them out he fell back +shot through the head. They told the Queenslanders, and the +Queenslanders came out instantly and bombed from their side, in rear of +the Germans. The Queensland officer was shot dead, but the Germans were +cleared out or killed. + +That afternoon the Germans attacked that open flank with heavy +artillery. For hours shell after shell crashed into the earth around. A +heavy battery found the barricade and put its four big shells +systematically round it. They reduced the garrison as far as possible, +and four or five only were kept by the barricade. They were not all +Australians now. + +For the end of the Australian work was coming very near. But that +occasion deserves a letter to itself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +HOW THE AUSTRALIANS WERE RELIEVED + +_France, September 19th._ + + +It was before the moment at which my last letter ended that the time had +come for the first relieving troops to be drafted into the fight. + +I shall not forget the first I saw of them. We were at a certain +headquarters not a thousand miles from the enemy's barrage. Messages had +dribbled through from each part of the attacking line telling exactly +where every portion of it had got to; or rather telling where each +portion believed it had got to--as far as it could judge by sticking up +its collective head from shell craters and broken-down trench walls and +staring out over the limitless sea of craters and crabholes which +surrounded it. As the only features in the landscape were a ragged tree +stump, and what looked like the remains of a broken fish basket over the +horizon, all very distant--and a dozen shell-bursts and the bark of an +unseen machine-gun, all very close--the determination was apt to be a +trifle erratic. Still, the points were marked down, where each handful +believed and trusted itself to be. The next business was to fill up +certain gaps. An order was dispatched to the supports. They were to send +an officer to receive instructions. + +He came. He was a man nearing middle age, erect, tough as wire, with +lines in his face such as hard fighting and responsibility leave on the +face of every soldier. + +The representative of authority upon the spot--an Australian who also +had faced ugly scenes--explained to him quietly where he wished him to +take his men, into such and such a corner, by such and such a route. It +meant plunging straight into the thick of the Somme battle, with all its +unknown horrors--everyone there knew that. But the new-comer said +quietly, "Yes, sir"--and climbed up and out into the light. + +It was not an Australian who spoke. That "Yes, sir" came unmistakably +from the other side of the Pacific. It was the first of the Canadians +upon the Somme battlefield. + +An hour or so later an Australian officer, moving along with his men to +improve an exposed and isolated trench (a trench which was outflanked +already, and enfiladed, and in half a dozen ways unhealthy) into a +condition to be held against any attacks at all costs--found, coming +across the open towards his exposed flank, a line of stalwart men in +kilts. His men were dead tired, the enemy's shell-fire was constant and +heavy, grey heads and helmets constantly seen behind a red mud parapet, +across a hundred yards of red mud craters, proved that the Prussian +Guard Reserve was getting ready to counter-attack him. Every message he +sent back to Headquarters finished, "But we will hold this trench." + +And yet here the new men came--a line of them, stumbling from crater +into crater, and by one of those unaccountable chances that occur in +battles, only two or three of them were hit in crossing over. They +dropped into the trench by the side of the Australians. Their bombers +went to the left to relieve the men who had been holding the open flank. +They brought in with them keen, fresh faces and bodies, and an +all-important supply of bombs. It was better than a draught of good +wine. + +So it was that the first of the Canadians arrived. + +Long before the last Australian platoon left that battered line, these +first Canadians were almost as tired as they. For thirty-six hours they +had piled up the same barricades, garrisoned the same shell-holes, were +shattered by the same shells. Twenty-four hours after the Canadians +came, the vicious bombardment described in the last letter descended on +the flank they both were holding. They were buried together by the heavy +shell-bursts. They dug each other out. When the garrison became so thin +that whole lengths of trench were without a single unwounded occupant, +they helped each others' wounded down to the next length, and built +another barricade, and held that. + +Finally, when hour after hour passed and the incessant shelling never +ceased, the garrison was withdrawn a little farther; and then five of +them went back to the barricade which the enemy's artillery had +discovered. They sat down in the trench behind it. A German battery was +trying for it--putting its four big high-explosive shells regularly +round it--salvo after salvo as punctual as clockwork. It was only a +matter of time before the thing must go. + +So the five sat there--Tasmanians and Canadians--and discussed the rival +methods of wheat growing in their respective dominions in order to keep +their thoughts away from that inevitable shell. + +It came at last, through their shelter--slashed one man across the face, +killed two and left two--smashed the barricade into a scrap-heap. Then +others were brought to stand by. Shells were falling anything from +thirty to forty in the minute. One of the remaining Tasmanian +sergeants--a Lewis gunner--came back from an errand, crawling, wounded +dangerously through the neck. "I don't want to go away," he said. "If I +can't work a Lewis gun, I can sit by another chap and tell him how to." +In the end, when he was sent away, he was seen crawling on two knees and +one hand, guiding with the other hand a fellow gunner who had been hit. + +That night a big gun, much bigger than the rest, sent its shells roaring +down through the sky somewhere near. The men would be waked by the +shriek of each shell and then fall asleep and be waked again by the +crash of the explosion. And still they held the trench. And still every +other message ended--"But we will hold on." + +They had withdrawn a little to where they could hold during the night; +but before the grey morning, the moment the bombardment had eased, they +crept back again lest the Germans should get there first. + +With the light came a reinforcement of new Canadians--grand fellows in +great spirit. And the last Australian was during that morning withdrawn. +It was the most welcome sight in all the world to see those troops come +in. Not that the tired men would ever admit that it was necessary. As +one report from an Australian boy said, "The reinforcement has arrived. +Captain X---- may tell you that the Australians are done. Rot!" + +Whether they were done or whether they were not, they spoke of those +Canadian bombers in a way it would have done Canadian hearts good to +hear. Australians and Canadians fought for thirty-six hours in those +trenches inextricably mixed, working under each others' officers. Their +wounded helped each other from the front. Their dead lie and will lie +through all the centuries hastily buried beside the tumbled trenches and +shell-holes where, fighting as mates, they died. + + * * * * * + +And the men who had hung on to that flank almost within shouting +distance of Mouquet for two wild days and nights--they came out of the +fight asking, "Can you tell me if we have got Mouquet Farm?" + +We had not. The fierce fighting in the broken centre had enabled us to +hold all the ground gained upon the crest. But through this same gap the +Germans had come back against the farm. They swarmed in upon its +garrison, driving in gradually the men who were holding that flank. +Under heavy shell-fire the line dwindled and dwindled until the Western +Australians, who had won the farm and held it for five hours, numbered +barely sufficient to make good their retirement. The officer left in +charge there, himself wounded, ordered the remnant to withdraw. And the +Germans entered the farm again. + +But on the crest the line held. The Prussian Guard Reserve +counter-attacked it three times, and on the last occasion the +Queenslanders had such deadly shooting against Germans in the open as +cheered them in spite of all their fatigue. I saw those Queenslanders +marching out two days later with a step which would do credit to a +Guards regiment going in. + +So ended a fight as hard as Australians have ever fought. + +Mouquet Farm was taken a fortnight later in a big combined advance of +British and Canadians. The Farm itself held out many hours after the +line had passed it, and was finally seized by a pioneer battalion, +working behind our lines. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ON LEAVE TO A NEW ENGLAND + +_Back in France._ + + +It was after seven weeks of very heavy fighting. Even those whose duty +took them rarely up amongst the shells were almost worn out with the +prolonged strain. Those who had been fighting their turns up in the +powdered trenches came out from time to time tired well nigh to death in +body, mind and soul. The battle of the Somme still grumbled night and +day behind them. But for those who emerged a certain amount of leave was +opened. + +It was like a plunge into forgotten days. War seemed to end at the +French quayside. Staff officers, brigadier-generals, captains, privates +and lance-corporals--they were all just Englishmen off to their homes. +They jostled one another up the gangway--I never heard a rough word in +that dense crowd. They lay side by side outside the saloon of the +Channel turbine steamer. A corporal with his head half in the doorway, +too seasick to know that it was fair in the path of a major-general's +boots; a general Staff officer and a French captain with their backs +propped against the oak panelling and their ribs against somebody else's +baggage; a subaltern of engineers with his head upon their feet; a +hundred others packed on the stairs and up to the deck; and a horrible +groaning from the direction of the lavatories--it was truly the happiest +moment in all their lives. + +The crossing passed like a dream--scarcely noticed. Seven weeks of +strain can leave you too tired almost to think. A journey in a +comfortable railway compartment through prim, hazy English fields, the +carriage blue with smoke from the pipes of its inhabitants (a Canadian, +three or four Englishmen and a couple of Australians), has gone almost +unremembered. As the custom is in England, they were mostly ensconced +behind their newspapers, although there is more geniality in an English +railway carriage to-day than was usual before the war. But most people +in that train, I think, were too tired for conversation. + +It was the coming into London that left such an impression as some of us +will never forget. Some of us knew London well before the war. It is +the one great city in the world where you never saw the least trace of +corporate emotion. It divides itself off into districts for the rich and +districts for the poor, and districts for all the grades in between the +two, which are the separate layers in the big, frowning edifice of +British society; they may have had some sort of feeling for their class +or their profession--the lawyer proud of his Inns of Court and of the +tradition of the London Bar, the doctor proud of London schools of +medicine, and the Thames engineer even proud of the work that is turned +out upon the Thames. But there was no more common feeling or activity in +the people of London than there would be common energy in a heap of sand +grains. They would have looked upon it as sheer weakness to exhibit any +interest in the doings even of their neighbours. + +The battle of the Somme had begun about nine weeks before when this +particular train, carrying the daily instalment of men on leave from it, +began to wind its way in past the endless back-gardens and yellow brick +houses, every one the replica of the next, and the numberless villa +chimneys and chimney-pots which fence the southern approaches of the +great capital. They are tight, compact little fortresses, those English +villas, each jealously defended against its neighbour and the whole +world by the sentiment within, even more than by the high brick wall +around it. But if they were all rigidly separate from each other, there +was one thing that bound them all together just for that moment. + +It happened in every cottage garden, in every street that rattled past +underneath the railway bridges, in every slum-yard, from every window, +upper and lower. As the leave train passed the people all for the moment +dropped whatever they were doing and ran to wave a hand at it. The +children in every garden dropped their games and ran to the fence and +clambered up to wave these tired men out of sight. The servant at the +upper window let her work go and waved; the mother of the family and the +girls in the sitting-room downstairs came to the window and waved; the +woman washing in the tub in the back-yard straightened herself up and +waved; the little grocer out with his wife and the perambulator waved, +and the wife waved, and the infant in the perambulator waved; the boys +playing pitch-and-toss on the pavement ran towards the railway bridge +and waved; the young lady out for a walk with her young man waved--not +at all a suppressed welcome, quite the reverse of half-hearted; the +young man waved, much more demurely, but still he did wave. The flapper +on the lawn threw down her tennis-racket and simply flung kisses; and +her two young brothers expressed themselves quite as emphatically in +their own manner; the old man at the corner and the grocer-boy from his +cart waved. For a quarter of an hour, while that train wound in through +the London suburbs, every human being that was near dropped his work and +gave it a welcome. + +I have seen many great ceremonies in England, and they have left me as +cold as ice. There have been big set pieces even in this war, with brass +bands and lines of policemen and cheering crowds and long accounts of it +afterwards in the newspapers. But I have never seen any demonstration +that could compare with this simple spontaneous welcome by the families +of London. It was quite unrehearsed and quite unreported. No one had +arranged it, and no one was going to write big headlines about it next +day. The people in one garden did not even know what the people in the +next garden were doing--or want to know. The servant at the upper +window did not know that the mistress was at the lower window doing +exactly as she was, and vice versa. For the first time in one's +experience one had experienced a genuine, whole-hearted, common feeling +running through all the English people--every man, woman and child, +without distinction, bound in one common interest which, for the time +being, was moving the whole nation. And I shall never forget it. + +It was the most wonderful welcome--I am not exaggerating when I say that +it was one of the most wonderful and most inspiriting sights that I have +ever seen. I do not know whether the rulers of the country are aware of +it. But I do not believe for a moment that this people can go back after +the war to the attitude by which each of those families was to all the +others only so much prospective monetary gain or loss. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE NEW ENTRY + +_France, November 13th._ + + +Last week an Australian force made its attack in quite a different area +of the Somme battle. + +The sky was blue in patches, with cold white clouds between. The wind +drove icily. There had been practically no rain for two days. + +We were in a new corner. The New Zealanders had pushed right through to +the comparatively green country just here--and so had the British to +north and south of it. We were well over the slope of the main ridge, up +which the Somme battle raged for the first three months. Pozières, the +highest point, where Australians first peeped over it, lay miles away to +our left rear. From the top of the ridge behind you, looking back over +your left shoulder, you could just see a few distant broken tree stumps. +I think they marked the site of that old nightmare. + +We were looking down a long even slope to a long up-slope beyond. The +country around us was mostly brown-mud shell-holes. Not like the +shell-holes of that blasted hill-top of two months back--I have never +seen anything quite like that, though they say that Guillemont, which I +have not seen, is as devastated. In this present area there is green +grass between the rims of the craters. But not enough green grass to +matter. The general colour of the country on the British side is +brown--all gradations of it--from thin, sloppy, grey-brown mud, trampled +liquid with the feet of men and horses, to dull, putty-like brown mud so +thick that, when you get your foot into it, you have a constant problem +of getting it out again. + +For it is the country over which the fight has passed. As we advance, we +advance always on to the area which has been torn with shells--where the +villages and the trenches and the surface of the green country have been +battered and shattered, first by our guns and then by the German guns, +until they have made a hell out of heaven. + +And always just ahead of us, a mile or so behind the German lines, there +is heaven smiling--you can see it clearly; in this part, up the +opposite slope of the wide, open valley. There is the green country on +which the Germans are always being driven back, and up which this +monstrous engine of war has not yet begun its slow, gruesome climb. +There are the beautiful green woods fading to soft autumn brown and +yellow--the little red roofs in the trees, an empty village in the +foreground--you can see the wet mud shining in its street and the white +trickle of water down the centre of the road. + +Down our long muddy hill-slope, near where the knuckles of it dip out of +sight into the bottom of the valley, one notices a line of heads. In +some places they are clear and in others they cannot be seen. But we +guess that it is the line ready to go out. + +At the top of the opposite up-slope the tower of Bapaume town hall +showed up behind the trees. We made out that the hands of the clock were +at the hour--but I have heard others say that they were permanently at +half-past five, and others a quarter past four--it is one of those +matters which become very important on these long dark evenings, and +friendships are apt to be broken over it. The clock tower, +unfortunately, disappeared finally at eighteen minutes past eleven +yesterday morning, so the controversy is never likely to be settled. + +The bombardment broke out suddenly from behind us. We saw the long line +of men below clamber on to the surface, a bayonet gleaming here and +there, and begin to walk steadily between the shell-holes towards the +edge of the hill. From where we were you could not see the enemy's +trench in the valley--only the brown mud of crater rims down to the +hill's edge. And I think the line could not see it either, in most parts +at any rate. They would start from their muddy parapet, and over the wet +grass, with one idea above all others in the back of every man's +head--when shall we begin to catch sight of the enemy? + +It is curious how in this country of shell craters you can look at a +trench without realising that it is a trench. A mud-heap parapet is not +so different from the mud-heap round a crater's rim, except that it is +more regular. Even to discover your own trench is often like finding a +bush road. You are told that there is a trench over there and you cannot +miss it. But, once you have left your starting-point, it looks as if +there were nothing else in the world but a wilderness of shell craters. +Then you realise that there is a certain regularity in the irregular +mud-heaps some way ahead of you--the top of a muddy steel helmet moves +between two earth-heaps on the ground's surface--then another helmet and +another; and you have found your bearings. That is clearly the trench +they spoke about. + +Well, finding the German trench seems to be much the same experience, +varied by a multitude of bullets singing past like bees, and with the +additional thought ever present to the mind--when will the enemy's +barrage burst on you? When it does come, you do not hear it +coming--there is too much racket in the air for your ears to catch the +shell whistling down as you are accustomed to. There are big black +crashes and splashes near by, without warning--scarcely noticed at +first. In the charge itself men often do not notice other men hit--we, +looking on from far behind, did not notice that. A man may be slipping +in a shell-hole, or in the mud, or in some wire--often he gets up again +and runs on. It is only afterwards that you realise.... + +Across the mud space there were suddenly noticed a few grey helmets +watching--a long, long distance away. Then the grey helmets moved, and +other helmets moved, and bunched themselves up, and hurried about like a +disturbed hive, and settled into a line of men firing fast and coolly. +That was the German trench. + +It was fairly packed already in one part. The rattle of fire grew +quickly. The chatter of one machine-gun--then another, and another, were +added to it. Our shells were bursting occasionally flat in the face of +the Germans--one big bearded fellow--they are close enough for those +details to be seen now--takes a low burst of our shrapnel full in his +eyes. A high-explosive shell bursts on the parapet, and down go three +others. But they are firing calmly through all this. + +Three or four Germans suddenly get up from some hole in No Man's Land, +and bolt for their trench like rabbits. Within forty yards of the German +parapet the leading men in our line find themselves alone. The line has +dwindled to a few scanty groups. These are dropping suddenly--their +comrades cannot say whether they are taking cover in shell-holes, or +whether they have been hit. The Germans are getting up a machine-gun on +the parapet straight opposite. The first two men fall back shot. Two or +three others struggle up to it--they are shot too; our men are making +desperate shooting to keep down that machine-gun. But the Germans get it +up. It cracks overhead. In this part of the line the attack is clearly +finished. + +One remembers a day, some months back, when a Western Australian +battalion, after a heavy bombardment of its trench, found a German line +coming up over the crest of the hill about two hundred yards away. The +Western Australians stood up well over the parapet, and fired until the +remnant of that line sank to the ground within forty or fifty yards of +them. That line was a line of the Prussian Guard Reserve. We have had +that opportunity three or four times in the Somme battle. This time it +was the Germans who had it. The Germans were of the Prussian Foot +Guards--and it was Western Australians who were attacking. + +In another part, where the South Australians attacked, they found fewer +Germans in the trench. They could see the Germans in small groups +getting their bombs ready to throw--but they were into the trench before +the Germans had time to hold them up. They killed or captured all the +German garrison, and destroyed a machine-gun, and set steadily to +improve the trench for holding it. + +Everything seemed to go well in this part, except that they could get no +touch with any other of our troops in the trench. As far as they knew +the other portions of the attack had succeeded, as well as theirs. And +then things changed suddenly. After an hour a message did come from +Australians farther along in the same trench--a message for urgent help. +At the same time a similar message came from the other flank as well. A +shower of stick-bombs burst with a formidable crash from one side. A +line of Germans was seen, coming steadily along in single file against +the other end of the trench. A similar shower of crashes descended from +that direction. A machine-gun began to crackle down the trench. Our men +fought till their bombs, and all the German bombs they could find, were +gone. Finally the Germans began to gain on them from both ends, and the +attack here, too, was over. They were driven from the trench. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +A HARD TIME + +_France, November 28th._ + + +He is having a hard time. I do not see that there is any reason to make +light of it. If you do, you rob him of the credit which, if ever man +deserved it, he ought to be getting now--the credit for putting a good +face upon it under conditions which, to him, especially at the +beginning, were sheer undiluted misery. Some people think that to tell +the truth in these matters would hinder recruiting. Well, if it did, it +would only mean that the young Australians who stay at home are guilty +of greater meanness than one has ever thought. For the Australian here +has plunged straight into an existence more like that of a duck in a +farmyard drain than to any other condition known or dreamed of in his +own sunny land. He is resisting it not only passably but well. And if +you want to know the reason--as far as any general reason can be +given--the motive, which keeps him trying day after day, is the desire +that no man shall say a word against Australia. I don't know if his +country is thinking of him--a good part of it must be--but he is +thinking of his country all the time. Australia has made her name in the +world during this war--the world knows her now. It is these men--not the +men who shout at stadiums and race meetings at home, but the simple, +willing men who are described in this letter--who are making Australia's +name for her--and just at present holding on to it like grim death. + +Even the life of a duck in a farmyard drain becomes in a wonderful way +supportable when you tackle it as cheerfully as that. It comes to the +Australian as a shock, at the first introduction--the Manning River +country after the Manning River flood has subsided is, as a New South +Welshman suggested, the nearest imitation that he has ever seen. But +then there was blue sky and dazzling sun over that; whereas here the +whole grey sky seems to drip off his hatbrim and nose and chilled +fingers and the shiny oil sheet tied around his neck, and to ooze into +his back and his boots. It is all fairly comfortable in the green +country from which he starts. There has been a fairly warm billet in the +half dark of a big barn, where the morning light comes through in +strange shafts and triangles up in the blackness amongst the gaunt roof +beams. There was a canteen--which is really an officially managed shop +for good, cheap groceries--in an outhouse at the end of the village; +there were three or four estaminets and cafés, with cheerful and +passably pretty mademoiselles, and good coffee, and very vile wine, +labelled temporarily as champagne. There was also--for some who obtained +leave--a visit to a neighbouring town. + +The battalion moved off early--its much-prized brass band at its +head--and the men who didn't obtain leave at the tail. The battalion is +to be carried to the front in the same string of groaning autobuses +which brought out its weary predecessors. The buses are a great help +immensely valued--but the battalion has to march four miles to them--to +warm it, I suppose. The men who did not obtain leave are carrying the +iron cooking dixies for those four miles. In the nature of things +military, there will be another four miles to march at the other end. +The platoon at the tail thoroughly appreciates this. Its philosophy of +life is wasted, unfortunately, on four miles of stately, dripping French +elm trees which cannot understand, and one richly appreciative +Australian subaltern who can. + +The battalion was not disappointed. The motor-buses brought it to a most +comfortable-looking village--pretty well as good as the one it had left. +It climbed out, and straightaway marched to another village five miles +distant. The darkness had come down--huge motor-wagons shouldered them +off the road into gutters, where they found themselves ankle deep in the +mud-heaps scraped by the road gangs. Every second wagon blinded them +with its two glaring gig-lamps, and slapped up the mud on to their +cheeks. A mule wagon, trotting up behind, splashed it into their back +hair, where they found it in dry beads of assorted sizes next morning. +It was raining dismally. The head of the column was commenting richly on +its surroundings--the platoon at the tail had ceased to comment at all. +The last couple were a pair who, I will swear, must have tramped +together many a long road over the Old Man Plains towards the evening +sun--old felt hats slightly battered; grim, set lips, knees and backs a +little bent with the act of carrying; and pack, oil sheet, mess tin +rising heavenwards in one mighty hump above their spines. At the gap in +a hedge, where the column turned off into a sort of mud lake, stood an +officer whose kindly eyes were puckered from the glare of the central +Australian sun. You could have told they were Australians at a mile's +distance. He looked at them with a queer smile. + +"Are you the Scottish Horse?" he asked inquiringly. + +"We are the blanky camel corps," was the answer. + +That march at both ends of the motor trip was the adjutant's salvation. +When the battalion splashed up to its appointed billets, and found them +calculated for receiving only half of its number of soldiers awake, he +shifted two-thirds of them in; and, as they promptly fell to sleep the +moment the column ceased to move, he shifted in the remainder when they +were asleep. + +When the battalion drew its breath next morning, it was inclined to +think that it was enduring the full horror of war; and was preparing to +summarise the situation. But before it could draw a second breath it was +marched off to--to what I will call a reserve camp. It was not +technically a reserve camp, which was farther on; but they knew it was a +camp for battalions to rest in--when they have been very good, and it +is desired to give them time to recover their wind. They were rather +"bucked" with the idea of this resting-place. + +At midday they arrived there. That is to say, they waded up to a +collection of little tents, not unlike bushmen's tents in Australia, and +stood knee deep at the entrances, looking into them--speechless. They +were not much by way of tents at the best of times. There was nearly as +much mud inside as there was outside. But on top of the normal +conditions came the fact that the last battalion to occupy those tents +must have camped there in dry weather. Since there was not enough +headroom upwards it had dug downwards. And, as it had not put a drain +round them, the water had come in, and the interior of a fair proportion +of these residences consisted of a circular lake, varying in depth from +a few inches to a foot and a half. + +The battalion could only find one word, when its breath came--and, as +the regiment which had made those holes, and the town major to whom they +now belonged, were probably of unimpeachable ancestry, I do not think +the accusation was justified. But when it realised that, good or bad, +this was the place where it was to pass the night, it split itself up, +as good Australian battalions have a way of doing. + +"Which is the way to our tents, Bill?" asked the rear platoon of one of +the band, which had arrived half an hour before. + +"I don't know--I'm not the blanky harbour-master," was the reply. The +battalion set to work, like a tribe of beavers, to make a home. It +banked up little parapets of mud to prevent water coming in. It dug +capacious drains to let the water which was in run out. It scraped the +mud out of the interior of its lake dwellings, until it reached more or +less dry earth. A fair proportion of the regiment melted out into the +landscape, and returned during the rest of the day by ones and twos, +carrying odd bits of timber, broken wood, bricks, fag ends of rusty +sheet iron, old posts, wire and straw. By nightfall those Australians +were, I will not say in comfort, but moderately and passably warm and +dry. + +It so happened that they stayed in that camp four days. By the time they +left it they were looking upon themselves as almost fortunate. There was +only one break in its improvement--and that was when a dug-out was +discovered. It was a charming underground home, dug by some French +battery before the British came--with bunks and a table and stove. The +privates who discovered it made a most comfortable home until its fame +got abroad, and the regimental headquarters were moved in there. +Dug-outs became all the fashion for the moment--everyone set about +searching for them. But the supply in any works on the Allied side is, +unfortunately, limited--and after half a day's enthusiasm the battalion +fell back resignedly on its canvas home. + +When it came back some time later to these familiar dwellings, +heavy-eyed and heavy-footed, there was no insincerity in the relief with +which it regarded them. They were a resting-place then. Another +battalion had kept them decently clean, and handed them over drained and +dry; for which thoughtfulness, not always met with, they were more +grateful than those tired men could have explained. + +For they had been up into the line, and the places behind the line, and +out again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE WINTER OF 1916 + +_France, December 20th._ + + +A friend has shown me a letter from Melbourne. Its writer had asked a +man--an educated man--if he would give a subscription for the Australian +Comforts Fund. "Certainly not," was the reply. "The men have every +comfort in the trenches." + +That is the sort of dense-skinned ignorance which makes one unspeakably +angry--the ignorance which, because it has heard of or read a letter +from some brave-hearted youngster, making light of hardships for his +mother's sake, therefore flies to the conclusion that everything written +and spoken about the horrors of this war is humbug, and what the Army +calls "eyewash"--a big conspiracy to deceive the people who are not +there. + +As a matter of fact, the early winter of 1916 which these men have just +been going through will have a chapter to itself in history as long as +history lasts. It is to some extent past history now--to what extent I +do not suppose anyone on the German side or ours can tell. + +I, personally, do not know how the men and their officers can live +through that sort of time. Remember that a fair proportion of them were +a few months ago adding up figures in the office of an insurance company +or a shipping firm--gulping down their midday coffee and roll in a +teashop in King or Collins Streets. But take even a Central District +farmer or a Newcastle miner--yes, or a Scottish shepherd or an English +poacher--take the hardest man you know, and put him to the same test, +and it is a question whether the ordeal would not break even his spirit. +Put him out of doors into the thick of a dirty European winter; march +him ten miles through a bitter cold wind and driving rain, with--on his +back--all the clothing, household furniture, utensils and even the only +cover which he is allowed to take with him; dribble him in through mud +up to his knees--sometimes up to his waist--along miles and miles of +country that is nothing but broken tree stumps and endless shell +holes--holes into which, if a man were to fall, he might lie for days +before he were found, or even might never be found at all. After many +hours, trickle him, half dead with dragging his feet at every step out +of the putty-like mud, into a shallow, straggling, open ditch not in any +way different from a watery drain between two sodden country paddocks, +except that there is no grass about it--nothing but brown, slippery mud +on floor and trench sides and over the country in all directions as far +as eye can see. At the end of it all put him to live there, with what +baggage he carried on his back and nothing more; put him in various +depths of mud, to stay there all day in rain, wind, fog, hail, +snowstorm--whatever weather comes--and to watch there during the endless +winter nights, when the longed-for dawn only means another day and +another night out there in the mud ditch, without a shred of cover. And +this is what our men have had to go through. + +The longed-for relief comes at last--a change to other shell-battered +areas in support or reserve--and the battalion comes back down the long +road to the rear, white-faced and dreary-eyed, dragging slowly through +the mud without a word. For they have been through a life of which you, +or any people past and present who have not been to this war, have not +the first beginnings of a conception; something beside which a South +Polar expedition is a dance and a picnic. And that is without taking +into account the additional fact that night and day, on the Somme where +these conditions existed, men live under the unceasing sound of guns. I +can hear them as I write--it is the first longed-for gloriously bright +day, and therefore there is not an interval of a second in that +continuous roar, hour after hour. There is nothing like it anywhere else +in the world--there has never yet been anything to approach it except at +Verdun. + +Life is hard enough in winter in the old-established trenches along more +settled parts of the front--there is plenty for the Comforts Fund to do +there. Dropping into the best of quiet front trenches straight from his +home life the ordinary man would consider himself as undergoing +hardships undreamt of. Visiting those trenches straight from the Somme +the other day, with their duck-boards and sandbags, and the occasional +ping of a sniper's bullet, and the momentary spasm of field guns and +trench mortars which appeared in the official summary next day as +"artillery and trench mortar activity"--after the Somme, I say, one +found oneself looking on it, in the terms of the friend who went with +me, as "war de luxe." + +It is unwise to take what one man writes of one place as true of all +places or all times, or indeed of anything except what he personally +sees and knows at the moment. These conditions which I have described +are what I have seen, and are fortunately past history, or I should not +be describing them. I personally know that English troops, Scottish +troops and Australian troops went through them, and have, in some cases, +issued from such trenches and taken similar German trenches in front of +them. Our troops are more comfortable than they were, but it is in the +nature of war to find yourself plunged into extremes of exertion and +hardship without warning; and no man knows when he writes to-day--and I +doubt whether anyone of his superiors could tell him--whether he will, +at any given date, be in a worse condition or a better one. + +What the German is going through on his side of the muddy landscape is +described in another chapter. For our grand men--and though to be called +a hero is the last thing most Australians desire, the men are never +grander than at these times--the Australian Comforts Fund, the Y.M.C.A. +and the canteen groceries provide almost all the comfort that ever +enters that grim region. In the areas to which those tired men come for +a spell, the Comforts Fund is beginning to give them theatres for +concert troupes and cinemas. It provides some hundreds of pounds to be +spent locally on the most obtainable small luxuries at Christmas, +besides such gifts in kind as Christmas brings. + +But, for those who are actually in the front or just behind it, one cup +of warm coffee in a jam-tin from a roadside stall has been, in certain +times and places, all that can be given; the Fund has given that, and it +has been the landmark in the day for many men. In those conditions there +was but one occasional solace. A friend of mine found an Australian in +the trenches in those days, standing in mud nearly to his waist, +shivering in his arms and every body muscle, leaning back against the +trench side, fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +AS IN THE WORLD'S DAWN + +_France, December 20th._ + + +Yesterday morning we were looking across a bare, shallow valley at the +opposite knuckle of hill-side, around the foot of which the valley +doubled back out of sight. A solitary grey line of broken earth ran like +a mole burrow up the bare knuckle and vanished over the top. A line of +bare, dead willow stumps marked a few yards of the hollow below. On the +skyline, beyond the valley's end, stood out a distant line of ghostly +trees--so faint and blue as to be scarcely distinguishable from the sky. +There was nothing else in the landscape--absolutely nothing but the +bare, blank shape of the land; save for those old ghosts of departed +willows--no trees--no grass--no colour--no living or moving or singing +or sounding thing. + +Only--that morning at dawn had found a number of men tumbling, jumping, +running, dodging in and out of the shell-holes across that slope, +making towards our lines. The peck of occasional rifles came from some +farther part of the grey, featureless hill-side--the report was the only +trace of the rifles or of the men firing them. But as the men who were +dodging back were Australians the rifles must have been the rifles of +Germans, in trenches or shell-holes, somewhere on the face of that +waste. Who these Australians were, the men who watched from where we +stood did not know. Apparently they were men who had lost their way in +the dark and wandered beyond our trenches; as the light grew they had +suddenly realised that they were in front of our front line, and not +behind it, as they thought, and had come tumbling back over the craters. +They all reached the trench safely. + +For this battle has now reached such a formless, featureless landscape, +that it is a hard thing to tell whether you are looking at your own +country or the German country, or the country between the lines. The +stretch between the two sides has for the moment widened, the Germans +abandoning many of their waterlogged, sodden ditches close in front of +our lines, and contenting themselves with fighting a sort of rearguard +action there, while they tunnel, bore, dig, burrow like moles into the +farther heights where their reserve line runs near Bapaume. The battle +has widened out generally over the landscape. + +It is a very great difference from that boiling, bursting nightmare of +Pozières, where the whole struggle tightened down to little more than +one narrow hill-top. This battle is now being fought in a sort of +dreamland of brown mudholes, which the blue northern mist turns to a +dull purple grey. The shape of the land is there, the hills, valleys, +lines of willow stumps, ends of broken telegraph poles. But the colour +is all gone. It is as though the bed of the ocean had suddenly risen, as +though the ocean depths had become valleys and the ocean mudbanks hills, +and the whole earth were a creation of slime. It is as though you +suddenly looked out upon the birth of the world, before the grass had +yet begun to spring and when the germs of primitive life still lay in +the slime which covered it; an old, old age before anything moved on the +earth or sang in the air, and when the naked bones of the earth lay bare +under the naked sky century after century, with no change or movement +save when the cloud shadows chased across it, or the storms lashed it, +or the evening sunlight glinted from the water trapped in its +meaningless hollows. It is to that unremembered chaos that German ideas +of life have reduced the world. + +Up the hill-side opposite there is running a strange purple-grey streak +between two purple-grey banks. There is something mysterious in this +flat ribbon, ruled, as if by the hand of man, across that primeval +colourless slope. The line of it can be traced distinctly over the hill +and out of sight. It takes a moment's thinking to realise that the grey +streak was once a road. It is a road which one has read of as the centre +of some desultory fighting. I dare say it will appear in its own small +way in history. "The battalion next attacked along the Bapaume-Cambrai +road"--to give it a name it does not own; and readers will picture the +troops in khaki dodging along a hedge, beneath green, leafy elm +trees.... + +Something moved. Yes, as I live, something is moving up that old +purple-grey scar across the hill-side. Two figures in pink, untanned +leather waistcoats are strolling up the old road, side by side. Their +hands are in their trousers pockets, and the only sign of war visible +about them is their copper-green hats. A sniper's rifle pecks somewhere +in the landscape thereabout, but the two figures do not even turn a +head. They are Bill and Jim from South Melbourne let loose upon the +antediluvian landscape, strolling up it, yawning. And they gave me much +the same shock as if some green and pink animal had suddenly issued from +its unsuspected burrow in a field of primeval grey slime and begun +crawling over its face to some haunt in the slime elsewhere. Two other +distant figures were moving on the far hill-side too. Perhaps it was at +them the rifle was pecking; for to our certain knowledge the crest of +that hill was German territory. + +Men lose their bearings in that sort of country every day. Germans find +themselves behind our lines without knowing that they have even passed +over their own; and an Australian carrying party has been known to +deposit its hot food, in the warm food containers, all ready steaming to +be eaten, in German territory. To their great credit be it said that the +party got back safely to the Australian trenches--save for one who is +missing and three who lie out there, face upwards.... Brave men. + +There is only one time when that unearthly landscape returns to itself +again. I suppose men and women lived in those valleys once; French +farmers' girls tugged home at dusk up that ghostly roadway slow-footed, +reluctant cows; I dare say they even made love--French lads and +sweethearts--down some long obliterated path beside those willow stumps +where the German patrol sneaks nightly from shell-hole to shell-hole. +There comes an afternoon when the sky turns dull yellow-white like an +old smoker's beard, and before dusk the snowflakes begin to fall. Far +back the cursing drivers are dragging their jibbing horses past +half-frozen shell-holes, which they can scarcely see. And out there, +where the freezing sentries keep watch over the fringe where +civilisation grinds against the German--out there under the tender white +mantle, flickering pink and orange under the gun flashes--out there for +a few short hours the land which Kultur has defaced comes by its own. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE GRASS BANK + +_France, December 10th._ + + +The connection of Tamar the Hammerhead, who cut the Grass Bank out of +the forest, with Timothy Gibbs, of Booligal, in New South Wales, may not +be clear at first sight. Tam's beech forest covered two or three green +hills in Gaul at the time when Caius Sulpicius, and his working party of +the Tenth Legion, were laying down new paving stones on the big road +from Amiens over the hill-tops. The wagon carrying the military +secretary to the Governor had bumped uncomfortably down that long slope +the week before; and as the Tenth Legion was resting, its commanding +officer received, two days later, an order to detail another fatigue +party. The big trees looked down on a string of private soldiers +shouldering big square paving stones from a neighbouring dump, where the +wagons stood, and fitting them carefully into the pavement, and--and +otherwise enjoying their rest. Caius Sulpicius and his orderly officer +stood watching them. The orderly officer leant on his stick. Caius had a +piece of bread in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other. His +forearm was black with grubbing amongst the paving stones. + +"When the Tenth Legion gets a rest without some old brass helmet helping +us to spend it," he said with his mouth full, "I'll begin to think the +end of the war is coming." + +"Why didn't it strike old Brassribs to make the inhabitants do a job of +work occasionally?" he added presently. "Now, in the old general's +time--" + +Far down on the edge of the forest, across two or three miles of rolling +hills, a patch of orange earth, newly turned, caught the orderly +officer's eye. One of the inhabitants was doing a job of work there, +anyway. Two days ago he had passed that way in a stroll after parade. A +mallet-headed man, his bare arm-muscles orange with mud, was piling up +an earthen embankment on the hill-side. A patch of the forest had been +allowed to him. In two years he had cut out the trees and undergrowth. +He was now trying to make his patch of hill-side level. The orange mud +bank of his terrace had been the labour of twelve months, and there was +a year's work in it yet. He had scarcely hoped to possess even a rood of +land, and now he had two acres. He was going to use every inch of it. +That was Tamar the Hammerhead's life's work. + +The Tenth Legion did get its rest. Caius lay beneath a moss-covered, +tilted gravestone--long, long forgotten--not so far from the great road. +One of a much later generation of orderly officers, who had scraped part +of the inscription clean with his penknife, went back and told the mess +at dinner that he had come across the grave of an officer of their own +unit, who had died thereabouts in some camp a hundred and fifty years +before. He did not mention that, on his stroll, he had scrambled down a +steep grass bank which ran curiously across the hill-side. There was +green grass above it, and green grass below it; and green grass and +patches of ploughland all over the downs. The white frost still hung to +the blades, though it was midday. The remnant of a small wood stood from +the hill-side. "I must get a fatigue party on to that timber to-morrow," +had said the orderly officer to himself. + +And so it was that the forest passed away--the general service wagons +from the neighbouring Roman camp called there daily for sixty years for +fuel cut by generations of fatigue parties. The only trees left, over +miles of sloping downs, were the thickets around the villages and one +row of walnut trees growing along the top of that steep grass +embankment--the one remnant of Hammerhead's old orchard. Years later the +tow-haired Franks swept through the country. The walnut trees were cut +by a farmer for the uprights in his long barn. His children rolled down +the old bank in their games, and in bad baby Latin invited the +youngsters of the farm next door to charge up "the Grass Bank" while +they defended it. The generations, whose bad Latin gradually became +French, still spoke of Hammerhead's old landmark--now situated in a +large grass field--as "The Grass Bank." + +On the military maps some way behind the arterial system of red lines +which stood for the German trenches--exactly as on a German map it +stands for ours--was a shaded mark shaped like an elongated pea pod. +There was no name to it--but a note in some pigeonhole of the local +Intelligence Officer stated that the inhabitants called the place "The +Grass Bank." Through it the map showed a lonely little red capillary, +wandering by itself for a quarter of an inch, and fading off into +nothing again. The stout German colonel of the local artillery +group--big guns which barked mostly of nights--having found his forward +observation post knocked in by a small field-gun shell, had come back +and growled like a bear all dinner-time, most inconsequentially, about +the lack of cover from heavy shells in the back areas. His real object +was to abuse the men at the table with him; but one junior Staff +Officer, hankering after promotion, looked round for the best dug-out +site; and caused to be burrowed downwards, from the bottom of a steep +grassy bank which ran half-way across a neighbouring field, four narrow +dark tunnels leading into low square rooms, held up with stout beams, +and all connected with each other. Two were lined with rough bunks on +wooden frames folding against the wall. Another held a table covered +with papers, a telephone switchboard, and four busy clerks. The fourth +was panelled carefully with deal, the ceiling neatly gridironed with +dark stained wood, a cupboard let into a recess with a looking-glass +panel above it, a comfortable bunk with an electric bulb above the +pillow and a telephone by the bedside. The group commander slept there +undisturbed, even when the British suddenly pushed their front forward, +and the Grass Bank began to shake with the thump of 9-inch shells. The +junior Staff Officer wonders why he is a junior Staff Officer still. + +The great battle climbed like some slow, devouring monster up one green +slope, down the next, and up the green slopes beyond, clawing on to +green fields, and leaving them behind it a wilderness of pock-marked +slime. One of the many small obstacles, which held up its local progress +for a while, was some sort of nest of Germans behind a certain bank. +Several attacks had been made on it. The Intelligence Officer of an +Australian Brigade followed the Intelligence Officer of an Australian +Battalion on his stomach, for one night, up to the barbed wire; and gave +it as his opinion that the enemy kept his machine-guns in dug-outs at +the bottom of the bank. Later, a wild night of driving rain, and +flashes, and crashes, and black forms struggling in the mud against the +glint of flares on slimy white crater edges, left things still +uncertain. + +It was there that Tim Gibbs came in--and Booligal. Tradition in New +South Wales puts the climate of Hay, Hell, and Booligal in that order. +Tim had driven starving, rickety sheep across his native plains when the +earth's surface had been powdered to red sand and driven by shrivelling +westerlies in travelling sandhills from mirage to summer mirage. Tim was +used to hot places. That is why he became a stretcher-bearer for his +company in Gallipoli, and transferred to the regimental bombers when +they reached France. When they came to a sea of brown mud waves, which +some cynic had misnamed the "Grass Bank," it was not Tim who volunteered +to take it. He had been in far too many hot corners to retain any of his +old hankering after them, and the Grass Bank was hotter than Booligal. +He went for the place because his colonel told him to--went cheerfully +to do a thing he horribly disliked, without letting anyone guess by word +or deed or the least little sign that he disliked it--which, if you +think of it, is more heroic by a long chalk. + +It was after dark on a winter's night that he and his men--about sixteen +of them--crept out up a slimy trench deep to the knees in sloppy mud; +peered at the enemy's wire against the skyline; half crawled, half slid +through a gap in it, and disappeared, Tim leading. A white flash--a +shower of bombs--red and orange flares breaking like Roman candles in +the sky--the chatter of a machine-gun--the enemy's barrage presently +shrieking down the vault of heaven. A dozen wounded men came back +before dawn. And Tim--Tim lay with his face to the stars, dreaming for +ever and ever of red plains and travelling sheep, on the edge of Tamar +the Hammerhead's Grass Bank. + +Slime Trench--Grass Bank--Gibbs' Corner--you will read of them all in +their chapter in the War's History. They were in every map for a +month--the newspapers made headings of them--they were household words +in London suburbs and Melbourne teashops. A month later the flood of +battle swept past them all in a great general attack without so much as +pausing to look. Two months--and a string of lorries pushed up a newly +made road until a policeman held them up, just as he would in London, to +let some cross stream of traffic through. One of the crossing lorries +bumped into a hole and impaled itself on a beam that had fallen off the +lorry ahead. The two drivers of a lorry far behind climbed up a steep, +shell-shattered neighbouring bank, and munched bread and bully beef +while the afternoon grew to dusk and gun flashes showed like lightning +on the angry low winter clouds ahead. + +"What they want to get us stuck in this flaming mud-hole for?" said the +driver to the second driver. "The Huns must have had a dug-out down +there, Bill," he added, pointing to certain splintered, buried timber at +the foot of the bank. + +Now there may be no such place as the Grass Bank; and there may have +been no Hammerhead nor Tim Gibbs; and he did not come from Booligal. But +the story is true to this extent--that it happens all the time upon this +battlefield. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +IN THE MUD OF LE BARQUE + +_France, December 20th._ + + +By the muddy, shell-pitted roadside of the sunken road in Le Barque, +behind the German lines, were found three shapeless forms. The mud +dripped from them as they lay, but they were the forms of men. And the +German soldiers who saw them, and who buried them, took it that they +were men who had not lost their lives from any shell wound; that they +had not been killed by the fire of our machine-guns, or by stray +bullets. They put down the death of those men to the mud and the mud +alone. The sunken road at Le Barque had been mashed with shells and +trampled to slime with traffic; some runner from battalion headquarters +at night, slipping through the sleet, some couple of men straggling +after the tail of an incoming platoon on a wild night when the English +barrage suddenly startled them and caused them to miss the path by a few +yards in the blackness, had stumbled unnoticed into a shell-hole. All +their company officer knew was that they were missing--and no trace of +them was found until three bodies were dragged from a shell crater, when +men told stories of men missed there before. + +Now, I do not know if it really was the mud which engulfed alive the +three Germans who lay beside the sunken road of Le Barque; but I know +that their comrades thought it was. And that is a simple proof that the +mud, of which the Germans talk so much, is not all on the British side +of the trenches. + +Looking from our lines yesterday across a valley one noticed a German +trench running up the farther side, the grey mud parapet heaped out, +like the earth of one long, continuous grave, on both sides of the +trench. Behind that trench, along its whole length, as far as we could +see, ran a sinuous thread of light-coloured soil. It was the beaten +track by which the Germans had moved up and down their trench. They +could not move _in_ the trench, so when they wanted to move they had to +hop up and move outside of it. If we were sniping by day they could not +move at all; and the track had probably been made by Germans moving at +night. It hugged the trench in case we started shooting or +shelling--when the Germans could at once jump back into the mud again. + +The Germans in some parts of the Somme battlefield have been going down +with frostbite in great numbers, so great as to put at least one +battalion out of action. This is through getting feet wet and frozen in +muddy trenches. To reach their front line, last month, in these valleys +in front of Bapaume and Le Transloy, has been quite impossible to the +Germans unless they went up over the open, or used such trenches as a +self-respecting man could scarcely enter. They came up, as would any +other soldiers under the same circumstances, across the open land. Even +then there were places which a man could scarcely pass. I know a man +who, in that same sunken road at Le Barque, pulled two of his comrades +by force out of the mud--an everyday matter. They left their boots and +socks in the mud behind them. + +If a man is wounded in some of those German trenches it takes eight men +to get him to the dressing station and five hours to arrive there, and +very much longer if there is any fighting in progress. One would not say +that any of these difficulties have been more acute amongst the Germans +than with the British and Australians--in some ways our men have faced +and overcome greater hardships than the Germans. But there is this chief +difference--the German is now getting back the shells which for two +years he rained upon the British. And he is talking--like a +German--about the unfairness of it. + +The German Staff claims that German infantry is the best in the world. +Certainly it is tough, and thoroughly convinced that it is better than +any of its friends. "The Turk is a pretty good fighter," said a German +to me a few days ago, "and the Bulgars fight well. The Austrians are +worth little. Every time the Russians drive the Austrians back they have +to call us in to repulse the Russians again for them." + +The German infantryman is tough, but not tougher than ours, and without +the dash; his outstanding virtue is his great power of work. But I do +not believe from what I have seen that he works one scrap harder than +the Australian. He might be supposed to have his heart more in the war +than the soldier of any other nation, but he certainly has not. Many +German soldiers have told me that there was a universal longing for the +war to end--but they seem to wonder at your asking them what they +think, or what their people in Germany think--as though it mattered one +straw. They tell you, in a detached sort of way, that a great many of +their people in Germany are tired of the war. "But they have no +influence on these matters," they say, "nor have the soldiers. We do not +meet together--we have nothing to say with it. They would go on with the +war all next year even if a million more men are killed--they will bring +back all the wounded, and the sick, if necessary." + +The German who used those words seemed to have no quarrel with those who +were driving his country, and no pride in them--he did not approve and +he did not disapprove. He seemed to accept them as part of the +unquestioned, unchangeable laws of his existence; they were there--and +what business was it of his to interfere with them? + +One can scarcely see a gleam of hope for them in the attitude of their +prisoners--a people that cannot rebel. But perhaps it is unfair to +judge. + +For these men, whom we now see, have been at long, long last through the +fire of guns heavier than their own; and through the mud of Le Barque. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE NEW DRAFT + +_France, December 11th._ + + +A fair-sized shell recently arrived in a certain front trench held by +Australians in France. It exploded, and an Australian found himself +struggling amongst some debris in No Man's Land. He tried to haul +himself clear, but the tumbled rubbish kept him down; and, as often as +he was seen to move, bullets whizzed past him from a green slope near +by. The green slope ran like a low railway embankment along the other +side of the unkempt paddock between the trenches. It was the German +front line. + +Finally one of his mates, I am told, jumped over to his help and dragged +him clear. When he got in he asked to be put into the very next party +that should visit the German trenches. He wanted his own back. + +He was one of the newest Australians. That is exactly the sort of +request that would have been made by the oldest ones. + +We have seen the newest Australian draft in France, and the verdict from +first to last amongst those who know them is, "They will do." There is +always a certain amount of chaff thrown out by the oldest Australians at +the latest arrivals. The sort of Australian who used to talk about our +"tinpot navy" labelled the Australians who rushed at the chance of +adventure the moment the recruiting lists were opened "the six bob a day +tourists." Well--the "Tourists" made a name for Australia such as no +other Australians can ever have the privilege to make. The next shipment +were the "Dinkums"--the men who came over on principle to fight for +Australia--the real, fair dinkum[3] Australians. After them came the +"Super-dinkums"--and the next the "War Babies," and after them the +"Chocolate Soldiers," then the "Hard Thinkers," who were pictured as +thinking very hard before they came. And then the "Neutrals." "We know +they are not against the Allies," the others said, when came news of the +latest drafts still training steadily under peace conditions, "we know +they are not against us--we suppose they are just neutral." + +[3] "Dinkum"--Australian for "true." + +There has always been some chaff thrown at the latest arrival--and it +is a mistake to think that there was never any feeling behind the chaff. +I remember long ago at Anzac when a new draft was moving up past some of +the older troops--past men who were thin with disease and overworn with +heavy work--there was a cry of "You have come at last, have you?" flung +in a tone of which the bitterness was unmistakable. There has always +been a feeling, amongst the older troops here, that they have been +holding the fort--hanging on for Australia's name until the others have +time to come along and give them a hand. There is a tendency to feel +that soldiers who are still at home are getting all the limelight--the +parading of streets and praises of the newspapers--and will probably +live to reap most of the glory at the end of it all. + +If so, there was never a feeling that melted more quickly the moment +each new draft arrives and is really tested. The moment it goes into the +whirl of a modern battle, and acquits itself through some wild night as +every Australian draft always has done in its first fight and always +will do, every sign of that old feeling melts as if it had never +existed; and the new draft finds itself taken into the heart of the old +force on the same terms as the oldest and proudest regiment there. I +make no apology for talking of them as "old" regiments. There are +regiments in this war, not three years old, which have seen as much +terrible fighting as others whose record goes back over hundreds of +years. Ages ago, prehistoric ages, the "Dinkums" became a title for men +to be intensely proud of. Men who were through the first fortnight at +Pozières need never be ashamed to compare their experiences with those +of any soldiers in the world, for it is the literal truth that there has +never in history been a harder battle fought. The "Chocolate Soldiers" +became veterans in one terrible struggle. The "War Babies" were old +soldiers almost before they had cut their teeth. It is one of the pities +of the censorship, but a necessary one, that the Australian public +cannot know, until the story of this war is fully told at the end of it, +the famous Australian battalions which will most assuredly go down to +history as household names. + +And if there are not battalions, amongst the newest troops, which will +go down to history with some of the very best Australia possesses--then +I am a German. They have had a wonderful training of late--a training +which can only be compared in thoroughness with that of Mena Camp in +Egypt where our first troops trained, and with the full experience of +this war to back it. The British authorities are equipping the new +Australian drafts generously. The discipline of Australians, once they +come to understand their work, has never given the slightest real +anxiety to those responsible for them. The newest men have exactly the +same straight frank look and speech as has every other batch that I have +seen. If there is any difference between them first and last I will be +bound that it is beyond the keenest eye to detect it. + +Indeed, if there is a difference between one Australian infantry +battalion and another, it is, and has always been, a matter of officers. +A commander who can make all his subordinates feel that they are pulling +in the same boat's crew--that they are all swinging together, not only +with their own but with every other battalion and brigade; who can make +them look upon themselves as all helping in the one big cause; who can +make them regard the difficulty of another battalion merely as a chance +for freely and fully assisting it--a commander who can do these things +with his officers can make a wonderful force of his Australians. This +may sound abstract and vague, but it is real to such an extent that it +is the main reason of all differences that exist between Australian +units. + +Australian units have, like the Scots, a wonderful confidence in each +other. They have been proud to fight by the side of grand regiments and +divisions; but I fancy they would rather fight beside other Australians +or New Zealanders than beside the most famous units in the world. +Chaffing apart, that is the feeling of the oldest unit towards the +newest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +WHY HE IS NOT "THE ANZAC" + +_France, November 28th._ + + +"You don't call us the Anzacs, do you?" asked the man with the elbow +sling appealingly. "You call us just Australians and New Zealanders, +don't you?" + +I hesitated for a minute or two racking my brain--it seemed to me that +once, some months back, I had used that convenient term in a cabled +message. + +"Oh, don't for goodness sake say you do it, too," said the owner of the +elbow sling pathetically. "Isn't Australians good enough?" + +"I'm not sure--once--I may have. Not for a long time, anyway. I +sometimes speak of the Anzac troops or the Anzac guns." + +"Oh, that is all right--Anzac troops--there's no objection to that--we +are that," went on the grammarian with the elbow sling, "but there's no +such thing as an Anzac--the Anzacs--it's nonsense." + +I remember that day well. It was the day before their first entry on the +Somme. The man with the elbow sling had stopped a shrapnel pellet one +frosty morning eight months before at Anzac; the man who sat next to him +had a Turkish shrapnel shell burst between his shins at Hell Spit. They +were some of the oldest hands, back again, and about to plunge with the +oldest division into the heaviest battle the division had yet faced. + +It was more than a grammatical objection. You know the way in which it +makes you wince, if ever you have lived in Australia or New Zealand or +Canada, to hear people talk of "the colonies" or "the colonials." The +people who use the words do not realise that there is anything unpopular +in their use, although the objection is really quite universal in the +self-governing States, and represents a revolt against an out-of-date +point of view which still lingers in some quarters. + +In the same way anyone who _is_ in touch with them knows that to speak +of the feats of "an Anzac" or of "the Anzacs" is unpopular with the men +to whom it is applied. You will never hear the men refer to themselves +as Anzacs. They call themselves simply Australians or New Zealanders. + +It is an interesting mental phase. The reason of it is not that +Australians and New Zealanders dislike being clubbed together. Quite the +reverse--the Australians are never more satisfied than when they are +next to the New Zealanders. The two certainly feel themselves in some +respects one and inseparable to a greater extent than any other troops +here. They are proud of Anzac as the name of their corps, and as the +name of that hill-side in Gallipoli where their graves lie side by side. +The reason why they always avoid calling themselves "the Anzacs" is that +the term was at one time associated in the Press with so many highly +coloured, imaginative, mock heroic stories of individual feats, which +they were supposed to have performed, that its use from that time forth +was, by a sort of tacit consent, irrevocably damned within the force. +The picture which it called up was that of the "Anzac" in London, with +his shining gaiters and buttons and generally unauthorised cock's +feathers in his hat, reaping the glory of the acrobatic performances +which his battered countrymen, very unlovely with sweat and dust, were +credited with achieving in No Man's Land. This was before the Somme +fight, when first these Gallipoli troops came to Europe. The regular +British war correspondents were not responsible for it--this nonsense +was not written by them; when the day of real trial came they wrote of +it conscientiously and brilliantly, and nothing that could be written +was too much. But the vogue of the wildest stories of the "Anzacs" was +when Australians and New Zealanders were doing little beyond hard work +in France, and knew it. The noun "an Anzac" now bears with it, in the +force, the suggestion of a man who rather approves of that sort of +"swank"; and there are few of them. + +The Australian and New Zealander are both intensely, overwhelmingly +proud of their nationality; and only good can come of the pride. They +are also intensely proud of their two-year-old units--and one of the +drawbacks of the necessary rules of censorship is, that battalions of +our army, which are famous throughout the force by name, have to be +known to you only through vague references. Their character and history, +as distinct and strongly marked as those of different men, will only +come to be known to Australia when the history of these campaigns comes +to be written. + + +Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, +E.C.4 + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM FRANCE*** + + +******* This file should be named 18390-8.txt or 18390-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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E. W. Bean</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 75%;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Letters from France, by C. E. W. Bean</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Letters from France</p> +<p>Author: C. E. W. Bean</p> +<p>Release Date: May 14, 2006 [eBook #18390]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM FRANCE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Elaine Walker, Paul Ereaut,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net/)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="600" height="333" alt="AUSTRALIANS WATCHING THE BOMBARDMENT OF POZIÈRS" title="AUSTRALIANS WATCHING THE BOMBARDMENT OF POZIÈRS" /> +<span class="caption">AUSTRALIANS WATCHING THE BOMBARDMENT OF POZIÈRS<br /> +Their mates were beneath that bombardment at the time</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1><b>Letters from France</b></h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>C. E. W. BEAN</h2> + +<h4>War Correspondent for the Commonwealth of Australia</h4> + +<h3>WITH A MAP AND EIGHT PLATES</h3> + +<h3>CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD</h3> +<h4>London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne</h4> + +<h4>1917</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4> +To those other Australians who fell in the Sharpest Action their +Force has known, on July 19, 1916, before Fromelles, these Memories of a +Greater, but not a Braver, Battle are herewith Dedicated +</h4> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>These letters are in no sense a history—except that they contain the +truth. They were written at the time and within close range of the +events they describe. Half of the fighting, including the brave attack +before Fromelles, is left untouched on, for these pages do not attempt +to narrate the full story of the Australian Imperial Force in France. +They were written to depict the surroundings in which, and the spirit +with which, that history has been made; first in the quiet green Flemish +lowlands, then with a swift, sudden plunge into the grim, reeking, naked +desolation of the Somme. The record of the A.I.F., and its now +historical units in their full action, will be painted upon that +background some day. If these letters convey some reflection of the +spirit which fought at Pozières, their object is well fulfilled. The +author's profits are devoted to the fund for nursing back to useful +citizenship Australians blinded or maimed in the war.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">C. E. W. Bean.</span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> + +<tr><td align='left'>CHAPTER</td> +<td align='left'></td> +<td align='left'>PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'></td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Preface</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_vii'>vii</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>1.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Padre who said the Right Thing</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>2.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">To the Front</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>3.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The First Impression—A Country with Eyes</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_14'>14</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>4.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Road to Lille</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>5.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Differences</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_28'>28</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>6.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Germans</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_36'>36</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>7.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Planes</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_43'>43</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>8.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Coming Struggle: Our Task</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_49'>49</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>9.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">In a Forest of France</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_57'>57</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>10.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Identified</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_64'>64</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>11.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Great Battle Begins</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_71'>71</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>12.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The British—Fricourt and La Boiselle</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_77'>77</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>13.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dug-outs of Fricourt</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_86'>86</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>14.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Raid</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_92'>92</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>15.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pozières</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_101'>101</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>16.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Abysm of Desolation</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_111'>111</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>17.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pozières Ridge</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_116'>116</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>18.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Green Country</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_123'>123</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>19.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Trommelfeuer</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_127'>127</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>20.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The New Fighting</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_136'>136</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>21.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Angels' Work</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_143'>143</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>22.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Our Neighbour</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_151'>151</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>23.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Mouquet Farm</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_157'>157</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>24.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">How the Australians were Relieved</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_168'>168</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>25.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">On Leave to a New England</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_175'>175</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>26.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The New Entry</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_181'>181</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>27.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Hard Time</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_189'>189</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>28.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Winter of 1916</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_197'>197</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>29.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">As in the World's Dawn</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_203'>203</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>30.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Grass Bank</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_209'>209</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>31.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">In the Mud of Le Barque</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_218'>218</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>32.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">The New Draft</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_223'>223</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>33.</td> +<td align='left'><span class="smcap">Why He is not "The Anzac"</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_229'>229</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><b>LIST OF PLATES</b></h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Australians Watching the Bombardment of Pozières</span></td> +<td align='left'><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'></td> +<td align='left'>FACING PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Sketch Map</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Talking with the Kiddies in the Street</span>"</td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_12'>12</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">An Occasional Broken Tree-Trunk</span>"</td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_16'>16</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">No Man's Land</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_16'>16</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Along the Road to Lille</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_26'>26</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Trenches here have to be Built Above the Ground in Breastwork</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_30'>30</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Main Street of Pozières</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_112'>112</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Church Pozières</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_112'>112</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Windmill of Pozières</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_140'>140</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Barely Recognisable Remains of a Trench</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_140'>140</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Tumbled Heap of Bricks and Timber which the World Knows as Mouquet Farm</span></td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Past the Mud-Heaps Scraped by the Road Gangs</span>"</td> +<td align='left'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/roughsketch.png" width="600" height="425" +alt="Rough sketch showing some of the German defences of Pozières" +title="Rough sketch showing some of the German defences of Pozières" /> +<span class="caption">Rough sketch showing some of the German defences +of Pozières and the direction of the Australian attacks between July 22 and +September 4 1916. (From Pozières to Moquet Farm is just over a mile.) </span> +</div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LETTERS FROM FRANCE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>A PADRE WHO SAID THE RIGHT THING</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, April 8th,</i> 1916.</p> + + +<p>The sun glared from a Mediterranean sky and from the surface of the +Mediterranean sea. The liner heaved easily to a slow swell. In the waist +of the ship a densely packed crowd of sunburnt faces upturned towards a +speaker who leaned over the rail of the promenade deck above. Beside the +speaker was a slight figure with three long rows of ribbons across the +left breast. Every man in the Australian Imperial Force is as proud of +those ribbons as the leader who wears them so modestly.</p> + +<p>Australian ships had been moving through those waters for days. High +over one's head, as one listened to that speaker, there sawed the +wireless aerial backwards and forwards across the silver sky. Only +yesterday that aerial had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> intercepted a stammering signal from far, far +away over the brim of the world. "S.O.S.," it ran, "S.O.S." There +followed half inarticulate fragments of a latitude. That evening about +sundown we ran into the shreds of some ocean conversation about boats' +crews, and about someone who was still absent—just that broken fragment +in the buzz of the wireless conversation which runs around the world. A +big Australian transport, we knew, was some twelve hours away from us +upon the waters. Could it be about her that these personages of the +ocean were calling one to another? Days afterwards we heard that it had +not been an Australian or any other transport.</p> + +<p>Somewhere in those dazzling seas there was an eye watching for us too, +just above the water, and always waiting—waiting—waiting—. It would +have been a rich harvest, that crowded deck below one. If the monster +struck just there he could not fail to kill many with the mere +explosion. But I don't believe a man in the crowd gave it a thought. The +strong, tanned, clean-shaven faces under the old slouch hats were all +gazing up in rapt attention at the speaker. For he was telling them the +right thing.</p> + +<p>He was not a regular chaplain—there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> no regular padre in that ship, +and we were likely to have no church parade until there was discovered +amongst the reinforcement officers one little subaltern who was a padre +in Tasmania, but who was going to the front as a fighting man. We had +heard other padres speak to troops on the eve of their plunging into a +great enterprise, when the sermon had made some of us wish that we only +had the power and gift to seize that wonderful opportunity as it might +be seized, and have done with texts and doctrines and speak to the men +as men. Every man there had his ideals—he was giving his life, as like +as not, because, however crude the exterior, there was an eye within +which saw truly and surely through the mists. And now when they stood on +the brink of the last great sacrifice, could he not seize upon those +truths—?</p> + +<p>But this time we simply stood and wondered. For that slip of a figure in +khaki, high up there with one hand on the stanchion and the other +tapping the rail, was telling them a thousand times better than any of +us could ever have put it to himself exactly the things one would have +longed to say.</p> + +<p>He told them first, his voice firm with conviction, that God had not +populated this world with saints, but with ordinary human men; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> that +they need not fear that, simply because they might not have been +churchgoers or lived what the world calls religious lives, therefore God +would desert them in the danger and trials and perhaps the death to +which they went. "If I thought that God wished any man to be tortured +eternally," he said, "to be tortured for all time and not to have any +hope of heaven, then I would go down to Hell cheerfully with a smile on +my lips rather than worship such a being. I don't know whether a man may +put it beyond the power of God to help him. But I know this, that +whether you are bad or good, or religious or not religious, God is with +you all the time trying to help you.</p> + +<p>"And what have we to fear now?" he went on, raising his eyes for a +moment from the puckered, interested brown foreheads below him and +looking out over the shimmering distant silver of the horizon, as if +away over there, over the edge of the world, he could read what the next +few months had in store for them. "We know what we have come for, and we +know that it is right. We have all read of the things which have +happened in Belgium and in France. We know that the Germans invaded a +peaceful country and brought these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> horrors into it, we know how they +tore up treaties like so much paper; how they sank the <i>Lusitania</i> and +showered their bombs on harmless women and children in London and in the +villages of England. We came of our own free wills—we came to say that +this sort of thing shall not happen in the world so long as we are in +it. We know that we are doing right, and I tell you that on this mission +on which we have come, so long as every man plays the game and plays it +cleanly, he need not fear about his religion—for what else is his +religion than that? Play the game and God will be with you—never fear.</p> + +<p>"And what if some of us do pass over before this struggle is ended—what +is there in that? If it were not for the dear ones whom he leaves behind +him, mightn't a man almost pray for a death like that? The newspapers +too often call us heroes, but we know we are not heroes for having come, +and we do not want to be called heroes. We should have been less than +men if we hadn't."</p> + +<p>The rapt, unconscious approval in those weather-scarred upturned faces +made it quite obvious that they were with him in every word. In those +simple sentences this man was speaking the whole soul of Australia. He +looked up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> for a second to the wide sky as clear as his own conscience, +and then looked down at them again. "Isn't it the most wonderful thing +that could ever have happened?" he went on. "Didn't everyone of us as a +boy long to go about the world as they did in the days of Drake and +Raleigh, and didn't it seem almost beyond hope that that adventure would +ever come to us? And isn't that the very thing that has happened? And +here we are on that great enterprise going out across the world, and +with no thought of gain or conquest, but to help to right a great wrong. +What else do we wish except to go straight forward at the enemy—with +our dear ones far behind us and God above us, and our friends on each +side of us and only the enemy in front of us—what more do we wish than +that?"</p> + +<p>There were tears in many men's eyes when he finished—and that does not +often happen with Australians. But it happened this time—far out there +on a distant sea. And that was because he had put his finger, just for +one moment, straight on to the heart of his nation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a><b>CHAPTER II</b></h2> + +<h3>TO THE FRONT</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, April 8th.</i></p> + + +<p>So the Australians are in France. A great reception at the port of +landing, so we hear. A long, weary train journey in a troop train which +never alters its pace, but moves steadily on, halts for meals, jogs on +again, waits interminably outside strange junctions. Some days ago it +landed the first units, somewhere behind the front.</p> + +<p>We reached France some time after the first units. The excitement of +seeing an Australian hat had long since evaporated. A few troops had +been left in camp near the port, and we met some of those on leave in +the big town. They might have been there since their babyhood for all +they or the big town cared.</p> + +<p>And there we first heard mentioned the name of a town to which our +troops were supposed to have gone. It was quite a different town from +the one which we had heard of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> on board ship. It was snowing up there +where our men were, they said.</p> + +<p>The train took us through beautiful country not yet touched by the +spring of the year. There were magnificent horses in the rich brown +fields—great draught horses such as I have never seen in any country +yet. But the figure that drove the harrow was always that of an old man +or a young boy; or, once or twice, of a woman. There were women digging +in the fields everywhere; or trudging back along the roads under great +bundles of firewood. The country was almost all cultivated land, one +vast farming industry. And they had managed to get through the whole +year's work exactly as if the men were there. As far as we could see +every field was ploughed, every green crop springing. It is a wonderful +performance.</p> + +<p>We had not the least idea where we were going until in the end we +actually got there. Travelling in France is quite different from +travelling in Egypt or England. In Egypt you still exercise your brain +as to which train you shall travel by and where you will stay and where +you will change. But in France there is no need for you to think out +your own journey—it is useless for you to do so. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> moment you reach +France the big hand of General Headquarters takes hold of you; and from +that instant it picks you up and puts you down as if you were a pawn on +a chessboard. Whatever the railway station, there is always a big +British policeman. The policeman directs you to the Railway Transport +Officer and the Railway Transport Officer tells you how long you will +stay and when you will leave and where you will go to next. And when you +get to the next place there is another policeman who sends you to +another Railway Transport Officer; until you finally come to a policeman +who directs you from the station and up the street of a little French +town, where, standing on the wet cobbles at the corner of the old city +square, under dripping stage scenery gables, you find another British +policeman who passes you to another policeman at another corner who +directs you under the very archway and into the very office which you +are intended by General Headquarters to reach.</p> + +<p>And if you go on right up to the very trenches themselves you will find +that British policeman all the way; directing the traffic at every +country cross-road where there is likely to be a congestion of the great +lumbering motor-lorries; standing outside the ruined vil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>lage church +which the long-range guns have knocked to pieces in trying to get at a +supply dump or a headquarters; waiting at the fork-roads where you +finally have to leave your motor-car and walk only in small parties if +you wish to avoid sudden death; on point duty at the ruined farmhouses +which it is unhealthy at certain hours of the day to pass. At the corner +where you finally turn off the road into the long, deepening +communication trench; even at the point where the second line trenches +cross the communication trench to the front trenches—in some cases you +find that policeman there also, faithfully telling you the way, +incidentally with a very close and critical eye upon you at the same +time.</p> + +<p>He is simply the British policeman doing his famous old job in his +famous old way. He is mostly the London policeman, but there are +policemen from Burnley, from Manchester, from Glasgow amongst them. And +up near the lines you find the policeman from Sydney and Melbourne +waving the traffic along with a flag just as he used to do at the corner +of Pitt and King Streets. Just as he used to see that the by-laws of the +local council were carried out, so he now has to see to the rules and +orders made by the local general. It is a thank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>less job generally; but +when they get as far as this most people begin to be a little grateful +to the policeman.</p> + +<p>Our railway train and the policeman had carried us over endless +farmlands, through forests, beside rivers, before we noticed, drawn up +along the side of a quarter of a mile of road, an endless procession of +big grey motor-lorries. Every one was exactly like the next—a tall grey +hood in front and a long grey tarpaulin behind. It was the first sign of +the front. Presently a French regiment went by along a country road—not +at all unlike our Australian troops in some ways—biggish fellows in +grey-blue overcoats, all singing a jolly song. They waved to us in the +same light-hearted way Australians have. There were more fair-haired +men, among some of the French troops we have seen, than there would be +in one of our own battalions.</p> + +<p>After this there came great stores at intervals, and timber yards—hour +after hour of farmhouses and villages where there was a Tommy in every +doorway, Tommies in every barn, a Tommy's khaki jacket showing through +every kitchen window; until at last towards evening we reached a country +populated by the familiar old pea-soup over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>coats and high-necked +jackets and slouch hats of Australians.</p> + +<p>There they were, the men whom we had last seen on the Suez Canal—here +they were, already, in the orchard alongside of the old lichened, +steep-roofed barn—four or five of them squatting round a fire of +sticks, one stuffing his pipe and talking, talking, talking all the +while. I knew that they were happy there before ever they said it. A +track led across a big field—there were two Australians walking along +it. A road crossed the railway—two Australians were standing at the +open door of the house, and another talking to the kiddies in the +street. There was a platoon of them drilling behind a long barn.</p> + +<p>A long way ahead of that, still going through an Australian country, we +stopped; and a policeman showed us to the station entrance where there +was a motor-car which took us and our baggage to the little house where +we were billeted. On the green door of the house next to it, behind the +pretty garden, was scrawled in chalk, "Mess—five officers." That was +where we were to feed.<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf12.jpg" width="600" height="426" alt=""TALKING WITH THE KIDDIES IN THE STREET"" title=""TALKING WITH THE KIDDIES IN THE STREET"" /> +<span class="caption">"TALKING WITH THE KIDDIES IN THE STREET"</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p>It was as we came back from tea that I first noticed a distant +sound—ever so familiar—the far-off heavy roar of the big guns at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +Cape Helles. It was guns firing along the lines away to the east of us.</p> + +<p>And as we walked back after dinner that night from the little mess-room, +across the garden hedge and over the country beyond, there flashed ever +and anon hither and thither a distant halo of light. It was the field +guns firing, and the searchlights flashing over a German parapet.</p> + +<p>Yesterday for the first time an Anzac unit entered the trenches in +France.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE FIRST IMPRESSION—A COUNTRY WITH EYES</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, April,</i> 1916.</p> + + +<p>Rich green meadows. Rows of tall, slender elm trees along the hedges. +Low, stunted and pollarded willows lining some distant ditch, with their +thick trunks showing notched against a distant blue hill-side like a row +of soldiers. Here and there a red roof nestled among the hawthorn under +the tall trees just bursting into green. Violets—great bunches of +them—in the patches of scrub between the tall trunks and yellow +cowslips and white and pink anemones and primroses. You see the +flaxen-haired children out in the woods and along the roadside gathering +them. A rosy-cheeked woman stands in the doorway of a farm at the +cross-roads, and a golden-haired youngster, scarce able to run as yet, +totters across the road to her, laughing.</p> + +<p>Only this morning, as we passed that same<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> house, there was the low +whine of a shell, and a metallic bang like the sound of a dented +kerosene tin when you try to straighten the bend in it. Then another and +another and another. We could see the white smoke of the shells floating +past behind the spring greenery of a hedgerow only a few fields away. It +drifted slowly through the trees and then came another salvo. There were +some red roofs near—those of a neighbouring farm—but we could not see +whether they were firing at them, or at some sign of moving troops, or +at a working party if there were any; and I do not know now. As we came +back that way in the afternoon there was more shelling farther along. +The woman in the doorway simply turned her head in its direction for a +moment, and so did a younger woman who came to the doorway behind her. +Then they turned to the baby again.</p> + +<p>Through the trees one could see that the farmhouses and cottages farther +on had mostly been battered and broken. There was a road running at a +little distance, and every roof and wall in it had been shattered. There +was a feverish, insane disorder about the little groups of buildings +there, all shattered, burnt and gaping, like the tangled nightmare of +desolation on the morning after a great city fire. Farther<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> still was +open country again, where long communication trenches began to run +through the fields—but you could see none of this from where we stood. +Only in the distant hedgerows, perhaps, we might have noticed, if we had +looked for it, an occasional broken tree trunk—snapped off short or +broken down at a sharp angle by shell fire.</p> + +<p>Those distant trees would be growing over our firing line—or the +German.</p> + +<p>It is a more beautiful country than any we saw in Gallipoli, in spite of +its waterlogged ditches and the rain which had fallen miserably almost +every day since we arrived. There is green grass up to within a few +yards of the filthy mud of the front trenches; and not a hinterland of +powdered white earth which was all we had at Anzac or at Helles. Here +you have hedgerows just bursting into spring, and green grass, which on +a fine day fairly tempts you to lie on it if you are far enough away +from the lines. The country is flat and you see no sign of the enemy's +trenches, or your own—the hedgerows shut them out at half a mile as +completely as if they did not exist.<br /><br /></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf16.jpg" width="600" height="418" +alt=""AN OCCASIONAL BROKEN TREE TRUNK--SNAPPED OFF SHORT"" +title=""AN OCCASIONAL BROKEN TREE TRUNK--SNAPPED OFF SHORT"" /> +<span class="caption">"AN OCCASIONAL BROKEN TREE TRUNK--SNAPPED OFF +SHORT, OR BROKEN DOWN AT A SHARP ANGLE, BY SHELL FIRE "</span> +<br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf16-1.jpg" width="600" height="430" +alt="NO MANS LAND" title="NO MANS LAND" /> +<span class="caption">NO MANS LAND<br />The barrier which stretches from Belguim +to the swiss border and which not the millions of Rockefeller could enable him +to cross</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p>But you realise, when you have been in that country for a little while, +that you have eyes upon you all the time—you are being watched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> as +you have never been watched in your life before. You move along the +country road as you would walk along the roads about your own home, +until, sooner or later, things happen which make you think suddenly and +think hard. You are passing, a dozen of you together instead of the +usual two or three, through those green fields by those green hedgerows +when there is a sharp whiz and a crash, and a shrapnel shell from a +German seventy-seven (their field gun) bursts ten yards behind you. You +are standing at a corner studying a map, and you notice that a working +party is passing the corner frequently on some duty or another. You were +barely aware that there was a house near you.</p> + +<p>Twenty-four hours later you hear that that house was levelled to the +ground next morning—a shrapnel shell on each side of it to get the +range—a high explosive into it to burst it up—and an incendiary shell +to burn the rubbish; and one more French family is homeless.</p> + +<p>It takes you some time to realise that it was <i>you</i> who burnt that +house—you and that working party which moved past the cross-roads so +often. Somebody must have seen you when the shell burst alongside that +hedge. Somebody must have been watching you all the time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> when you were +loitering with your map at that corner. Somebody, at any rate, must have +been marking down from the distance everything that happened at those +cross-roads. Somebody in the landscape is clearly watching you all the +while. And then for the first time you recall that those grey trees in +the distance must be behind the German lines; that distant roof and +chimney notched against a background of scrub is in German ground; the +pretty blue hill against which the willows in the plain show out like a +row of railway sleepers is cut off from you by a barrier deeper than the +Atlantic—the German trenches; and that from all yonder landscape, which +moves behind the screen of nearer trees as you walk, eyes are watching +for you all day long; telescopes are glaring at you; brains behind the +telescopes are patiently reconstructing, from every movement in our +roads or on our fields, the method of our life, studying us as a +naturalist watches his ants under a glass case.</p> + +<p>Long before you get near the lines, away over the horizon before you, +there is floating what looks most like a flat white garden grub—small +because of its distance. Look to the south and to the north and you will +see at wide intervals others, one after the other until they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> fade into +the distance. Every fine day brings them out as regularly as the worms +rise after rain; they sit there all day long in the sky, each one +apparently drowsing over his own stretch of country. But they are +anything but drowsy. Each one contains his own quick eyes, keen brain, +his telescope, his telephone, and heaven knows what instruments. And out +on every beautiful fresh morning of spring come the butterflies of +modern warfare—two or three of our own planes, low down; and then a +white insect very, very high—now hidden behind a cloud, now appearing +again across the rift. It is delightful to stand there and watch it all +like a play. The bombs, if they drop 'em, are worth risking any day.</p> + +<p>But it isn't the bombs that matter, and it isn't <i>you</i> who run the risk. +The observer is not there to drop bombs, in most cases, but to watch, +watch, watch. A motor standing by the roadside, a body of men about some +work, extra traffic along a road—and a red tick goes down on a map; +that is all. You go away. But next day, or sometimes much sooner, that +red tick comes up for shelling as part of the normal day's routine of +some German battery.</p> + +<p>So if these letters from France ever seem thin, remember that the war +correspondent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> does not wish to give to the enemy for a penny what he +would gladly give a regiment to get. On our way back is a field +pock-marked by a hundred ancient shell-holes around a few deserted +earthworks. On some bygone afternoon it must have been wild, raging, +reeking hell there for half an hour or so. Somebody in this landscape +put a red tick once against that long-forgotten corner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE ROAD TO LILLE</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, April.</i></p> + + +<p>There is a house at a certain corner I passed of late. On it, in big +white letters on a blue ground, is written "To Lille." Every township +for a hundred miles has that same signpost, showing you the way to the +great city of Northern France. But Rockefeller himself with all his +motor-cars could not follow its direction to-day. For the city to which +it points is six miles behind the German lines. You can get from our +lines the edge of some outlying suburb overlapping a distant hill-top.</p> + +<p>And that is all that the French people can see of the second city of +their State. The distant roofs, the smoke rising from some great centre +of human activity nestled in a depression into which you cannot look; +you can peer at them all day long through a telescope and wonder why it +is they are stoking their chimneys, or what it is that causes the haze +to hang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> deeply on such and such a day over this or that corner—you can +study the place as an astronomer studies the faint markings upon the +surface of Mars. But to all intents and purposes that country is as much +cut off from you as is the farthest star.</p> + +<p>For the war in which we are engaged means this—that you may travel from +any part of the world with the freedom of this twentieth century and all +its conveniences, until you come to the place where we are to-day. But, +when you come thus far, there is a line in front of you which no power +that has yet been produced in this world, from its creation to the +present day—not all the money nor all the invention—not all the +parliamentarians nor the philosophers—not all the socialism nor the +autocracy, the capital, nor the labour, the brain, nor the physical +power in the whole world has yet been able to pass. The German nation, +for reasons of its own, has put this line across another people's +country and made a fool of all the progress and civilisation on which we +relied so confidently up to a couple of years ago. I suppose it will all +grow unbelievable again some day—two hundred years hence they will +smile at such talk just as we did two years ago. But it will be as true +then as it is to-day—that a nation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> of officials and philosophers gone +mad has been able to place across the world a line which no man can at +present move.</p> + +<p>I have seen that line at a fair number of places—since writing these +words, many miles away in my billet, working in the brick-floored +cottage bedroom by the light of an oil lamp, I have stepped to the door, +and there I can see it now, always flickering and flashing like faint +summer lightning under the clouds on the horizon. When you come to the +very limit—to the farthest point which you or any man on earth can +possibly reach by yourself—it is just a strip of green grass from +twenty to four hundred yards wide, straggling across France and Belgium +from the sea to the Swiss border. I suppose that French and English men +have sanctified every part of that narrow ribbon by dying there. But the +grass of those old paddocks grows unkempt like a shock head of hair. And +it has covered with a kindly mantle most of the terrible relics of the +past. A tuft, perhaps thicker than the rest, is all that marks where +last year lay a British soldier whose death represented the latest +effort of the world to cross the line the Germans laid.</p> + +<p>You cannot even know what is going on in the country beyond that line. +You have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> build up a science for deducing it from little signs, as a +naturalist might study the habits of a nest of ants. The Germans are +probably much more successful at that than we are.</p> + +<p>It is strange to us that there are towns and cities over there only a +few miles away from us, and for a hundred miles back from that, of whose +life we know nothing except that they have been ravished and ruined by +the heavy hand of Prussian militarism. But, for the people who live +around us here, it is a tragedy of which I had not the least conception +until I actually saw it.</p> + +<p>We had a cup of coffee the other day in the house of an old lady whose +husband had been called out two years ago, a few days after the war +began.</p> + +<p>"All my own people are over there, monsieur," she said, nodding her head +towards the lines. "They were all living in the invaded country, and I +have not heard of them for eighteen months. I do not know whether they +are alive or dead. I only know that they are all ruined. They were +farmers, monsieur, comfortably off on a big farm. But consider the fines +that the Boches have put upon the country.</p> + +<p>"The only thing we know, monsieur, it was from a cousin who was taken +prisoner by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> Boches. You know we are allowed to write to the +prisoners, and they have the privilege to write to people in the invaded +country. So my family wrote to my cousin to ask news of my mother, who +was a very old woman. And after weeks and weeks the answer came +back—'Mother dead.'</p> + +<p>"It was not so terrible that, monsieur, because my mother was old. But +then—he who was my dear friend," she always referred to her husband by +this term, "my dear friend used to write to us every day in those times. +He was fighting in Alsace, monsieur, and for his bravery he had been +promoted upon the field of battle to be an officer. He wrote every +single day to me and the children. We were always so united—never a +harsh word between us during all the years we were married—he was +always gentle and tender and affectionate—a good husband and father, +monsieur, and he sent the letter every day to my brother-in-law, who is +a soldier in Paris, and my brother-in-law sent it on to us.</p> + +<p>"There came one day when he wrote to us saying that he was out behind +the trenches waiting for an attack which they were to make in two hours' +time. He had had his breakfast, and was smoking his pipe quite content. +There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> the letter ended, and for three days no letter came from my dear +friend. And then my brother-in-law wrote to his officer, and the answer +arrived—this, monsieur," she said, fumbling with shaking fingers in a +drawer where all her treasures were, and trying to hide her tears; and +handed me a folded piece of paper written on the battlefield.</p> + +<p>It was from his captain, and it spoke of the death of as loyal and brave +a soldier as ever breathed. He was killed, the letter said, ten yards +from the enemy's trenches.</p> + +<p>And it is so in every house that you go into in these villages. When the +billeting officer goes round to ask what rooms they have, it is +continually the same story. "Room, monsieur—yes, there is the room of +my son who was killed in Argonne—of my husband who was killed at +Verdun. He is killed, and my father and mother they are in the invaded +country, and I know nothing of them since the war."<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 344px;"> +<img src="images/gsf26.jpg" width="344" height="600" alt="ALONG THE ROAD TO LILLE" title="ALONG THE ROAD TO LILLE" /> +<span class="caption">ALONG THE ROAD TO LILLE</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p>But the road to the invaded country will be opened some day. These +people have not a doubt of it. If one thing has struck us more than any +other since we came to France, it is the spirit of the French. We came +here when the battle at Verdun was at its height; and yet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> from the +hour of landing I have not heard a single French man or woman that was +not utterly confident. There is a quiet resolution over this people at +present which makes a most impressive contrast to the jabber of the +world outside. Whatever may be the case with Paris, these country people +of France are one of the freshest and strongest nations on earth.</p> + +<p>They are living their ordinary lives right up under the burst of the +German shells. Three of them were killed here the other day—three +children, playing about one minute at a street corner in front of their +own homes before Australian eyes, were lying dead there the next. Yet +the people are still there—it is their home, and why should they leave +it? An autocracy has no chance against a convinced, united, determined +democracy like this. More than anything I have seen it is this +surprising quiet resolution of the French which has made one confident +beyond a doubt that Frenchmen will pass some day again, by no man's +leave except their own, along the road to Lille.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>THE DIFFERENCES</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, April 25th.</i></p> + + +<p>The cottage door is open to the night. The soft air of a beautiful +evening following on a glorious day brushes past one into the room. As I +stand here the nightingale from a neighbouring garden is piping his +long, exquisite, repeated note till the air seems full of it. Far away +over the horizon is an incessant flicker like summer lightning, very +faint but quite continuous. Under the nightingale's note comes always a +dull grumble, throbbing and bumping occasionally, but seldom quite +ceasing. Someone is getting it heavily down there—it is not our +Australians; I think I know their direction.</p> + +<p>It was just such a glorious day as this one has been, a year ago, when +this corps of untried soldiers suddenly rushed into the nightmare of a +desperate fight. At this moment of the night the rattle of rifle fire +was incessant all round the hills. Men were digging and firing and +digging in a dream which had continued<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> since early dawn and had to +continue for two more days and nights before there was the first chance +of rest. They were old soldiers within twenty-four hours, as their +leader told them in an order which was circulated at the time. Only a +sprinkling of the men who were there are in the Anzac units to-day. But +they are the officers and the N.C.O.'s, and that means a great deal.</p> + +<p>We have been here long enough now to discover the differences between +this front and the old fighting-line in Gallipoli. The rain has been +heavier in March than for thirty-five years, and April until yesterday +seemed almost as bad. The trenches are made passable by being floored +with a wooden pathway which runs on piles—underneath which is the +gutter of water and mud which is the real floor of the trench. Sometimes +the water rises in the communication trenches so that the boards float +or disappear, and if you happen to step into an interval between them +you may quite well sink to your waist in thin clay mud. The actual +firing trenches and the dug-outs there are mostly dry by comparison, +except where the accumulated task of draining them has been gaining on +some regiment which garrisons them, and the rear of the line is a morass +of foul-smelling clay.</p> + +<p>This difficulty never really reached us in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> Gallipoli, though we might +possibly have found the trenches falling in upon us in the rains of +winter if we had stayed. The trenches in France are full of traces of +old dug-outs and mouldering sandbags, collapsed through rain in the dim +past before the timbering of all works was looked on as a necessity. In +Anzac we never had the timber for this, and one doubts if we ever could +have had it had we stayed. The soil there was dry and held well, and the +trenches were deep and very elaborate to a degree which one has not seen +approached in France. There may be some parts here where such trenches +are possible, and where they exist; but I have not seen them. It must be +remembered that in many places in France there are stretches of line +where it is impossible to dig a trench at all in winter, because you +meet water as soon as you scratch the surface; and therefore both our +line and the German are a breastwork built up instead of a trench dug +down. The curious thing is that in the trenches themselves you scarcely +realise the difference. Your outlook there is bounded in either case by +two muddy walls over which you cannot wisely put your head in the +daylight. The place may be a glorious green field, with flowers and +birds and little reedy pools, if you are two feet over the parapet. +But you see nothing from week-end to week-end except two muddy walls and +the damp, dark interior of a small dug-out. You see no more of the +country than you would in a city street. Trench life is always a city +life.<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf30.jpg" width="600" height="352" +alt="THE TRENCHES HERE HAVE TO BE BUILT ABOVE THE GROUND" +title="THE TRENCHES HERE HAVE TO BE BUILT ABOVE THE GROUND" /> +<span class="caption">THE TRENCHES HERE HAVE TO BE BUILT ABOVE THE GROUND +IN BREASTWORK AND NOT DUG BELOW IT</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<p>The trench routine is much the same as it was in Gallipoli, except that +in no part which I have seen is the tension anything like so great. At +Anzac you were hanging on to the edge of a valley by your finger-nails, +and had to steal every yard that you could in order to have room to +build up a second line, and if possible a third line beyond that. Here +both you and the enemy have scores of miles behind you, and two or three +hundred yards more or less makes no difference worth mentioning.</p> + +<p>For this reason you would almost say that the German line in this +country was asleep compared with the line we used to know. A hundred and +fifty yards of green grass, with the skeleton that was once some old hay +wagon up-ended in the middle of it, and sky-blue water showing through +the grass blades in the depressions; a brown mud wall straggling along +the other side of the green—more or less parallel to your breastwork, +with white sandbags crowning it like an irregular coping; the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +inevitable stumpy stakes and masses of rusted barbed wire in front. You +might watch it for an hour and the only sign of life you would see would +be a blue whiff of smoke from some black tin chimney stuck up behind it. +If you fire at the chimney probably it will be taken down. The other +day, chancing to look into a periscope, I happened for a moment to see +the top of a dark object moving along half hidden by the opposing +parapet. Some earth was being thrown up over the breastwork just there, +and probably the man had to step round the work which was going on. It +was the first and only time I have seen a German in his own lines.</p> + +<p>The German here really snipes much more with his field gun than with his +rifle. He does use his rifle, too, and is a good shot, but slow. A spout +of dust on the parapet—and a periscope has been shattered in the +observer's hand within a few yards of us. But it is generally the German +field gun that does his real sniping for him, shooting at any small body +of men behind the lines. Half a dozen are quite enough to make a target, +if he sees them.</p> + +<p>The Turks used to snipe us at times with their field guns and mountain +guns, but generally at certain fixed places—down near the mouth of the +Aghyl Dere, for example.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> The German snipes with them more generally. +There is no place that I have visited which can compare for perpetual +"unhealthiness" to Anzac Beach, but it is quite possible that such +places do exist.</p> + +<p>The German gives you the impression of being a keener observer than the +Turk. The hills and trees behind his lines are really within view of you +over miles of your own country, though you scarcely realise it at first, +and they are full of eyes. Also every fine day brings out his balloons +like a crop of fat grubs—and also our own. In Gallipoli our ships had +the only balloons—the Turks had all the hill-tops.</p> + +<p>The aeroplane here affords so big a part of the hourly spectacle of +warfare, and makes so great a difference in the obvious conditions of +the fight, that he deserves a letter to himself. But of all the +differences, by far the greatest is that our troops here have a +beautiful country and a civilised, enlightened population at the back of +them, which they are defending against the invading enemy whom they have +always hoped to meet. They are amongst a people like their own, living +in villages and cottages and paddocks not so different from those of +their own childhood. Right up into the very zone of the trenches there +are houses still in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>habited by their owners. As we were entering a +communication trench a few days ago we noticed four or five British +soldiers walking across the open from a cottage. The officer with me +asked them what they were doing. "We've just been to the inn there," +they said.</p> + +<p>The people of that house were still living in it, with our trenches +wandering through their orchard.</p> + +<p>In Gallipoli there were brigade headquarters in the actual fire +trenches. From the headquarters of the division or the corps you could +reach the line by ten minutes' hard walking, any time. It is a Sabbath +day's journey here—indeed, the only possible way of covering the longer +distances regularly is by motor-car or motor-cycle, and no one dreams of +using any other means. Nearly the whole army, except the troops in the +actual firing-line, lives in a country which is populated by its normal +inhabitants.</p> + +<p>And—wherein lies the greatest change of all—the troops in the trenches +themselves can be brought back every few days into more or less normal +country, and have always the prospect before them at the end of a few +months of a stay in surroundings that are completely free from shell or +rifle fire, and within reach of village shops and the normal comforts +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> civilisation. And throwing the weather and wet trenches and the rest +all in, that difference more than makes up for all of them.</p> + +<p>"You see, a fellow must look after himself a bit," one of them said to +me the other day. "A man didn't take any care how he looked in +Gallipoli; but here with these young ladies about, you can't go around +like what we used to there."</p> + +<p>Through one's mind there flashed well-remembered figures, mostly old +slouch hat and sunburnt muscle—the lightest uniform I can recollect was +an arrangement of a shirt secured by safety pins. Here they go more +carefully dressed than if they were on leave in Melbourne or Sydney.</p> + +<p>Yesterday the country was <i>en fête</i>, the roads swarming with young and +old, and the fields with children picking flowers. The guns were bumping +a few miles away—mostly at aeroplanes. I went to the trenches with a +friend. Our last sight, as we came away from the region of them, was of +a group of French boys and girls and a few elders around a haystack; and +half a dozen big Australians, with rolled shirtsleeves, up on the +farming machinery helping them to do the work of the year.</p> + +<p>That is <i>the</i> difference.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE GERMANS</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, May.</i></p> + + +<p>The night air on every side of us was full of strange sound. It was not +loud nor near, but it was there all the time. We could hear it even +while we talked and above the sound of our footsteps on the cobbles of +the long French highway. Ahead of us, and far on either side, came this +continuous distant rattle. It was the sound of innumerable wagons +carrying up over endless cobble stones the food and ammunition for +another day.</p> + +<p>A cart clattered past from the front with the jingle of trace chains and +hammer of metal tyres upon stones. So one driver had finished his job +for the night. Farther on was a sound of voices and a chink of spades; +some way to our left across a field we can make out dark figures—they +may be stunted willows along the far hedge, or they may be a working +party going up, with their spades and picks over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> their shoulders, to +one of those jobs which in this flat country can only be done by night.</p> + +<p>Twenty miles behind the lines, or more, you can see every night along +the horizon in front of you a constant low flicker of light—the flares +thrown up by both sides over the long ribbon of No Man's Land—the +ribbon which straggles without a break from one end of France to the +other. We were getting very close to that barrier now—within a couple +of miles of it; and the pure white stars of these glorified Roman +candles were describing graceful curves behind a fretwork of trees an +inch or two above the horizon. Every five or six seconds a rifle cracked +somewhere along the line—very different from the ceaseless pecking of +Gallipoli. Then a distant German machine-gun started its sprint, +stumbled, went on again, tripped again. A second machine-gun farther +down the line caught it up, and the two ran along in perfect step for a +while. Then a third joined in, like some distant canary answering its +mates. The first two stopped and left it trilling along by itself, +catching occasionally like a motor-car engine that misfires, until it, +too, stuttered into silence. "Some poor devils being killed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> I +suppose," you think to yourself, "suppose they've seen a patrol out in +front of the lines, or a party digging in the open somewhere behind the +trenches." You can't help crediting the Germans—at first, when you come +to this place as a stranger—with being much more deadly than the Turks +both with their machine-guns and their artillery. But you soon learn +that it is by no means necessary that anyone is dying when you hear +their machine-guns sing a chorus. They may chatter away for a whole +night and nobody be in the least the worse for it. Their artillery can +throw two or three hundred shells, or even more, into one of its various +targets, not once but many times, and only a man or two be wounded; +sometimes no one at all. War is alike in that respect all the world +over, apparently; which is comforting.</p> + +<p>Presently the road ends and the long sap begins. You plunge into the +dark winding alley much as into some old city's ugly by-lane. It is +Centennial Avenue. There is room in it to pass another man even when he +is carrying a shoulderful of timber. But you must be careful when you do +pass him, or one of you will find yourself waist deep in mud. I have +said before that you do not walk on the bottom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> of the trench as you did +in Gallipoli, but on a narrow wooden causeway not unlike the bridge on +which ducks wander down from the henhouse to the yard—colloquially +known as the "duck-boards." The days have probably passed when a man +could be drowned in the mud of a communication trench. But it is always +unpleasant to step off the duck-boards in wet weather. Seeing that the +enemy may have fixed rifles trained on you at any bend of the trench, it +is unwise to carry a light; and in a dark night and an unaccustomed +trench you are almost sure to flounder.</p> + +<p>A party of men loaded with new duck-boards is blocked ahead of you. As +you stand there talking to another wayfarer and waiting for the unknown +obstacle to move, a bullet flicks off the parapet a few feet away. It +was at least a foot above the man's head and was clearly fired from some +rifle laid on the trench during the daytime. Every now and then the +parapet on one side becomes dense black against a dazzling white sky, +and the trench wall on the other side becomes a glaring white background +on which the shadow of your own head and shoulders sail slowly past you +in inky black silhouette. The sharp-cut shadow gradually rises up the +white trench wall, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> all is black again until the enemy throws +another flare.</p> + +<p>As you talk there comes suddenly over the flats on your left a brilliant +yellow flicker and a musical whine: "Whine—bang, whine—bang, +whine—bang, whine—bang," just like that spoken very quickly.</p> + +<p>"That's right over the working party in Westminster Abbey," says the +last man in the procession. "Some bally fool lit a pipe, I suppose."</p> + +<p>The man next him reckons it was about Lower George Street that got it +that time. "They been registerin' that place all day on an' off," he +says.</p> + +<p>There was just that one swift salvo, and nothing more. Presently, when +the procession moved on, we came across men who had a shower of earth +thrown down their backs by the burst of those shells. Just one isolated +salvo in the night on one particular spot. Goodness knows what the +Germans saw or thought they saw. No one was hit, nothing was interfered +with. But it is a great mistake to think it all foolishness. The most +methodical soldier in the world is behind those other sandbags, and he +doesn't do things without reason.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>Farther on we came through a series of hovels, more like dog kennels +than the shelters of men, to the dark parapet where men are always +watching, watching, across a hundred yards or so of green pasture, the +dark mud parapet on the other side. Here and there over a dug-out there +fidgets a tiny toy aeroplane such as children make, or a miniature +windmill. The aeroplane propeller is revolving slowly, tail away from +the enemy, clicking and rattling as it turns. +"Just-a-perfect-night-for-gas"—that is what the aeroplane propeller is +saying.</p> + +<p>Once only in the night there is a clatter opposite—one machine-gun +started it, then two together, then forty or fifty rifles. Perhaps they +think they saw a patrol. The Turks used to get precisely similar +nerve-storms on Russell's Top. Nobody even troubles to remark it. Dawn +breaks over the watching figures without one incident to report.</p> + +<p>It is after the light has grown and become fixed that you will notice, +if you look carefully for it, a thin film of blue smoke floating upwards +from behind the sandbags on the other side of No Man's Land. Only a +hundred and fifty yards away from you the German cook must be fitting +his old browned and burned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> dixies and kerosene tins over their early +morning fire.</p> + +<p>We had our early morning coffee, too. And as we walked homewards we +found that from a particular point we were looking straight at a distant +barn roof which is in German territory. Near it, towards his trenches, +ran a road. Of curiosity we turned our telescopes on to that path, and +while we watched there strolled along it two figures in grey—grey +tunics, grey loose trousers, little grey buttony caps, walking down the +path towards us, talking, at their ease. Twenty seconds later along came +another pair.</p> + +<p>Clearly they had said to themselves, "We must not walk about here except +in twos or threes or we shall draw a shell from one of those Verfluchte +British whizz-bangs."</p> + +<p>And so those Germans strolled—as we did—from their breakfast to their +daily work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE PLANES</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, May.</i></p> + + +<p>Gallipoli had its own special difficulties for aeroplanes. There was no +open space on which they could dream of alighting at Anzac; and one +machine which had to come down at Suvla was shelled to pieces as soon as +it landed. So planes had to live at Imbros, and there were ten miles of +sea to be crossed before work began and after it finished, and some +planes, which went out and were never heard of, were probably lost in +that sea. There were brave flights far over the enemy's country. But, +until the very last days at Helles, there was scarcely ever an enemy's +plane which put up a successful fight against our own.</p> + +<p>In France the enemy is almost as much in the air as we are. He has to be +reckoned with all the time, and fierce fighting in the air, either +against German machines or in face of German shell-fire such as we +scarcely even imagined in watching the air-fighting of Gallipoli, is +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> daily spectacle of the trenches. We have seen a brave flight by a +German low down within rifle-shot. But never anything to compare with +the indifference to danger of the British pilots.</p> + +<p>I was in the lines the other day when there sounded close at hand salvo +after salvo so fast that I took it for a bombardment. The Germans were +firing at one of our aeroplanes. It was flying as low as I ever saw a +plane fly in Gallipoli—you could make out quite clearly the rings +painted on the planes, which meant a British machine. A sputtering rifle +fire broke out from the German trenches opposite—their infantry were +firing at him. Then came that salvo again—twelve reports in quick +succession—a sheaf of shells whining overhead like so many +puppies—burst after burst in the sky, some short, some far past +him—you would swear they must have gone through him—one right over +him.</p> + +<p>The hearts of our men were in their mouths as they watched. He sailed +straight through the shrapnel puffs, turned sharply, and steered away. A +new salvo broke out over the sky where he should have been. He +immediately swerved into it like a footballer making a dodging run, then +turned away again. A minute later a third sheaf of shells burst behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +him, following him up. "He ought to be safe now," one thought to +oneself, "but my word, they nearly got him—"</p> + +<p>And then, as we were congratulating him on having escaped with a whole +skin, and breathing more freely at the thought—he turned slowly and +came straight up towards those guns again.</p> + +<p>The Australians holding the trenches were delighted. "My word, he's got +more guts than what I have," said one. Sheaf after sheaf of shells burst +in the air all about him; but he steered straight up the middle of them +till he reached the point he wanted to make, and then wheeled and made +his patrol up and down over the trenches. He was flying higher but still +low, and the crackle of rifles again broke out from the German lines. He +was within the range of the feeblest "Archie" even at his highest. They +were literally just so many big shot-guns, firing at a great bird; only +this bird came up time and again to be shot at, simply trusting to the +chance that they would not hit him.</p> + +<p>"The rest may take their luck, but I should be dead sick if they was to +get him," grunted a big Australian as he tugged a pull-through out of +his rifle.</p> + +<p>Of course they will get him if he does that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> often—you only need two +eyes to know that. The communiqués tell of it every week. As you scurry +past the hinterland of the lines in your motor-car you will sometimes +see two or three aeroplanes flying like great herons overhead. They seem +to be in company, keeping station almost, and holding on the same +course, all mates together—until you catch the cough of a machine-gun, +and realise that they are actually engaged in the deadliest sort of duel +which can possibly be fought in these days. In a battle of infantry you +are mostly hit by an unaimed shot, or a shot aimed into a mass of men. +Even if a man fires at you once, it is probably someone else whom he +aims at next time. But in the air the man who shoots at you is coming +after you, and intends to go on shooting at you until he kills. The +moment when you see an enemy's plane, and realise that you have to fight +it, must be one to set even the strongest nerves tingling.</p> + +<p>Generally the aeroplane with the black crosses on its wings is very +high—barely visible. Sometimes, when the other planes are near it, it +swoops steeply to earth behind the German lines. Or it may be that, far +behind our own lines, you see a plane diving to earth at an angle which +makes you wonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> whether it is falling or being steered. It straightens +out suddenly, and lands a few fields away. By the time you are there, a +cluster of khaki is already round it. An English boy steps out of it, +flushed and excited, and with intense strain written in his eyes and in +every jerk of his head. Out of the seat just behind him they are lifting +a man with a terrible wound in his side. In the arms of the seat from +which they lift him are two holes as big as a shell would make—but they +were not made by a shell. A cluster of bullets from the machine-gun of a +German plane at close range has passed in at one side of the seat and +out at the other. The rifle which the observer was carrying dropped from +his hands out into space, and the pilot saw it fall just before he +dived.</p> + +<p>The German pilots are sometimes youngsters too—not very unlike our own. +Our first sight of active war in France was when the train stopped at a +country siding many miles behind the lines, and two British soldiers +with fixed bayonets marched a third man—a youngster with a slight fair +moustache—over the level crossing in front of us. He wore a grey peaked +cap and a short overcoat jacket with a warm collar and tall, +tight-fitting boots—very much like those of our own officers; and he +walked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> with a big, swift stride, looking straight ahead of him. +Somewhere, far over behind the German lines, they were probably +expecting him at that moment. His servant would be getting ready his +room. He had left the aerodrome only an hour before, and flown over +strange lines which we have never seen, but which had become as familiar +as his home to him, with no idea than to be back, as he always was +before, within an hour or so. And then something seems to be wrong with +the plane—he has to come down in a strange country; and within an hour +he is out of the war for good and all. He strides along biting his lip. +His comrades will expect him for an hour or so. By dinner-time they will +realise that there is another member gone from their mess.</p> + +<p>While I am writing these words someone runs in to say that a German +aeroplane has been shot down—came down in flames, they say, and tore a +great hole in the roadside. There seems to be some such news every day, +now it is one of ours, now one of theirs. It is a brave game.</p> + +<p>I suppose it needs a sportsman, even if he is a German, to fight in a +service like that. The pity of it that he is fighting for such an ugly +cause.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE COMING STRUGGLE: OUR TASK</h3> + +<p>[Up to this time the Australians had been in quiet trenches in the green +lowlands near Armentières. From this time the coming struggle began to +loom ahead.]</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, May 23rd.</i></p> + + +<p>I sat down to write an article about a log-chopping competition. But the +irony of writing such things with other things on one's mind is too much +even for a war correspondent. One's pen goes on strike. One impression +above all has been brought home in the two months we have spent in +France. For some reason, people at home are colossally ignorant of the +task now in front of them. We have now seen three theatres of war, and +it was the same everywhere. Indeed, in Gallipoli we ourselves were just +as ignorant of the state of affairs elsewhere. All the news we had of +Salonica came from the English newspapers. We thought, "However +difficult things may be here, at any rate the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> Salonica army is only +waiting for a few more men before it cuts the railway to +Constantinople." Then somebody came from Salonica, and we found that the +army there was comforting itself with exactly the same reflections about +us. As for England, everyone who reached us from there arrived with the +conviction that we needed only a few more men to push through.</p> + +<p>When the attempt to get through from Suvla failed the public turned to +Bulgaria, and, on the strength of what they read, many of those on the +Peninsula could not help doing the same. Now that we see with our eyes +the nature of Britain's task in France, there is only one depressing +thing about it, and that is that one doubts if the British people have +any more idea of its magnitude than it had of the difficulties of +Gallipoli.</p> + +<p>The world hears from the British public vague talk of some future +offensive. It goes without saying that we hear nothing of any plans +here. If there were any, it would be in London that they would first +become common knowledge. But if such an offensive ever does happen, have +the British people any idea of its difficulties? In this warfare, when +you have brought up such artillery as was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> unbelievable even in the +first year of the war, and reduced miles of trenches to powder, and have +walked over the line of the works in front of you, a handful of batmen +and Headquarters' cooks may still hold up the greatest attack yet +delivered, and you may spend the next month dashing your strength away +against a barrier of ever-increasing toughness.</p> + +<p>If an offensive ever is made, we know it will not be made without good +reason for its success. But everything which one has seen points to the +conclusion that a vague belief in the success of such an offensive ought +not to be the sole mental effort that a great part of the nation makes +towards winning the war. And yet, from what I saw lately during a recent +visit to Great Britain, I should say that such was the case. "If we fail +to break through," the public says, "surely the Russians will manage it, +or the French will succeed this time." Wherever we have seen the war +there is always this tendency to look elsewhere for success. There is +not the slightest doubt we have success in our power. The game is in our +hands if we will only play it. The talk about our resources and staying +power is not all "hot air," as the Americans say. The resources were +there, and it was always known<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> that in the later stages of the war, +when Germany and our Allies who entered the war at final strength, had +used most of their resources, then those of Britain would become +decisive because she had not yet used them. That stage we are reaching +now—Britain's resources measured against those of Germany. We have the +advantage in entering it. The danger is that while we squander our +wealth without organisation, the German, by bringing all his brains and +resolution to bear on the problem, may so eke out his strained resources +as to outstay our rich ones.</p> + +<p>One sees not the least sign that the British people understand this. I +do not know how it is in Australia, but in Britain life runs its normal +course. Gigantic sums flow away daily, and the only efforts at economy +one hears of are a Daylight Saving Act adopted only because Germany +adopted it first; a list of prohibited imports and petty economies, +which we mistook when first we read it for an elaborate satire; and a +pious hope, in the true voluntary and official British style, that meat +would be shunned on two days in the week.</p> + +<p>By way of contrast there are dished out for our encouragement reports of +all the pains which the Germans are put to to economise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> food in their +country. Potatoes instead of flour, meat twice a week, food strictly +regulated by ticket, children taught to count between each mouthful in +order to avoid over-eating. We are supposed to draw comfort from this +contrast.</p> + +<p>It is the most depressing literature we have. The obvious comment is, +"Well, there is a nation organised to win a war—that is the sort of +nation which the men in the opposite trenches have behind them. A nation +which has organised itself for war, and is already organising itself for +peace after the war"; and all that we, who are organised neither for war +nor peace, have, in answer to a national effort like that, is an +ignorant jeer at what is really the most formidable of the dangers +threatening us.</p> + +<p>If the British Empire took the war as business, were ready to disturb +its daily life, alter its daily habits, to throw on the scrap-heap its +sacred individualism, and do and live for the national cause, no one +doubts but we could win this war so as to avoid an inconclusive peace. +Some of us were talking to a middle-aged British merchant. We had left +our fellows in France cheerfully facing unaccustomed mud and frosts, +cheerfully accepting the chance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> being blown into undiscoverable +atoms or living horribly maimed in mind or body, cheerfully accepting +all this with the set, deliberate purpose of fighting on for a +conclusive settlement—one which put out of question for the future the +rule of brute force, or tearing up of treaties, or renewal of the +present war. We had left those fellows fighting for an ideal they +perfectly well realised, and cheerful in the belief that they would +attain it.</p> + +<p>The merchant was dressed in black morning coat and black tie, and looked +in every way a very respectable merchant. He was full of respectable +hopes. But when we spoke of a long war he drew a long face and talked +lugubriously of dislocated trade and strain upon capital—doubted how +long the industry could stand it, and shook his head.</p> + +<p>Whenever one thinks of that worthy man one is overcome with a great +anger. What he meant was that if the war went on he might be broken, and +that was a calamity which he could not be expected to face. We thought +of all those fellows in France—British, Australians, +Canadians—cheerfully offering their lives for an ideal at which this +worthy citizen shied because it might cost him his fortune. Suppose it +did, suppose he had to leave his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> fine home and end his days in a villa, +suppose he had to start as a clerk in someone else's counting-house, +what was it beside what these boys were offering? I think of a fair head +which I had seen matted in red mud, of young nerves of steel shattered +beyond repair, of a wild night at Helles, when I found, stumbling beside +me in the first bitterness of realisation, a young officer who a few +yards back had been shot through both eyes. And here was this worthy man +shaking his head for fear that their ideals might interfere with his +business.</p> + +<p>As to which, one can only say that, if the British nation, or the +Australian nation, because it shirks interference with its normal life, +because it is afraid of State enterprise, because of any personal or +individual consideration whatever, lets this struggle go by default, and +by inconclusive peace, to the people which is organised body and soul in +support of the grey tunics behind the opposite parapet, then it is a +betrayal of every gallant heart now sleeping under the crosses on +Gallipoli, and of every boyish head that has reddened the furrows of +France.</p> + +<p>There are good reasons for saying that the struggle is now with the +British Empire. With<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> your staying power you can win. But in Heaven's +name, if you wish to win, if you have in you any of the ideals for which +those boys have died, cast your old prejudices to the winds and organise +your staying power. Organise! Organise! Organise!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>IN A FOREST OF FRANCE</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, May 26th.</i></p> + + +<p>It was in "A forest of France," as the programme had it. The road ran +down a great aisle with the tall elm trees reaching to the sky, and +stretching their long green fingers far above, like the slender pillars +of a Gothic cathedral. Down the narrow road below sagged a big +motor-bus, painted grey, like a battleship; and, after it, a huge grey +motor-lorry; and, in front and behind them, an odd procession of +motor-cars of all sizes, bouncing awkwardly from one hollow in the road +to another.</p> + +<p>Out of the dark interior of the motor-bus, as we passed it, there groped +a head with a grey slouch hat. It came slowly round on its long, brown, +wrinkled neck until it looked into our car. "Hey, mate," it said, "is +this the track to the races?" Then it smiled at the landscape in general +and withdrew into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> interior like a snail into its shell. In this bus +was an Australian Brass Band.</p> + +<p>We drew up where there was a collection of motor-cars, lorries, and odd +riding horses along the roadside, exactly as you might see at the picnic +races. We struck inland up one of those glades which the French +foresters leave at intervals running from side to side of their +well-managed forests. The green moss sank like a soft carpet beneath our +feet. The little watergutters bubbled beneath the twigs as we trod +across them. The cowslips and anemones nodded as our boots brushed them. +Hundreds of birds sang in the branches, and the sunlight came down in +shafts from the lacework patches of sky far above, and lit up patches of +grass, and fallen leaves, and moss-covered tree trunks, on which sat a +crowd chiefly of Australians and New Zealanders. As one of the English +correspondents said, "It was just such a forest as Shakespeare wrote +about." Who would have thought that scene believable two years before?</p> + +<p>A contest had been arranged between Australasians and Canadians in +France to decide which could fell trees in the quickest time. It began +really with the French forest authorities, who insisted on the +well-known forest rule that no young trees under one metre twenty in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +girth must be felled after the middle of May, because if you cut the +young tree after the sap begins to rise it will not grow again. The +British officer in control of the forest had obtained an extension until +the end of May, but he had to get felled by then all the young timber +that he wanted before September. He had borrowed some Maoris to help, +and he noticed how they cut and the sort of sportsmen they were. He was +struck with an idea. A French forest officer was with him. "How long do +you think it would take a New Zealander to chop down a tree like that?" +asked the Frenchman. "A minute," was the answer. "Unbelievable," +exclaimed the Frenchman. A Maori was called up, and the tree was down in +forty seconds.</p> + +<p>After that a contest was arranged between Maoris and French +wood-cutters. Trees had to be cut in the French style, which, it must be +admitted, is much neater and more economical, and about five times as +laborious. The trees are cut off at ground level, and so straightly that +the stump would not trip you if it were in the middle of the road. Each +team consisted of six men, and felled twelve small trees, using its own +accustomed axes. The Maoris won by four minutes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was out of this that the big contest sprang. The Canadians and +Australasians challenged one another. This time the teams were to be of +three men. Each team was to cut three trees—only service axes to be +used; but otherwise each man could cut in any style he wished. The trees +averaged about two feet thick—hard wood. The teams started to practise. +And the forest officers' problem was solved.</p> + +<p>The teams tossed for trees, and tossed for the order in which they were +to cut. I believe that when some question arose out of this toss, the +Maoris immediately offered to toss again, in order to have no advantage +from the result.</p> + +<p>It was interesting to see the difference of style. All three types of +colonial woodsmen cut the tree almost breast high, but the Australian +seemed to be the only one that took advantage of that understroke, with +a hiss through the clenched teeth, which looks so formidable when you +watch our timber-getters. It was a Canadian team which started. They cut +coolly, and the one whom I watched struck one by his splendid condition. +A wiry man, not thick-set, but well built and athletic, who never turned +a hair. I think he was perhaps too cool to win. His comrades were not +quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> so fast as he. They cut the tree with a fairly narrow scarf, the +top cut coming down at a steep angle, and the lower cut coming straight +in to meet it, so that the upper end of the stump, when the tree falls, +is left cut off as straight as a table top. Their first tree crashed in +fourteen minutes, the next in fifteen, and then they all three tackled +the last and toughest, which fell in twenty-one; fifty minutes +altogether when the three times were added.</p> + +<p>The next team was Australian. From the first rapid swing one's anxiety +was whether they could possibly stand the pace. They tackled the job so +much more fiercely than the Canadians. I watched a young Tasmanian, his +whole soul in it, brow wrinkled, and sweat pouring from his face. You +would have thought that he was cutting almost wildly, till you noticed +how every cut went home exactly on top of the cut before. These +Australians—they were Western Australians mostly—made a wide scarf, +the top cut coming down at an angle, and the lower cut coming up at a +similar angle to meet it, making a wide open angle between the two. The +odds would, I think, have been taken by most of those who went there as +being in favour of the Canadians; and it was a great surprise when the +three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> Australian trees were all down in thirty-one minutes and eight +seconds.</p> + +<p>The New Zealanders cut third. Their team consisted of Maoris. They did +not seem to be cutting with the fire of the Australians. There was not +the visible energy; their actions struck one as easier, and one doubted +if their great, lithe, brown muscles were carrying them so fast.</p> + +<p>Yet the time told the truth. Their three trees were down in twenty-two +minutes and forty seconds, and no one else approached them. One Canadian +team improved the Canadian time to forty-five minutes twenty-two +seconds. The Maoris seemed mostly to cut with a narrower scarf even than +the Canadians, both upper and lower cuts sloping downward at a narrow +angle. In fairness it must be said that the Maoris had practised about +six weeks, the Canadians and Australians about one week.</p> + +<p>An Australian won the log-chopping competition; and the Canadians won +with the crosscut saw. A New Zealander won the competition for style.</p> + +<p>Later the men were mostly sitting watching the Frenchmen, workers in the +forest, giving an exhibition cut. Two of a Canadian team were sitting on +a log next to me, yarning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> in the slow, quizzical drawl of the Canadian +countryman, when some of their mates sat down beside them. The man next +me turned to them, and the next instant they were all talking French +among themselves, talking it as their native tongue. Their officer, a +handsome youngster, spoke it too. It was not till that moment that I +realised that most of these Canadian woodsmen here were French.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the exhibition chop went on. The French woodsmen were digging +at the roots of their trees with long, ancient axes, more like a cold +chisel than a modern axe. "I think I could do as well with a knife and +fork," said one great kindly Australian as he watched with a smile.</p> + +<p>But, to my mind, that exhibition was the most impressive of all. For +every one of those who took part in it was either an old man or a slip +of a slender boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>IDENTIFIED</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, June 28th.</i></p> + + +<p>It was about three months ago, more or less. The German observer, +crouched up in the platform behind the trunk of a tree, or in a chimney +with a loose brick in it—in a part of the world where the country +cottages, peeping over the dog-rose hedges, have more broken bricks in +them than whole ones—saw down a distant lane several men in strange +hats. The telescope wobbled a bit, and in the early light all objects in +the landscape took on much the same grey colour.</p> + +<p>The observer rubbed his red eyes and peered again. Down the white streak +winding across a distant green field were coming a couple more of these +same hats. I expect Fritz saw a good number of them in those days. Many +of the wearers of those hats had never seen an aeroplane before; much +less two aeroplanes, fighting a duel with machine-guns at close range, +10,000<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> feet over their heads, or being sniped at by a battery of hidden +15-pounder guns, every shot marking itself for the open-mouthed +spectators by its little white cotton-wool shell burst.</p> + +<p>The German observer spent several hours jotting painful notes into a +well-thumbed pocket-book, staring in the intervals through his +telescope. Then the tree shook. Something ponderous from below felt its +way up the creaking ladder. A red face, like the face of the sun, peered +over the platform.</p> + +<p>"Anything new, Fritz?" it puffed.</p> + +<p>"Ja; those new troops we have noticed yesterday—I think they were +Australians."</p> + +<p>So the observer sent it back to his officer, and his officer sent it +back to the brigade, and the brigade sent it on to the division. The +division was a little sceptical. "That crowd is always making these wild +discoveries," grunted the divisional Intelligence Officer, but he +thought it worth while passing it on to the Army Corps, who in their +turn sent it to the Army; and so, in due course, it arrived in those +awe-inspiring circles where lives the great German military brain.</p> + +<p>"So that is where they have turned up," said a very big man with +spectacles—a big man in more ways than one. And a note went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> down in +red ink in a particular page of a huge index, to appear duly printed in +the next edition of that portentous volume. Only, after the note, there +was a query.</p> + +<p>Far away at the front, Fritz told his mates over their evening coffee +that the new regiment whose heads they had been noticing over the +parapet opposite were Australians.</p> + +<p>"Black swine dogs, one of them nearly had me as I was bringing the +mail-bags," snorted a weedy youth scarcely out of his teens, looking +over the top of his coffee pot. "I always said that was a dangerous gap +where the communication trench crosses the ditch."</p> + +<p>"You babies should keep your stupid heads down like your elders," +retorted a grizzled reservist as he stuffed tobacco into the green china +bowl of a real German pipe.</p> + +<p>The talk gradually went along the front line for about the distance of +one company's front on either side, that there had been a relief in the +British trenches, and that there were Australians over there. One man +had heard the sergeant saying so in the next bay of the trench; it meant +exactly as much to them as it would to Australian troops to hear the +corps opposite them was Bavarian or Saxon or Hanoverian. They knew the +English and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> French possessed some of these colonial corps. They had +been opposite the Algerians in the Champagne before they came to this +part of the line.</p> + +<p>"They are ugly swine to meet in the dark," they thought. "These white +and black colonial regiments."</p> + +<p>Fritz lives very much in his dug-out—is very good at keeping his head +below the parapet—and he thought very little more about it. His head +was much fuller of the arrival of the weekly parcel of butter and cake +from his hardworking wife at home, and of the coming days when his +battalion would go out of the trenches into billets in the villages, +when he might get a pass to go to a picture theatre in Lille—he had +kept the old pass because a slight tear of the corner or a snick +opposite the date would make it good for use on half a dozen occasions +yet. He did not bother his head about what British division was holding +the trenches opposite to him.</p> + +<p>But that divisional Intelligence Officer did—he worried very much. He +wanted to get a certain query removed from an index as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>It is always best to get information for nothing. A good way to do this +is to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> the enemy talk; and you may be able to make him talk back if +you send over a particular sort of talk to him. So a message was thrown +over into our lines, "Take care"; and "You offal dogs must bleed for +France."</p> + +<p>This effort did not fetch any incriminating reply; and so, on a later +night, a lantern was flashed over the parapet, "Australian, go home," it +winked. "Go in the morning—you will be dead in the evening; we are +good."</p> + +<p>Later again appeared a notice-board, "Advance Australia fair—if you +can."</p> + +<p>Indeed, Fritz became quite talkative, and put up a notice-board, +"English defeat at sea—seven cruisers sunk, one damaged, eleven other +craft sunk. Hip! Hip! Hurrah!"</p> + +<p>This did draw at last some of the men in the front line, and they +slipped over the parapet a placard giving a British account of the +losses in the North Sea fight. The putting up of notices is an irregular +proceeding, and this placard had to be withdrawn at once, even before +the Germans could properly read it. The result was an immediate message +posted on the German trenches, "Once more would you let us see the +message?" Still there was no sign from our trenches. So another +plaintive request<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> appeared on the German parapet, "We beg of you to +show again the table of the fleet."</p> + +<p>But they were Saxons. Clearly they did not believe all that their +Prussian brother told them about his naval victory. Another day they +hoisted a surreptitious request, "Shoot high—peace will be declared +June 15." They evidently had their gossip in the German trenches just as +we have it in ours—and as we had it in Sydney and Melbourne—absurd +rumours which run all round the line for a week, and which no amount of +experience prevents some people from believing.</p> + +<p>"After all, these 'furphies' make life worth living in the trenches," as +one of our men said to me the other day. All the Germans, in a certain +part of the line opposite, now firmly believe that the war is going to +end on August 17th.</p> + +<p>But this is merely the gossip of the German trenches telegraphed across +No Man's Land. I do not know how far the divisional Staff Officer +satisfied himself as the result of all his messages, but he did not +satisfy the gentleman with the big index.</p> + +<p>"There is one way to find out who is there," the Big Man said, "and that +is always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> the same—to go there and bring some of them back."</p> + +<p>And so twice in the next three weeks the German artillery fired about +£30,000 worth of shells, and a party of picked men stole across the +open, and in spite of a certain loss on one occasion they took back a +few prisoners. And the query went out of the index.</p> + +<p>It would be quite easy to present to the German for a penny the facts +which it cost him £60,000 and good men's lives to obtain. When you know +this, you can understand why the casualties reported in the papers do +not any longer state the units of the men who have suffered them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE GREAT BATTLE BEGINS</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, July 1st.</i></p> + + +<p>Below me, in the dimple beyond the hill on which I sit, is a small +French town. Straight behind the town is the morning sun, only an hour +risen. Between the sun and the town, and, therefore, only just to be +made out through the haze of sunlight on the mists, are two lines—a +nearer and a farther—of gently sloping hill-tops. On those hills is +being fought one of the greatest battles in history. It is British +troops who are fighting it, and French. The Canadians are in their lines +in the salient. The Australians and New Zealanders—it has now been +officially stated—are at Armentières.</p> + +<p>A few minutes ago, at half-past six by summer-time, the British +bombardment, which has continued heavily for six days, suddenly came in +with a crash, as an orchestra might enter on its grand finale. Last +night, some of us who were out here watched the British shells playing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +up and down the distant skyline, running over it from end to end as a +player might run the fingers of one hand lightly over the piano keys. +There were three or four flashes every second, here or there in that +horizon; night and day for six days that had continued. Within the last +few minutes, starting with two or three big heart bangs from a battery +near us, the noise suddenly expanded into a constant detonation. It was +exactly as though the player began, on an instant, to use all the keys +at once.</p> + +<p>We now ought to be able to see, from where we sit with our telescopes, +the bursts of our shells on those distant ridges. But I cannot swear +that I see a single one. The sound of the bombarding is like the sound +of some titanic iron tank which a giant has set rolling rapidly down an +endless hill. We can hear the soft whine of scores of shells hurrying +all together through the air. Every five minutes or so a certain +howitzer, tucked into some hiding-place, vents its periodical growl, and +we can hear the huge projectile climbing slowly, up his steep gradient +with a hiss like that of water from a fire-hose. There is some other +heavy shell which passes us also, somewhere in the middle of his flight. +We cannot distinguish the report of the gun, and we do not hear the +shell burst;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> but at regular intervals we can quite distinctly hear the +monster making his way leisurely across our front.</p> + +<p>We can distinguish in the uproar the occasional distant crash of a heavy +shell-burst. But not one burst can I see. The sun upon the mist makes +the distant hill crests just a vague blue screen against the sky.</p> + +<p>There is one point on those hills where the two lines of trenches ought +to be clearly visible to us. With a good glass on a clear day you should +be able to distinguish anything as big as a man at that distance—much +more a line of men. Within less than an hour, at half-past seven, the +infantry will leave our trenches over twenty miles of front and launch a +great attack. The country town below us is Albert—behind the centre of +the British attack. One can see the tall, battered church tower rising +against the mist, with the gilt figure of the Virgin hanging at right +angles from the top like the arm of a bracket. On the hills beyond can +just be made out the woods of Fricourt behind the German line. They are +in the background behind Albert church tower. The white ruins of +Fricourt may be the blur in the background south of them. We shall be +attacking Fricourt to-day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Germans have not a single "sausage" in the air that I can see. The +sausage is the very descriptive name for the observation balloon. We +have twenty-one of them up, specking the sky as clearly as a +bacteriologist's slide is specked with microbes.</p> + +<p>The Germans used to have a whole fleet of them looking down over us. But +a week ago our aeroplanes bombed all along the line, and eight of them, +more or less, went down in flames within a single afternoon.</p> + +<p>7.10 a.m.—Six of our aeroplanes are flying over, very high, in a +wedge-shaped flight like that of birds. Single British aeroplanes have +been coming and going since the bombardment started. I have not seen any +German plane. The distant landscape is becoming fainter. The flashes of +our guns can be seen at intervals all over the slopes immediately below +us, and their blast is clearly shown by the film of smoke and dust which +hurries into the air. The haze makes a complete screen between us and +the battle.</p> + +<p>7.15 a.m.—Our fire has become noticeably hotter. Some of us thought it +had relaxed slightly after the first ten minutes. I doubt if it really +did—probably we were growing accustomed to the sound. There is no doubt +about its increase now. We can hear the <i>crump</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> <i>crump, crump</i> of +heavy explosives almost incessantly. I fancy our heavy trench mortars +must have joined in.</p> + +<p>7.20 a.m.—Another sound has suddenly joined in the uproar. It is the +rapid detonation of our lighter trench mortars.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> I have never heard +anything like this before—the detonation of these crowds of mortars is +as rapid as if it were the rattle of musketry. Indeed, if it were not +for the heavy detonation one would put it down for rifle fire. Only +eight minutes now, and the infantry goes over the parapet along the +whole line.</p> + +<p>7.27 a.m.—The heaviness of the bombardment has slightly decreased. A +large number of guns must be altering range on to the German back lines +in order to allow our infantry to make their attack. The hills are +gradually becoming clearer as the sun gets higher, but the haze will be +far too thick for us to see them go over.</p> + +<p>7.29 a.m.—One minute to go. I have not seen a single German shell burst +yet. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> may be firing on our trenches; they are not on our batteries.</p> + +<p>7.32 a.m.—Ever so distant, but quite distinctly, under the thunder of +the bombardment I can hear the sound of far-off rifle firing.</p> + +<p>So they are into it—and there are Germans still left in those trenches.</p> + +<p>7.35 a.m.—Through the bombardment I can hear the chatter of a +machine-gun. And there is a new thunder added, quite distinguishable +from the previous sounds. It is only the last minute or so that one has +noticed it—a low, ceaseless pulsation.</p> + +<p>It is the drumming of the German artillery upon our charging infantry. +Behind that blue screen they must be in the thick of it. God be with our +men!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>—What I took +for the sound of trench mortars was almost certainly that of the British +field guns. These heavy Somme bombardments were then a novelty, and the +idea that field guns could be firing like musketry did not enter one's +head. What I took for the sound of heavy trench mortars was also, +certainly, that of German shells. </div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE BRITISH—FRICOURT AND LA BOISELLE</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, July 3rd.</i></p> + + +<p>Yesterday three of us walked out from near the town of Albert to a +hill-side within a few hundred yards of Fricourt. And there all day, +lying amongst the poppies and cornflowers, we watched the fight of the +hour—the struggle around Fricourt Wood and the attack on the village of +La Boiselle.</p> + +<p>To call these places villages conveys the idea of recognisable streets +and houses. I suppose they were villages once, as pretty as the other +villages of France; each with its red roofs showing out against its +dark, overshadowing woodland. They are no more villages now than a +dust-heap. Each is a tumbled heap of broken bricks, like the remains of +a Chinese den after it has been pulled down by order of the local +council. Through this heap runs a network of German trenches, here and +there breaking through some still recognisable fragment of a wall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was by the sight of two or three English soldiers clambering up one +of these jagged fragments and peering into whatever lay beyond it, that +we knew, as we came in sight of Fricourt, that the village had already +been taken. A string of men was winding past the end of the dust-heap +into the dark wood behind it, where they became lost to view. Somewhere +in the heart of the wood was the <i>knock-knock</i> of an occasional rifle. +So the fight had gone on thither.</p> + +<p>In front of us was a long gentle hill-slope, gridironed with trenches +which broke out above the green grass like the wandering burrow of a +mole. The last visible trench was in redder soil and ran along the crest +of the hill. It passed through or near to several small woods and clumps +of trees—the edges of them torn to shreds with shell-fire. They stood +up against the skyline. In one of them, clearly visible, was a roadside +crucifix.</p> + +<p>Our men possessed the whole of that slope right into the trench at the +top. We could see occasional figures strolling about the old German +trenches—probably from posts established here or there behind the line +of battle. All day long odd men wandered up or down some part of the +hill-side—a guard with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> German prisoner coming down, a messenger or +stretcher-bearers going up. Now and then one could even see heads, with +our flat steel helmets on them, showing out from the red trench against +the skyline. So the fighting could not be severe at the moment on the +crest of the hill.</p> + +<p>Yet we were clearly not holding the whole of that skyline trench. On its +southern or right-hand shoulder the hill ran into Fricourt Wood, which +covered all that end of it. At the lower end of the wood, standing out +against it, was the dusty yellow ruin which once was Fricourt. Behind +that shoulder of the hill was a valley, of which we could see the gentle +green slopes stretching away to Mametz and Montauban, both taken the day +before, in the first half-day's fighting. The green slopes must have +been covered with the relics of that attack. But the kindly grass, the +uncut growth of two years, hid them; and the valley, except for a few +thin white trench lines, might have been any other smiling summer +landscape.</p> + +<p>When the wave of our attack swept through that country the Germans in +Fricourt village and wood still held on. Another promontory was left +jutting out into the wave of our attack in a similar village on our +left—La<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> Boiselle, where the main road for Bapaume runs straight out +from our lines through the German front. We could see this heap of +yellow-brown ruins sticking up beyond the left shoulder of the opposite +hill much as Fricourt did on its right. There was a valley between, but +it could only be guessed. Boiselle, too, had the remains of a small wood +rising behind it. The bark hung from its ragged stumps as the rigging +droops from the broken masts of a wreck.</p> + +<p>We were looking another way, watching our troops trying to creep up to +the extreme right-hand end of the red trench on the top of the hill. We +could see them on the centre of the crest; but here, where the trench +ran into the upper end of Fricourt Wood, there was apparently a check. +Men were lined up at this point, not in the trench, but lying down on +the surface a little on our side of it. From beyond that corner of the +wood there broke out occasionally a chatter of machine-gun fire. +Evidently the Germans still hung on there. The bursts of machine-gun +must have been against small rushes of our men across the open. I +believe that one British unit was attacking round this left-hand corner +of the wood while another was attacking around its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> right. The drive +through the wood was going forward at the same time. Clearly they were +having some effect; for out of the wood there suddenly appeared a number +of figures. Someone thought they were our men coming back, until it was +noticed that they were unarmed, and held their hands up. They were a +party of the enemy who had surrendered, and for the next quarter of an +hour we watched them being marched slowly down the hill-side opposite.</p> + +<p>Our advance here seemed to be held up by some cause we could not see. +German 5.9 shell were falling just on our side of Fricourt village, and +in a line from there up the valley behind our attack. It was not a +really heavy barrage—big black shell-bursts at intervals on the ground, +helped by fairly constant white puffs of shrapnel in the air above them. +Just then our attention was attracted in quite another direction: La +Boiselle.</p> + +<p>It had been fairly obvious for some time that La Boiselle was about to +be attacked. While the rest of the landscape before us was only treated +to an occasional shell-burst, heavy explosions had been taking place in +this clump of ruins. Huge roan-coloured bouquets of brickdust and ashes +leaped from time to time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> into the air and slowly dissolved into a tawny +mist which floated slowly beyond the scarred edge of the hill. It must +have been a big howitzer shell, or perhaps a very large trench mortar +bomb, which was making them. Gradually most of our artillery in the +background to the left of us seemed to be converging upon this village. +Suddenly, at a little before 4 p.m., there lashed on to the place the +shrapnel from three or four batteries of British field guns. They seemed +to be fired as fast as they could be served. Shell after shell laid whip +strokes across the dry earth as swiftly as a man could ply a lash. One +knew perfectly well that our infantry must now be advancing for the +attack, and that this hailstorm was to make the garrison, if any were +left, keep its heads down. But the shoulder of the hill prevented us +from seeing where the infantry was going to issue.</p> + +<p>In the turmoil which covered that corner we scarcely noticed that the +nature of the shelling had suddenly changed. Our shell-bursts had gone +much farther up the hill—one realised that; and heavy black clouds were +spurting into the air below Boiselle, just behind the hill's shoulder. +The <i>crash, crash, crash, crash</i> of four heavy shells, one following +another almost as quickly as you would read the words,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> focused all +one's attention on that point. The fire on it was growing. The Germans +were shooting down a valley, almost a funnel, invisible to us. But we +could see that the fire was increasing every minute; 4.2's were joining +in, and field guns; the lighter guns firing shrapnel, the heavier guns +high explosive. The black smoke of German high explosive streamed up the +valley like a thundercloud. La Boiselle was entirely hidden by it.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt now where our infantry was to attack. That +cauldron was the barrier of shell fire which the German artillery was +throwing in front of them.</p> + +<p>It seemed no living thing could face it. Our fire had lengthened at +about 4 o'clock. The German barrage began almost immediately after. +Minute after minute passed without a sign of any troops of ours. Our +spirits fell. "It is one of these fearful attacks on small objectives," +one thought, "where the enemy knows exactly where you must come out, and +is able to converge an impenetrable artillery fire on that one small +point. If you attack on a wide front, your artillery is bound to leave +some of the enemy's machine-guns unharmed. And when you have to mop up +the small points that are left, and attack on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> a small front, he gets +you with his artillery—you get it one way or the other." One took it +for granted that the head of this attack had been turned.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, out of the mist, came the sound of a few rifle shots. Then +bursts of a machine-gun. It could only be the Germans firing on +advancing British infantry.</p> + +<p>And presently they came out, running just beyond the shoulder of that +hill. We could only see their heads at first, tucked down into it as a +man bends when he hurries into a hailstorm. Presently the track on which +they were advancing—I don't know whether it was originally a road or a +trench, but it is a sort of chalky sandhill now<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>—brought them for a +moment rather to our side of the hill into partial shelter. Each section +that reached the place crouched down there for a moment. Spurts of +shrapnel lashed past them whirling the white dust. Black rolling clouds +sprang into existence on the earth beside them. Every minute one +expected to see one of them obliterate the whole party. But, at the end +of a minute or so, someone would pick himself up and run on—and the +remainder would follow.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> +<p>Not all of them. Some there were who did not stir with the rest. Other +figures came running up, heads down into it, often standing out black +against white bursts of chalk dust. I saw one gallant fellow racing up +quite alone, never stopping, running as a man runs a flat race. But +there were an increasing number who never moved. And, though we watched +them for an hour, they were still there motionless at the end of it.</p> + +<p>For thirty minutes batches continued to come up. We could see them +building up a line a little farther up the hill, where another bank gave +cover. Then movement stopped and our heavy shell-bursts in La Boiselle +began again. The whole affair was being repeated a step farther forward. +The last we saw was the men leaping over the bank and down into the +space between them and the village.</p> + +<p>This morning we went to the same view point. The firing had gone well +beyond Fricourt Wood. They were German shells which were now falling on +the smoking site of La Boiselle.</p> + +<p>On the white bank there still lay twelve dark figures.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>What we thought was a road +or sandhill I afterwards found to be the upturned edge of one of the two giant mine +craters, south of La Boiselle.</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE DUG-OUTS OF FRICOURT</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, July 3rd.</i></p> + + +<p>Yesterday from the opposite slope of a gentle valley we watched Fricourt +village taken. This morning we walked down through the long grass across +what two days ago was No Man's Land into the old German defences. The +grass has been uncut for two years on these slopes, and that is why +there springs from them such a growth of flowers as I have rarely seen. +I think it was once a wheat field that we were walking through. It is a +garden of poppies, cornflowers, and mustard flower now.</p> + +<p>Half-way down the slope we noticed that we were crossing a line which +seemed to have been strangely ruled through the wheat field. It was +covered with grass, but there was a line of baby apple trees on each +side of it. It took one some seconds to realise that it was a road.</p> + +<p>We jumped across trench after trench of our own. At the bottom of the +valley we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> stepped over a trench which had a wire entanglement in front +of it. It was the old British front line. The space in front of it had +been No Man's Land.</p> + +<p>Some of our men were still lying where shrapnel or rifle fire had caught +them. By them ran another old road up the valley. Beyond the road the +railway trucks were still standing as they have stood for two years in +what once was Fricourt siding. The foundations of Fricourt village stood +up a little beyond, against the dark shades of Fricourt Wood. +Immediately before us, in front of this battered white ash heap, were +the remains of the rusted wire which had once been the maze in front of +the German line.</p> + +<p>We found fragments of that wire in the bottom of the trenches +themselves; lengths of it were lying among the shattered buildings +behind the lines. The British shells and bombs must have tossed it about +as you would toss hay with a rake. In the tumbled ruins behind the lines +you simply stepped from one crater into another. Into many of those +craters you could have placed a fair-sized room. One big shell, and two +unexploded bombs like huge ancient cannon balls, lay there on a shelf +covered with rubbish.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>Through this rubbish heap were scattered odd fragments of farming +machinery—here an old wagon wheel—there a ploughshare or a portion of +a harrow—in another place some old iron press of which I do not know +the use. The rest of the village was like a deserted brick-field, or the +remains of some ancient mining camp—I do not think there were three +fragments of wall over 10 feet high left. And in and out of this debris +wandered the German front line. We jumped down into those trenches where +some shell had broken them in. They were deep and narrow, such as we had +in Gallipoli. Back from them led narrow, deep, winding communication +trenches which, curiously enough, in parts where we saw them, seemed to +have no supports to their walls such as all the trenches in the wet +country farther north must have. Here and there some shell-burst had +broken or shaken them in.</p> + +<p>As we made our way along the front line we found, every few yards or so, +a low, squared, timbered opening below the parapet. A dozen wooden steps +led down and forwards into some dark interior far below.</p> + +<p>We clambered down into the first of these chambers. It was exactly as +its occupants had left it. On the floor amongst some tumbled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> blankets +and odd pieces of clothing, socks for the most part, was scattered a +stock of German grenades, each like a grey jampot with a short handle. +The blankets had come from a series of bunks which almost filled up the +whole dark chamber. These bunks were made roughly of wood, in pairs one +over another, packed into every corner of the narrow space with as much +ingenuity as the berths in an emigrant ship. There were, I think, six of +them in that first chamber. Inlet into the wall, at the end of one set +of bunks, was a wooden box doing service for a cupboard. In it were a +penny novel, and three or four bottles of a German table water. At least +one of these was still full. So the garrison of Fricourt was not as hard +put to it for supplies as some of the German prisoners with whom I spoke +the day before. They had told me that for three or four days no water +could be brought to them up their communication trenches owing to the +British bombardment.</p> + +<p>I expect that the garrison of Fricourt had been almost entirely in those +dug-outs during the bombardment. The chambers seemed to have more than +one entrance in some cases, and one suspects they also led into one +another underground. A subterranean passage led for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>ward beneath the +parapet to a door opening into No Man's Land—you could see the daylight +at the end of it.</p> + +<p>The fire trench was battered in places out of recognition. But here and +there we came across a bay of it which the bombardment had left more or +less untouched. There were slings of cartridges still hanging against +the wall of the trench. There were the two steel plates through which +they had peered out into No Man's Land, the slits in them half covered +by the flap so as just to give a man room to peep through them. There +was the machine-gun platform, with a long, empty belt still lying on it. +There was the periscope standing on its spike, which had been stuck into +the trench wall. It looked out straight across No Man's Land, but both +mirrors were gone.</p> + +<p>As we picked our way through the brick heaps there came towards us a +British soldier with fixed bayonet, and an elderly bareheaded man. The +elderly man's hair was cut short, and was grizzly. He had not shaved for +three days. He was stout, but his face had a curious grey tinge shot +through the natural complexion. His lips were tightly compressed. He +looked about him firmly enough, but with that open-eyed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> gaze of a wild +animal which seemed to lack all comprehension. It was the face of a man +almost witless. He wore the uniform of a German captain.</p> + +<p>He was one of the men who had been through that bombardment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE RAID</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, July 9th.</i></p> + + +<p>During the first week of the battle of the Somme the Anzac troops far to +the north, near Armentières, raided the German trenches about a dozen +times. Here is a sample of these raids.</p> + +<p>We were late. For some reason we had decided to watch this one from the +firing-line. We had stayed too long at Brigade Headquarters getting the +details of the night's plan. Just as we hurried out of the end of the +communication trench into the dark jumble of the low sandbag +constructions which formed this part of the firing-line, there came two +bangs from the southward as if someone had hit an iron ship's tank with +a big drumstick. It was our preparatory bombardment which had begun.</p> + +<p>A light showed dimly from one or two crevices in our trenches. We peeped +into one. It was very small, and someone was busy in there. The +bombardment was not half a minute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> old, but it was now continuous along +the whole horizon behind us. The noise was that of a large orchestra of +street boys each heartily banging his kerosene-tin drum. Our shells +streamed overhead with an almost continuous swish.</p> + +<p>I do not know why, but some curious sense made one keep low in ducking +round to a bay of the front trench. The enemy's reply was not due for +some minutes yet. There was a sudden lurid red glare with a heavy crash +over the parapet to our right—perhaps 150 yards away. "That's not one +of their 5.9's, surely?" exclaims a friend.</p> + +<p>"One of our trench mortars, I think," says another. As we sit in the +narrow trench, with our knees tucked up to our chins, there is no doubt +whatever of the advent of a new sheaf of missiles through the air above +our heads. We can hear the swish of our own shells, perhaps 100 feet up, +and the occasional rustle of some missile passing overhead a good deal +higher than that. One knows that this must be one of our howitzer shells +making his slow path, perhaps 200 or 300 feet above us, on his way to +fall on some German communication trench, and blow it in. I do not know, +but I rather suspect his duty is so to jumble<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> up the walls and banks of +that trench as to prevent German supports from reaching their front line +without clambering into the open fields where our shrapnel is falling +like hail.</p> + +<p>But under those two streams of overhead traffic is a third quite easily +distinguishable. It comes with short, descending screams—sheafs of them +together.</p> + +<p>At the end of each there is a momentary glare over the sandbags, and the +bang as of an exploding rocket.</p> + +<p>That is German shrapnel, bursting in the air and projecting its pellets +in a cone like a shot-gun. A little to the south of us there is a much +more formidable crash, always recurring several times in the minute. We +always know when that crash is coming by a certain fierce orange glare +which lights up the tops of our sandbags immediately before we hear the +sound. Three or four times the crash and the glare came together, and a +big cloud of stuffy-smelling white smoke drifted low overhead, and bits +of mud and earth cascaded down upon us from the sky above; and just for +two minutes the sheaf of four shells from some particular field battery, +which sent them passing as regularly as a clock about five times a +minute overhead, seemed to lower and burst just above us;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> and one or +two odd high-explosive bursts—4.2, I should say—crept in close upon us +from the rear, while the parapet gave several ponderous jumps towards us +from the other direction. One would swear that it had shifted inwards a +good inch, though I do not suppose it had. The dazzling orange flashes +and crashes close around us were rather like a bad dream. One could not +resist the reflection that often comes over a man when he begins his +holiday with a rough sea crossing, "How on earth did I ever imagine that +there was advantage to be obtained out of this?"</p> + +<p>That was the moment which was chosen by one of the party to go along and +see that the men were all right. There was a sentry in the next bay of +the trench. All by himself, but "right as rain," as he puts it. Shrapnel +was breaking in showers on the parapet, swishing overhead like driven +hail. While the enemy is bursting shell on your parapet he cannot come +there himself. Provided that your sentry's nerves are all right, and +that a "crump" does not drop right into his little section of trench, +there is not much that can go wrong. And there is nothing much wanting +in the nerves of this infantry.</p> + +<p>However, something had clearly gone wrong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> with this attack. It was +quite obvious that the enemy somehow or another knew that it was coming +off, and where; for he had begun to shoot back within a very few minutes +of our opening shot, and he was shooting very hard. Clearly he had +noticed some point in our preparations, and he too had prepared. "I will +teach these people a lesson this time," he thought, as he laid his guns +on the likely section.</p> + +<p>Right in the midst of all this uproar we heard one of his machine-guns +cracking overhead. Then another joined in—we could hear them traversing +from flank to front and round to flank again. "Of course, the raiders +cannot have got in," one thought. "Perhaps he has seen them crossing No +Man's Land, and those machine-guns are on to them in the open. Poor +beggars! Not much chance for them now"—and one shivered at the thought +of them out there, open and defenceless to that hail. As the minutes +slipped on towards the hour, and our bombardment slackened, but the +enemy's did not, and no one stirred at all in the trenches, one felt +quite sure of it—of course, we had failed this time—well, we ought to +expect such failures; we cannot always hope to jump into German trenches +exactly whenever we please.</p> + +<p>Just then a dark figure crept round the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> traverse of the buttress of the +trench. "Room in here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Two others came after him, bending, and then a fourth. We squeezed along +to make room.</p> + +<p>"Was you hit?" asked the second man of the first.</p> + +<p>"Only a bang on the scalp, and I wouldn't have got that if it hadn't +been for the prisoner—waiting to get him over."</p> + +<p>"Keep your head down, Mac, you'll only get hit," said a third. "Where's +Mr. Franks—you all right, sir?—Mr. Little was hit, wasn't he?"</p> + +<p>So these were the raiders, and they had come through it after all. They +were rather distracted. The man next me wiped his forehead, and took a +cigarette. He looked disinterestedly up at the shell-bursts, but he +talked very little. He looked on the raid as a bit of a failure, +clearly.</p> + +<p>An hour later we heard all about it. The racket had quietened down. The +enemy was contenting himself with throwing a few shrapnel shells far +back over communication trenches. We were in a room lighted with +candles. In the midst of an interested crowd of half a dozen young +officers was a youngster in grey cloth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> with a mud be-spattered coat, a +swollen face, and two bandaged hands. On the table were a coffee-pot, +some cups, and biscuits, and a small heap of loot—gas masks and +bayonets, and such stuff from German dug-outs. Most of the crowd was +interestedly fingering a grey steel helmet with a heavy steel shield or +visor in front of the forehead, evidently meant to be bullet-proof when +the wearer looked over the parapet. The prisoner was murmuring something +like "Durchgeschossen," "Durchgeschossen."</p> + +<p>"He says he's shot through," said someone, who understood a little +German.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense," broke in a youth; "you were shot through the hand, old +man, but you were not shot there." The prisoner was pointing to his +ribs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've got a rat," said the youngster, as the man went on pointing +to the same place. But he tore the man's shirt open quickly. "Yes, you +have, sure enough," he exclaimed, showing the small, neat entry hole of +a bullet in the side. "Here, sit down, old man, and take this," he added +tenderly, giving the man a cup of warm coffee, and pressing him to a +chair. The whole attitude had changed to one of solicitude.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was while the prisoner sat there that we heard about the raid. They +clearly considered it something of a failure. They had to get through a +ditch full of water to their necks, then some trip-wire, then a +knee-deep entanglement, then a ditch full of rusty wire, then some +"French" coils of barbed wire, then more wire knee-deep, with trip-wire +after that. Moreover, the enemy's artillery fire was heavy. They simply +went on over the parapet into the enemy's trench for a few minutes and +killed with their bombs about a dozen Germans, and brought in as +prisoners those who were left wounded. Every man of their own who was +wounded they carried carefully back through the tempest in No Man's +Land. The Germans had spent at least as much artillery ammunition as we +had, and in spite of all the noise they had done wonderfully little +damage. We put a dozen of them out of action till the end of the war—a +dozen that our men saw and know of; and they may have put out of action +five of ours.</p> + +<p>As we took a tired prisoner to the hospital through the grey light of +morning, I thought I would give, for a change, an account of a +"failure."</p> + +<p>[It was almost immediately after this that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> the Australians were brought +down to the Somme battle. From this time on they left the neighbourhood +of green fields and farmhouses and plunged into the brown, ploughed-up +nightmare battlefield where the rain of shells has practically never +since ceased. They came into the battle in its second stage, exactly +three weeks after the British.]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>POZIÈRES</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, July 26th.</i></p> + + +<p>I have been watching the units of a certain famous Australian force come +out of action. They have fought such a fight that the famous division of +British regular troops on their flank sent them a message to say that +they were proud to fight by the side of them.</p> + +<p>Conditions alter in a battle like this from day to day. But at the time +when the British attack upon the second German line in Longueval and +Bazentin ended, the farther village of Pozières was left as the hub of +the battle for the time being. This point is the summit of the hill on +which the German second line ran. And, probably for that reason, the new +line which the Germans had dug across from their second line to their +third line—so as to have a line still barring our way when we had +broken through their second line—branched off near Pozières to meet the +third line near Flers. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> map of the situation at this stage of the +battle will show better than a page of description why it was necessary +that Pozières should next be captured.</p> + +<p>There were several days' interval between the failure of the first +attack on Pozières and the night on which the Australians were put at +it. The Germans probably had little chance of improving their position +in the meanwhile, for the village was kept under a slow bombardment with +heavy shells and shrapnel which made movement there dangerous. Our +troops could see occasional parties of Germans hurrying through the +tattered wood and powdered, tumbled foundations. The garrison lost men +steadily, and on about the night of Thursday or Friday, July 20th or +21st, the Second Guard Reserve Division, which had been mainly +responsible for holding this part of the line, was relieved; and a fresh +division, from the lines in front of Ypres, was put in. The new troops +brought in several days' rations with them, and never lacked food or +water. It was probably a belated party of these new-comers that our men +noticed wandering through the village in daytime.</p> + +<p>During the afternoon of Saturday our bombardment of Pozières became +heavier. Most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> of these ruined villages are marked on this shell-swept +country by the trees around them. It is not that they originally stood +in a woodland; but when the village is a mere heap of foundations +powdered white the only relic of it left standing erect, if you except a +battered wall or two, is the shredded trunks and stumps of trees which +once made the gardens or orchards or hedges behind the houses. Our +troops had three obstacles before them—first a shallow, hastily dug +trench in the open in front of the trees around the village; then +certain trenches running generally through the trees and hedges and +behind a trench railway; thirdly, such lines as existed in the village +itself. The village is strung out along a stretch of the Albert-Bapaume +road up which the battle has advanced from the first. Just beyond the +village, near what remains of the Pozières Mill on the very top of the +hill, is the German second line still (at time of writing) in possession +of the Germans. Another line crossing the road in front of the village +was then in their hands.</p> + +<p>On Saturday afternoon our heavy shells were tearing at regular intervals +into the rear of the brickheaps which once were houses, and flinging up +branches of trees and great clouds of black earth from the woods. A +German letter was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> found next day dated "In Hell's Trenches." It added: +"It is not really a trench, but a little ditch, shattered with +shells—not the slightest cover and no protection. We have lost 50 men +in two days, and life is unendurable." White puffs of shrapnel from +field guns were lathering the place persistently, so that when the +German trenches were broken down it was difficult to repair them or move +in them.</p> + +<p>Our men in their trenches were cleaning rifles, packing away spare kit, +yarning there much as they yarned of old over the stockyard fence or the +gate of the horse paddock.</p> + +<p>That night, shortly after dark, there broke out the most fearful +bombardment I have ever seen. As one walked towards the battlefield, the +weirdly shattered woods and battered houses stood out almost all the +time against one continuous band of flickering light along the eastern +skyline. Most of it was far away to the east of our part of the +battlefield—in some French or British sector on the far right. There +must have been fierce fire upon Pozières, too, for the Germans were +replying to it, hailing the roads with shrapnel and trying to fill the +hollows with gas shell. They must have suspected an attack upon this +part of their line as well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> and were trying to hamper the reserves from +moving into position.</p> + +<p>About midnight our field artillery lashed down its shrapnel upon the +German front line in the open before the village. A few minutes later +this fire lifted and the Australian attack was launched.</p> + +<p>The Germans had opened in one part with a machine-gun before that final +burst of shrapnel, and they opened again immediately after. But there +would have been no possibility of stopping that charge with a fire +twenty times as heavy. The difficulty was not to get the men forward, +but to hold them. With a complicated night attack to be carried through +it was necessary to keep the men well in hand.</p> + +<p>The first trench was a wretchedly shallow affair in places. Most of the +Germans in it were dead—some of them had been lying there for days. The +artillery in the meantime had lifted on to the German trenches farther +back. Later they lifted to a farther position yet. The Australian +infantry dashed at once from the first position captured, across the +intervening space over the tramway and into the trees.</p> + +<p>It was here that the first real difficulty arose along parts of the +line. Some sections found in front of them the trench which they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> were +looking for—an excellent deep trench which had survived the +bombardment. Other sections found no recognisable trench at all, but a +maze of shell craters and tumbled rubbish, or a simple ditch reduced to +white powder. Parties went on through the trees into the village, +searching for the position, and pushed so close to the fringe of their +own shell fire that some were wounded by it. However, where they found +no trench they started to dig one as best they could. Shortly after the +bombardment shifted a little farther, and a third attack came through +and swept, in most parts, right up to the position which the troops had +been ordered to take up.</p> + +<p>As daylight gradually spread over that bleached surface Australians +could occasionally be seen walking about in the trees and through the +part of the village they had been ordered to take. The position was +being rapidly "consolidated." German snipers in the north-east of the +village and across the main road could see them, too. A patrol was sent +across the main road to find a sniper. It bombed some dug-outs which it +found there, and from one of them appeared a white flag, which was waved +vigorously. Sixteen prisoners came out, including a regimental doctor. +There were several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> other dug-outs in this part and various scraps of +old trenches, probably the site of an old battery. The Germans, now that +they had been driven from their main lines, were naturally fighting from +the various scraps of isolated fortification which exist behind all +positions. During the afternoon two patrols were sent to clear out other +snipers from these half-hidden lurking places. But the garrison was +sufficiently organised to summon up some sort of reserve, and the +patrols had to come back after a short, sharp fight more or less in the +open.</p> + +<p>After dark, the Australians pushed across the road through the village. +By morning the position had been improved, so that nearly the whole +village was secure against sudden attack.</p> + +<p>An official report would read: "The same progress continued on Tuesday +night, and by Wednesday morning the whole of Pozières was consolidated." +That is to say—in the heart of the village itself there was little more +actual hand-to-hand fighting. All that happened there was that, from the +time when the first day broke and found the Pozières position +practically ours, the enemy turned his guns on to it. Hour after +hour—day and night—with increasing intensity as the days went on, he +rained heavy shell into the area. It was the sight of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> the battlefield +for miles around—that reeking village. Now he would send them crashing +in on a line south of the road—eight heavy shells at a time, minute +after minute, followed up by burst upon burst of shrapnel. Now he would +place a curtain, straight across this valley or that, till the sky and +landscape were blotted out, except for fleeting glimpses seen as through +a lift of fog. Gas shell, musty with chloroform; sweet-scented tear +shell that made your eyes run with water; high bursting shrapnel with +black smoke and a vicious high explosive rattle behind its heavy +pellets; ugly green bursts the colour of a fat silkworm; huge black +clouds from the high explosive of his 5.9's. Day and night the men +worked through it, fighting this horrid machinery far over the horizon +as if they were fighting Germans hand-to-hand—building up whatever it +battered down; buried, some of them, not once but again and again and +again.</p> + +<p>What is a barrage against such troops! They went through it as you would +go through a summer shower—too proud to bend their heads, many of them, +because their mates were looking. I am telling you of things I have +seen. As one of the best of their officers said to me, "I have to walk +about as if I liked it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>—what else can you do when your own men teach +you to?" The same thought struck me not once but twenty times.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday morning the shelling of the day before rose to a crescendo, +and then suddenly slackened. The German was attacking. It was only a few +of the infantry who even saw him. The attack came in lines at fairly +wide intervals up the reverse slope of the hill behind Pozières +windmill. Before it reached the crest it came under the sudden barrage +of our own guns' shrapnel. The German lines swerved away up the hill. +The excited infantry on the extreme right could see Germans crawling +over, as quickly as they might, from one shell crater to another, grey +backs hopping from hole to hole. They blazed away hard; but most of our +infantry never got the chance it was thirsting for. The artillery beat +back that attack before it was over the crest, and the Germans broke and +ran. Again the enemy's artillery was turned on. Pozières was pounded +more furiously than before, until by four in the afternoon it seemed to +onlookers scarcely possible that humanity could have endured such an +ordeal. The place could be picked out for miles by pillars of red and +black dust towering above it like a Broken Hill dust-storm. Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +Germans were reported coming on again, as in the morning. Again our +artillery descended upon them like a hailstorm, and nothing came of the +attack.</p> + +<p>During all this time, in spite of the shelling, the troops were slowly +working forwards through Pozières; not backwards. Every day saw fresh +ground gained. A great part of the men who were working through it had +no more than two or three hours' sleep since Saturday—some of them none +at all, only fierce, hard work all the time.</p> + +<p>The only relief to this one-sided struggle against machinery was the +hand-to-hand fighting that occurred in the two trenches +before-mentioned—the second-line German trench behind Pozières and the +similar trench in front of it. The story of it will be told some day—it +would almost deserve a book to itself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>AN ABYSM OF DESOLATION</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, August 1st.</i></p> + + +<p>When I went through Boiselle I thought it was the limit that desolation +could reach. A wilderness of powdered chalk and broken brick, under +which men had burrowed like rats, but with method, so as to make a city +underneath the shattered foundations of the village. And then their rat +city had been crushed in from above; and through the splintered timbered +entrances you peered into a dark interior of dishevelled blankets and +scattered clothing. It was only too evident that there had been no time +as yet, in the hustle of battle, to search these ghastly, noisome +dug-outs for the Germans who had been bombed there. The mine craters in +the white chalk of La Boiselle are big enough to hide a large church.</p> + +<p>But for sheer desolation it will not compare with Pozières. On the top +of a gently rising hill, over which the Roman road ran as is the way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +with Roman roads, was a pretty village, with its church, its cemetery +under the shady trees; its orchards and picturesque village houses. When +the lines crystallised in front of Albert it was some miles behind the +German trenches. Our guns put a few shells into it; but six weeks ago it +was still a country village, somewhat wrecked but probably used for the +headquarters of a German regiment. Then came the British bombardment for +a week before the battle of the Somme.</p> + +<p>The bombardment shattered Pozières. Its buildings were scattered as you +would scatter a house of toy bricks. Its trees began to look ragged. By +the time Boiselle and Ovilliers were taken, and the front had pushed up +to within a quarter or half a mile of Pozières, a tattered wood was all +that marked the spot. Behind the brushwood you could still see in three +or four places the remains of a pink wall. Some way to the north-east of +the village, near the actual summit of the hill, was a low heap of +bleached terra-cotta. It was the stump of the Pozières windmill.<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf112.jpg" width="600" height="428" alt="A MAIN STREET OF POZIÈRES IN A QUIET INTERVAL DURING THE FIGHT" title="A MAIN STREET OF POZIÈRES IN A QUIET INTERVAL DURING THE FIGHT" /> +<span class="caption">A MAIN STREET OF POZIÈRES IN A QUIET INTERVAL DURING THE FIGHT</span> +<br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf112-1.jpg" width="600" height="410" alt="THE CHURCH, POZIÈRES" title="THE CHURCH, POZIÈRES" /> +<span class="caption">THE CHURCH, POZIÈRES</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p>Since then Pozières has had our second bombardment, and a German +bombardment which lasted four days, in addition to the normal German +barrage across the village which has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> never really ceased. You can +actually see more of the buildings than before. That is to say, you can +see any brick or stone that stands. For the brushwood and tattered +branches which used to hide the road have gone; and all that remain are +charred tree stumps standing like a line of broken posts. The upland +around was once cultivated land, and it should be green with the weeds +of two years. It is as brown as the veldt. Over the whole face of the +country shells have ploughed up the land literally as with a gigantic +plough, so that there is more red and brown earth than green. From the +distance all the colour is given by these upturned crater edges, and the +country is wholly red.</p> + +<p>But even this did not prepare one for the desolation of the place +itself. Imagine a gigantic ash heap, a place where dust and rubbish have +been cast for years outside some dry, derelict, God-forsaken up-country +township. Imagine some broken-down creek bed in the driest of our dry +central Australian districts, abandoned for a generation to the goats, +in which the hens have been scratching as long as men can remember. Then +take away the hens and the goats and all traces of any living or moving +thing. You must not even leave a spider. Put here, in evidence of some +old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> tumbled roof, a few roof beams and tiles sticking edgeways from the +ground, and the low faded ochre stump of the windmill peeping over the +top of the hill, and there you have Pozières.</p> + +<p>I know of nothing approaching that desolation. Perhaps it is that the +place is still in the thick of the fight. In most other ruins behind +battlefields that I have seen there are the signs of men again—perhaps +men who have visited the place like yourself. There is life, anyhow, +somewhere in the landscape. In this place there is no sign of life at +all. When you stand in Pozières to-day, and are told that you will find +the front trench across another hundred yards of shell-holes, you know +that there must be life in the landscape. The dead hill-side a few +hundred yards before you must contain both your men and the Germans. But +as in most battlefields, where the warmest corner is, there is the least +sign of movement. Dry shell crater upon shell crater upon shell +crater—all bordering one another until some fresh salvo shall fall and +assort the old group of craters into a new one, to be reassorted again +and again as the days go on. It is the nearest thing to sheer desert +that I have seen since certain lonely rides into the old Sahara at the +back of Mena Camp two years ago. Every minute or two there is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> crash. +Part of the desert bumps itself up into huge red or black clouds and +subsides again. Those eruptions are the only movement in Pozières.</p> + +<p>That is the country in which our boys are fighting the greatest battle +Australians have ever fought. Of the men whom you find there, what can +one say? Steadfast until death, just the men that Australians at home +know them to be; into the place with a joke, a dry, cynical, Australian +joke as often as not; holding fast through anything that man can +imagine; stretcher bearers, fatigue parties, messengers, chaplains, +doing their job all the time, both new-joined youngsters and old hands, +without fuss, but steadily, because it <i>is</i> their work. They are not +heroes; they do not want to be thought or spoken of as heroes. They are +just ordinary Australians doing their particular work as their country +would wish them to do it. And pray God Australians in days to come will +be worthy of them!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>POZIÈRES RIDGE</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, August 14th.</i></p> + + +<p>You would scarcely realise it from what the world has heard, but I think +that the hardest battle ever fought by Australians was probably the +battle of Pozières Ridge.</p> + +<p>There have been four distinct battles fought by the Australian troops on +the Somme since they made their first charge from the British trenches +near Pozières. The first was the heavy three days' fight by which they +took Pozières village. The second was the fight in which they tried to +rush the German second line along the hill-crest behind Pozières. The +third was the attack in which this second line was broken by them along +a front of a mile and a half. The fourth has been the long fight which +immediately began along the German second line northwards from the new +position, along the ridge towards Mouquet Farm. It has been hard +fighting all the way, and what was three weeks ago<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> a German salient +into the British line is now a big Australian salient into the German +line. But I think that the hardest fight of all was that of the second +and third phases—the battle for Pozières Ridge.</p> + +<p>Pozières village itself was not on the crest of the hill. It was on the +British side of it, where the German was naturally hanging on because it +was almost the highest point in his position and gave him a view over +miles of our territory. On the other hand, the German main second line +behind Pozières was practically on the summit; in some parts farther +north it was actually on or just over the summit. It was from two to +seven hundred yards beyond the village itself.</p> + +<p>The German line on the hill-crest was attacked as soon as ever the +village was properly cleared. The Australians went at it in the night +across a wide strip of waste hill-top. The thistles there, and the brown +earth churned up in shell craters, and the absolute absence of any kind +of movement (simply because it was too dangerous to move), call to one's +mind Shakespeare's old stage direction of a "blasted heath." There had +been a short artillery preparation; the attack reminded one of our old +raids up on the Armentières front.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>I have seen Germans who were in the line in front of that attack. They +state that they were not surprised. In the light of their flares they +had seen numbers of "Englishmen" advancing over the shoulder of the +hill. When the rush came, one German officer told me, he, in his short +sector of the line alone, had three machine-guns all hard at work. The +attack reached the remnants of the German wire. Some brave men picked a +path through the tangle, and, in spite of the cross-fire, managed to +reach the German trench. They were very few. We have since discovered +men in the craters even beyond the front German trench. The German +officer told me that his men had afterwards found an Australian who had +been lying in a crater in front of his line for four days. He had been +shot through the abdomen and had a broken leg, but he had been brought +in by the Germans and was doing well. We also afterwards brought in both +Australians and Germans who had been out there for six days, wounded, +living on what rations they had with them.</p> + +<p>It was a brave attack. On the extreme left it succeeded. But the +trenches won by the Victorians there were on the flank, not on the +hill-top. The country behind that crest, sloping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> gradually down to the +valley of Courcelette and beyond, where the German field batteries were +firing and where the Germans could come and go unseen—all this was so +far an unknown land into which no one on the British side had peered +since the battle began.</p> + +<p>Six days later the Australians went for that position again. They +attacked just after dusk. There was enough light to make out the face of +the country as if by a dim moonlight. They were the same troops who had +made the attack a week before, because there was a determination that +they, and they alone, should reach that line. The artillery had been +pounding it gradually during the week.</p> + +<p>The German troops who were holding that part were about to be relieved. +They had suffered from the slow, continual bombardment. There were deep +dug-outs in their trenches, where they saved the men as far as possible, +but one after another these would be crushed or blocked by a heavy +shell. The tired companies had lost in some cases actually half their +men by this shell fire, losing them slowly, day by day, as a man might +bleed to death. The remainder had their packs made up ready to march out +to rest. The young officer of one of the relieving battalions was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +actually coming into the trenches at the head of his platoon—when there +crashed on them a sudden hail of shell fire. The officer extended his +men hurriedly and pushed on. It was about half-past ten by German time, +which is half-past nine by ours.</p> + +<p>The first sight that met him, as he reached the support line of German +trenches, was two wounded Australians lying in the bottom of it. So the +British must be attacking, he thought. He ordered his platoon to advance +over the trench and counter-attack. But in the dark and the dust they +lost touch and straggled to the north—he saw no more of them. He +tumbled on with two men into a shell crater and began to improve it for +defence—then they found Australians towering around them in the dark. +They surrendered.</p> + +<p>It was a most difficult business to get the various parties for our +attack into position in the night, and some of the troops behind had to +be pushed forward hurriedly. In consequence the officers out in front +had to carry on as if theirs were the only troops in the attack, and see +the whole fight through without relying upon supports. The way in which +junior officers and N.C.O.'s have acted upon their own initiative during +some of this fighting has been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> beyond praise. The attack went through +up to time. The supports had to come in parties organised in the dark on +the spur of the moment. The Germans had several machine-guns going. But +as another German officer told me, "This time they came on too thick. We +might have held them in front, but they got in on one side of us; then +we heard they were in on the other; then they came from the rear as +well—on all four sides. What could we do?"</p> + +<p>Almost immediately after the Australians reached the trenches, watchers +far behind could see the horizon beyond them lit by five slow +illuminations, about ten minutes' interval between each. They were +beyond the crest of the hill. I do not know, but I think the German must +have been blowing up his field-gun ammunition.</p> + +<p>The men in the new trenches may, or may not, have seen this. What they +did notice, as soon as the battle cleared and they had time to look into +the darkness in front of them, was a succession of brilliant glares from +some position just hidden by the slope of the hill. It was the flash of +the German guns which were firing at them. It is, as far as I know, the +first time in this battle that our men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> have seen the actual flash of +the enemy's guns.</p> + +<p>When day broke they found beyond them a wide, flat stretch of hill-top, +with a distant hill line beyond. Far down the slope there were Germans +moving. And in the distant landscape they saw the German gun teams +limber up and hurry away with the field guns which for a fortnight had +been firing upon our men.</p> + +<p>The Germans have twice afterwards attacked that position. In the early +light of the first morning a party of them came tumbling up from some +trench against a sector of the captured line. In front of them was an +officer, well ahead, firing his automatic pistol as he went, levelling +it first at one Australian, then at another, as he saw them in the +trenches before him. He was shot, and the attack quickly melted; it +never seemed very serious. Two days later, after a long, heavy +bombardment, the Germans attacked again—this time about fifteen hundred +of them. They penetrated the two trenches at one point, but our company +officers, again acting on their own initiative, charged them straight, +on the instant, without hesitation. Every German in that section was +captured, and a few Australians, whom they had taken, were released.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE GREEN COUNTRY</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, August 28th.</i></p> + + +<p>For a mile the country had been flayed. The red ribs of it lay open to +the sky. The whole flank of the ridge had been torn open—it lies there +bleeding, gaping open to the callous skies with scarcely so much as a +blade of grass or a thistle to clothe its nakedness—covered with the +wreckage of men and of their works as the relics of a shipwreck cover +the uneasy sea.</p> + +<p>As we dodged over the last undulations of an unused trench, the crest of +each crater brought us for an instant into view of something +beyond—something green and fresh and brilliant, like new land after a +long sea journey. Then we were out of view of it again, for a time; +until we came to a point where it seemed good to climb and peep over the +low parapet.</p> + +<p>It was a peep into paradise. Before us lay a green country. There was a +rich verdure on the opposite hills. Beyond them ran a valley filled with +the warm haze of summer, out of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> which the round tree-tops stood dark +against the still higher hills beyond. The wheat was ripe upon the far +hill slopes. The sun bathed the lap of the land with his midday summer +warmth. Along the crest of the distant hills ran the line of tall, +regular trees which in this country invariably means a road. A church +spire rose from a tree clump on a nearer crest. Some of the foreground +was pitted with the ugly red splashes which have become for us, in this +horrible area, the normal feature of the countryside. But, beyond it, +was the green country spread out like a picture, sleeping under the heat +of a summer's sun.</p> + +<p>It was the promised land—the country behind the German lines—the +valley about Bapaume where the Germans have been for two years +undisturbed in French territory, until our troops for the first time +peeped over the ridge the other day at the flashes of the very German +guns which were firing at them.</p> + +<p>Quite close at hand was a wood. The trees were not more than half a mile +away, if that. It was a growing wood—with the green still on the +branches, very different from the charred posts and tree stumps which +are all that now remain of the gardens and orchards of Pozières. I +remember a little over a month ago, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> some of us first went up near +to Pozières village—on the day when the bombardment before our first +attack was tearing branches from off the trees a hundred yards +away—Pozières had a fairly decent covering then. There was enough dead +brushwood and twigs, at any rate, to hide the buildings of the place. A +few pink walls could then be half seen behind the branches, or topping +the gaps in the scrub.</p> + +<p>Within four days the screen in front of Pozières had been torn to +shreds—had utterly disappeared. The German bombardment ripped off all +that the British had left. The buildings now stood up quite naked, such +as they were. There was the church—still recognisable by one window; +and a scrap of red wall at the north-east end of the village, past which +you then had to crawl to reach an isolated run of trench facing the +windmill. Both trench and red wall have long since gone to glory. I +doubt if you could even trace either of them now. The solitary arched +window disappeared early, and a tumbled heap of bricks is all that now +marks Pozières church. One scrap of gridironed roof sticking out from +the powdered ground cross-hatches the horizon. There is not so much +foliage left as would shelter a cock sparrow.</p> + +<p>But here were we, with this desolation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> behind us, looking out suddenly +and at no great distance on quite a respectable wood. It tempted you to +step out there and just walk over to it—I never see that country +without the feeling that one is quite free to step across there and +explore it.</p> + +<p>There are men coming up the farther side of the slope—men going about +some normal business of the day as our men go about theirs in the places +behind their lines.</p> + +<p>Those men are Germans; and the village in the trees, the collection of +buildings half guessed in the wood, is Courcelette. It has been hidden +ground to us for so long that you feel it is almost improper to be +overlooking them so constantly; like spending your day prying over into +your neighbour's yard. Away in the landscape behind, in some hollow, +there humps itself into the air a big geyser of chestnut dust. One has +seen German shell burst so often in that fashion, back in our +hinterland, that it takes a moment to realise that this shell is not +German but British. I cannot see what it is aimed at—some battery, I +suppose; or perhaps a much-used road; or some place they suspect to be a +headquarters. Clearly, it is not always so safe as it seems to be in the +green country behind the German lines.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>TROMMELFEUER</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, August 21st.</i></p> + + +<p>The Germans call it <i>Trommelfeuer</i>—drum fire. I do not know any better +description for the distant sound of it. We hear it every day from some +quarter of this wide battlefield. You will be sitting at your tea, the +normal spasmodic banging of your own guns sounding in the nearer +positions five, ten, perhaps fifteen times in the minute. Suddenly, from +over the distant hills, to left or right, there breaks out the roll of a +great kettledrum, ever so far away. Someone is playing the tattoo softly +and very quickly. If it is nearer, and especially if it is German, it +sounds as if he played it on an iron ship's tank instead.</p> + +<p>That is <i>Trommelfeuer</i>—what we call intense bombardment. When it is +very rapid—like the swift roll of a kettledrum—you take it that it +must be the French seventy-fives down South preparing the way for a +French assault. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> it is often our own guns after all—I doubt if +there are many who can really distinguish between the distant sound of +them.</p> + +<p>Long afterwards—perhaps in the grey of the next morning—one may see +outside of some dug-out, in a muddy wilderness of old trenches and +wheel-tracks, guarded by half a dozen Australians with fixed bayonets, a +group of dejected men in grey. The cold Scotch mist stands in little +beads on the grey cloth—the bayonets shine very cold in the white light +before the dawn—the damp, slippery brown earth is too wet for a +comfortable seat. But there is always some Australian there who will +give them a cigarette; a cheery Melbourne youngster or two step down +into the crowd and liven them with friendly chaff; the blue sky begins +to show through the mist—the early morning aeroplane hums past on its +way to the line, low down, half hidden in the wrack. The big bushman +from Gippsland at a neighbouring coffee stall—praise heaven for that +institution—gives them a drink of the warm stuff. And I verily believe +that at that moment they emerge for the first time out of a frightful +dream.</p> + +<p>For they are the men who have been through the <i>Trommelfeuer</i>.</p> + +<p>Strong men arrive from that experience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> shaking like leaves in the wind. +I have seen one of our own youngsters—a boy who had fought a great +fight all through the dark hours, and who had refused to come back when +he was first ordered to—I have seen him unable to keep still for an +instant after the strain, and yet ready to fight on till he dropped; +physically almost a wreck, but with his wits as sharp and his spirits as +keen as a steel chisel. I have seen other Australians who, after doing +glorious work through thirty or forty hours of unimaginable strain, +buried and buried and buried again and still working like tigers, have +broken down and collapsed, unable to stand or to walk, unable to move an +arm except limply, as if it were string; ready to weep like little +children.</p> + +<p>It is the method which the German invented for his own use. For a year +and a half he had a monopoly—British soldiers had to hang on as best +they could under the knowledge that the enemy had more guns and more +shell than they, and bigger shell at that. But at last the weapon seems +to have been turned against him. No doubt his armaments and munitions +are growing fast, but ours have for the moment overtaken them. And hell +though it is for both sides—something which no soldiers in the world's +history ever yet had to endure—it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> mostly better for us at present +than for the Germans. I have heard men coming out of the thick of it +say, "Well, I'm glad I'm not a Hun."</p> + +<p>Now, here is what it means. There is no good done by describing the +particular horrors of war—God knows those who see them want to forget +them as soon as they can. But it is just as well to know what the work +in the munition factories means to <i>your</i> friends—<i>your</i> sons and +fathers and brothers at the front.</p> + +<p>The normal shelling of the afternoon—a scattered bombardment all over +the landscape, which only brings perhaps half a dozen shells to your +immediate neighbourhood once in every ten minutes—has noticeably +quickened. The German is obviously turning on more batteries. The light +field-gun shrapnel is fairly scattered as before. But 5.9-inch howitzers +are being added to it. Except for his small field guns, the German makes +little use of guns. His work is almost entirely done with howitzers. He +possesses big howitzers—8-inch and larger—as we do. But the backbone +of his artillery is the 5.9 howitzer; and after that probably the 4.2.</p> + +<p>The shells from both these guns are beginning to fall more thickly. Huge +black clouds shoot into the air from various parts of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> foreground, +and slowly drift away across the hill-top. Suddenly there is a +descending shriek, drawn out for a second or more, coming terrifyingly +near; a crash far louder than the nearest thunder; a colossal thump to +the earth which seems to move the whole world about an inch from its +base; a scatter of flying bits and all sorts of under-noises, rustle of +a flying wood splinter, whir of fragments, scatter of falling earth. +Before it is half finished another shriek exactly similar is coming +through it. Another crash—apparently right on the crown of your head, +as if the roof beams of the sky had been burst in. You can just hear, +through the crash, the shriek of a third and fourth shell as they come +tearing down the vault of heaven—<i>crash—crash</i>. Clouds of dust are +floating over you. A swifter shriek and something breaks like a glass +bottle in front of the parapet, sending its fragments slithering low +overhead. It bursts like a rainstorm, sheet upon sheet, <i>smash, smash, +smash</i>, with one or two more of the heavier shells punctuating the +shower of the lighter ones. The lighter shell is shrapnel from field +guns, sent, I dare say, to keep you in the trench while the heavier +shell pounds you there. A couple of salvos from each, perhaps twenty or +thirty shells in the minute, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> shrieks cease. The dust drifts +down the hill. The sky clears. The sun looks in. Five minutes later down +comes exactly such another shower.</p> + +<p>That is the beginning. As the evening wears on, the salvos become more +frequent. All through the night they go on. The next morning the +intervals are becoming even less. Occasionally the hurricane reaches +such an intensity that there seems no interval at all. There is an +easing in the afternoon—which may indicate that the worst is over, or +merely that the guns are being cleaned, or the gunners having their tea. +Towards dusk it swells in a wave heavier than any that has yet come. All +through the second night the inferno lasts. In the grey dawn of the +second day it increases in a manner almost unbelievable—the dust of it +covers everything; it is quite impossible to see. The earth shakes and +quivers with the pounding.</p> + +<p>It is just then that the lighter guns join in with the roll as of a +kettledrum—<i>Trommelfeuer</i>. The enemy is throwing out his infantry, and +his shrapnel is showering on to our lines in order to keep down the +heads of our men to the last moment. Suddenly the whole noise eases. The +enemy is casting his shrapnel and big shell farther back.</p> + +<p>The chances are that most men in those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> racked lines do not know whether +the enemy ever delivers the attack or not. Our artillery breaks the head +of it before it crosses No Man's Land. A few figures on the skyline, +hopping from crater to crater, indicate what is left of it. As soon as +they find rifle fire and machine-guns on them the remnant give it up as +hopeless. They thought our men would have run—and they found them still +at their post; that is all.</p> + +<p>And what of the men who have been out there under that hurricane, night +and day, until its duration almost passed memory—amidst sights and +sounds indescribable, desperately tried? I was out there once after such +a time as that. There they were in their dusty ditch in that blasted, +brown Sahara of a country—Sydney boys, country fellows from New South +Wales, our old friends just as we knew them, heavy eyed, tired to death +as after a long fight with a bush fire or heavy work in drought +time—but simply doing their ordinary Australian work in their ordinary +Australian way. And that is all they had been doing and all they wished +anyone to believe they had been doing.</p> + +<p>But what are we going to do for them? The mere noise is enough to break +any man's nerves. Every one of those shrieking shells which fell night +and day might mean any man's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> instant death. As he hears each shell +coming he knows it. He saw the sights around him—he was buried by earth +and dug out by his mates, and he dug them out in turn. What can we do +for him? I know only one thing—it is the only alleviation that science +knows of. (I am talking now of the most modern and heaviest of battles, +and of the thick and centre of it; for no men have ever been through a +heavier fight than Pozières.) We can force some mitigation of all this +by one means and one alone—if we can give the Germans worse. The chief +anxiety in the mind of the soldier is—have we got the guns and the +shells—can we keep ahead of them with guns and our ammunition? That +means everything. These men have the nerve to go through these infernos, +provided their friends at home do not desert them. If the munition +worker could see what I have seen, he would toil as though he were +racing against time to save the life of a man.</p> + +<p>I saw yesterday a letter picked up on the battlefield—it was from an +Australian private. "Dear Mother, sisters, brothers and Auntie Lill," it +said. "As we are about to go into work that must be done, I want to ask +you, if anything should happen to me, not to worry. You must think of +all the mothers that have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> lost ones as dear to them. One thing you can +say—that you lost one doing his little bit for a good cause.</p> + +<p>"I know you shall feel it if anything does happen to me, but I am +willing and prepared to give my life for the cause."</p> + +<p>Such lives hang from hour to hour on the work that is done in the +British factories.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW FIGHTING</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, August 20th.</i></p> + + +<p>It is a month this morning since Australians plunged into the heart of +the most modern of battles. They had been in many sorts of battle +before; but they had never been in the brunt of the whole war where the +science and ingenuity of war had reached for the moment their highest +pitch. One month ago they plunged into the very brunt and apex of it. +And they are still fighting there.</p> + +<p>People have spoken of this war as the war of trenches. But the latest +battles have reached a stage beyond that. The war of trenches is a +comfortable out-of-date phase, to be looked upon with regret and perhaps +even some longing. The war of to-day is a war of craters and potholes—a +war of crannies and nicks and crevices torn out of the earth yesterday, +and to be shattered into new shapes to-morrow. It may not seem easy to +believe, but we have seen the Germans under heavy bombardment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> leaving +the shelter of their trenches for safety in the open—jumping out and +running forward into shell holes—anywhere so long as they got away from +the cover which they had built for themselves. The trench which they +left is by next day non-existent—even the airmen looking down on it +from above in the mists of the grey dawn can scarcely tell where it was. +Then some community of ants sets to work and the line begins to show +again. Again it is obliterated, until a stage comes when the German +decides that it is not worth while digging it out. He has other lines, +and he turns his energy on to them.</p> + +<p>The result of all this is that areas of ground in the hot corners of +battles like that of the Somme and Verdun, and especially disputed hill +summits such as the Mort Homme or this Pozières Ridge, become simply a +desert of shell craters.</p> + +<p>A few days back, going to a portion of the line which had considerably +altered since I was there, I went by a trench which was marked on the +map. It was a good trench, but it did not seem to have been greatly used +of late, which was rather surprising. "You won't find it quite so good +all the way," said a friend who was coming down.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently, and quite suddenly, the trench shallowed. The sides which had +been clean cut were tumbled in. The fallen earth blocked the passage, +and the journey became a switchback over tumbled rubbish and into the +trench again. Someone had before been living in the trench, for there +were tools in it and bits of soldiers' gear. Here and there a shattered +rifle stuck out of the terra-cotta soil. The trench shallowed still +further. There had been little hastily scraped dug-outs in the sides of +it. They were more than three parts filled with earth; but in them, +every now and again, there showed a patch of muddy grey cloth above the +debris. It was part of the uniform of a German soldier buried by the +shell that killed him. It must have been an old German trench taken by +our men some weeks before. It can scarcely have been visited since, for +its garrison lay there just as the shells had buried them. Probably it +had been found too broken for use and had been almost forgotten.</p> + +<p>The trench led on through these relics of battle until even they were +lost altogether; and it came out into a region where it was really a +puzzle to say what was trench and what was not. Around one stretched a +desert of shell craters—hole bordering upon hole so that there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> no +space at all between them. Each hole was circular like the ring of earth +at the mouth of an ants' nest several thousand times magnified, and they +stretched away like the waves of the sea. Far to the left was a bare, +brown hill-side. In front, and to the right, billows of red shell-holes +rose to the sharp-cut, white skyline a hundred yards away.</p> + +<p>You feel as a man must feel in a very small boat lost in a very wide +ocean. In the trough of a shell-hole your horizon was the edges of the +crater on a level with your head. When you wandered over from that +shell-hole into the next you came suddenly into view of a wide stretch +of country all apparently exactly the same as that through which you +were plunging. The green land of France lay behind you in the distance. +But the rest of the landscape was an ocean of red craters. In one part +of it, just over the near horizon, there protruded the shattered dry +stubble of an orchard long since reduced to about thirty bare, black, +shattered tree stumps. Nearer were a few short black stakes protruding +among the craters—clearly the remains of an ancient wire entanglement. +The trench was still traceable ten or twelve paces ahead, and there +might be something which looked like the continuation of it a dozen +yards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> farther—a line of ancient parapet appeared to be distinguishable +there for a short interval. That was certainly the direction.</p> + +<p>It was the parapet sure enough. There, waterlogged in earth, were the +remains of a sandbag barricade built across the trench. A few yards on +was another similar barrier. They must have been the British and German +barricade built across that sap at the end of some fierce bomb fight, +already long-forgotten by the lapse of several weeks. What Victoria +Crosses, what Iron Crosses were won there, by deeds whose memory +deserved to last as long as the race endures, God only knows—one trusts +that the great scheme of things provides some record of such a +sacrifice.</p> + +<p>Here the trench divided. There was no sign of a footprint either way. +Shells of various sizes were sprinkling the landscape impartially—about +ten or fifteen in the minute; none very close—a black burst on the +brown hill—two white shrapnel puffs five hundred yards on one side—a +huge brick-red cloud over the skyline—an angry little high-explosive +whizzbang a quarter of a mile down the hill behind. It is so that it +goes on all day long in the area where our troops are.<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf140.jpg" width="600" height="455" +alt="THE WINDMILL OF POZIÈRES AND THE SHELL SHATTERED GROUND AROUND IT" +title="THE WINDMILL OF POZIÈRES AND THE SHELL SHATTERED GROUND AROUND IT" /> +<span class="caption">THE WINDMILL OF POZIÈRES AND THE SHELL SHATTERED GROUND +AROUND IT</span> +<br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf140-1.jpg" width="600" height="428" +alt="THE BARELY RECOGNISABLE REMAINS OF A TRENCH" title="THE BARELY RECOGNISABLE REMAINS OF A TRENCH" /> +<span class="caption">THE BARELY RECOGNISABLE REMAINS OF A TRENCH</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p>One picked the likeliest line, and was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> ploughing along it, when a +bullet hissed not far away. It did not seem probable that there were +Germans in the landscape. One looked for another cause. Away to one +side, against the skyline, one had a momentary glimpse of three or four +Australians going along, bent low, making for some advanced position. It +must be some stray bullet meant for them. Then another bullet hissed.</p> + +<p>So out on that brown hill-side, in some unrecognisable shell-hole +trench, the enemy must still have been holding on. It was a case for +keeping low where there was cover and making the best speed where there +was not; and the end of the journey was soon reached.</p> + +<p>Now that is a country in which I, to whom it was a rare adventure, found +Australians living, working, moving as if it were their own back yard. +In that country it is often difficult, with the best will in the world, +to tell a trench when you come to it. One of the problems of the modern +battle is that, when men are given a trench to take, it is sometimes +impossible to recognise that trench when they arrive at it. The stretch +in front of the lines is a sea of red earth, in which you may notice, +here or there, the protruding timber of some old German gun position +with its wickerwork shell-covers around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> it—the whole looking like a +broken fish basket awash in a muddy estuary. An officer crawled out to +some of this jetsam the other day, and, putting up his head from the +wreckage, found nothing in the horizon except one solitary figure +standing about two hundred yards in front of him; and it was a German.</p> + +<p>Imagine the factory hand from Saxony set down to do outpost duty in this +sort of wilderness. I spoke the other day to a little tailor or +bootmaker, with a neck that you could have put through a napkin ring, a +tremendous forehead, and big, startled eyes. "Yes, we were put out there +to dig an outpost trench," he said. "The sergeant gave us a wrong +direction, I think. We took two days' rations and went out hundreds of +yards. No one came near us. There was firing on all sides, and we did +not know where we were. Our food was finished—we saw men working—we +did not know who they were—but they were English, and we were +captured."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>ANGELS' WORK</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, August 28th.</i></p> + + +<p>It had been a wild night. Not a first-rate full-dress attack on a big +front, but one of those fierce struggles on a small front which have +been so frequent in the stubborn fight northwards, up the Pozières Ridge +towards Mouquet Farm. Along a good part of the line the troops were back +in the trenches they had left, or had dug themselves a new trench only +slightly in advance of it. At other points they were in the trenches +they had gone out for.</p> + +<p>The bombardment, which had been turned on as though somebody held the +key to the thunderstorm, and which had crashed and flashed into the +hill-side nearly all the night, had gradually died down. The artillery +Staff officers on both sides had long since read the last pink signal +form, and had given instructions to cover any possible trouble, and had +turned into bed. The normal early morning gun was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> sending its normal +shell at intervals ranging up the long valley—<i>rattle, rattle, rattle</i>, +until the echo died away up the slopes, like that of a vanishing railway +train, or the long-drawn bark of a dog. As it died another gun would +bark, and another, until for a few seconds the noise dwindled and died +altogether, and there was a silence; as if somebody, just for a second +or two, had stopped the battle. The German artillery Staff had left its +gun barking too—every now and again the little shell came and spat over +the hill-side.</p> + +<p>The morning broke very pale and white through the mist—as though the +earth were tired to death after that wild nightmare. The soft white hand +of the fog covered the red land, so that your sight ranged no more than +three hundred yards at most, and often not a hundred. We were stumbling +over ground smashed in by the last night's fire—red earth new turned. +Only a few hundred yards away another fold of the land loomed out of the +mist—you could see the crest rising dull grey out of the white vapour +in the dip between. That hill-crest was in German territory—not ours. +For which good reason we hurried to the shelter of a trench.</p> + +<p>It was while we did so that I noticed a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> little grey procession coming +towards us from the ground out beyond the trench in front of the German +lines. It came very slowly—the steady, even pace of a funeral. The +leader was a man—a weatherbeaten, square-jawed, rugged old bushman—who +marched solemnly, holding a stick in front of him, from which hung a +flag. Behind him came two men carrying, very tenderly and slowly, a +stretcher. By them walked a fourth man with a water-bottle.</p> + +<p>They were the stretcher-bearers bringing in from out there some of the +wreckage of the night before. We went along the trench farther, and at a +later stage we could see men in the mist in ones and twos out in front +of the line. A rifle or two from somewhere behind the mist were pecking +regularly—sniping from some German outpost; and it seemed not wise to +show yourself too freely—the mist was lifting, and you never knew +whether the Germans were this side of it or not. But though those +bullets pecked constantly at the small parties or at stragglers of the +night's attack hopping back from advanced shell-holes, the little +procession with the flag passed through unharmed. If the sniper saw it +he must have turned his rifle for the moment somewhere else.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>We made our way back, when we went, across a hill-side literally flayed +of all its covering. The barrage of the night before, and of other days, +had fallen there, and the slope was simply a ploughed field. I could not +get rid of that impression at the time, and it is the only one that I +have of it still—that we were hurrying up a ploughed countryside along +a little, irregular, newly-made footpath. We had come out upon a road +and crossed it at one point. After a second or two's thought one +recognised that it <i>was</i> a road, because the banks of it ran straight. +It had been like coming on the body of a man without his skin—it took +you some time to realise that this flayed thing was a road at all.</p> + +<p>There was a shrapnel shell regularly spitting across that country. We +knew we should have to pass it, and one was naturally anxious to be +under cover at the moment. At this time I noticed on our left a little +group of figures, faintly seen in the mist, attending to some job in the +open. We came in sight of the trench we were making for, and they hailed +us asking the way. We told them, and they came slowly across the open +towards us. They were standing above the trench intent on some business +which needed care when the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> expected shell whizzed over the hill and +burst. I ducked.</p> + +<p>The men, standing on the brink above the trench there, did not even turn +a head to look at it. Five or six angry pieces hissed by, but they no +more heeded them than if it were a schoolboy pelting mud. They were +intent on their business and nothing else. They did not ask for a trench +to get into, but only to be shown the way. Their burden was carried +easier over the open. They were stretcher-bearers.</p> + +<p>We started home a good deal later from another part of the line by a +short cut. Five minutes after we had set out, the Germans happened to +turn their barrage across a patch whither our aged trench seemed certain +to lead. There may not have been more than fifteen shells in the minute, +but it seemed, looking along that path, more like thirty. They were of +all sorts mixed—ugly, black, high-explosive shrapnel bursting with the +crash of a big shell; little, spiteful whizzbang field gun tearing into +the brown earth; 5.9 shells flinging up fountains of it. We pushed on +until the shelter petered out and the shorter shells were already +bursting behind us, and the trench was little more than a crater to nip +into when you heard them singing towards you—and then we decided to +give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> it up. At one time, as we dodged back, a visitor came singing so +straight that we dived headlong into a crater just as you would dive +into the sea.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later we were back in the comfort of a fair trench, +perfectly snug, watching the storm. As we reached that trench and turned +into it, two men were clambering up on to the bank to join a party of +five others who were standing up there already, in the open. They were +stooping down to arrange with others the lifting of something up to +them.</p> + +<p>They were stretcher-bearers—Australian stretcher-bearers. The two pair +on the bank already had their load, and the others were lifting theirs +up thither. They were just setting out to carry their burden overland on +a track which led straight to the barrage which had turned us back.</p> + +<p>I learned more about Australian stretcher-bearers that morning than I +had known since the first week in Gallipoli. I cursed my fate that I was +not permitted to have a camera there, to prove to Australians that these +things are true. As luck would have it, the next time I saw that same +scene the British official photographer was beside me. We saw the smoke +of a barrage on the skyline. And coming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> straight from it were two +little parties each headed by a flag.</p> + +<p>We hurried to the place—and there it is on record, in the photograph +for every man to see some day just as we saw it, the little party coming +down the open with the angry shells behind them.</p> + +<p>I asked those stretcher-bearers as I looked up at the shell-bursts how +the Germans treated them.</p> + +<p>"They don't snipe us so long as we have this flag," one of them said. +"You see, we started it by not firing on theirs when they came out to +their wounded. Of course, we can't help the artillery," he added, +looking over his shoulder at the place from which he had come, where a +line of black shell-bursts was fringing the hill. "That's not meant for +us."</p> + +<p>That understanding, if you can maintain it honourably and trust the +enemy to do the same, means everything—everything—to the wounded of +both sides. The commander who, sitting safely at his table, condemns his +wounded and the enemy's in No Man's Land to death by slow torture +without grounds for suspecting trickery, would incur a responsibility +such as few men would face the thought of.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<p>Load after load, day and night, mile upon mile in and out of craters +across the open and back again—assuredly the Australian +stretcher-bearer has not degenerated since he made his name glorious +amongst his fellow soldiers at Gallipoli. Hear them speak of him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>OUR NEIGHBOUR</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, October 10th.</i></p> + + +<p>There are next to us at present some Scotsmen.</p> + +<p>Australians and New Zealanders have fought alongside of many good mates +in this war. I suppose the 29th Division and the Navy and the Indian +Mountain Batteries and Infantry were their outstanding friends in +Gallipoli. In France—the artillery of a certain famous regular +division. And the Scotsmen.</p> + +<p>It is quite remarkable how the Australian seems to forgather with the +Scotsman wherever in France he meets him. You will see them sharing each +other's canteens at the base, yarning round each other's camp fires at +the front. Wherever the pipers are, there will the Australians be +gathered together.</p> + +<p>I asked an Australian the other day how it was that he and his mates had +struck up such a remarkable friendship with some of these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> Highland +regiments now camped near them. "Well, I think it's their sense of +humour," he said.</p> + +<p>We looked at him rather hard.</p> + +<p>"You see, they can understand our jokes," he said. "They don't seem to +take us too serious like."</p> + +<p>And I think he had just hit it. The Australian has a habit of pulling +his mate's leg, and being on his guard against a leg-pull in return. He +has sharpened his conversation against the conversation of his friends +from the time he could speak—his uncles are generally to blame for it; +they started him on the path of repartee by pulling his legs before +those same legs had learnt to walk. As a result he is always sparring in +conversation—does not mean to be taken seriously. And the Scotsman, +cautious and always on the look-out for a feint, is seldom caught by it. +If he is, the chances are he gives it back—with interest.</p> + +<p>It is a grim, old, dry variety of humour, and it goes with a wonderful, +grim, sturdy nature. Few people here see a Scottish regiment passing +without waiting, if they have the time, to watch the last square figure +disappear down the road. Many look at the perfect swing of the kilts, +and the strong bare knees. For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> myself I can never take my eyes off +their faces. There is a stalwart independence in their strong mouths and +foreheads and chins which rivets one's interest. Every face is different +from the next. Each man seems to be thinking for himself, and ready to +stand up for his own decision against the world. There is a sort of +reasoned determination uniting them into a single whole, which, one +thinks, must be a very terrible sort of whole to meet in anger.</p> + +<p>And it is. The Scotsman is, I think, the most unrelenting fighter that I +have come across. The Australian is a most fierce fighter in battle, but +he is quite ready to make friends afterwards with his enemy. Once he has +taken a German prisoner, he is apt to treat him more liberally than most +troops—more so even, I think, than the English soldier—and that is +saying a good deal. To the Scotsman, when he escorts his prisoners home, +those prisoners are Germans still. He has never forgotten the tremendous +losses which Scottish regiments suffered at the beginning of the war. He +does not feel kindly towards the men who inflicted them. With the +Australian, once the fight is over, the bitterness is left behind. The +Scotsman makes prisoners, but he does not make friends.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>I shall not forget a talk that I had, some time since, with a Scottish +driver who had been very badly wounded during the first winter. He had +not been in the Army Service Corps in those days. He was in a certain +famous regiment of infantry—joined up in the first weeks of the war as +a recruit, and was sent to the front with a draft almost at once—by +some process which I do not now understand—to replace heavy casualties. +He was with them through that first winter in their miserable, +overflowing apology for a trench. It was a shallow ditch with a wretched +parapet, and all they could do for weeks on end was to send the men into +the trench over the top of the ground at night—they had actually to +approach this trench from the front, at times, because the rear was a +marsh—get into it over the parapet, and sit there on the back of the +trench until nightfall, sheltered only by the parapet, since the trench +was too wet to live in.</p> + +<p>At last there came a dawn when the regiment charged, to cover operations +elsewhere. They left their ditch, and half-way across No Man's Land John +Henderson—it is not his name, but it will do as well as another—John +Henderson was hit. He lay out there for a day and a night. A brave +officer bandaged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> him and passed on to others. John Henderson was +brought in at last, delirious, with two bullets in him and a heavy +rheumatism. He was invalided out of the service, and as soon as he +thought himself well enough he came back and enlisted at another place, +under another name, in another corps; he could not face his native +village if he remained out of it, and at the same time he could not get +into the fight again if the authorities knew he had once been invalided. +His dread still was that they might find out. He would not ask for his +leave, when it became due, for fear of causing inquiries; he preferred +to stick it out at the front.</p> + +<p>He was as stern against the German after two years as he was on the day +when he enlisted. "It's a funny thing," he said to me, "but Ah was no +worrying about anything at all that night, when Ah was lying out there +wounded, excepting that they might tak me a prisoner. Ah was kind of +deleerious, ye know, but there was always just that thought running +through ma head. I just prayed to God that He wad tak ma life."</p> + +<p>And, oddly, I found that he was of the same mind still.</p> + +<p>That spirit makes great fighting men; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> the friendship between the +Scot and the Australian persisted into the fighting. A Scottish unit has +been alongside of the Australians for a considerable time. I was told +that an Australian working party, while digging a forward trench, was +sniped continually by a German machine-gunner out in front of his own +line in a shell-hole. One or two men were hit. The line on the flank of +the working party happened to be held by Scottish troops. An officer +from the Australians had to visit the Scottish line in order to make +some preparations for a forthcoming attack.</p> + +<p>He found the Scotsmen there thirsting for that sniper's blood, +impatiently waiting for dark in order to go over the parapet and get +him—they could scarcely be held back even then, straining like hounds +in the leash.</p> + +<p>The sniper was bagged later, and his machine-gun. It was a mixed affair, +Scottish and Australian; and I believe there was an argument as to which +owned the machine-gun.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>MOUQUET FARM</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, September 7th.</i></p> + + +<p>On the same day on which the British took Guillemont and reached Ginchy +and Leuze Wood; on the same day on which the French pushed their line +almost to Combles; at the same time as the British attacked Thiépval +from the front, the Australians, for the fifth time, delivered a blow at +the wedge which they have all the while been driving into Thiépval from +the back, along the ridge whose crest runs northwards from Pozières past +Mouquet Farm.</p> + +<p>It was a heavy punch this time. I cannot tell of all these fierce +struggles here—they shall be told in full some day. In the earliest +steps towards Mouquet British troops attacked on the Australian flank, +and at least once the fighting which they met with was appallingly +heavy. Victorians, South Australians, New South Welshmen have each dealt +their blow at it. The Australians have been in heavy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> fighting, almost +daily, for six solid weeks; they started with three of the most terrible +battles that have ever been fought—few people, even here, realise how +heavy that fighting was. Then the tension eased as they struck those +first blows northwards. As they neared Mouquet the resistance increased. +Each of the last five blows has been stiffer to drive. On each occasion +the wedge has been driven a little farther forward. This time the blow +was heavier and the wedge went farther.</p> + +<p>The attack was made just as a summer night was reddening into dawn. Away +to the rear over Guillemont—for the Australians were pushing almost in +an opposite direction from the great British attack—the first light of +day glowed angrily on the lower edges of the leaden clouds. You could +faintly distinguish objects a hundred yards away. Our field guns, from +behind the hills, broke suddenly into a tempest of fire, which tore a +curtain of dust from the red shell craters carpeting the ridge. A few +minutes later the bombardment lengthened, and the line of Queenslanders, +Tasmanians and Western Australians rushed for the trenches ahead of +them.</p> + +<p>On the left, well down the shoulder of the hill towards Thiépval, was +the dust-heap of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> craters and ashes, with odd ends of some shattered +timber sticking out of it, which goes by the name of Mouquet Farm. It +was a big, important homestead some months ago. To-day it is the +wreckage of a log roof, waterlogged in a boundless tawny sea of craters. +There is no sign of a trench left in it—the entrances of the dug-outs +may be found here and there like rat-holes, about half a dozen of them, +behind dishevelled heaps of rubbish. They open into craters now—no +doubt each opening has been scratched clear of debris a dozen times. You +have to get into some of them by crawling on hands and knees.</p> + +<p>The first charge took the Western Australians far beyond the farm. They +reached a position two hundred yards farther and started to dig in +there. Within an hour or two they had a fairly good trench out amongst +the craters well in front of the farm. The farm behind them ought to be +solidly ours with such a line in front of it. A separate body of men, +some of them Tasmanians, came like a whirlwind on their heels into the +farm. The part of the garrison which was lying out in front in a rough +line of shell craters found them on top of the craters before they knew +that there were British troops anywhere about.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> They were captured and +sent back. The Australians tumbled over the debris into the farm itself.</p> + +<p>The fight that raged for two days on this ridge was not one of those in +which the enemy put up his hands as soon as our men came on to him. Far +on the top of the hill to the right, and in the maze of trenches +between, and in the dug-outs of the farm on the left, he was fighting +stiffly over the whole front. In the dim light, as the party which was +to take the farm rushed into it, a machine-gun was barking at them from +somewhere inside that rubbish yard itself. They could hear the bark +obviously very close to them, but it was impossible to say where it came +from, whether thirty yards away or fifty. They knew it must be firing +from behind one of the heaps of rubbish where the entrances of the +dug-outs probably were, firing obliquely and to its rear at the men who +rushed past it. They chose the heap which seemed most probable, and +fired six rifle grenades all at once into it. There was a clatter and +dust; the machine-gun went out like a candle. Later they found it lying +smashed at the mouth of a shaft there.<br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf160.jpg" width="600" height="433" +alt="MOQUET FARM" title="MOQUET FARM" /> +<span class="caption">THE TUMBLED HEAP OF BRICKS AND TIMBER WHICH THE WORLD +KNOWS AS MOQUET FARM</span> +<br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/gsf160-1.jpg" width="600" height="430" +alt=""PAST THE MUD HEAPS SCRAPED BY THE ROAD GANGS"" +title=""PAST THE MUD HEAPS SCRAPED BY THE ROAD GANGS"" /> +<span class="caption">"PAST THE MUD HEAPS SCRAPED BY THE ROAD GANGS" (see p. 192)</span> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p>The Germans fought them from their rat-holes. When a man peered down the +dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> staircase shaft, he sometimes received a shot from below, +sometimes a rifle grenade fired through a hole in a sandbag barricade, +which the Germans had made at the bottom of the stair. Occasionally a +face would be seen peering up from below—for they refused to come +out—and our men would fling down a bomb or fire a couple of shots. But +those on the top of the stair always have the advantage. The Germans +were bombed and shot out of entrance after entrance, and at last came up +through the only exit left to them. Finding Australians swarming through +the place, they surrendered; and the whole garrison of Mouquet Farm was +accounted for. Those who were not lying dead in the craters and +dust-heap were prisoners. Mouquet Farm was ours, and a line of +Australian infantry was entrenching itself far ahead of it.</p> + +<p>On the ridge the charge had farther to go. It swarmed over one German +trench and on to a more distant one. The Germans fought it from their +trench. The rush was a long one, and the German had time to find his +feet after the bombardment. But the men he was standing up to were the +offshoot of a famous Queensland regiment; and, though the German +guardsmen showed more fight than any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> Germans we have met, they had no +match for the fire of these boys. The trench is said to have been +crowded with German dead and wounded. On the left the German tried at +once to bomb his way back into the trench he had lost, and for a time he +made some headway. Part of the line was driven out of the trench into +the craters on our side of it. But before the bombing party had gone +far, the Queenslanders were into the trench again with bomb and bayonet, +and the trenches on the right flank of the attack were solidly ours.</p> + +<p>The Queenslanders who reached this trench and took it, found themselves +looking out over a wide expanse of country. Miles in front of them, and +far away to their flank, there stretched a virgin land. They were upon +the crest of the ridge, and the landscape before them was the country +behind the German lines. Except for a gentle rise, somewhat farther +northward behind Thiépval, they had reached about the highest point upon +the northern end of the ridge.</p> + +<p>The connecting trenches, between Mouquet Farm and the ridge above and +behind it, were attacked by the Tasmanians. The fire was very heavy, and +for a moment it looked as if this part of the line, and the +Queenslanders imme<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>diately next to it, would not be able to get in. +Officer after officer was hit. Leading amongst these was a senior +captain, an officer old for his rank, but one who was known to almost +every man in the force as one of the most striking personalities in +Gallipoli. He had two sons in the Australian force, officers practically +of his own rank. He was one of the first men on to Anzac Beach; and was +the last Australian who left it: Captain Littler.</p> + +<p>I had seen him just as he was leaving for the fight, some hours before. +He carried no weapon but a walking-stick. "I have never carried anything +else into action," he said, "and I am not going to begin now." He was +ill with rheumatism and looked it, and the doctor had advised that he +ought not to be with his company. But he came back to them that evening +for the fight; and one could see that it made a world of difference to +them. He was a man whom his own men swore by. Personally, one breathed +more easily knowing that he was with them. It would be his last big +fight, he told me.</p> + +<p>Half-way through that charge, in the thick of the whirl of it, he was +seen standing, leaning heavily upon his stick. It was touch and go at +the moment whether the trench was won<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> or lost. "Are you hit, sir?" +asked several around him. Then they noticed a gash in his leg and the +blood running from it—and he seemed to be hit through the chest as +well.</p> + +<p>"I will reach that trench if the boys do," he said.</p> + +<p>"Have no fear of that, sir," was the answer. A sergeant asked him for +his stick. Then—with the voice of a big man, like his officer, the +sergeant shouted, and waved his stick, and took the men on. In the +half-dark his figure was not unlike that of his commander. They made one +further rush and were in the trench.</p> + +<p>They were utterly isolated in the trench when they reached it. A German +machine-gun was cracking away in the same trench to their right, firing +between them and the trench they had come from. There was barbed wire in +front of it. When they tried to force a way with bombs up the trench to +the gun, German bombers in craters behind the trench showered bombs on +to them. Then a sergeant crawled out between the wire and the +machine-gun—crawled on his stomach right up to the gun and shot the +gunner with his revolver. "I've killed three of them," he said, as he +crawled back. Presently a shell fell on him and shattered him. But our +bombers, like the Germans,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> crept out into craters behind the trench, +and bombed the German bombers out of their shelter. That opened the way +along the trench, and they found the three machine-gunners, shot as the +sergeant had said. The Tasmanians went swiftly along the trench after +that, and presently saw a row of good Australian heads in a sap well in +front of them. There went up a cheer. Other German guardsmen, who had +been lying in craters in front of the trench, and in a scrap of trench +beyond, heard the cheering; seeing that there were Australians on both +sides of them, they stumbled to their feet and threw up their hands. +They were marched off to the rear, and the Tasmanians joined up with the +Queenslanders.</p> + +<p>So the centre was joined to the right. On the left it was uncertain +whether it was joined or not. There was a line of trench to be seen on +that side running back towards the German lines. It was merely a more +regular line of mud amongst the irregular mud-heaps of the craters; but +there were the heads of the men looking out from it—so clearly it was a +trench. As the light grew they could make out men leaning on their arms +and elbows, looking over the parapet. Every available glass was turned +on them, but it was too dark still to see if they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> were Australians. Two +scouts were sent forward, creeping from hole to hole. Both were shot. A +machine-gun was turned at once on to the line of heads. They started +hopping back down their tumbled sap towards the German rear. Clearly +they were Germans. The machine-gun made fast practice as the line of +backs showed behind the parapet.</p> + +<p>There were Germans, not Australians, in the trenches on the Tasmanians' +left—in the same trench as they. The flank there was in the air. There +was nothing to do except to barricade the trench and hold the flank as +best they could.</p> + +<p>And for the next two days they held it, shelled with every sort of gun +and trench mortar, although fresh companies of the Prussian Guard +Reserve constantly filed in to the gap which existed between this point +and Mouquet Farm. Their old leader, who had promised to reach that +trench with them, was not there. They found him lying dead within a few +yards of it, straight in front of the machine-gun which they had +silenced. So Littler had kept his promise—and lost his life. They had a +young officer and a few sergeants. All through that day their numbers +slowly dwindled. They held the trench all the next night, and in the +grey dawn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> of the second day a sentry, looking over the trench, saw the +Germans a little way outside of it. As he pointed them out he fell back +shot through the head. They told the Queenslanders, and the +Queenslanders came out instantly and bombed from their side, in rear of +the Germans. The Queensland officer was shot dead, but the Germans were +cleared out or killed.</p> + +<p>That afternoon the Germans attacked that open flank with heavy +artillery. For hours shell after shell crashed into the earth around. A +heavy battery found the barricade and put its four big shells +systematically round it. They reduced the garrison as far as possible, +and four or five only were kept by the barricade. They were not all +Australians now.</p> + +<p>For the end of the Australian work was coming very near. But that +occasion deserves a letter to itself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>HOW THE AUSTRALIANS WERE RELIEVED</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, September 19th.</i></p> + + +<p>It was before the moment at which my last letter ended that the time had +come for the first relieving troops to be drafted into the fight.</p> + +<p>I shall not forget the first I saw of them. We were at a certain +headquarters not a thousand miles from the enemy's barrage. Messages had +dribbled through from each part of the attacking line telling exactly +where every portion of it had got to; or rather telling where each +portion believed it had got to—as far as it could judge by sticking up +its collective head from shell craters and broken-down trench walls and +staring out over the limitless sea of craters and crabholes which +surrounded it. As the only features in the landscape were a ragged tree +stump, and what looked like the remains of a broken fish basket over the +horizon, all very distant—and a dozen shell-bursts and the bark of an +unseen machine-gun,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> all very close—the determination was apt to be a +trifle erratic. Still, the points were marked down, where each handful +believed and trusted itself to be. The next business was to fill up +certain gaps. An order was dispatched to the supports. They were to send +an officer to receive instructions.</p> + +<p>He came. He was a man nearing middle age, erect, tough as wire, with +lines in his face such as hard fighting and responsibility leave on the +face of every soldier.</p> + +<p>The representative of authority upon the spot—an Australian who also +had faced ugly scenes—explained to him quietly where he wished him to +take his men, into such and such a corner, by such and such a route. It +meant plunging straight into the thick of the Somme battle, with all its +unknown horrors—everyone there knew that. But the new-comer said +quietly, "Yes, sir"—and climbed up and out into the light.</p> + +<p>It was not an Australian who spoke. That "Yes, sir" came unmistakably +from the other side of the Pacific. It was the first of the Canadians +upon the Somme battlefield.</p> + +<p>An hour or so later an Australian officer, moving along with his men to +improve an exposed and isolated trench (a trench which was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> outflanked +already, and enfiladed, and in half a dozen ways unhealthy) into a +condition to be held against any attacks at all costs—found, coming +across the open towards his exposed flank, a line of stalwart men in +kilts. His men were dead tired, the enemy's shell-fire was constant and +heavy, grey heads and helmets constantly seen behind a red mud parapet, +across a hundred yards of red mud craters, proved that the Prussian +Guard Reserve was getting ready to counter-attack him. Every message he +sent back to Headquarters finished, "But we will hold this trench."</p> + +<p>And yet here the new men came—a line of them, stumbling from crater +into crater, and by one of those unaccountable chances that occur in +battles, only two or three of them were hit in crossing over. They +dropped into the trench by the side of the Australians. Their bombers +went to the left to relieve the men who had been holding the open flank. +They brought in with them keen, fresh faces and bodies, and an +all-important supply of bombs. It was better than a draught of good +wine.</p> + +<p>So it was that the first of the Canadians arrived.</p> + +<p>Long before the last Australian platoon left that battered line, these +first Canadians were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> almost as tired as they. For thirty-six hours they +had piled up the same barricades, garrisoned the same shell-holes, were +shattered by the same shells. Twenty-four hours after the Canadians +came, the vicious bombardment described in the last letter descended on +the flank they both were holding. They were buried together by the heavy +shell-bursts. They dug each other out. When the garrison became so thin +that whole lengths of trench were without a single unwounded occupant, +they helped each others' wounded down to the next length, and built +another barricade, and held that.</p> + +<p>Finally, when hour after hour passed and the incessant shelling never +ceased, the garrison was withdrawn a little farther; and then five of +them went back to the barricade which the enemy's artillery had +discovered. They sat down in the trench behind it. A German battery was +trying for it—putting its four big high-explosive shells regularly +round it—salvo after salvo as punctual as clockwork. It was only a +matter of time before the thing must go.</p> + +<p>So the five sat there—Tasmanians and Canadians—and discussed the rival +methods of wheat growing in their respective dominions in order to keep +their thoughts away from that inevitable shell.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>It came at last, through their shelter—slashed one man across the face, +killed two and left two—smashed the barricade into a scrap-heap. Then +others were brought to stand by. Shells were falling anything from +thirty to forty in the minute. One of the remaining Tasmanian +sergeants—a Lewis gunner—came back from an errand, crawling, wounded +dangerously through the neck. "I don't want to go away," he said. "If I +can't work a Lewis gun, I can sit by another chap and tell him how to." +In the end, when he was sent away, he was seen crawling on two knees and +one hand, guiding with the other hand a fellow gunner who had been hit.</p> + +<p>That night a big gun, much bigger than the rest, sent its shells roaring +down through the sky somewhere near. The men would be waked by the +shriek of each shell and then fall asleep and be waked again by the +crash of the explosion. And still they held the trench. And still every +other message ended—"But we will hold on."</p> + +<p>They had withdrawn a little to where they could hold during the night; +but before the grey morning, the moment the bombardment had eased, they +crept back again lest the Germans should get there first.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>With the light came a reinforcement of new Canadians—grand fellows in +great spirit. And the last Australian was during that morning withdrawn. +It was the most welcome sight in all the world to see those troops come +in. Not that the tired men would ever admit that it was necessary. As +one report from an Australian boy said, "The reinforcement has arrived. +Captain X—— may tell you that the Australians are done. Rot!"</p> + +<p>Whether they were done or whether they were not, they spoke of those +Canadian bombers in a way it would have done Canadian hearts good to +hear. Australians and Canadians fought for thirty-six hours in those +trenches inextricably mixed, working under each others' officers. Their +wounded helped each other from the front. Their dead lie and will lie +through all the centuries hastily buried beside the tumbled trenches and +shell-holes where, fighting as mates, they died.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And the men who had hung on to that flank almost within shouting +distance of Mouquet for two wild days and nights—they came out of the +fight asking, "Can you tell me if we have got Mouquet Farm?"</p> + +<p>We had not. The fierce fighting in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> broken centre had enabled us to +hold all the ground gained upon the crest. But through this same gap the +Germans had come back against the farm. They swarmed in upon its +garrison, driving in gradually the men who were holding that flank. +Under heavy shell-fire the line dwindled and dwindled until the Western +Australians, who had won the farm and held it for five hours, numbered +barely sufficient to make good their retirement. The officer left in +charge there, himself wounded, ordered the remnant to withdraw. And the +Germans entered the farm again.</p> + +<p>But on the crest the line held. The Prussian Guard Reserve +counter-attacked it three times, and on the last occasion the +Queenslanders had such deadly shooting against Germans in the open as +cheered them in spite of all their fatigue. I saw those Queenslanders +marching out two days later with a step which would do credit to a +Guards regiment going in.</p> + +<p>So ended a fight as hard as Australians have ever fought.</p> + +<p>Mouquet Farm was taken a fortnight later in a big combined advance of +British and Canadians. The Farm itself held out many hours after the +line had passed it, and was finally seized by a pioneer battalion, +working behind our lines.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>ON LEAVE TO A NEW ENGLAND</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Back in France.</i></p> + + +<p>It was after seven weeks of very heavy fighting. Even those whose duty +took them rarely up amongst the shells were almost worn out with the +prolonged strain. Those who had been fighting their turns up in the +powdered trenches came out from time to time tired well nigh to death in +body, mind and soul. The battle of the Somme still grumbled night and +day behind them. But for those who emerged a certain amount of leave was +opened.</p> + +<p>It was like a plunge into forgotten days. War seemed to end at the +French quayside. Staff officers, brigadier-generals, captains, privates +and lance-corporals—they were all just Englishmen off to their homes. +They jostled one another up the gangway—I never heard a rough word in +that dense crowd. They lay side by side outside the saloon of the +Channel turbine steamer. A corporal with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> his head half in the doorway, +too seasick to know that it was fair in the path of a major-general's +boots; a general Staff officer and a French captain with their backs +propped against the oak panelling and their ribs against somebody else's +baggage; a subaltern of engineers with his head upon their feet; a +hundred others packed on the stairs and up to the deck; and a horrible +groaning from the direction of the lavatories—it was truly the happiest +moment in all their lives.</p> + +<p>The crossing passed like a dream—scarcely noticed. Seven weeks of +strain can leave you too tired almost to think. A journey in a +comfortable railway compartment through prim, hazy English fields, the +carriage blue with smoke from the pipes of its inhabitants (a Canadian, +three or four Englishmen and a couple of Australians), has gone almost +unremembered. As the custom is in England, they were mostly ensconced +behind their newspapers, although there is more geniality in an English +railway carriage to-day than was usual before the war. But most people +in that train, I think, were too tired for conversation.</p> + +<p>It was the coming into London that left such an impression as some of us +will never forget. Some of us knew London well before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> the war. It is +the one great city in the world where you never saw the least trace of +corporate emotion. It divides itself off into districts for the rich and +districts for the poor, and districts for all the grades in between the +two, which are the separate layers in the big, frowning edifice of +British society; they may have had some sort of feeling for their class +or their profession—the lawyer proud of his Inns of Court and of the +tradition of the London Bar, the doctor proud of London schools of +medicine, and the Thames engineer even proud of the work that is turned +out upon the Thames. But there was no more common feeling or activity in +the people of London than there would be common energy in a heap of sand +grains. They would have looked upon it as sheer weakness to exhibit any +interest in the doings even of their neighbours.</p> + +<p>The battle of the Somme had begun about nine weeks before when this +particular train, carrying the daily instalment of men on leave from it, +began to wind its way in past the endless back-gardens and yellow brick +houses, every one the replica of the next, and the numberless villa +chimneys and chimney-pots which fence the southern approaches of the +great capital. They are tight, compact little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> fortresses, those English +villas, each jealously defended against its neighbour and the whole +world by the sentiment within, even more than by the high brick wall +around it. But if they were all rigidly separate from each other, there +was one thing that bound them all together just for that moment.</p> + +<p>It happened in every cottage garden, in every street that rattled past +underneath the railway bridges, in every slum-yard, from every window, +upper and lower. As the leave train passed the people all for the moment +dropped whatever they were doing and ran to wave a hand at it. The +children in every garden dropped their games and ran to the fence and +clambered up to wave these tired men out of sight. The servant at the +upper window let her work go and waved; the mother of the family and the +girls in the sitting-room downstairs came to the window and waved; the +woman washing in the tub in the back-yard straightened herself up and +waved; the little grocer out with his wife and the perambulator waved, +and the wife waved, and the infant in the perambulator waved; the boys +playing pitch-and-toss on the pavement ran towards the railway bridge +and waved; the young lady out for a walk with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> her young man waved—not +at all a suppressed welcome, quite the reverse of half-hearted; the +young man waved, much more demurely, but still he did wave. The flapper +on the lawn threw down her tennis-racket and simply flung kisses; and +her two young brothers expressed themselves quite as emphatically in +their own manner; the old man at the corner and the grocer-boy from his +cart waved. For a quarter of an hour, while that train wound in through +the London suburbs, every human being that was near dropped his work and +gave it a welcome.</p> + +<p>I have seen many great ceremonies in England, and they have left me as +cold as ice. There have been big set pieces even in this war, with brass +bands and lines of policemen and cheering crowds and long accounts of it +afterwards in the newspapers. But I have never seen any demonstration +that could compare with this simple spontaneous welcome by the families +of London. It was quite unrehearsed and quite unreported. No one had +arranged it, and no one was going to write big headlines about it next +day. The people in one garden did not even know what the people in the +next garden were doing—or want to know. The servant at the upper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +window did not know that the mistress was at the lower window doing +exactly as she was, and vice versa. For the first time in one's +experience one had experienced a genuine, whole-hearted, common feeling +running through all the English people—every man, woman and child, +without distinction, bound in one common interest which, for the time +being, was moving the whole nation. And I shall never forget it.</p> + +<p>It was the most wonderful welcome—I am not exaggerating when I say that +it was one of the most wonderful and most inspiriting sights that I have +ever seen. I do not know whether the rulers of the country are aware of +it. But I do not believe for a moment that this people can go back after +the war to the attitude by which each of those families was to all the +others only so much prospective monetary gain or loss.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW ENTRY</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, November 13th.</i></p> + + +<p>Last week an Australian force made its attack in quite a different area +of the Somme battle.</p> + +<p>The sky was blue in patches, with cold white clouds between. The wind +drove icily. There had been practically no rain for two days.</p> + +<p>We were in a new corner. The New Zealanders had pushed right through to +the comparatively green country just here—and so had the British to +north and south of it. We were well over the slope of the main ridge, up +which the Somme battle raged for the first three months. Pozières, the +highest point, where Australians first peeped over it, lay miles away to +our left rear. From the top of the ridge behind you, looking back over +your left shoulder, you could just see a few distant broken tree stumps. +I think they marked the site of that old nightmare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>We were looking down a long even slope to a long up-slope beyond. The +country around us was mostly brown-mud shell-holes. Not like the +shell-holes of that blasted hill-top of two months back—I have never +seen anything quite like that, though they say that Guillemont, which I +have not seen, is as devastated. In this present area there is green +grass between the rims of the craters. But not enough green grass to +matter. The general colour of the country on the British side is +brown—all gradations of it—from thin, sloppy, grey-brown mud, trampled +liquid with the feet of men and horses, to dull, putty-like brown mud so +thick that, when you get your foot into it, you have a constant problem +of getting it out again.</p> + +<p>For it is the country over which the fight has passed. As we advance, we +advance always on to the area which has been torn with shells—where the +villages and the trenches and the surface of the green country have been +battered and shattered, first by our guns and then by the German guns, +until they have made a hell out of heaven.</p> + +<p>And always just ahead of us, a mile or so behind the German lines, there +is heaven smiling—you can see it clearly; in this part, up the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +opposite slope of the wide, open valley. There is the green country on +which the Germans are always being driven back, and up which this +monstrous engine of war has not yet begun its slow, gruesome climb. +There are the beautiful green woods fading to soft autumn brown and +yellow—the little red roofs in the trees, an empty village in the +foreground—you can see the wet mud shining in its street and the white +trickle of water down the centre of the road.</p> + +<p>Down our long muddy hill-slope, near where the knuckles of it dip out of +sight into the bottom of the valley, one notices a line of heads. In +some places they are clear and in others they cannot be seen. But we +guess that it is the line ready to go out.</p> + +<p>At the top of the opposite up-slope the tower of Bapaume town hall +showed up behind the trees. We made out that the hands of the clock were +at the hour—but I have heard others say that they were permanently at +half-past five, and others a quarter past four—it is one of those +matters which become very important on these long dark evenings, and +friendships are apt to be broken over it. The clock tower, +unfortunately, disappeared finally at eighteen minutes past eleven +yesterday morning, so the controversy is never likely to be settled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bombardment broke out suddenly from behind us. We saw the long line +of men below clamber on to the surface, a bayonet gleaming here and +there, and begin to walk steadily between the shell-holes towards the +edge of the hill. From where we were you could not see the enemy's +trench in the valley—only the brown mud of crater rims down to the +hill's edge. And I think the line could not see it either, in most parts +at any rate. They would start from their muddy parapet, and over the wet +grass, with one idea above all others in the back of every man's +head—when shall we begin to catch sight of the enemy?</p> + +<p>It is curious how in this country of shell craters you can look at a +trench without realising that it is a trench. A mud-heap parapet is not +so different from the mud-heap round a crater's rim, except that it is +more regular. Even to discover your own trench is often like finding a +bush road. You are told that there is a trench over there and you cannot +miss it. But, once you have left your starting-point, it looks as if +there were nothing else in the world but a wilderness of shell craters. +Then you realise that there is a certain regularity in the irregular +mud-heaps some way ahead of you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>—the top of a muddy steel helmet moves +between two earth-heaps on the ground's surface—then another helmet and +another; and you have found your bearings. That is clearly the trench +they spoke about.</p> + +<p>Well, finding the German trench seems to be much the same experience, +varied by a multitude of bullets singing past like bees, and with the +additional thought ever present to the mind—when will the enemy's +barrage burst on you? When it does come, you do not hear it +coming—there is too much racket in the air for your ears to catch the +shell whistling down as you are accustomed to. There are big black +crashes and splashes near by, without warning—scarcely noticed at +first. In the charge itself men often do not notice other men hit—we, +looking on from far behind, did not notice that. A man may be slipping +in a shell-hole, or in the mud, or in some wire—often he gets up again +and runs on. It is only afterwards that you realise....</p> + +<p>Across the mud space there were suddenly noticed a few grey helmets +watching—a long, long distance away. Then the grey helmets moved, and +other helmets moved, and bunched themselves up, and hurried about like a +disturbed hive, and settled into a line of men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> firing fast and coolly. +That was the German trench.</p> + +<p>It was fairly packed already in one part. The rattle of fire grew +quickly. The chatter of one machine-gun—then another, and another, were +added to it. Our shells were bursting occasionally flat in the face of +the Germans—one big bearded fellow—they are close enough for those +details to be seen now—takes a low burst of our shrapnel full in his +eyes. A high-explosive shell bursts on the parapet, and down go three +others. But they are firing calmly through all this.</p> + +<p>Three or four Germans suddenly get up from some hole in No Man's Land, +and bolt for their trench like rabbits. Within forty yards of the German +parapet the leading men in our line find themselves alone. The line has +dwindled to a few scanty groups. These are dropping suddenly—their +comrades cannot say whether they are taking cover in shell-holes, or +whether they have been hit. The Germans are getting up a machine-gun on +the parapet straight opposite. The first two men fall back shot. Two or +three others struggle up to it—they are shot too; our men are making +desperate shooting to keep down that machine-gun. But the Germans get it +up. It cracks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> overhead. In this part of the line the attack is clearly +finished.</p> + +<p>One remembers a day, some months back, when a Western Australian +battalion, after a heavy bombardment of its trench, found a German line +coming up over the crest of the hill about two hundred yards away. The +Western Australians stood up well over the parapet, and fired until the +remnant of that line sank to the ground within forty or fifty yards of +them. That line was a line of the Prussian Guard Reserve. We have had +that opportunity three or four times in the Somme battle. This time it +was the Germans who had it. The Germans were of the Prussian Foot +Guards—and it was Western Australians who were attacking.</p> + +<p>In another part, where the South Australians attacked, they found fewer +Germans in the trench. They could see the Germans in small groups +getting their bombs ready to throw—but they were into the trench before +the Germans had time to hold them up. They killed or captured all the +German garrison, and destroyed a machine-gun, and set steadily to +improve the trench for holding it.</p> + +<p>Everything seemed to go well in this part, except that they could get no +touch with any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> other of our troops in the trench. As far as they knew +the other portions of the attack had succeeded, as well as theirs. And +then things changed suddenly. After an hour a message did come from +Australians farther along in the same trench—a message for urgent help. +At the same time a similar message came from the other flank as well. A +shower of stick-bombs burst with a formidable crash from one side. A +line of Germans was seen, coming steadily along in single file against +the other end of the trench. A similar shower of crashes descended from +that direction. A machine-gun began to crackle down the trench. Our men +fought till their bombs, and all the German bombs they could find, were +gone. Finally the Germans began to gain on them from both ends, and the +attack here, too, was over. They were driven from the trench.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>A HARD TIME</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, November 28th.</i></p> + + +<p>He is having a hard time. I do not see that there is any reason to make +light of it. If you do, you rob him of the credit which, if ever man +deserved it, he ought to be getting now—the credit for putting a good +face upon it under conditions which, to him, especially at the +beginning, were sheer undiluted misery. Some people think that to tell +the truth in these matters would hinder recruiting. Well, if it did, it +would only mean that the young Australians who stay at home are guilty +of greater meanness than one has ever thought. For the Australian here +has plunged straight into an existence more like that of a duck in a +farmyard drain than to any other condition known or dreamed of in his +own sunny land. He is resisting it not only passably but well. And if +you want to know the reason—as far as any general reason can be +given—the motive, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> keeps him trying day after day, is the desire +that no man shall say a word against Australia. I don't know if his +country is thinking of him—a good part of it must be—but he is +thinking of his country all the time. Australia has made her name in the +world during this war—the world knows her now. It is these men—not the +men who shout at stadiums and race meetings at home, but the simple, +willing men who are described in this letter—who are making Australia's +name for her—and just at present holding on to it like grim death.</p> + +<p>Even the life of a duck in a farmyard drain becomes in a wonderful way +supportable when you tackle it as cheerfully as that. It comes to the +Australian as a shock, at the first introduction—the Manning River +country after the Manning River flood has subsided is, as a New South +Welshman suggested, the nearest imitation that he has ever seen. But +then there was blue sky and dazzling sun over that; whereas here the +whole grey sky seems to drip off his hatbrim and nose and chilled +fingers and the shiny oil sheet tied around his neck, and to ooze into +his back and his boots. It is all fairly comfortable in the green +country from which he starts. There has been a fairly warm billet in the +half<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> dark of a big barn, where the morning light comes through in +strange shafts and triangles up in the blackness amongst the gaunt roof +beams. There was a canteen—which is really an officially managed shop +for good, cheap groceries—in an outhouse at the end of the village; +there were three or four estaminets and cafés, with cheerful and +passably pretty mademoiselles, and good coffee, and very vile wine, +labelled temporarily as champagne. There was also—for some who obtained +leave—a visit to a neighbouring town.</p> + +<p>The battalion moved off early—its much-prized brass band at its +head—and the men who didn't obtain leave at the tail. The battalion is +to be carried to the front in the same string of groaning autobuses +which brought out its weary predecessors. The buses are a great help +immensely valued—but the battalion has to march four miles to them—to +warm it, I suppose. The men who did not obtain leave are carrying the +iron cooking dixies for those four miles. In the nature of things +military, there will be another four miles to march at the other end. +The platoon at the tail thoroughly appreciates this. Its philosophy of +life is wasted, unfortunately, on four miles of stately, dripping French +elm trees which can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>not understand, and one richly appreciative +Australian subaltern who can.</p> + +<p>The battalion was not disappointed. The motor-buses brought it to a most +comfortable-looking village—pretty well as good as the one it had left. +It climbed out, and straightaway marched to another village five miles +distant. The darkness had come down—huge motor-wagons shouldered them +off the road into gutters, where they found themselves ankle deep in the +mud-heaps scraped by the road gangs. Every second wagon blinded them +with its two glaring gig-lamps, and slapped up the mud on to their +cheeks. A mule wagon, trotting up behind, splashed it into their back +hair, where they found it in dry beads of assorted sizes next morning. +It was raining dismally. The head of the column was commenting richly on +its surroundings—the platoon at the tail had ceased to comment at all. +The last couple were a pair who, I will swear, must have tramped +together many a long road over the Old Man Plains towards the evening +sun—old felt hats slightly battered; grim, set lips, knees and backs a +little bent with the act of carrying; and pack, oil sheet, mess tin +rising heavenwards in one mighty hump above their spines. At the gap in +a hedge, where the column<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> turned off into a sort of mud lake, stood an +officer whose kindly eyes were puckered from the glare of the central +Australian sun. You could have told they were Australians at a mile's +distance. He looked at them with a queer smile.</p> + +<p>"Are you the Scottish Horse?" he asked inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"We are the blanky camel corps," was the answer.</p> + +<p>That march at both ends of the motor trip was the adjutant's salvation. +When the battalion splashed up to its appointed billets, and found them +calculated for receiving only half of its number of soldiers awake, he +shifted two-thirds of them in; and, as they promptly fell to sleep the +moment the column ceased to move, he shifted in the remainder when they +were asleep.</p> + +<p>When the battalion drew its breath next morning, it was inclined to +think that it was enduring the full horror of war; and was preparing to +summarise the situation. But before it could draw a second breath it was +marched off to—to what I will call a reserve camp. It was not +technically a reserve camp, which was farther on; but they knew it was a +camp for battalions to rest in—when they have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> very good, and it +is desired to give them time to recover their wind. They were rather +"bucked" with the idea of this resting-place.</p> + +<p>At midday they arrived there. That is to say, they waded up to a +collection of little tents, not unlike bushmen's tents in Australia, and +stood knee deep at the entrances, looking into them—speechless. They +were not much by way of tents at the best of times. There was nearly as +much mud inside as there was outside. But on top of the normal +conditions came the fact that the last battalion to occupy those tents +must have camped there in dry weather. Since there was not enough +headroom upwards it had dug downwards. And, as it had not put a drain +round them, the water had come in, and the interior of a fair proportion +of these residences consisted of a circular lake, varying in depth from +a few inches to a foot and a half.</p> + +<p>The battalion could only find one word, when its breath came—and, as +the regiment which had made those holes, and the town major to whom they +now belonged, were probably of unimpeachable ancestry, I do not think +the accusation was justified. But when it realised that, good or bad, +this was the place where it was to pass the night, it split itself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> up, +as good Australian battalions have a way of doing.</p> + +<p>"Which is the way to our tents, Bill?" asked the rear platoon of one of +the band, which had arrived half an hour before.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—I'm not the blanky harbour-master," was the reply. The +battalion set to work, like a tribe of beavers, to make a home. It +banked up little parapets of mud to prevent water coming in. It dug +capacious drains to let the water which was in run out. It scraped the +mud out of the interior of its lake dwellings, until it reached more or +less dry earth. A fair proportion of the regiment melted out into the +landscape, and returned during the rest of the day by ones and twos, +carrying odd bits of timber, broken wood, bricks, fag ends of rusty +sheet iron, old posts, wire and straw. By nightfall those Australians +were, I will not say in comfort, but moderately and passably warm and +dry.</p> + +<p>It so happened that they stayed in that camp four days. By the time they +left it they were looking upon themselves as almost fortunate. There was +only one break in its improvement—and that was when a dug-out was +discovered. It was a charming underground home, dug by some French +battery before the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> British came—with bunks and a table and stove. The +privates who discovered it made a most comfortable home until its fame +got abroad, and the regimental headquarters were moved in there. +Dug-outs became all the fashion for the moment—everyone set about +searching for them. But the supply in any works on the Allied side is, +unfortunately, limited—and after half a day's enthusiasm the battalion +fell back resignedly on its canvas home.</p> + +<p>When it came back some time later to these familiar dwellings, +heavy-eyed and heavy-footed, there was no insincerity in the relief with +which it regarded them. They were a resting-place then. Another +battalion had kept them decently clean, and handed them over drained and +dry; for which thoughtfulness, not always met with, they were more +grateful than those tired men could have explained.</p> + +<p>For they had been up into the line, and the places behind the line, and +out again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE WINTER OF 1916</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, December 20th.</i></p> + + +<p>A friend has shown me a letter from Melbourne. Its writer had asked a +man—an educated man—if he would give a subscription for the Australian +Comforts Fund. "Certainly not," was the reply. "The men have every +comfort in the trenches."</p> + +<p>That is the sort of dense-skinned ignorance which makes one unspeakably +angry—the ignorance which, because it has heard of or read a letter +from some brave-hearted youngster, making light of hardships for his +mother's sake, therefore flies to the conclusion that everything written +and spoken about the horrors of this war is humbug, and what the Army +calls "eyewash"—a big conspiracy to deceive the people who are not +there.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, the early winter of 1916 which these men have just +been going through will have a chapter to itself in history as long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> as +history lasts. It is to some extent past history now—to what extent I +do not suppose anyone on the German side or ours can tell.</p> + +<p>I, personally, do not know how the men and their officers can live +through that sort of time. Remember that a fair proportion of them were +a few months ago adding up figures in the office of an insurance company +or a shipping firm—gulping down their midday coffee and roll in a +teashop in King or Collins Streets. But take even a Central District +farmer or a Newcastle miner—yes, or a Scottish shepherd or an English +poacher—take the hardest man you know, and put him to the same test, +and it is a question whether the ordeal would not break even his spirit. +Put him out of doors into the thick of a dirty European winter; march +him ten miles through a bitter cold wind and driving rain, with—on his +back—all the clothing, household furniture, utensils and even the only +cover which he is allowed to take with him; dribble him in through mud +up to his knees—sometimes up to his waist—along miles and miles of +country that is nothing but broken tree stumps and endless shell +holes—holes into which, if a man were to fall, he might lie for days +before he were found, or even might never be found at all. After many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +hours, trickle him, half dead with dragging his feet at every step out +of the putty-like mud, into a shallow, straggling, open ditch not in any +way different from a watery drain between two sodden country paddocks, +except that there is no grass about it—nothing but brown, slippery mud +on floor and trench sides and over the country in all directions as far +as eye can see. At the end of it all put him to live there, with what +baggage he carried on his back and nothing more; put him in various +depths of mud, to stay there all day in rain, wind, fog, hail, +snowstorm—whatever weather comes—and to watch there during the endless +winter nights, when the longed-for dawn only means another day and +another night out there in the mud ditch, without a shred of cover. And +this is what our men have had to go through.</p> + +<p>The longed-for relief comes at last—a change to other shell-battered +areas in support or reserve—and the battalion comes back down the long +road to the rear, white-faced and dreary-eyed, dragging slowly through +the mud without a word. For they have been through a life of which you, +or any people past and present who have not been to this war, have not +the first beginnings of a conception; something beside which a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> South +Polar expedition is a dance and a picnic. And that is without taking +into account the additional fact that night and day, on the Somme where +these conditions existed, men live under the unceasing sound of guns. I +can hear them as I write—it is the first longed-for gloriously bright +day, and therefore there is not an interval of a second in that +continuous roar, hour after hour. There is nothing like it anywhere else +in the world—there has never yet been anything to approach it except at +Verdun.</p> + +<p>Life is hard enough in winter in the old-established trenches along more +settled parts of the front—there is plenty for the Comforts Fund to do +there. Dropping into the best of quiet front trenches straight from his +home life the ordinary man would consider himself as undergoing +hardships undreamt of. Visiting those trenches straight from the Somme +the other day, with their duck-boards and sandbags, and the occasional +ping of a sniper's bullet, and the momentary spasm of field guns and +trench mortars which appeared in the official summary next day as +"artillery and trench mortar activity"—after the Somme, I say, one +found oneself looking on it, in the terms of the friend who went with +me, as "war de luxe."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is unwise to take what one man writes of one place as true of all +places or all times, or indeed of anything except what he personally +sees and knows at the moment. These conditions which I have described +are what I have seen, and are fortunately past history, or I should not +be describing them. I personally know that English troops, Scottish +troops and Australian troops went through them, and have, in some cases, +issued from such trenches and taken similar German trenches in front of +them. Our troops are more comfortable than they were, but it is in the +nature of war to find yourself plunged into extremes of exertion and +hardship without warning; and no man knows when he writes to-day—and I +doubt whether anyone of his superiors could tell him—whether he will, +at any given date, be in a worse condition or a better one.</p> + +<p>What the German is going through on his side of the muddy landscape is +described in another chapter. For our grand men—and though to be called +a hero is the last thing most Australians desire, the men are never +grander than at these times—the Australian Comforts Fund, the Y.M.C.A. +and the canteen groceries provide almost all the comfort that ever +enters that grim region. In the areas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> to which those tired men come for +a spell, the Comforts Fund is beginning to give them theatres for +concert troupes and cinemas. It provides some hundreds of pounds to be +spent locally on the most obtainable small luxuries at Christmas, +besides such gifts in kind as Christmas brings.</p> + +<p>But, for those who are actually in the front or just behind it, one cup +of warm coffee in a jam-tin from a roadside stall has been, in certain +times and places, all that can be given; the Fund has given that, and it +has been the landmark in the day for many men. In those conditions there +was but one occasional solace. A friend of mine found an Australian in +the trenches in those days, standing in mud nearly to his waist, +shivering in his arms and every body muscle, leaning back against the +trench side, fast asleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>AS IN THE WORLD'S DAWN</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, December 20th.</i></p> + + +<p>Yesterday morning we were looking across a bare, shallow valley at the +opposite knuckle of hill-side, around the foot of which the valley +doubled back out of sight. A solitary grey line of broken earth ran like +a mole burrow up the bare knuckle and vanished over the top. A line of +bare, dead willow stumps marked a few yards of the hollow below. On the +skyline, beyond the valley's end, stood out a distant line of ghostly +trees—so faint and blue as to be scarcely distinguishable from the sky. +There was nothing else in the landscape—absolutely nothing but the +bare, blank shape of the land; save for those old ghosts of departed +willows—no trees—no grass—no colour—no living or moving or singing +or sounding thing.</p> + +<p>Only—that morning at dawn had found a number of men tumbling, jumping, +running, dodging in and out of the shell-holes across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> that slope, +making towards our lines. The peck of occasional rifles came from some +farther part of the grey, featureless hill-side—the report was the only +trace of the rifles or of the men firing them. But as the men who were +dodging back were Australians the rifles must have been the rifles of +Germans, in trenches or shell-holes, somewhere on the face of that +waste. Who these Australians were, the men who watched from where we +stood did not know. Apparently they were men who had lost their way in +the dark and wandered beyond our trenches; as the light grew they had +suddenly realised that they were in front of our front line, and not +behind it, as they thought, and had come tumbling back over the craters. +They all reached the trench safely.</p> + +<p>For this battle has now reached such a formless, featureless landscape, +that it is a hard thing to tell whether you are looking at your own +country or the German country, or the country between the lines. The +stretch between the two sides has for the moment widened, the Germans +abandoning many of their waterlogged, sodden ditches close in front of +our lines, and contenting themselves with fighting a sort of rearguard +action there, while they tunnel, bore, dig, burrow like moles into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +farther heights where their reserve line runs near Bapaume. The battle +has widened out generally over the landscape.</p> + +<p>It is a very great difference from that boiling, bursting nightmare of +Pozières, where the whole struggle tightened down to little more than +one narrow hill-top. This battle is now being fought in a sort of +dreamland of brown mudholes, which the blue northern mist turns to a +dull purple grey. The shape of the land is there, the hills, valleys, +lines of willow stumps, ends of broken telegraph poles. But the colour +is all gone. It is as though the bed of the ocean had suddenly risen, as +though the ocean depths had become valleys and the ocean mudbanks hills, +and the whole earth were a creation of slime. It is as though you +suddenly looked out upon the birth of the world, before the grass had +yet begun to spring and when the germs of primitive life still lay in +the slime which covered it; an old, old age before anything moved on the +earth or sang in the air, and when the naked bones of the earth lay bare +under the naked sky century after century, with no change or movement +save when the cloud shadows chased across it, or the storms lashed it, +or the evening sunlight glinted from the water trapped in its +meaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>less hollows. It is to that unremembered chaos that German ideas +of life have reduced the world.</p> + +<p>Up the hill-side opposite there is running a strange purple-grey streak +between two purple-grey banks. There is something mysterious in this +flat ribbon, ruled, as if by the hand of man, across that primeval +colourless slope. The line of it can be traced distinctly over the hill +and out of sight. It takes a moment's thinking to realise that the grey +streak was once a road. It is a road which one has read of as the centre +of some desultory fighting. I dare say it will appear in its own small +way in history. "The battalion next attacked along the Bapaume-Cambrai +road"—to give it a name it does not own; and readers will picture the +troops in khaki dodging along a hedge, beneath green, leafy elm +trees....</p> + +<p>Something moved. Yes, as I live, something is moving up that old +purple-grey scar across the hill-side. Two figures in pink, untanned +leather waistcoats are strolling up the old road, side by side. Their +hands are in their trousers pockets, and the only sign of war visible +about them is their copper-green hats. A sniper's rifle pecks somewhere +in the landscape thereabout, but the two figures do not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> even turn a +head. They are Bill and Jim from South Melbourne let loose upon the +antediluvian landscape, strolling up it, yawning. And they gave me much +the same shock as if some green and pink animal had suddenly issued from +its unsuspected burrow in a field of primeval grey slime and begun +crawling over its face to some haunt in the slime elsewhere. Two other +distant figures were moving on the far hill-side too. Perhaps it was at +them the rifle was pecking; for to our certain knowledge the crest of +that hill was German territory.</p> + +<p>Men lose their bearings in that sort of country every day. Germans find +themselves behind our lines without knowing that they have even passed +over their own; and an Australian carrying party has been known to +deposit its hot food, in the warm food containers, all ready steaming to +be eaten, in German territory. To their great credit be it said that the +party got back safely to the Australian trenches—save for one who is +missing and three who lie out there, face upwards.... Brave men.</p> + +<p>There is only one time when that unearthly landscape returns to itself +again. I suppose men and women lived in those valleys once; French +farmers' girls tugged home at dusk up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> that ghostly roadway slow-footed, +reluctant cows; I dare say they even made love—French lads and +sweethearts—down some long obliterated path beside those willow stumps +where the German patrol sneaks nightly from shell-hole to shell-hole. +There comes an afternoon when the sky turns dull yellow-white like an +old smoker's beard, and before dusk the snowflakes begin to fall. Far +back the cursing drivers are dragging their jibbing horses past +half-frozen shell-holes, which they can scarcely see. And out there, +where the freezing sentries keep watch over the fringe where +civilisation grinds against the German—out there under the tender white +mantle, flickering pink and orange under the gun flashes—out there for +a few short hours the land which Kultur has defaced comes by its own.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>THE GRASS BANK</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, December 10th</i>.</p> + + +<p>The connection of Tamar the Hammerhead, who cut the Grass Bank out of +the forest, with Timothy Gibbs, of Booligal, in New South Wales, may not +be clear at first sight. Tam's beech forest covered two or three green +hills in Gaul at the time when Caius Sulpicius, and his working party of +the Tenth Legion, were laying down new paving stones on the big road +from Amiens over the hill-tops. The wagon carrying the military +secretary to the Governor had bumped uncomfortably down that long slope +the week before; and as the Tenth Legion was resting, its commanding +officer received, two days later, an order to detail another fatigue +party. The big trees looked down on a string of private soldiers +shouldering big square paving stones from a neighbouring dump, where the +wagons stood, and fitting them carefully into the pavement, and—and +otherwise enjoying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> their rest. Caius Sulpicius and his orderly officer +stood watching them. The orderly officer leant on his stick. Caius had a +piece of bread in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other. His +forearm was black with grubbing amongst the paving stones.</p> + +<p>"When the Tenth Legion gets a rest without some old brass helmet helping +us to spend it," he said with his mouth full, "I'll begin to think the +end of the war is coming."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't it strike old Brassribs to make the inhabitants do a job of +work occasionally?" he added presently. "Now, in the old general's +time—"</p> + +<p>Far down on the edge of the forest, across two or three miles of rolling +hills, a patch of orange earth, newly turned, caught the orderly +officer's eye. One of the inhabitants was doing a job of work there, +anyway. Two days ago he had passed that way in a stroll after parade. A +mallet-headed man, his bare arm-muscles orange with mud, was piling up +an earthen embankment on the hill-side. A patch of the forest had been +allowed to him. In two years he had cut out the trees and undergrowth. +He was now trying to make his patch of hill-side level. The orange mud +bank of his terrace had been the labour of twelve months, and there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> was +a year's work in it yet. He had scarcely hoped to possess even a rood of +land, and now he had two acres. He was going to use every inch of it. +That was Tamar the Hammerhead's life's work.</p> + +<p>The Tenth Legion did get its rest. Caius lay beneath a moss-covered, +tilted gravestone—long, long forgotten—not so far from the great road. +One of a much later generation of orderly officers, who had scraped part +of the inscription clean with his penknife, went back and told the mess +at dinner that he had come across the grave of an officer of their own +unit, who had died thereabouts in some camp a hundred and fifty years +before. He did not mention that, on his stroll, he had scrambled down a +steep grass bank which ran curiously across the hill-side. There was +green grass above it, and green grass below it; and green grass and +patches of ploughland all over the downs. The white frost still hung to +the blades, though it was midday. The remnant of a small wood stood from +the hill-side. "I must get a fatigue party on to that timber to-morrow," +had said the orderly officer to himself.</p> + +<p>And so it was that the forest passed away—the general service wagons +from the neighbouring Roman camp called there daily for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> sixty years for +fuel cut by generations of fatigue parties. The only trees left, over +miles of sloping downs, were the thickets around the villages and one +row of walnut trees growing along the top of that steep grass +embankment—the one remnant of Hammerhead's old orchard. Years later the +tow-haired Franks swept through the country. The walnut trees were cut +by a farmer for the uprights in his long barn. His children rolled down +the old bank in their games, and in bad baby Latin invited the +youngsters of the farm next door to charge up "the Grass Bank" while +they defended it. The generations, whose bad Latin gradually became +French, still spoke of Hammerhead's old landmark—now situated in a +large grass field—as "The Grass Bank."</p> + +<p>On the military maps some way behind the arterial system of red lines +which stood for the German trenches—exactly as on a German map it +stands for ours—was a shaded mark shaped like an elongated pea pod. +There was no name to it—but a note in some pigeonhole of the local +Intelligence Officer stated that the inhabitants called the place "The +Grass Bank." Through it the map showed a lonely little red capillary, +wandering by itself for a quarter of an inch, and fading off into +nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> again. The stout German colonel of the local artillery +group—big guns which barked mostly of nights—having found his forward +observation post knocked in by a small field-gun shell, had come back +and growled like a bear all dinner-time, most inconsequentially, about +the lack of cover from heavy shells in the back areas. His real object +was to abuse the men at the table with him; but one junior Staff +Officer, hankering after promotion, looked round for the best dug-out +site; and caused to be burrowed downwards, from the bottom of a steep +grassy bank which ran half-way across a neighbouring field, four narrow +dark tunnels leading into low square rooms, held up with stout beams, +and all connected with each other. Two were lined with rough bunks on +wooden frames folding against the wall. Another held a table covered +with papers, a telephone switchboard, and four busy clerks. The fourth +was panelled carefully with deal, the ceiling neatly gridironed with +dark stained wood, a cupboard let into a recess with a looking-glass +panel above it, a comfortable bunk with an electric bulb above the +pillow and a telephone by the bedside. The group commander slept there +undisturbed, even when the British suddenly pushed their front forward, +and the Grass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> Bank began to shake with the thump of 9-inch shells. The +junior Staff Officer wonders why he is a junior Staff Officer still.</p> + +<p>The great battle climbed like some slow, devouring monster up one green +slope, down the next, and up the green slopes beyond, clawing on to +green fields, and leaving them behind it a wilderness of pock-marked +slime. One of the many small obstacles, which held up its local progress +for a while, was some sort of nest of Germans behind a certain bank. +Several attacks had been made on it. The Intelligence Officer of an +Australian Brigade followed the Intelligence Officer of an Australian +Battalion on his stomach, for one night, up to the barbed wire; and gave +it as his opinion that the enemy kept his machine-guns in dug-outs at +the bottom of the bank. Later, a wild night of driving rain, and +flashes, and crashes, and black forms struggling in the mud against the +glint of flares on slimy white crater edges, left things still +uncertain.</p> + +<p>It was there that Tim Gibbs came in—and Booligal. Tradition in New +South Wales puts the climate of Hay, Hell, and Booligal in that order. +Tim had driven starving, rickety sheep across his native plains when the +earth's surface had been powdered to red sand and driven by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> shrivelling +westerlies in travelling sandhills from mirage to summer mirage. Tim was +used to hot places. That is why he became a stretcher-bearer for his +company in Gallipoli, and transferred to the regimental bombers when +they reached France. When they came to a sea of brown mud waves, which +some cynic had misnamed the "Grass Bank," it was not Tim who volunteered +to take it. He had been in far too many hot corners to retain any of his +old hankering after them, and the Grass Bank was hotter than Booligal. +He went for the place because his colonel told him to—went cheerfully +to do a thing he horribly disliked, without letting anyone guess by word +or deed or the least little sign that he disliked it—which, if you +think of it, is more heroic by a long chalk.</p> + +<p>It was after dark on a winter's night that he and his men—about sixteen +of them—crept out up a slimy trench deep to the knees in sloppy mud; +peered at the enemy's wire against the skyline; half crawled, half slid +through a gap in it, and disappeared, Tim leading. A white flash—a +shower of bombs—red and orange flares breaking like Roman candles in +the sky—the chatter of a machine-gun—the enemy's barrage presently +shrieking down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> vault of heaven. A dozen wounded men came back +before dawn. And Tim—Tim lay with his face to the stars, dreaming for +ever and ever of red plains and travelling sheep, on the edge of Tamar +the Hammerhead's Grass Bank.</p> + +<p>Slime Trench—Grass Bank—Gibbs' Corner—you will read of them all in +their chapter in the War's History. They were in every map for a +month—the newspapers made headings of them—they were household words +in London suburbs and Melbourne teashops. A month later the flood of +battle swept past them all in a great general attack without so much as +pausing to look. Two months—and a string of lorries pushed up a newly +made road until a policeman held them up, just as he would in London, to +let some cross stream of traffic through. One of the crossing lorries +bumped into a hole and impaled itself on a beam that had fallen off the +lorry ahead. The two drivers of a lorry far behind climbed up a steep, +shell-shattered neighbouring bank, and munched bread and bully beef +while the afternoon grew to dusk and gun flashes showed like lightning +on the angry low winter clouds ahead.</p> + +<p>"What they want to get us stuck in this flaming mud-hole for?" said the +driver to the second driver. "The Huns must have had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> dug-out down +there, Bill," he added, pointing to certain splintered, buried timber at +the foot of the bank.</p> + +<p>Now there may be no such place as the Grass Bank; and there may have +been no Hammerhead nor Tim Gibbs; and he did not come from Booligal. But +the story is true to this extent—that it happens all the time upon this +battlefield.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>IN THE MUD OF LE BARQUE</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, December 20th.</i></p> + + +<p>By the muddy, shell-pitted roadside of the sunken road in Le Barque, +behind the German lines, were found three shapeless forms. The mud +dripped from them as they lay, but they were the forms of men. And the +German soldiers who saw them, and who buried them, took it that they +were men who had not lost their lives from any shell wound; that they +had not been killed by the fire of our machine-guns, or by stray +bullets. They put down the death of those men to the mud and the mud +alone. The sunken road at Le Barque had been mashed with shells and +trampled to slime with traffic; some runner from battalion headquarters +at night, slipping through the sleet, some couple of men straggling +after the tail of an incoming platoon on a wild night when the English +barrage suddenly startled them and caused them to miss the path by a few +yards in the blackness, had stumbled un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>noticed into a shell-hole. All +their company officer knew was that they were missing—and no trace of +them was found until three bodies were dragged from a shell crater, when +men told stories of men missed there before.</p> + +<p>Now, I do not know if it really was the mud which engulfed alive the +three Germans who lay beside the sunken road of Le Barque; but I know +that their comrades thought it was. And that is a simple proof that the +mud, of which the Germans talk so much, is not all on the British side +of the trenches.</p> + +<p>Looking from our lines yesterday across a valley one noticed a German +trench running up the farther side, the grey mud parapet heaped out, +like the earth of one long, continuous grave, on both sides of the +trench. Behind that trench, along its whole length, as far as we could +see, ran a sinuous thread of light-coloured soil. It was the beaten +track by which the Germans had moved up and down their trench. They +could not move <i>in</i> the trench, so when they wanted to move they had to +hop up and move outside of it. If we were sniping by day they could not +move at all; and the track had probably been made by Germans moving at +night. It hugged the trench in case we started shooting or +shelling—when the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> Germans could at once jump back into the mud again.</p> + +<p>The Germans in some parts of the Somme battlefield have been going down +with frostbite in great numbers, so great as to put at least one +battalion out of action. This is through getting feet wet and frozen in +muddy trenches. To reach their front line, last month, in these valleys +in front of Bapaume and Le Transloy, has been quite impossible to the +Germans unless they went up over the open, or used such trenches as a +self-respecting man could scarcely enter. They came up, as would any +other soldiers under the same circumstances, across the open land. Even +then there were places which a man could scarcely pass. I know a man +who, in that same sunken road at Le Barque, pulled two of his comrades +by force out of the mud—an everyday matter. They left their boots and +socks in the mud behind them.</p> + +<p>If a man is wounded in some of those German trenches it takes eight men +to get him to the dressing station and five hours to arrive there, and +very much longer if there is any fighting in progress. One would not say +that any of these difficulties have been more acute amongst the Germans +than with the British<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> and Australians—in some ways our men have faced +and overcome greater hardships than the Germans. But there is this chief +difference—the German is now getting back the shells which for two +years he rained upon the British. And he is talking—like a +German—about the unfairness of it.</p> + +<p>The German Staff claims that German infantry is the best in the world. +Certainly it is tough, and thoroughly convinced that it is better than +any of its friends. "The Turk is a pretty good fighter," said a German +to me a few days ago, "and the Bulgars fight well. The Austrians are +worth little. Every time the Russians drive the Austrians back they have +to call us in to repulse the Russians again for them."</p> + +<p>The German infantryman is tough, but not tougher than ours, and without +the dash; his outstanding virtue is his great power of work. But I do +not believe from what I have seen that he works one scrap harder than +the Australian. He might be supposed to have his heart more in the war +than the soldier of any other nation, but he certainly has not. Many +German soldiers have told me that there was a universal longing for the +war to end—but they seem to wonder at your asking them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> what they +think, or what their people in Germany think—as though it mattered one +straw. They tell you, in a detached sort of way, that a great many of +their people in Germany are tired of the war. "But they have no +influence on these matters," they say, "nor have the soldiers. We do not +meet together—we have nothing to say with it. They would go on with the +war all next year even if a million more men are killed—they will bring +back all the wounded, and the sick, if necessary."</p> + +<p>The German who used those words seemed to have no quarrel with those who +were driving his country, and no pride in them—he did not approve and +he did not disapprove. He seemed to accept them as part of the +unquestioned, unchangeable laws of his existence; they were there—and +what business was it of his to interfere with them?</p> + +<p>One can scarcely see a gleam of hope for them in the attitude of their +prisoners—a people that cannot rebel. But perhaps it is unfair to +judge.</p> + +<p>For these men, whom we now see, have been at long, long last through the +fire of guns heavier than their own; and through the mud of Le Barque.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW DRAFT</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, December 11th.</i></p> + + +<p>A fair-sized shell recently arrived in a certain front trench held by +Australians in France. It exploded, and an Australian found himself +struggling amongst some debris in No Man's Land. He tried to haul +himself clear, but the tumbled rubbish kept him down; and, as often as +he was seen to move, bullets whizzed past him from a green slope near +by. The green slope ran like a low railway embankment along the other +side of the unkempt paddock between the trenches. It was the German +front line.</p> + +<p>Finally one of his mates, I am told, jumped over to his help and dragged +him clear. When he got in he asked to be put into the very next party +that should visit the German trenches. He wanted his own back.</p> + +<p>He was one of the newest Australians. That is exactly the sort of +request that would have been made by the oldest ones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>We have seen the newest Australian draft in France, and the verdict from +first to last amongst those who know them is, "They will do." There is +always a certain amount of chaff thrown out by the oldest Australians at +the latest arrivals. The sort of Australian who used to talk about our +"tinpot navy" labelled the Australians who rushed at the chance of +adventure the moment the recruiting lists were opened "the six bob a day +tourists." Well—the "Tourists" made a name for Australia such as no +other Australians can ever have the privilege to make. The next shipment +were the "Dinkums"—the men who came over on principle to fight for +Australia—the real, fair dinkum<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>Australians. After them came the +"Super-dinkums"—and the next the "War Babies," and after them the +"Chocolate Soldiers," then the "Hard Thinkers," who were pictured as +thinking very hard before they came. And then the "Neutrals." "We know +they are not against the Allies," the others said, when came news of the +latest drafts still training steadily under peace conditions, "we know +they are not against us—we suppose they are just neutral."</p> + +<p>There has always been some chaff thrown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> at the latest arrival—and it +is a mistake to think that there was never any feeling behind the chaff. +I remember long ago at Anzac when a new draft was moving up past some of +the older troops—past men who were thin with disease and overworn with +heavy work—there was a cry of "You have come at last, have you?" flung +in a tone of which the bitterness was unmistakable. There has always +been a feeling, amongst the older troops here, that they have been +holding the fort—hanging on for Australia's name until the others have +time to come along and give them a hand. There is a tendency to feel +that soldiers who are still at home are getting all the limelight—the +parading of streets and praises of the newspapers—and will probably +live to reap most of the glory at the end of it all.</p> + +<p>If so, there was never a feeling that melted more quickly the moment +each new draft arrives and is really tested. The moment it goes into the +whirl of a modern battle, and acquits itself through some wild night as +every Australian draft always has done in its first fight and always +will do, every sign of that old feeling melts as if it had never +existed; and the new draft finds itself taken into the heart of the old +force on the same terms as the oldest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> and proudest regiment there. I +make no apology for talking of them as "old" regiments. There are +regiments in this war, not three years old, which have seen as much +terrible fighting as others whose record goes back over hundreds of +years. Ages ago, prehistoric ages, the "Dinkums" became a title for men +to be intensely proud of. Men who were through the first fortnight at +Pozières need never be ashamed to compare their experiences with those +of any soldiers in the world, for it is the literal truth that there has +never in history been a harder battle fought. The "Chocolate Soldiers" +became veterans in one terrible struggle. The "War Babies" were old +soldiers almost before they had cut their teeth. It is one of the pities +of the censorship, but a necessary one, that the Australian public +cannot know, until the story of this war is fully told at the end of it, +the famous Australian battalions which will most assuredly go down to +history as household names.</p> + +<p>And if there are not battalions, amongst the newest troops, which will +go down to history with some of the very best Australia possesses—then +I am a German. They have had a wonderful training of late—a training +which can only be compared in thoroughness with that of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> Mena Camp in +Egypt where our first troops trained, and with the full experience of +this war to back it. The British authorities are equipping the new +Australian drafts generously. The discipline of Australians, once they +come to understand their work, has never given the slightest real +anxiety to those responsible for them. The newest men have exactly the +same straight frank look and speech as has every other batch that I have +seen. If there is any difference between them first and last I will be +bound that it is beyond the keenest eye to detect it.</p> + +<p>Indeed, if there is a difference between one Australian infantry +battalion and another, it is, and has always been, a matter of officers. +A commander who can make all his subordinates feel that they are pulling +in the same boat's crew—that they are all swinging together, not only +with their own but with every other battalion and brigade; who can make +them look upon themselves as all helping in the one big cause; who can +make them regard the difficulty of another battalion merely as a chance +for freely and fully assisting it—a commander who can do these things +with his officers can make a wonderful force of his Australians. This +may sound abstract and vague, but it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> real to such an extent that it +is the main reason of all differences that exist between Australian +units.</p> + +<p>Australian units have, like the Scots, a wonderful confidence in each +other. They have been proud to fight by the side of grand regiments and +divisions; but I fancy they would rather fight beside other Australians +or New Zealanders than beside the most famous units in the world. +Chaffing apart, that is the feeling of the oldest unit towards the +newest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>"Dinkum"—Australian for "true."</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>WHY HE IS NOT "THE ANZAC"</h3> + +<p style="text-align: right"><i>France, November 28th.</i></p> + + +<p>"You don't call us the Anzacs, do you?" asked the man with the elbow +sling appealingly. "You call us just Australians and New Zealanders, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>I hesitated for a minute or two racking my brain—it seemed to me that +once, some months back, I had used that convenient term in a cabled +message.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't for goodness sake say you do it, too," said the owner of the +elbow sling pathetically. "Isn't Australians good enough?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure—once—I may have. Not for a long time, anyway. I +sometimes speak of the Anzac troops or the Anzac guns."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that is all right—Anzac troops—there's no objection to that—we +are that," went on the grammarian with the elbow sling, "but there's no +such thing as an Anzac—the Anzacs—it's nonsense."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>I remember that day well. It was the day before their first entry on the +Somme. The man with the elbow sling had stopped a shrapnel pellet one +frosty morning eight months before at Anzac; the man who sat next to him +had a Turkish shrapnel shell burst between his shins at Hell Spit. They +were some of the oldest hands, back again, and about to plunge with the +oldest division into the heaviest battle the division had yet faced.</p> + +<p>It was more than a grammatical objection. You know the way in which it +makes you wince, if ever you have lived in Australia or New Zealand or +Canada, to hear people talk of "the colonies" or "the colonials." The +people who use the words do not realise that there is anything unpopular +in their use, although the objection is really quite universal in the +self-governing States, and represents a revolt against an out-of-date +point of view which still lingers in some quarters.</p> + +<p>In the same way anyone who <i>is</i> in touch with them knows that to speak +of the feats of "an Anzac" or of "the Anzacs" is unpopular with the men +to whom it is applied. You will never hear the men refer to themselves +as Anzacs. They call themselves simply Australians or New Zealanders.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is an interesting mental phase. The reason of it is not that +Australians and New Zealanders dislike being clubbed together. Quite the +reverse—the Australians are never more satisfied than when they are +next to the New Zealanders. The two certainly feel themselves in some +respects one and inseparable to a greater extent than any other troops +here. They are proud of Anzac as the name of their corps, and as the +name of that hill-side in Gallipoli where their graves lie side by side. +The reason why they always avoid calling themselves "the Anzacs" is that +the term was at one time associated in the Press with so many highly +coloured, imaginative, mock heroic stories of individual feats, which +they were supposed to have performed, that its use from that time forth +was, by a sort of tacit consent, irrevocably damned within the force. +The picture which it called up was that of the "Anzac" in London, with +his shining gaiters and buttons and generally unauthorised cock's +feathers in his hat, reaping the glory of the acrobatic performances +which his battered countrymen, very unlovely with sweat and dust, were +credited with achieving in No Man's Land. This was before the Somme +fight, when first these Gallipoli troops came to Europe. The regular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +British war correspondents were not responsible for it—this nonsense +was not written by them; when the day of real trial came they wrote of +it conscientiously and brilliantly, and nothing that could be written +was too much. But the vogue of the wildest stories of the "Anzacs" was +when Australians and New Zealanders were doing little beyond hard work +in France, and knew it. The noun "an Anzac" now bears with it, in the +force, the suggestion of a man who rather approves of that sort of +"swank"; and there are few of them.</p> + +<p>The Australian and New Zealander are both intensely, overwhelmingly +proud of their nationality; and only good can come of the pride. They +are also intensely proud of their two-year-old units—and one of the +drawbacks of the necessary rules of censorship is, that battalions of +our army, which are famous throughout the force by name, have to be +known to you only through vague references. Their character and history, +as distinct and strongly marked as those of different men, will only +come to be known to Australia when the history of these campaigns comes +to be written.<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 85%;" /> +<h4><span class="smcap">Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.4</span></h4> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM FRANCE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 18390-h.txt or 18390-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/9/18390</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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E. W. Bean + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Letters from France + + +Author: C. E. W. Bean + + + +Release Date: May 14, 2006 [eBook #18390] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM FRANCE*** + + +E-text prepared by Elaine Walker, Paul Ereaut, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 18390-h.htm or 18390-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390/18390-h/18390-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390/18390-h.zip) + + + + + +LETTERS FROM FRANCE + +by + +C. E. W. BEAN + +War Correspondent for the Commonwealth of Australia + +With a Map and Eight Plates + + + + + + + +[Illustration: AUSTRALIANS WATCHING THE BOMBARDMENT OF POZIERES +Their mates were beneath that bombardment at the time] + + + + +Cassell and Company, Ltd +London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne + +1917 + + + + +To those other Australians who fell in the Sharpest Action their +Force has known, on July 19, 1916, before Fromelles, these Memories of a +Greater, but not a Braver, Battle are herewith Dedicated + + + + +PREFACE + + +These letters are in no sense a history--except that they contain the +truth. They were written at the time and within close range of the +events they describe. Half of the fighting, including the brave attack +before Fromelles, is left untouched on, for these pages do not attempt +to narrate the full story of the Australian Imperial Force in France. +They were written to depict the surroundings in which, and the spirit +with which, that history has been made; first in the quiet green Flemish +lowlands, then with a swift, sudden plunge into the grim, reeking, naked +desolation of the Somme. The record of the A.I.F., and its now +historical units in their full action, will be painted upon that +background some day. If these letters convey some reflection of the +spirit which fought at Pozieres, their object is well fulfilled. The +author's profits are devoted to the fund for nursing back to useful +citizenship Australians blinded or maimed in the war. + +C. E. W. Bean. + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + Preface + + 1. A Padre who said the Right Thing + + 2. To the Front + + 3. The First Impression--A Country with Eyes + + 4. The Road to Lille + + 5. The Differences + + 6. The Germans + + 7. The Planes + + 8. The Coming Struggle: Our Task + + 9. In a Forest of France + +10. Identified + +11. The Great Battle Begins + +12. The British--Fricourt and La Boiselle + +13. The Dug-outs of Fricourt + +14. The Raid + +15. Pozieres + +16. An Abysm of Desolation + +17. Pozieres Ridge + +18. The Green Country + +19. Trommelfeuer + +20. The New Fighting + +21. Angels' Work + +22. Our Neighbour + +23. Mouquet Farm + +24. How the Australians were Relieved + +25. On Leave to a New England + +26. The New Entry + +27. A Hard Time + +28. The Winter of 1916 + +29. As in the World's Dawn + +30. The Grass Bank + +31. In the Mud of Le Barque + +32. The New Draft + +33. Why He is not "The Anzac" + + + + +LIST OF PLATES + + +Australians Watching the Bombardment of Pozieres + +Sketch Map + +"Talking with the Kiddies in the Street" + +"An Occasional Broken Tree-Trunk" + +No Man's Land + +Along the Road to Lille + +The Trenches here have to be Built Above the Ground in Breastwork + +A Main Street of Pozieres + +The Church Pozieres + +The Windmill of Pozieres + +The Barely Recognisable Remains of a Trench + +The Tumbled Heap of Bricks and Timber which the World Knows as Mouquet +Farm + +"Past the Mud-Heaps Scraped by the Road Gangs" + + + + + +[Illustration: Rough sketch showing some of the German defences of +Pozieres and the direction of the Australian attacks between July 22 and +September 4, 1916. (From Pozieres to Mouquet Farm is just over a +mile.)] + + + + +LETTERS FROM FRANCE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A PADRE WHO SAID THE RIGHT THING + +_France, April 8th, 1916._ + + +The sun glared from a Mediterranean sky and from the surface of the +Mediterranean sea. The liner heaved easily to a slow swell. In the waist +of the ship a densely packed crowd of sunburnt faces upturned towards a +speaker who leaned over the rail of the promenade deck above. Beside the +speaker was a slight figure with three long rows of ribbons across the +left breast. Every man in the Australian Imperial Force is as proud of +those ribbons as the leader who wears them so modestly. + +Australian ships had been moving through those waters for days. High +over one's head, as one listened to that speaker, there sawed the +wireless aerial backwards and forwards across the silver sky. Only +yesterday that aerial had intercepted a stammering signal from far, far +away over the brim of the world. "S.O.S.," it ran, "S.O.S." There +followed half inarticulate fragments of a latitude. That evening about +sundown we ran into the shreds of some ocean conversation about boats' +crews, and about someone who was still absent--just that broken fragment +in the buzz of the wireless conversation which runs around the world. A +big Australian transport, we knew, was some twelve hours away from us +upon the waters. Could it be about her that these personages of the +ocean were calling one to another? Days afterwards we heard that it had +not been an Australian or any other transport. + +Somewhere in those dazzling seas there was an eye watching for us too, +just above the water, and always waiting--waiting--waiting--. It would +have been a rich harvest, that crowded deck below one. If the monster +struck just there he could not fail to kill many with the mere +explosion. But I don't believe a man in the crowd gave it a thought. The +strong, tanned, clean-shaven faces under the old slouch hats were all +gazing up in rapt attention at the speaker. For he was telling them the +right thing. + +He was not a regular chaplain--there was no regular padre in that ship, +and we were likely to have no church parade until there was discovered +amongst the reinforcement officers one little subaltern who was a padre +in Tasmania, but who was going to the front as a fighting man. We had +heard other padres speak to troops on the eve of their plunging into a +great enterprise, when the sermon had made some of us wish that we only +had the power and gift to seize that wonderful opportunity as it might +be seized, and have done with texts and doctrines and speak to the men +as men. Every man there had his ideals--he was giving his life, as like +as not, because, however crude the exterior, there was an eye within +which saw truly and surely through the mists. And now when they stood on +the brink of the last great sacrifice, could he not seize upon those +truths--? + +But this time we simply stood and wondered. For that slip of a figure in +khaki, high up there with one hand on the stanchion and the other +tapping the rail, was telling them a thousand times better than any of +us could ever have put it to himself exactly the things one would have +longed to say. + +He told them first, his voice firm with conviction, that God had not +populated this world with saints, but with ordinary human men; and that +they need not fear that, simply because they might not have been +churchgoers or lived what the world calls religious lives, therefore God +would desert them in the danger and trials and perhaps the death to +which they went. "If I thought that God wished any man to be tortured +eternally," he said, "to be tortured for all time and not to have any +hope of heaven, then I would go down to Hell cheerfully with a smile on +my lips rather than worship such a being. I don't know whether a man may +put it beyond the power of God to help him. But I know this, that +whether you are bad or good, or religious or not religious, God is with +you all the time trying to help you. + +"And what have we to fear now?" he went on, raising his eyes for a +moment from the puckered, interested brown foreheads below him and +looking out over the shimmering distant silver of the horizon, as if +away over there, over the edge of the world, he could read what the next +few months had in store for them. "We know what we have come for, and we +know that it is right. We have all read of the things which have +happened in Belgium and in France. We know that the Germans invaded a +peaceful country and brought these horrors into it, we know how they +tore up treaties like so much paper; how they sank the _Lusitania_ and +showered their bombs on harmless women and children in London and in the +villages of England. We came of our own free wills--we came to say that +this sort of thing shall not happen in the world so long as we are in +it. We know that we are doing right, and I tell you that on this mission +on which we have come, so long as every man plays the game and plays it +cleanly, he need not fear about his religion--for what else is his +religion than that? Play the game and God will be with you--never fear. + +"And what if some of us do pass over before this struggle is ended--what +is there in that? If it were not for the dear ones whom he leaves behind +him, mightn't a man almost pray for a death like that? The newspapers +too often call us heroes, but we know we are not heroes for having come, +and we do not want to be called heroes. We should have been less than +men if we hadn't." + +The rapt, unconscious approval in those weather-scarred upturned faces +made it quite obvious that they were with him in every word. In those +simple sentences this man was speaking the whole soul of Australia. He +looked up for a second to the wide sky as clear as his own conscience, +and then looked down at them again. "Isn't it the most wonderful thing +that could ever have happened?" he went on. "Didn't everyone of us as a +boy long to go about the world as they did in the days of Drake and +Raleigh, and didn't it seem almost beyond hope that that adventure would +ever come to us? And isn't that the very thing that has happened? And +here we are on that great enterprise going out across the world, and +with no thought of gain or conquest, but to help to right a great wrong. +What else do we wish except to go straight forward at the enemy--with +our dear ones far behind us and God above us, and our friends on each +side of us and only the enemy in front of us--what more do we wish than +that?" + +There were tears in many men's eyes when he finished--and that does not +often happen with Australians. But it happened this time--far out there +on a distant sea. And that was because he had put his finger, just for +one moment, straight on to the heart of his nation. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +TO THE FRONT + +_France, April 8th._ + + +So the Australians are in France. A great reception at the port of +landing, so we hear. A long, weary train journey in a troop train which +never alters its pace, but moves steadily on, halts for meals, jogs on +again, waits interminably outside strange junctions. Some days ago it +landed the first units, somewhere behind the front. + +We reached France some time after the first units. The excitement of +seeing an Australian hat had long since evaporated. A few troops had +been left in camp near the port, and we met some of those on leave in +the big town. They might have been there since their babyhood for all +they or the big town cared. + +And there we first heard mentioned the name of a town to which our +troops were supposed to have gone. It was quite a different town from +the one which we had heard of on board ship. It was snowing up there +where our men were, they said. + +The train took us through beautiful country not yet touched by the +spring of the year. There were magnificent horses in the rich brown +fields--great draught horses such as I have never seen in any country +yet. But the figure that drove the harrow was always that of an old man +or a young boy; or, once or twice, of a woman. There were women digging +in the fields everywhere; or trudging back along the roads under great +bundles of firewood. The country was almost all cultivated land, one +vast farming industry. And they had managed to get through the whole +year's work exactly as if the men were there. As far as we could see +every field was ploughed, every green crop springing. It is a wonderful +performance. + +We had not the least idea where we were going until in the end we +actually got there. Travelling in France is quite different from +travelling in Egypt or England. In Egypt you still exercise your brain +as to which train you shall travel by and where you will stay and where +you will change. But in France there is no need for you to think out +your own journey--it is useless for you to do so. The moment you reach +France the big hand of General Headquarters takes hold of you; and from +that instant it picks you up and puts you down as if you were a pawn on +a chessboard. Whatever the railway station, there is always a big +British policeman. The policeman directs you to the Railway Transport +Officer and the Railway Transport Officer tells you how long you will +stay and when you will leave and where you will go to next. And when you +get to the next place there is another policeman who sends you to +another Railway Transport Officer; until you finally come to a policeman +who directs you from the station and up the street of a little French +town, where, standing on the wet cobbles at the corner of the old city +square, under dripping stage scenery gables, you find another British +policeman who passes you to another policeman at another corner who +directs you under the very archway and into the very office which you +are intended by General Headquarters to reach. + +And if you go on right up to the very trenches themselves you will find +that British policeman all the way; directing the traffic at every +country cross-road where there is likely to be a congestion of the great +lumbering motor-lorries; standing outside the ruined village church +which the long-range guns have knocked to pieces in trying to get at a +supply dump or a headquarters; waiting at the fork-roads where you +finally have to leave your motor-car and walk only in small parties if +you wish to avoid sudden death; on point duty at the ruined farmhouses +which it is unhealthy at certain hours of the day to pass. At the corner +where you finally turn off the road into the long, deepening +communication trench; even at the point where the second line trenches +cross the communication trench to the front trenches--in some cases you +find that policeman there also, faithfully telling you the way, +incidentally with a very close and critical eye upon you at the same +time. + +He is simply the British policeman doing his famous old job in his +famous old way. He is mostly the London policeman, but there are +policemen from Burnley, from Manchester, from Glasgow amongst them. And +up near the lines you find the policeman from Sydney and Melbourne +waving the traffic along with a flag just as he used to do at the corner +of Pitt and King Streets. Just as he used to see that the by-laws of the +local council were carried out, so he now has to see to the rules and +orders made by the local general. It is a thankless job generally; but +when they get as far as this most people begin to be a little grateful +to the policeman. + +Our railway train and the policeman had carried us over endless +farmlands, through forests, beside rivers, before we noticed, drawn up +along the side of a quarter of a mile of road, an endless procession of +big grey motor-lorries. Every one was exactly like the next--a tall grey +hood in front and a long grey tarpaulin behind. It was the first sign of +the front. Presently a French regiment went by along a country road--not +at all unlike our Australian troops in some ways--biggish fellows in +grey-blue overcoats, all singing a jolly song. They waved to us in the +same light-hearted way Australians have. There were more fair-haired +men, among some of the French troops we have seen, than there would be +in one of our own battalions. + +After this there came great stores at intervals, and timber yards--hour +after hour of farmhouses and villages where there was a Tommy in every +doorway, Tommies in every barn, a Tommy's khaki jacket showing through +every kitchen window; until at last towards evening we reached a country +populated by the familiar old pea-soup overcoats and high-necked +jackets and slouch hats of Australians. + +There they were, the men whom we had last seen on the Suez Canal--here +they were, already, in the orchard alongside of the old lichened, +steep-roofed barn--four or five of them squatting round a fire of +sticks, one stuffing his pipe and talking, talking, talking all the +while. I knew that they were happy there before ever they said it. A +track led across a big field--there were two Australians walking along +it. A road crossed the railway--two Australians were standing at the +open door of the house, and another talking to the kiddies in the +street. There was a platoon of them drilling behind a long barn. + +A long way ahead of that, still going through an Australian country, we +stopped; and a policeman showed us to the station entrance where there +was a motor-car which took us and our baggage to the little house where +we were billeted. On the green door of the house next to it, behind the +pretty garden, was scrawled in chalk, "Mess--five officers." That was +where we were to feed. + +[Illustration: "TALKING WITH THE KIDDIES IN THE STREET"] + +It was as we came back from tea that I first noticed a distant +sound--ever so familiar--the far-off heavy roar of the big guns at +Cape Helles. It was guns firing along the lines away to the east of us. + +And as we walked back after dinner that night from the little mess-room, +across the garden hedge and over the country beyond, there flashed ever +and anon hither and thither a distant halo of light. It was the field +guns firing, and the searchlights flashing over a German parapet. + +Yesterday for the first time an Anzac unit entered the trenches in +France. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE FIRST IMPRESSION--A COUNTRY WITH EYES + +_France, April, 1916._ + + +Rich green meadows. Rows of tall, slender elm trees along the hedges. +Low, stunted and pollarded willows lining some distant ditch, with their +thick trunks showing notched against a distant blue hill-side like a row +of soldiers. Here and there a red roof nestled among the hawthorn under +the tall trees just bursting into green. Violets--great bunches of +them--in the patches of scrub between the tall trunks and yellow +cowslips and white and pink anemones and primroses. You see the +flaxen-haired children out in the woods and along the roadside gathering +them. A rosy-cheeked woman stands in the doorway of a farm at the +cross-roads, and a golden-haired youngster, scarce able to run as yet, +totters across the road to her, laughing. + +Only this morning, as we passed that same house, there was the low +whine of a shell, and a metallic bang like the sound of a dented +kerosene tin when you try to straighten the bend in it. Then another and +another and another. We could see the white smoke of the shells floating +past behind the spring greenery of a hedgerow only a few fields away. It +drifted slowly through the trees and then came another salvo. There were +some red roofs near--those of a neighbouring farm--but we could not see +whether they were firing at them, or at some sign of moving troops, or +at a working party if there were any; and I do not know now. As we came +back that way in the afternoon there was more shelling farther along. +The woman in the doorway simply turned her head in its direction for a +moment, and so did a younger woman who came to the doorway behind her. +Then they turned to the baby again. + +Through the trees one could see that the farmhouses and cottages farther +on had mostly been battered and broken. There was a road running at a +little distance, and every roof and wall in it had been shattered. There +was a feverish, insane disorder about the little groups of buildings +there, all shattered, burnt and gaping, like the tangled nightmare of +desolation on the morning after a great city fire. Farther still was +open country again, where long communication trenches began to run +through the fields--but you could see none of this from where we stood. +Only in the distant hedgerows, perhaps, we might have noticed, if we had +looked for it, an occasional broken tree trunk--snapped off short or +broken down at a sharp angle by shell fire. + +Those distant trees would be growing over our firing line--or the +German. + +It is a more beautiful country than any we saw in Gallipoli, in spite of +its waterlogged ditches and the rain which had fallen miserably almost +every day since we arrived. There is green grass up to within a few +yards of the filthy mud of the front trenches; and not a hinterland of +powdered white earth which was all we had at Anzac or at Helles. Here +you have hedgerows just bursting into spring, and green grass, which on +a fine day fairly tempts you to lie on it if you are far enough away +from the lines. The country is flat and you see no sign of the enemy's +trenches, or your own--the hedgerows shut them out at half a mile as +completely as if they did not exist. + +[Illustration: "AN OCCASIONAL BROKEN TREE-TRUNK--SNAPPED OFF SHORT, OR +BROKEN DOWN AT A SHARP ANGLE, BY SHELL FIRE"] + +[Illustration: NO MAN'S LAND The barrier which stretches from Belgium to +the Swiss border and which not the millions of Rockefeller could enable +him to cross] + +But you realise, when you have been in that country for a little while, +that you have eyes upon you all the time--you are being watched as +you have never been watched in your life before. You move along the +country road as you would walk along the roads about your own home, +until, sooner or later, things happen which make you think suddenly and +think hard. You are passing, a dozen of you together instead of the +usual two or three, through those green fields by those green hedgerows +when there is a sharp whiz and a crash, and a shrapnel shell from a +German seventy-seven (their field gun) bursts ten yards behind you. You +are standing at a corner studying a map, and you notice that a working +party is passing the corner frequently on some duty or another. You were +barely aware that there was a house near you. + +Twenty-four hours later you hear that that house was levelled to the +ground next morning--a shrapnel shell on each side of it to get the +range--a high explosive into it to burst it up--and an incendiary shell +to burn the rubbish; and one more French family is homeless. + +It takes you some time to realise that it was _you_ who burnt that +house--you and that working party which moved past the cross-roads so +often. Somebody must have seen you when the shell burst alongside that +hedge. Somebody must have been watching you all the time when you were +loitering with your map at that corner. Somebody, at any rate, must have +been marking down from the distance everything that happened at those +cross-roads. Somebody in the landscape is clearly watching you all the +while. And then for the first time you recall that those grey trees in +the distance must be behind the German lines; that distant roof and +chimney notched against a background of scrub is in German ground; the +pretty blue hill against which the willows in the plain show out like a +row of railway sleepers is cut off from you by a barrier deeper than the +Atlantic--the German trenches; and that from all yonder landscape, which +moves behind the screen of nearer trees as you walk, eyes are watching +for you all day long; telescopes are glaring at you; brains behind the +telescopes are patiently reconstructing, from every movement in our +roads or on our fields, the method of our life, studying us as a +naturalist watches his ants under a glass case. + +Long before you get near the lines, away over the horizon before you, +there is floating what looks most like a flat white garden grub--small +because of its distance. Look to the south and to the north and you will +see at wide intervals others, one after the other until they fade into +the distance. Every fine day brings them out as regularly as the worms +rise after rain; they sit there all day long in the sky, each one +apparently drowsing over his own stretch of country. But they are +anything but drowsy. Each one contains his own quick eyes, keen brain, +his telescope, his telephone, and heaven knows what instruments. And out +on every beautiful fresh morning of spring come the butterflies of +modern warfare--two or three of our own planes, low down; and then a +white insect very, very high--now hidden behind a cloud, now appearing +again across the rift. It is delightful to stand there and watch it all +like a play. The bombs, if they drop 'em, are worth risking any day. + +But it isn't the bombs that matter, and it isn't _you_ who run the risk. +The observer is not there to drop bombs, in most cases, but to watch, +watch, watch. A motor standing by the roadside, a body of men about some +work, extra traffic along a road--and a red tick goes down on a map; +that is all. You go away. But next day, or sometimes much sooner, that +red tick comes up for shelling as part of the normal day's routine of +some German battery. + +So if these letters from France ever seem thin, remember that the war +correspondent does not wish to give to the enemy for a penny what he +would gladly give a regiment to get. On our way back is a field +pock-marked by a hundred ancient shell-holes around a few deserted +earthworks. On some bygone afternoon it must have been wild, raging, +reeking hell there for half an hour or so. Somebody in this landscape +put a red tick once against that long-forgotten corner. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE ROAD TO LILLE + +_France, April._ + + +There is a house at a certain corner I passed of late. On it, in big +white letters on a blue ground, is written "To Lille." Every township +for a hundred miles has that same signpost, showing you the way to the +great city of Northern France. But Rockefeller himself with all his +motor-cars could not follow its direction to-day. For the city to which +it points is six miles behind the German lines. You can get from our +lines the edge of some outlying suburb overlapping a distant hill-top. + +And that is all that the French people can see of the second city of +their State. The distant roofs, the smoke rising from some great centre +of human activity nestled in a depression into which you cannot look; +you can peer at them all day long through a telescope and wonder why it +is they are stoking their chimneys, or what it is that causes the haze +to hang deeply on such and such a day over this or that corner--you can +study the place as an astronomer studies the faint markings upon the +surface of Mars. But to all intents and purposes that country is as much +cut off from you as is the farthest star. + +For the war in which we are engaged means this--that you may travel from +any part of the world with the freedom of this twentieth century and all +its conveniences, until you come to the place where we are to-day. But, +when you come thus far, there is a line in front of you which no power +that has yet been produced in this world, from its creation to the +present day--not all the money nor all the invention--not all the +parliamentarians nor the philosophers--not all the socialism nor the +autocracy, the capital, nor the labour, the brain, nor the physical +power in the whole world has yet been able to pass. The German nation, +for reasons of its own, has put this line across another people's +country and made a fool of all the progress and civilisation on which we +relied so confidently up to a couple of years ago. I suppose it will all +grow unbelievable again some day--two hundred years hence they will +smile at such talk just as we did two years ago. But it will be as true +then as it is to-day--that a nation of officials and philosophers gone +mad has been able to place across the world a line which no man can at +present move. + +I have seen that line at a fair number of places--since writing these +words, many miles away in my billet, working in the brick-floored +cottage bedroom by the light of an oil lamp, I have stepped to the door, +and there I can see it now, always flickering and flashing like faint +summer lightning under the clouds on the horizon. When you come to the +very limit--to the farthest point which you or any man on earth can +possibly reach by yourself--it is just a strip of green grass from +twenty to four hundred yards wide, straggling across France and Belgium +from the sea to the Swiss border. I suppose that French and English men +have sanctified every part of that narrow ribbon by dying there. But the +grass of those old paddocks grows unkempt like a shock head of hair. And +it has covered with a kindly mantle most of the terrible relics of the +past. A tuft, perhaps thicker than the rest, is all that marks where +last year lay a British soldier whose death represented the latest +effort of the world to cross the line the Germans laid. + +You cannot even know what is going on in the country beyond that line. +You have to build up a science for deducing it from little signs, as a +naturalist might study the habits of a nest of ants. The Germans are +probably much more successful at that than we are. + +It is strange to us that there are towns and cities over there only a +few miles away from us, and for a hundred miles back from that, of whose +life we know nothing except that they have been ravished and ruined by +the heavy hand of Prussian militarism. But, for the people who live +around us here, it is a tragedy of which I had not the least conception +until I actually saw it. + +We had a cup of coffee the other day in the house of an old lady whose +husband had been called out two years ago, a few days after the war +began. + +"All my own people are over there, monsieur," she said, nodding her head +towards the lines. "They were all living in the invaded country, and I +have not heard of them for eighteen months. I do not know whether they +are alive or dead. I only know that they are all ruined. They were +farmers, monsieur, comfortably off on a big farm. But consider the fines +that the Boches have put upon the country. + +"The only thing we know, monsieur, it was from a cousin who was taken +prisoner by the Boches. You know we are allowed to write to the +prisoners, and they have the privilege to write to people in the invaded +country. So my family wrote to my cousin to ask news of my mother, who +was a very old woman. And after weeks and weeks the answer came +back--'Mother dead.' + +"It was not so terrible that, monsieur, because my mother was old. But +then--he who was my dear friend," she always referred to her husband by +this term, "my dear friend used to write to us every day in those times. +He was fighting in Alsace, monsieur, and for his bravery he had been +promoted upon the field of battle to be an officer. He wrote every +single day to me and the children. We were always so united--never a +harsh word between us during all the years we were married--he was +always gentle and tender and affectionate--a good husband and father, +monsieur, and he sent the letter every day to my brother-in-law, who is +a soldier in Paris, and my brother-in-law sent it on to us. + +"There came one day when he wrote to us saying that he was out behind +the trenches waiting for an attack which they were to make in two hours' +time. He had had his breakfast, and was smoking his pipe quite content. +There the letter ended, and for three days no letter came from my dear +friend. And then my brother-in-law wrote to his officer, and the answer +arrived--this, monsieur," she said, fumbling with shaking fingers in a +drawer where all her treasures were, and trying to hide her tears; and +handed me a folded piece of paper written on the battlefield. + +It was from his captain, and it spoke of the death of as loyal and brave +a soldier as ever breathed. He was killed, the letter said, ten yards +from the enemy's trenches. + +And it is so in every house that you go into in these villages. When the +billeting officer goes round to ask what rooms they have, it is +continually the same story. "Room, monsieur--yes, there is the room of +my son who was killed in Argonne--of my husband who was killed at +Verdun. He is killed, and my father and mother they are in the invaded +country, and I know nothing of them since the war." + +[Illustration: ALONG THE ROAD TO LILLE] + +But the road to the invaded country will be opened some day. These +people have not a doubt of it. If one thing has struck us more than any +other since we came to France, it is the spirit of the French. We came +here when the battle at Verdun was at its height; and yet from the +hour of landing I have not heard a single French man or woman that was +not utterly confident. There is a quiet resolution over this people at +present which makes a most impressive contrast to the jabber of the +world outside. Whatever may be the case with Paris, these country people +of France are one of the freshest and strongest nations on earth. + +They are living their ordinary lives right up under the burst of the +German shells. Three of them were killed here the other day--three +children, playing about one minute at a street corner in front of their +own homes before Australian eyes, were lying dead there the next. Yet +the people are still there--it is their home, and why should they leave +it? An autocracy has no chance against a convinced, united, determined +democracy like this. More than anything I have seen it is this +surprising quiet resolution of the French which has made one confident +beyond a doubt that Frenchmen will pass some day again, by no man's +leave except their own, along the road to Lille. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE DIFFERENCES + +_France, April 25th._ + + +The cottage door is open to the night. The soft air of a beautiful +evening following on a glorious day brushes past one into the room. As I +stand here the nightingale from a neighbouring garden is piping his +long, exquisite, repeated note till the air seems full of it. Far away +over the horizon is an incessant flicker like summer lightning, very +faint but quite continuous. Under the nightingale's note comes always a +dull grumble, throbbing and bumping occasionally, but seldom quite +ceasing. Someone is getting it heavily down there--it is not our +Australians; I think I know their direction. + +It was just such a glorious day as this one has been, a year ago, when +this corps of untried soldiers suddenly rushed into the nightmare of a +desperate fight. At this moment of the night the rattle of rifle fire +was incessant all round the hills. Men were digging and firing and +digging in a dream which had continued since early dawn and had to +continue for two more days and nights before there was the first chance +of rest. They were old soldiers within twenty-four hours, as their +leader told them in an order which was circulated at the time. Only a +sprinkling of the men who were there are in the Anzac units to-day. But +they are the officers and the N.C.O.'s, and that means a great deal. + +We have been here long enough now to discover the differences between +this front and the old fighting-line in Gallipoli. The rain has been +heavier in March than for thirty-five years, and April until yesterday +seemed almost as bad. The trenches are made passable by being floored +with a wooden pathway which runs on piles--underneath which is the +gutter of water and mud which is the real floor of the trench. Sometimes +the water rises in the communication trenches so that the boards float +or disappear, and if you happen to step into an interval between them +you may quite well sink to your waist in thin clay mud. The actual +firing trenches and the dug-outs there are mostly dry by comparison, +except where the accumulated task of draining them has been gaining on +some regiment which garrisons them, and the rear of the line is a morass +of foul-smelling clay. + +This difficulty never really reached us in Gallipoli, though we might +possibly have found the trenches falling in upon us in the rains of +winter if we had stayed. The trenches in France are full of traces of +old dug-outs and mouldering sandbags, collapsed through rain in the dim +past before the timbering of all works was looked on as a necessity. In +Anzac we never had the timber for this, and one doubts if we ever could +have had it had we stayed. The soil there was dry and held well, and the +trenches were deep and very elaborate to a degree which one has not seen +approached in France. There may be some parts here where such trenches +are possible, and where they exist; but I have not seen them. It must be +remembered that in many places in France there are stretches of line +where it is impossible to dig a trench at all in winter, because you +meet water as soon as you scratch the surface; and therefore both our +line and the German are a breastwork built up instead of a trench dug +down. The curious thing is that in the trenches themselves you scarcely +realise the difference. Your outlook there is bounded in either case by +two muddy walls over which you cannot wisely put your head in the +daylight. The place may be a glorious green field, with flowers and +birds and little reedy pools, if you are two feet over the parapet. +But you see nothing from week-end to week-end except two muddy walls and +the damp, dark interior of a small dug-out. You see no more of the +country than you would in a city street. Trench life is always a city +life. + +[Illustration: THE TRENCHES HERE HAVE TO BE BUILT ABOVE THE GROUND IN +BREASTWORK AND NOT DUG BELOW IT] + +The trench routine is much the same as it was in Gallipoli, except that +in no part which I have seen is the tension anything like so great. At +Anzac you were hanging on to the edge of a valley by your finger-nails, +and had to steal every yard that you could in order to have room to +build up a second line, and if possible a third line beyond that. Here +both you and the enemy have scores of miles behind you, and two or three +hundred yards more or less makes no difference worth mentioning. + +For this reason you would almost say that the German line in this +country was asleep compared with the line we used to know. A hundred and +fifty yards of green grass, with the skeleton that was once some old hay +wagon up-ended in the middle of it, and sky-blue water showing through +the grass blades in the depressions; a brown mud wall straggling along +the other side of the green--more or less parallel to your breastwork, +with white sandbags crowning it like an irregular coping; the +inevitable stumpy stakes and masses of rusted barbed wire in front. You +might watch it for an hour and the only sign of life you would see would +be a blue whiff of smoke from some black tin chimney stuck up behind it. +If you fire at the chimney probably it will be taken down. The other +day, chancing to look into a periscope, I happened for a moment to see +the top of a dark object moving along half hidden by the opposing +parapet. Some earth was being thrown up over the breastwork just there, +and probably the man had to step round the work which was going on. It +was the first and only time I have seen a German in his own lines. + +The German here really snipes much more with his field gun than with his +rifle. He does use his rifle, too, and is a good shot, but slow. A spout +of dust on the parapet--and a periscope has been shattered in the +observer's hand within a few yards of us. But it is generally the German +field gun that does his real sniping for him, shooting at any small body +of men behind the lines. Half a dozen are quite enough to make a target, +if he sees them. + +The Turks used to snipe us at times with their field guns and mountain +guns, but generally at certain fixed places--down near the mouth of the +Aghyl Dere, for example. The German snipes with them more generally. +There is no place that I have visited which can compare for perpetual +"unhealthiness" to Anzac Beach, but it is quite possible that such +places do exist. + +The German gives you the impression of being a keener observer than the +Turk. The hills and trees behind his lines are really within view of you +over miles of your own country, though you scarcely realise it at first, +and they are full of eyes. Also every fine day brings out his balloons +like a crop of fat grubs--and also our own. In Gallipoli our ships had +the only balloons--the Turks had all the hill-tops. + +The aeroplane here affords so big a part of the hourly spectacle of +warfare, and makes so great a difference in the obvious conditions of +the fight, that he deserves a letter to himself. But of all the +differences, by far the greatest is that our troops here have a +beautiful country and a civilised, enlightened population at the back of +them, which they are defending against the invading enemy whom they have +always hoped to meet. They are amongst a people like their own, living +in villages and cottages and paddocks not so different from those of +their own childhood. Right up into the very zone of the trenches there +are houses still inhabited by their owners. As we were entering a +communication trench a few days ago we noticed four or five British +soldiers walking across the open from a cottage. The officer with me +asked them what they were doing. "We've just been to the inn there," +they said. + +The people of that house were still living in it, with our trenches +wandering through their orchard. + +In Gallipoli there were brigade headquarters in the actual fire +trenches. From the headquarters of the division or the corps you could +reach the line by ten minutes' hard walking, any time. It is a Sabbath +day's journey here--indeed, the only possible way of covering the longer +distances regularly is by motor-car or motor-cycle, and no one dreams of +using any other means. Nearly the whole army, except the troops in the +actual firing-line, lives in a country which is populated by its normal +inhabitants. + +And--wherein lies the greatest change of all--the troops in the trenches +themselves can be brought back every few days into more or less normal +country, and have always the prospect before them at the end of a few +months of a stay in surroundings that are completely free from shell or +rifle fire, and within reach of village shops and the normal comforts +of civilisation. And throwing the weather and wet trenches and the rest +all in, that difference more than makes up for all of them. + +"You see, a fellow must look after himself a bit," one of them said to +me the other day. "A man didn't take any care how he looked in +Gallipoli; but here with these young ladies about, you can't go around +like what we used to there." + +Through one's mind there flashed well-remembered figures, mostly old +slouch hat and sunburnt muscle--the lightest uniform I can recollect was +an arrangement of a shirt secured by safety pins. Here they go more +carefully dressed than if they were on leave in Melbourne or Sydney. + +Yesterday the country was _en fete_, the roads swarming with young and +old, and the fields with children picking flowers. The guns were bumping +a few miles away--mostly at aeroplanes. I went to the trenches with a +friend. Our last sight, as we came away from the region of them, was of +a group of French boys and girls and a few elders around a haystack; and +half a dozen big Australians, with rolled shirtsleeves, up on the +farming machinery helping them to do the work of the year. + +That is _the_ difference. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE GERMANS + +_France, May._ + + +The night air on every side of us was full of strange sound. It was not +loud nor near, but it was there all the time. We could hear it even +while we talked and above the sound of our footsteps on the cobbles of +the long French highway. Ahead of us, and far on either side, came this +continuous distant rattle. It was the sound of innumerable wagons +carrying up over endless cobble stones the food and ammunition for +another day. + +A cart clattered past from the front with the jingle of trace chains and +hammer of metal tyres upon stones. So one driver had finished his job +for the night. Farther on was a sound of voices and a chink of spades; +some way to our left across a field we can make out dark figures--they +may be stunted willows along the far hedge, or they may be a working +party going up, with their spades and picks over their shoulders, to +one of those jobs which in this flat country can only be done by night. + +Twenty miles behind the lines, or more, you can see every night along +the horizon in front of you a constant low flicker of light--the flares +thrown up by both sides over the long ribbon of No Man's Land--the +ribbon which straggles without a break from one end of France to the +other. We were getting very close to that barrier now--within a couple +of miles of it; and the pure white stars of these glorified Roman +candles were describing graceful curves behind a fretwork of trees an +inch or two above the horizon. Every five or six seconds a rifle cracked +somewhere along the line--very different from the ceaseless pecking of +Gallipoli. Then a distant German machine-gun started its sprint, +stumbled, went on again, tripped again. A second machine-gun farther +down the line caught it up, and the two ran along in perfect step for a +while. Then a third joined in, like some distant canary answering its +mates. The first two stopped and left it trilling along by itself, +catching occasionally like a motor-car engine that misfires, until it, +too, stuttered into silence. "Some poor devils being killed, I +suppose," you think to yourself, "suppose they've seen a patrol out in +front of the lines, or a party digging in the open somewhere behind the +trenches." You can't help crediting the Germans--at first, when you come +to this place as a stranger--with being much more deadly than the Turks +both with their machine-guns and their artillery. But you soon learn +that it is by no means necessary that anyone is dying when you hear +their machine-guns sing a chorus. They may chatter away for a whole +night and nobody be in the least the worse for it. Their artillery can +throw two or three hundred shells, or even more, into one of its various +targets, not once but many times, and only a man or two be wounded; +sometimes no one at all. War is alike in that respect all the world +over, apparently; which is comforting. + +Presently the road ends and the long sap begins. You plunge into the +dark winding alley much as into some old city's ugly by-lane. It is +Centennial Avenue. There is room in it to pass another man even when he +is carrying a shoulderful of timber. But you must be careful when you do +pass him, or one of you will find yourself waist deep in mud. I have +said before that you do not walk on the bottom of the trench as you did +in Gallipoli, but on a narrow wooden causeway not unlike the bridge on +which ducks wander down from the henhouse to the yard--colloquially +known as the "duck-boards." The days have probably passed when a man +could be drowned in the mud of a communication trench. But it is always +unpleasant to step off the duck-boards in wet weather. Seeing that the +enemy may have fixed rifles trained on you at any bend of the trench, it +is unwise to carry a light; and in a dark night and an unaccustomed +trench you are almost sure to flounder. + +A party of men loaded with new duck-boards is blocked ahead of you. As +you stand there talking to another wayfarer and waiting for the unknown +obstacle to move, a bullet flicks off the parapet a few feet away. It +was at least a foot above the man's head and was clearly fired from some +rifle laid on the trench during the daytime. Every now and then the +parapet on one side becomes dense black against a dazzling white sky, +and the trench wall on the other side becomes a glaring white background +on which the shadow of your own head and shoulders sail slowly past you +in inky black silhouette. The sharp-cut shadow gradually rises up the +white trench wall, and all is black again until the enemy throws +another flare. + +As you talk there comes suddenly over the flats on your left a brilliant +yellow flicker and a musical whine: "Whine--bang, whine--bang, +whine--bang, whine--bang," just like that spoken very quickly. + +"That's right over the working party in Westminster Abbey," says the +last man in the procession. "Some bally fool lit a pipe, I suppose." + +The man next him reckons it was about Lower George Street that got it +that time. "They been registerin' that place all day on an' off," he +says. + +There was just that one swift salvo, and nothing more. Presently, when +the procession moved on, we came across men who had a shower of earth +thrown down their backs by the burst of those shells. Just one isolated +salvo in the night on one particular spot. Goodness knows what the +Germans saw or thought they saw. No one was hit, nothing was interfered +with. But it is a great mistake to think it all foolishness. The most +methodical soldier in the world is behind those other sandbags, and he +doesn't do things without reason. + +Farther on we came through a series of hovels, more like dog +kennels than the shelters of men, to the dark parapet where men +are always watching, watching, across a hundred yards or so of +green pasture, the dark mud parapet on the other side. Here and +there over a dug-out there fidgets a tiny toy aeroplane such as +children make, or a miniature windmill. The aeroplane propeller is +revolving slowly, tail away from the enemy, clicking and rattling as +it turns. "Just-a-perfect-night-for-gas"--that is what the aeroplane +propeller is saying. + +Once only in the night there is a clatter opposite--one machine-gun +started it, then two together, then forty or fifty rifles. Perhaps they +think they saw a patrol. The Turks used to get precisely similar +nerve-storms on Russell's Top. Nobody even troubles to remark it. Dawn +breaks over the watching figures without one incident to report. + +It is after the light has grown and become fixed that you will notice, +if you look carefully for it, a thin film of blue smoke floating upwards +from behind the sandbags on the other side of No Man's Land. Only a +hundred and fifty yards away from you the German cook must be fitting +his old browned and burned dixies and kerosene tins over their early +morning fire. + +We had our early morning coffee, too. And as we walked homewards we +found that from a particular point we were looking straight at a distant +barn roof which is in German territory. Near it, towards his trenches, +ran a road. Of curiosity we turned our telescopes on to that path, and +while we watched there strolled along it two figures in grey--grey +tunics, grey loose trousers, little grey buttony caps, walking down the +path towards us, talking, at their ease. Twenty seconds later along came +another pair. + +Clearly they had said to themselves, "We must not walk about here except +in twos or threes or we shall draw a shell from one of those Verfluchte +British whizz-bangs." + +And so those Germans strolled--as we did--from their breakfast to their +daily work. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PLANES + +_France, May._ + + +Gallipoli had its own special difficulties for aeroplanes. There was no +open space on which they could dream of alighting at Anzac; and one +machine which had to come down at Suvla was shelled to pieces as soon as +it landed. So planes had to live at Imbros, and there were ten miles of +sea to be crossed before work began and after it finished, and some +planes, which went out and were never heard of, were probably lost in +that sea. There were brave flights far over the enemy's country. But, +until the very last days at Helles, there was scarcely ever an enemy's +plane which put up a successful fight against our own. + +In France the enemy is almost as much in the air as we are. He has to be +reckoned with all the time, and fierce fighting in the air, either +against German machines or in face of German shell-fire such as we +scarcely even imagined in watching the air-fighting of Gallipoli, is +the daily spectacle of the trenches. We have seen a brave flight by a +German low down within rifle-shot. But never anything to compare with +the indifference to danger of the British pilots. + +I was in the lines the other day when there sounded close at hand salvo +after salvo so fast that I took it for a bombardment. The Germans were +firing at one of our aeroplanes. It was flying as low as I ever saw a +plane fly in Gallipoli--you could make out quite clearly the rings +painted on the planes, which meant a British machine. A sputtering rifle +fire broke out from the German trenches opposite--their infantry were +firing at him. Then came that salvo again--twelve reports in quick +succession--a sheaf of shells whining overhead like so many +puppies--burst after burst in the sky, some short, some far past +him--you would swear they must have gone through him--one right over +him. + +The hearts of our men were in their mouths as they watched. He sailed +straight through the shrapnel puffs, turned sharply, and steered away. A +new salvo broke out over the sky where he should have been. He +immediately swerved into it like a footballer making a dodging run, then +turned away again. A minute later a third sheaf of shells burst behind +him, following him up. "He ought to be safe now," one thought to +oneself, "but my word, they nearly got him--" + +And then, as we were congratulating him on having escaped with a whole +skin, and breathing more freely at the thought--he turned slowly and +came straight up towards those guns again. + +The Australians holding the trenches were delighted. "My word, he's got +more guts than what I have," said one. Sheaf after sheaf of shells burst +in the air all about him; but he steered straight up the middle of them +till he reached the point he wanted to make, and then wheeled and made +his patrol up and down over the trenches. He was flying higher but still +low, and the crackle of rifles again broke out from the German lines. He +was within the range of the feeblest "Archie" even at his highest. They +were literally just so many big shot-guns, firing at a great bird; only +this bird came up time and again to be shot at, simply trusting to the +chance that they would not hit him. + +"The rest may take their luck, but I should be dead sick if they was to +get him," grunted a big Australian as he tugged a pull-through out of +his rifle. + +Of course they will get him if he does that often--you only need two +eyes to know that. The communiques tell of it every week. As you scurry +past the hinterland of the lines in your motor-car you will sometimes +see two or three aeroplanes flying like great herons overhead. They seem +to be in company, keeping station almost, and holding on the same +course, all mates together--until you catch the cough of a machine-gun, +and realise that they are actually engaged in the deadliest sort of duel +which can possibly be fought in these days. In a battle of infantry you +are mostly hit by an unaimed shot, or a shot aimed into a mass of men. +Even if a man fires at you once, it is probably someone else whom he +aims at next time. But in the air the man who shoots at you is coming +after you, and intends to go on shooting at you until he kills. The +moment when you see an enemy's plane, and realise that you have to fight +it, must be one to set even the strongest nerves tingling. + +Generally the aeroplane with the black crosses on its wings is very +high--barely visible. Sometimes, when the other planes are near it, it +swoops steeply to earth behind the German lines. Or it may be that, far +behind our own lines, you see a plane diving to earth at an angle which +makes you wonder whether it is falling or being steered. It straightens +out suddenly, and lands a few fields away. By the time you are there, a +cluster of khaki is already round it. An English boy steps out of it, +flushed and excited, and with intense strain written in his eyes and in +every jerk of his head. Out of the seat just behind him they are lifting +a man with a terrible wound in his side. In the arms of the seat from +which they lift him are two holes as big as a shell would make--but they +were not made by a shell. A cluster of bullets from the machine-gun of a +German plane at close range has passed in at one side of the seat and +out at the other. The rifle which the observer was carrying dropped from +his hands out into space, and the pilot saw it fall just before he +dived. + +The German pilots are sometimes youngsters too--not very unlike our own. +Our first sight of active war in France was when the train stopped at a +country siding many miles behind the lines, and two British soldiers +with fixed bayonets marched a third man--a youngster with a slight fair +moustache--over the level crossing in front of us. He wore a grey peaked +cap and a short overcoat jacket with a warm collar and tall, +tight-fitting boots--very much like those of our own officers; and he +walked with a big, swift stride, looking straight ahead of him. +Somewhere, far over behind the German lines, they were probably +expecting him at that moment. His servant would be getting ready his +room. He had left the aerodrome only an hour before, and flown over +strange lines which we have never seen, but which had become as familiar +as his home to him, with no idea than to be back, as he always was +before, within an hour or so. And then something seems to be wrong with +the plane--he has to come down in a strange country; and within an hour +he is out of the war for good and all. He strides along biting his lip. +His comrades will expect him for an hour or so. By dinner-time they will +realise that there is another member gone from their mess. + +While I am writing these words someone runs in to say that a German +aeroplane has been shot down--came down in flames, they say, and tore a +great hole in the roadside. There seems to be some such news every day, +now it is one of ours, now one of theirs. It is a brave game. + +I suppose it needs a sportsman, even if he is a German, to fight in a +service like that. The pity of it that he is fighting for such an ugly +cause. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE COMING STRUGGLE: OUR TASK + +[Up to this time the Australians had been in quiet trenches in the green +lowlands near Armentieres. From this time the coming struggle began to +loom ahead.] + +_France, May 23rd._ + + +I sat down to write an article about a log-chopping competition. But the +irony of writing such things with other things on one's mind is too much +even for a war correspondent. One's pen goes on strike. One impression +above all has been brought home in the two months we have spent in +France. For some reason, people at home are colossally ignorant of the +task now in front of them. We have now seen three theatres of war, and +it was the same everywhere. Indeed, in Gallipoli we ourselves were just +as ignorant of the state of affairs elsewhere. All the news we had of +Salonica came from the English newspapers. We thought, "However +difficult things may be here, at any rate the Salonica army is only +waiting for a few more men before it cuts the railway to +Constantinople." Then somebody came from Salonica, and we found that the +army there was comforting itself with exactly the same reflections about +us. As for England, everyone who reached us from there arrived with the +conviction that we needed only a few more men to push through. + +When the attempt to get through from Suvla failed the public turned to +Bulgaria, and, on the strength of what they read, many of those on the +Peninsula could not help doing the same. Now that we see with our eyes +the nature of Britain's task in France, there is only one depressing +thing about it, and that is that one doubts if the British people have +any more idea of its magnitude than it had of the difficulties of +Gallipoli. + +The world hears from the British public vague talk of some future +offensive. It goes without saying that we hear nothing of any plans +here. If there were any, it would be in London that they would first +become common knowledge. But if such an offensive ever does happen, have +the British people any idea of its difficulties? In this warfare, when +you have brought up such artillery as was unbelievable even in the +first year of the war, and reduced miles of trenches to powder, and have +walked over the line of the works in front of you, a handful of batmen +and Headquarters' cooks may still hold up the greatest attack yet +delivered, and you may spend the next month dashing your strength away +against a barrier of ever-increasing toughness. + +If an offensive ever is made, we know it will not be made without good +reason for its success. But everything which one has seen points to the +conclusion that a vague belief in the success of such an offensive ought +not to be the sole mental effort that a great part of the nation makes +towards winning the war. And yet, from what I saw lately during a recent +visit to Great Britain, I should say that such was the case. "If we fail +to break through," the public says, "surely the Russians will manage it, +or the French will succeed this time." Wherever we have seen the war +there is always this tendency to look elsewhere for success. There is +not the slightest doubt we have success in our power. The game is in our +hands if we will only play it. The talk about our resources and staying +power is not all "hot air," as the Americans say. The resources were +there, and it was always known that in the later stages of the war, +when Germany and our Allies who entered the war at final strength, had +used most of their resources, then those of Britain would become +decisive because she had not yet used them. That stage we are reaching +now--Britain's resources measured against those of Germany. We have the +advantage in entering it. The danger is that while we squander our +wealth without organisation, the German, by bringing all his brains and +resolution to bear on the problem, may so eke out his strained resources +as to outstay our rich ones. + +One sees not the least sign that the British people understand this. I +do not know how it is in Australia, but in Britain life runs its normal +course. Gigantic sums flow away daily, and the only efforts at economy +one hears of are a Daylight Saving Act adopted only because Germany +adopted it first; a list of prohibited imports and petty economies, +which we mistook when first we read it for an elaborate satire; and a +pious hope, in the true voluntary and official British style, that meat +would be shunned on two days in the week. + +By way of contrast there are dished out for our encouragement reports of +all the pains which the Germans are put to to economise food in their +country. Potatoes instead of flour, meat twice a week, food strictly +regulated by ticket, children taught to count between each mouthful in +order to avoid over-eating. We are supposed to draw comfort from this +contrast. + +It is the most depressing literature we have. The obvious comment is, +"Well, there is a nation organised to win a war--that is the sort of +nation which the men in the opposite trenches have behind them. A nation +which has organised itself for war, and is already organising itself for +peace after the war"; and all that we, who are organised neither for war +nor peace, have, in answer to a national effort like that, is an +ignorant jeer at what is really the most formidable of the dangers +threatening us. + +If the British Empire took the war as business, were ready to disturb +its daily life, alter its daily habits, to throw on the scrap-heap its +sacred individualism, and do and live for the national cause, no one +doubts but we could win this war so as to avoid an inconclusive peace. +Some of us were talking to a middle-aged British merchant. We had left +our fellows in France cheerfully facing unaccustomed mud and frosts, +cheerfully accepting the chance of being blown into undiscoverable +atoms or living horribly maimed in mind or body, cheerfully accepting +all this with the set, deliberate purpose of fighting on for a +conclusive settlement--one which put out of question for the future the +rule of brute force, or tearing up of treaties, or renewal of the +present war. We had left those fellows fighting for an ideal they +perfectly well realised, and cheerful in the belief that they would +attain it. + +The merchant was dressed in black morning coat and black tie, and looked +in every way a very respectable merchant. He was full of respectable +hopes. But when we spoke of a long war he drew a long face and talked +lugubriously of dislocated trade and strain upon capital--doubted how +long the industry could stand it, and shook his head. + +Whenever one thinks of that worthy man one is overcome with a +great anger. What he meant was that if the war went on he might be +broken, and that was a calamity which he could not be expected to +face. We thought of all those fellows in France--British, Australians, +Canadians--cheerfully offering their lives for an ideal at which this +worthy citizen shied because it might cost him his fortune. Suppose it +did, suppose he had to leave his fine home and end his days in a villa, +suppose he had to start as a clerk in someone else's counting-house, +what was it beside what these boys were offering? I think of a fair head +which I had seen matted in red mud, of young nerves of steel shattered +beyond repair, of a wild night at Helles, when I found, stumbling beside +me in the first bitterness of realisation, a young officer who a few +yards back had been shot through both eyes. And here was this worthy man +shaking his head for fear that their ideals might interfere with his +business. + +As to which, one can only say that, if the British nation, or the +Australian nation, because it shirks interference with its normal life, +because it is afraid of State enterprise, because of any personal or +individual consideration whatever, lets this struggle go by default, and +by inconclusive peace, to the people which is organised body and soul in +support of the grey tunics behind the opposite parapet, then it is a +betrayal of every gallant heart now sleeping under the crosses on +Gallipoli, and of every boyish head that has reddened the furrows of +France. + +There are good reasons for saying that the struggle is now with the +British Empire. With your staying power you can win. But in Heaven's +name, if you wish to win, if you have in you any of the ideals for which +those boys have died, cast your old prejudices to the winds and organise +your staying power. Organise! Organise! Organise! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +IN A FOREST OF FRANCE + +_France, May 26th._ + + +It was in "A forest of France," as the programme had it. The road ran +down a great aisle with the tall elm trees reaching to the sky, and +stretching their long green fingers far above, like the slender pillars +of a Gothic cathedral. Down the narrow road below sagged a big +motor-bus, painted grey, like a battleship; and, after it, a huge grey +motor-lorry; and, in front and behind them, an odd procession of +motor-cars of all sizes, bouncing awkwardly from one hollow in the road +to another. + +Out of the dark interior of the motor-bus, as we passed it, there groped +a head with a grey slouch hat. It came slowly round on its long, brown, +wrinkled neck until it looked into our car. "Hey, mate," it said, "is +this the track to the races?" Then it smiled at the landscape in general +and withdrew into the interior like a snail into its shell. In this bus +was an Australian Brass Band. + +We drew up where there was a collection of motor-cars, lorries, and odd +riding horses along the roadside, exactly as you might see at the picnic +races. We struck inland up one of those glades which the French +foresters leave at intervals running from side to side of their +well-managed forests. The green moss sank like a soft carpet beneath our +feet. The little watergutters bubbled beneath the twigs as we trod +across them. The cowslips and anemones nodded as our boots brushed them. +Hundreds of birds sang in the branches, and the sunlight came down in +shafts from the lacework patches of sky far above, and lit up patches of +grass, and fallen leaves, and moss-covered tree trunks, on which sat a +crowd chiefly of Australians and New Zealanders. As one of the English +correspondents said, "It was just such a forest as Shakespeare wrote +about." Who would have thought that scene believable two years before? + +A contest had been arranged between Australasians and Canadians in +France to decide which could fell trees in the quickest time. It began +really with the French forest authorities, who insisted on the +well-known forest rule that no young trees under one metre twenty in +girth must be felled after the middle of May, because if you cut the +young tree after the sap begins to rise it will not grow again. The +British officer in control of the forest had obtained an extension until +the end of May, but he had to get felled by then all the young timber +that he wanted before September. He had borrowed some Maoris to help, +and he noticed how they cut and the sort of sportsmen they were. He was +struck with an idea. A French forest officer was with him. "How long do +you think it would take a New Zealander to chop down a tree like that?" +asked the Frenchman. "A minute," was the answer. "Unbelievable," +exclaimed the Frenchman. A Maori was called up, and the tree was down in +forty seconds. + +After that a contest was arranged between Maoris and French +wood-cutters. Trees had to be cut in the French style, which, it must be +admitted, is much neater and more economical, and about five times as +laborious. The trees are cut off at ground level, and so straightly that +the stump would not trip you if it were in the middle of the road. Each +team consisted of six men, and felled twelve small trees, using its own +accustomed axes. The Maoris won by four minutes. + +It was out of this that the big contest sprang. The Canadians and +Australasians challenged one another. This time the teams were to be of +three men. Each team was to cut three trees--only service axes to be +used; but otherwise each man could cut in any style he wished. The trees +averaged about two feet thick--hard wood. The teams started to practise. +And the forest officers' problem was solved. + +The teams tossed for trees, and tossed for the order in which they were +to cut. I believe that when some question arose out of this toss, the +Maoris immediately offered to toss again, in order to have no advantage +from the result. + +It was interesting to see the difference of style. All three types of +colonial woodsmen cut the tree almost breast high, but the Australian +seemed to be the only one that took advantage of that understroke, with +a hiss through the clenched teeth, which looks so formidable when you +watch our timber-getters. It was a Canadian team which started. They cut +coolly, and the one whom I watched struck one by his splendid condition. +A wiry man, not thick-set, but well built and athletic, who never turned +a hair. I think he was perhaps too cool to win. His comrades were not +quite so fast as he. They cut the tree with a fairly narrow scarf, the +top cut coming down at a steep angle, and the lower cut coming straight +in to meet it, so that the upper end of the stump, when the tree falls, +is left cut off as straight as a table top. Their first tree crashed in +fourteen minutes, the next in fifteen, and then they all three tackled +the last and toughest, which fell in twenty-one; fifty minutes +altogether when the three times were added. + +The next team was Australian. From the first rapid swing one's anxiety +was whether they could possibly stand the pace. They tackled the job so +much more fiercely than the Canadians. I watched a young Tasmanian, his +whole soul in it, brow wrinkled, and sweat pouring from his face. You +would have thought that he was cutting almost wildly, till you noticed +how every cut went home exactly on top of the cut before. These +Australians--they were Western Australians mostly--made a wide scarf, +the top cut coming down at an angle, and the lower cut coming up at a +similar angle to meet it, making a wide open angle between the two. The +odds would, I think, have been taken by most of those who went there as +being in favour of the Canadians; and it was a great surprise when the +three Australian trees were all down in thirty-one minutes and eight +seconds. + +The New Zealanders cut third. Their team consisted of Maoris. They did +not seem to be cutting with the fire of the Australians. There was not +the visible energy; their actions struck one as easier, and one doubted +if their great, lithe, brown muscles were carrying them so fast. + +Yet the time told the truth. Their three trees were down in twenty-two +minutes and forty seconds, and no one else approached them. One Canadian +team improved the Canadian time to forty-five minutes twenty-two +seconds. The Maoris seemed mostly to cut with a narrower scarf even than +the Canadians, both upper and lower cuts sloping downward at a narrow +angle. In fairness it must be said that the Maoris had practised about +six weeks, the Canadians and Australians about one week. + +An Australian won the log-chopping competition; and the Canadians won +with the crosscut saw. A New Zealander won the competition for style. + +Later the men were mostly sitting watching the Frenchmen, workers in the +forest, giving an exhibition cut. Two of a Canadian team were sitting on +a log next to me, yarning in the slow, quizzical drawl of the Canadian +countryman, when some of their mates sat down beside them. The man next +me turned to them, and the next instant they were all talking French +among themselves, talking it as their native tongue. Their officer, a +handsome youngster, spoke it too. It was not till that moment that I +realised that most of these Canadian woodsmen here were French. + +Meanwhile the exhibition chop went on. The French woodsmen were digging +at the roots of their trees with long, ancient axes, more like a cold +chisel than a modern axe. "I think I could do as well with a knife and +fork," said one great kindly Australian as he watched with a smile. + +But, to my mind, that exhibition was the most impressive of all. For +every one of those who took part in it was either an old man or a slip +of a slender boy. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +IDENTIFIED + +_France, June 28th._ + + +It was about three months ago, more or less. The German observer, +crouched up in the platform behind the trunk of a tree, or in a chimney +with a loose brick in it--in a part of the world where the country +cottages, peeping over the dog-rose hedges, have more broken bricks in +them than whole ones--saw down a distant lane several men in strange +hats. The telescope wobbled a bit, and in the early light all objects in +the landscape took on much the same grey colour. + +The observer rubbed his red eyes and peered again. Down the white streak +winding across a distant green field were coming a couple more of these +same hats. I expect Fritz saw a good number of them in those days. Many +of the wearers of those hats had never seen an aeroplane before; much +less two aeroplanes, fighting a duel with machine-guns at close range, +10,000 feet over their heads, or being sniped at by a battery of hidden +15-pounder guns, every shot marking itself for the open-mouthed +spectators by its little white cotton-wool shell burst. + +The German observer spent several hours jotting painful notes into a +well-thumbed pocket-book, staring in the intervals through his +telescope. Then the tree shook. Something ponderous from below felt its +way up the creaking ladder. A red face, like the face of the sun, peered +over the platform. + +"Anything new, Fritz?" it puffed. + +"Ja; those new troops we have noticed yesterday--I think they were +Australians." + +So the observer sent it back to his officer, and his officer sent it +back to the brigade, and the brigade sent it on to the division. The +division was a little sceptical. "That crowd is always making these wild +discoveries," grunted the divisional Intelligence Officer, but he +thought it worth while passing it on to the Army Corps, who in their +turn sent it to the Army; and so, in due course, it arrived in those +awe-inspiring circles where lives the great German military brain. + +"So that is where they have turned up," said a very big man with +spectacles--a big man in more ways than one. And a note went down in +red ink in a particular page of a huge index, to appear duly printed in +the next edition of that portentous volume. Only, after the note, there +was a query. + +Far away at the front, Fritz told his mates over their evening coffee +that the new regiment whose heads they had been noticing over the +parapet opposite were Australians. + +"Black swine dogs, one of them nearly had me as I was bringing the +mail-bags," snorted a weedy youth scarcely out of his teens, looking +over the top of his coffee pot. "I always said that was a dangerous gap +where the communication trench crosses the ditch." + +"You babies should keep your stupid heads down like your elders," +retorted a grizzled reservist as he stuffed tobacco into the green china +bowl of a real German pipe. + +The talk gradually went along the front line for about the distance of +one company's front on either side, that there had been a relief in the +British trenches, and that there were Australians over there. One man +had heard the sergeant saying so in the next bay of the trench; it meant +exactly as much to them as it would to Australian troops to hear the +corps opposite them was Bavarian or Saxon or Hanoverian. They knew the +English and the French possessed some of these colonial corps. They had +been opposite the Algerians in the Champagne before they came to this +part of the line. + +"They are ugly swine to meet in the dark," they thought. "These white +and black colonial regiments." + +Fritz lives very much in his dug-out--is very good at keeping his head +below the parapet--and he thought very little more about it. His head +was much fuller of the arrival of the weekly parcel of butter and cake +from his hardworking wife at home, and of the coming days when his +battalion would go out of the trenches into billets in the villages, +when he might get a pass to go to a picture theatre in Lille--he had +kept the old pass because a slight tear of the corner or a snick +opposite the date would make it good for use on half a dozen occasions +yet. He did not bother his head about what British division was holding +the trenches opposite to him. + +But that divisional Intelligence Officer did--he worried very much. He +wanted to get a certain query removed from an index as soon as possible. + +It is always best to get information for nothing. A good way to do this +is to make the enemy talk; and you may be able to make him talk back if +you send over a particular sort of talk to him. So a message was thrown +over into our lines, "Take care"; and "You offal dogs must bleed for +France." + +This effort did not fetch any incriminating reply; and so, on a later +night, a lantern was flashed over the parapet, "Australian, go home," it +winked. "Go in the morning--you will be dead in the evening; we are +good." + +Later again appeared a notice-board, "Advance Australia fair--if you +can." + +Indeed, Fritz became quite talkative, and put up a notice-board, +"English defeat at sea--seven cruisers sunk, one damaged, eleven other +craft sunk. Hip! Hip! Hurrah!" + +This did draw at last some of the men in the front line, and they +slipped over the parapet a placard giving a British account of the +losses in the North Sea fight. The putting up of notices is an irregular +proceeding, and this placard had to be withdrawn at once, even before +the Germans could properly read it. The result was an immediate message +posted on the German trenches, "Once more would you let us see the +message?" Still there was no sign from our trenches. So another +plaintive request appeared on the German parapet, "We beg of you to +show again the table of the fleet." + +But they were Saxons. Clearly they did not believe all that their +Prussian brother told them about his naval victory. Another day they +hoisted a surreptitious request, "Shoot high--peace will be declared +June 15." They evidently had their gossip in the German trenches just as +we have it in ours--and as we had it in Sydney and Melbourne--absurd +rumours which run all round the line for a week, and which no amount of +experience prevents some people from believing. + +"After all, these 'furphies' make life worth living in the trenches," as +one of our men said to me the other day. All the Germans, in a certain +part of the line opposite, now firmly believe that the war is going to +end on August 17th. + +But this is merely the gossip of the German trenches telegraphed across +No Man's Land. I do not know how far the divisional Staff Officer +satisfied himself as the result of all his messages, but he did not +satisfy the gentleman with the big index. + +"There is one way to find out who is there," the Big Man said, "and that +is always the same--to go there and bring some of them back." + +And so twice in the next three weeks the German artillery fired about +L30,000 worth of shells, and a party of picked men stole across the +open, and in spite of a certain loss on one occasion they took back a +few prisoners. And the query went out of the index. + +It would be quite easy to present to the German for a penny the facts +which it cost him L60,000 and good men's lives to obtain. When you know +this, you can understand why the casualties reported in the papers do +not any longer state the units of the men who have suffered them. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE GREAT BATTLE BEGINS + +_France, July 1st._ + + +Below me, in the dimple beyond the hill on which I sit, is a small +French town. Straight behind the town is the morning sun, only an hour +risen. Between the sun and the town, and, therefore, only just to be +made out through the haze of sunlight on the mists, are two lines--a +nearer and a farther--of gently sloping hill-tops. On those hills is +being fought one of the greatest battles in history. It is British +troops who are fighting it, and French. The Canadians are in their lines +in the salient. The Australians and New Zealanders--it has now been +officially stated--are at Armentieres. + +A few minutes ago, at half-past six by summer-time, the British +bombardment, which has continued heavily for six days, suddenly came in +with a crash, as an orchestra might enter on its grand finale. Last +night, some of us who were out here watched the British shells playing +up and down the distant skyline, running over it from end to end as a +player might run the fingers of one hand lightly over the piano keys. +There were three or four flashes every second, here or there in that +horizon; night and day for six days that had continued. Within the last +few minutes, starting with two or three big heart bangs from a battery +near us, the noise suddenly expanded into a constant detonation. It was +exactly as though the player began, on an instant, to use all the keys +at once. + +We now ought to be able to see, from where we sit with our telescopes, +the bursts of our shells on those distant ridges. But I cannot swear +that I see a single one. The sound of the bombarding is like the sound +of some titanic iron tank which a giant has set rolling rapidly down an +endless hill. We can hear the soft whine of scores of shells hurrying +all together through the air. Every five minutes or so a certain +howitzer, tucked into some hiding-place, vents its periodical growl, and +we can hear the huge projectile climbing slowly, up his steep gradient +with a hiss like that of water from a fire-hose. There is some other +heavy shell which passes us also, somewhere in the middle of his flight. +We cannot distinguish the report of the gun, and we do not hear the +shell burst; but at regular intervals we can quite distinctly hear the +monster making his way leisurely across our front. + +We can distinguish in the uproar the occasional distant crash of a heavy +shell-burst. But not one burst can I see. The sun upon the mist makes +the distant hill crests just a vague blue screen against the sky. + +There is one point on those hills where the two lines of trenches ought +to be clearly visible to us. With a good glass on a clear day you should +be able to distinguish anything as big as a man at that distance--much +more a line of men. Within less than an hour, at half-past seven, the +infantry will leave our trenches over twenty miles of front and launch a +great attack. The country town below us is Albert--behind the centre of +the British attack. One can see the tall, battered church tower rising +against the mist, with the gilt figure of the Virgin hanging at right +angles from the top like the arm of a bracket. On the hills beyond can +just be made out the woods of Fricourt behind the German line. They are +in the background behind Albert church tower. The white ruins of +Fricourt may be the blur in the background south of them. We shall be +attacking Fricourt to-day. + +The Germans have not a single "sausage" in the air that I can see. The +sausage is the very descriptive name for the observation balloon. We +have twenty-one of them up, specking the sky as clearly as a +bacteriologist's slide is specked with microbes. + +The Germans used to have a whole fleet of them looking down over us. But +a week ago our aeroplanes bombed all along the line, and eight of them, +more or less, went down in flames within a single afternoon. + +7.10 a.m.--Six of our aeroplanes are flying over, very high, in a +wedge-shaped flight like that of birds. Single British aeroplanes have +been coming and going since the bombardment started. I have not seen any +German plane. The distant landscape is becoming fainter. The flashes of +our guns can be seen at intervals all over the slopes immediately below +us, and their blast is clearly shown by the film of smoke and dust which +hurries into the air. The haze makes a complete screen between us and +the battle. + +7.15 a.m.--Our fire has become noticeably hotter. Some of us thought it +had relaxed slightly after the first ten minutes. I doubt if it really +did--probably we were growing accustomed to the sound. There is no doubt +about its increase now. We can hear the _crump_, _crump, crump_ of +heavy explosives almost incessantly. I fancy our heavy trench mortars +must have joined in. + +7.20 a.m.--Another sound has suddenly joined in the uproar. It is the +rapid detonation of our lighter trench mortars.[1] I have never heard +anything like this before--the detonation of these crowds of mortars is +as rapid as if it were the rattle of musketry. Indeed, if it were not +for the heavy detonation one would put it down for rifle fire. Only +eight minutes now, and the infantry goes over the parapet along the +whole line. + +[1] Note.--What I took for the sound of trench mortars was almost +certainly that of the British field guns. These heavy Somme bombardments +were then a novelty, and the idea that field guns could be firing like +musketry did not enter one's head. What I took for the sound of heavy +trench mortars was also, certainly, that of German shells. + +7.27 a.m.--The heaviness of the bombardment has slightly decreased. A +large number of guns must be altering range on to the German back lines +in order to allow our infantry to make their attack. The hills are +gradually becoming clearer as the sun gets higher, but the haze will be +far too thick for us to see them go over. + +7.29 a.m.--One minute to go. I have not seen a single German shell burst +yet. They may be firing on our trenches; they are not on our batteries. + +7.32 a.m.--Ever so distant, but quite distinctly, under the thunder of +the bombardment I can hear the sound of far-off rifle firing. + +So they are into it--and there are Germans still left in those trenches. + +7.35 a.m.--Through the bombardment I can hear the chatter of a +machine-gun. And there is a new thunder added, quite distinguishable +from the previous sounds. It is only the last minute or so that one has +noticed it--a low, ceaseless pulsation. + +It is the drumming of the German artillery upon our charging infantry. +Behind that blue screen they must be in the thick of it. God be with our +men! + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE BRITISH--FRICOURT AND LA BOISELLE + +_France, July 3rd._ + + +Yesterday three of us walked out from near the town of Albert to a +hill-side within a few hundred yards of Fricourt. And there all day, +lying amongst the poppies and cornflowers, we watched the fight of the +hour--the struggle around Fricourt Wood and the attack on the village of +La Boiselle. + +To call these places villages conveys the idea of recognisable streets +and houses. I suppose they were villages once, as pretty as the other +villages of France; each with its red roofs showing out against its +dark, overshadowing woodland. They are no more villages now than a +dust-heap. Each is a tumbled heap of broken bricks, like the remains of +a Chinese den after it has been pulled down by order of the local +council. Through this heap runs a network of German trenches, here and +there breaking through some still recognisable fragment of a wall. + +It was by the sight of two or three English soldiers clambering up one +of these jagged fragments and peering into whatever lay beyond it, that +we knew, as we came in sight of Fricourt, that the village had already +been taken. A string of men was winding past the end of the dust-heap +into the dark wood behind it, where they became lost to view. Somewhere +in the heart of the wood was the _knock-knock_ of an occasional rifle. +So the fight had gone on thither. + +In front of us was a long gentle hill-slope, gridironed with trenches +which broke out above the green grass like the wandering burrow of a +mole. The last visible trench was in redder soil and ran along the crest +of the hill. It passed through or near to several small woods and clumps +of trees--the edges of them torn to shreds with shell-fire. They stood +up against the skyline. In one of them, clearly visible, was a roadside +crucifix. + +Our men possessed the whole of that slope right into the trench at the +top. We could see occasional figures strolling about the old German +trenches--probably from posts established here or there behind the line +of battle. All day long odd men wandered up or down some part of the +hill-side--a guard with a German prisoner coming down, a messenger or +stretcher-bearers going up. Now and then one could even see heads, with +our flat steel helmets on them, showing out from the red trench against +the skyline. So the fighting could not be severe at the moment on the +crest of the hill. + +Yet we were clearly not holding the whole of that skyline trench. On its +southern or right-hand shoulder the hill ran into Fricourt Wood, which +covered all that end of it. At the lower end of the wood, standing out +against it, was the dusty yellow ruin which once was Fricourt. Behind +that shoulder of the hill was a valley, of which we could see the gentle +green slopes stretching away to Mametz and Montauban, both taken the day +before, in the first half-day's fighting. The green slopes must have +been covered with the relics of that attack. But the kindly grass, the +uncut growth of two years, hid them; and the valley, except for a few +thin white trench lines, might have been any other smiling summer +landscape. + +When the wave of our attack swept through that country the Germans in +Fricourt village and wood still held on. Another promontory was left +jutting out into the wave of our attack in a similar village on our +left--La Boiselle, where the main road for Bapaume runs straight out +from our lines through the German front. We could see this heap of +yellow-brown ruins sticking up beyond the left shoulder of the opposite +hill much as Fricourt did on its right. There was a valley between, but +it could only be guessed. Boiselle, too, had the remains of a small wood +rising behind it. The bark hung from its ragged stumps as the rigging +droops from the broken masts of a wreck. + +We were looking another way, watching our troops trying to creep up to +the extreme right-hand end of the red trench on the top of the hill. We +could see them on the centre of the crest; but here, where the trench +ran into the upper end of Fricourt Wood, there was apparently a check. +Men were lined up at this point, not in the trench, but lying down on +the surface a little on our side of it. From beyond that corner of the +wood there broke out occasionally a chatter of machine-gun fire. +Evidently the Germans still hung on there. The bursts of machine-gun +must have been against small rushes of our men across the open. I +believe that one British unit was attacking round this left-hand corner +of the wood while another was attacking around its right. The drive +through the wood was going forward at the same time. Clearly they were +having some effect; for out of the wood there suddenly appeared a number +of figures. Someone thought they were our men coming back, until it was +noticed that they were unarmed, and held their hands up. They were a +party of the enemy who had surrendered, and for the next quarter of an +hour we watched them being marched slowly down the hill-side opposite. + +Our advance here seemed to be held up by some cause we could not see. +German 5.9 shell were falling just on our side of Fricourt village, and +in a line from there up the valley behind our attack. It was not a +really heavy barrage--big black shell-bursts at intervals on the ground, +helped by fairly constant white puffs of shrapnel in the air above them. +Just then our attention was attracted in quite another direction: La +Boiselle. + +It had been fairly obvious for some time that La Boiselle was about to +be attacked. While the rest of the landscape before us was only treated +to an occasional shell-burst, heavy explosions had been taking place in +this clump of ruins. Huge roan-coloured bouquets of brickdust and ashes +leaped from time to time into the air and slowly dissolved into a tawny +mist which floated slowly beyond the scarred edge of the hill. It must +have been a big howitzer shell, or perhaps a very large trench mortar +bomb, which was making them. Gradually most of our artillery in the +background to the left of us seemed to be converging upon this village. +Suddenly, at a little before 4 p.m., there lashed on to the place the +shrapnel from three or four batteries of British field guns. They seemed +to be fired as fast as they could be served. Shell after shell laid whip +strokes across the dry earth as swiftly as a man could ply a lash. One +knew perfectly well that our infantry must now be advancing for the +attack, and that this hailstorm was to make the garrison, if any were +left, keep its heads down. But the shoulder of the hill prevented us +from seeing where the infantry was going to issue. + +In the turmoil which covered that corner we scarcely noticed that the +nature of the shelling had suddenly changed. Our shell-bursts had gone +much farther up the hill--one realised that; and heavy black clouds were +spurting into the air below Boiselle, just behind the hill's shoulder. +The _crash, crash, crash, crash_ of four heavy shells, one following +another almost as quickly as you would read the words, focused all +one's attention on that point. The fire on it was growing. The Germans +were shooting down a valley, almost a funnel, invisible to us. But we +could see that the fire was increasing every minute; 4.2's were joining +in, and field guns; the lighter guns firing shrapnel, the heavier guns +high explosive. The black smoke of German high explosive streamed up the +valley like a thundercloud. La Boiselle was entirely hidden by it. + +There could be no doubt now where our infantry was to attack. That +cauldron was the barrier of shell fire which the German artillery was +throwing in front of them. + +It seemed no living thing could face it. Our fire had lengthened at +about 4 o'clock. The German barrage began almost immediately after. +Minute after minute passed without a sign of any troops of ours. Our +spirits fell. "It is one of these fearful attacks on small objectives," +one thought, "where the enemy knows exactly where you must come out, and +is able to converge an impenetrable artillery fire on that one small +point. If you attack on a wide front, your artillery is bound to leave +some of the enemy's machine-guns unharmed. And when you have to mop up +the small points that are left, and attack on a small front, he gets +you with his artillery--you get it one way or the other." One took it +for granted that the head of this attack had been turned. + +Suddenly, out of the mist, came the sound of a few rifle shots. Then +bursts of a machine-gun. It could only be the Germans firing on +advancing British infantry. + +And presently they came out, running just beyond the shoulder of that +hill. We could only see their heads at first, tucked down into it as a +man bends when he hurries into a hailstorm. Presently the track on which +they were advancing--I don't know whether it was originally a road or a +trench, but it is a sort of chalky sandhill now[2]--brought them for a +moment rather to our side of the hill into partial shelter. Each section +that reached the place crouched down there for a moment. Spurts of +shrapnel lashed past them whirling the white dust. Black rolling clouds +sprang into existence on the earth beside them. Every minute one +expected to see one of them obliterate the whole party. But, at the end +of a minute or so, someone would pick himself up and run on--and the +remainder would follow. + +[2] What we thought was a road or sandhill I afterwards found to be the +upturned edge of one of the two giant mine craters, south of La +Boiselle. + +Not all of them. Some there were who did not stir with the rest. Other +figures came running up, heads down into it, often standing out black +against white bursts of chalk dust. I saw one gallant fellow racing up +quite alone, never stopping, running as a man runs a flat race. But +there were an increasing number who never moved. And, though we watched +them for an hour, they were still there motionless at the end of it. + +For thirty minutes batches continued to come up. We could see them +building up a line a little farther up the hill, where another bank gave +cover. Then movement stopped and our heavy shell-bursts in La Boiselle +began again. The whole affair was being repeated a step farther forward. +The last we saw was the men leaping over the bank and down into the +space between them and the village. + +This morning we went to the same view point. The firing had gone well +beyond Fricourt Wood. They were German shells which were now falling on +the smoking site of La Boiselle. + +On the white bank there still lay twelve dark figures. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE DUG-OUTS OF FRICOURT + +_France, July 3rd._ + + +Yesterday from the opposite slope of a gentle valley we watched Fricourt +village taken. This morning we walked down through the long grass across +what two days ago was No Man's Land into the old German defences. The +grass has been uncut for two years on these slopes, and that is why +there springs from them such a growth of flowers as I have rarely seen. +I think it was once a wheat field that we were walking through. It is a +garden of poppies, cornflowers, and mustard flower now. + +Half-way down the slope we noticed that we were crossing a line which +seemed to have been strangely ruled through the wheat field. It was +covered with grass, but there was a line of baby apple trees on each +side of it. It took one some seconds to realise that it was a road. + +We jumped across trench after trench of our own. At the bottom of the +valley we stepped over a trench which had a wire entanglement in front +of it. It was the old British front line. The space in front of it had +been No Man's Land. + +Some of our men were still lying where shrapnel or rifle fire had caught +them. By them ran another old road up the valley. Beyond the road the +railway trucks were still standing as they have stood for two years in +what once was Fricourt siding. The foundations of Fricourt village stood +up a little beyond, against the dark shades of Fricourt Wood. +Immediately before us, in front of this battered white ash heap, were +the remains of the rusted wire which had once been the maze in front of +the German line. + +We found fragments of that wire in the bottom of the trenches +themselves; lengths of it were lying among the shattered buildings +behind the lines. The British shells and bombs must have tossed it about +as you would toss hay with a rake. In the tumbled ruins behind the lines +you simply stepped from one crater into another. Into many of those +craters you could have placed a fair-sized room. One big shell, and two +unexploded bombs like huge ancient cannon balls, lay there on a shelf +covered with rubbish. + +Through this rubbish heap were scattered odd fragments of farming +machinery--here an old wagon wheel--there a ploughshare or a portion of +a harrow--in another place some old iron press of which I do not know +the use. The rest of the village was like a deserted brick-field, or the +remains of some ancient mining camp--I do not think there were three +fragments of wall over 10 feet high left. And in and out of this debris +wandered the German front line. We jumped down into those trenches where +some shell had broken them in. They were deep and narrow, such as we had +in Gallipoli. Back from them led narrow, deep, winding communication +trenches which, curiously enough, in parts where we saw them, seemed to +have no supports to their walls such as all the trenches in the wet +country farther north must have. Here and there some shell-burst had +broken or shaken them in. + +As we made our way along the front line we found, every few yards or so, +a low, squared, timbered opening below the parapet. A dozen wooden steps +led down and forwards into some dark interior far below. + +We clambered down into the first of these chambers. It was exactly as +its occupants had left it. On the floor amongst some tumbled blankets +and odd pieces of clothing, socks for the most part, was scattered a +stock of German grenades, each like a grey jampot with a short handle. +The blankets had come from a series of bunks which almost filled up the +whole dark chamber. These bunks were made roughly of wood, in pairs one +over another, packed into every corner of the narrow space with as much +ingenuity as the berths in an emigrant ship. There were, I think, six of +them in that first chamber. Inlet into the wall, at the end of one set +of bunks, was a wooden box doing service for a cupboard. In it were a +penny novel, and three or four bottles of a German table water. At least +one of these was still full. So the garrison of Fricourt was not as hard +put to it for supplies as some of the German prisoners with whom I spoke +the day before. They had told me that for three or four days no water +could be brought to them up their communication trenches owing to the +British bombardment. + +I expect that the garrison of Fricourt had been almost entirely in those +dug-outs during the bombardment. The chambers seemed to have more than +one entrance in some cases, and one suspects they also led into one +another underground. A subterranean passage led forward beneath the +parapet to a door opening into No Man's Land--you could see the daylight +at the end of it. + +The fire trench was battered in places out of recognition. But here and +there we came across a bay of it which the bombardment had left more or +less untouched. There were slings of cartridges still hanging against +the wall of the trench. There were the two steel plates through which +they had peered out into No Man's Land, the slits in them half covered +by the flap so as just to give a man room to peep through them. There +was the machine-gun platform, with a long, empty belt still lying on it. +There was the periscope standing on its spike, which had been stuck into +the trench wall. It looked out straight across No Man's Land, but both +mirrors were gone. + +As we picked our way through the brick heaps there came towards us a +British soldier with fixed bayonet, and an elderly bareheaded man. The +elderly man's hair was cut short, and was grizzly. He had not shaved for +three days. He was stout, but his face had a curious grey tinge shot +through the natural complexion. His lips were tightly compressed. He +looked about him firmly enough, but with that open-eyed gaze of a wild +animal which seemed to lack all comprehension. It was the face of a man +almost witless. He wore the uniform of a German captain. + +He was one of the men who had been through that bombardment. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE RAID + +_France, July 9th._ + + +During the first week of the battle of the Somme the Anzac troops far to +the north, near Armentieres, raided the German trenches about a dozen +times. Here is a sample of these raids. + +We were late. For some reason we had decided to watch this one from the +firing-line. We had stayed too long at Brigade Headquarters getting the +details of the night's plan. Just as we hurried out of the end of the +communication trench into the dark jumble of the low sandbag +constructions which formed this part of the firing-line, there came two +bangs from the southward as if someone had hit an iron ship's tank with +a big drumstick. It was our preparatory bombardment which had begun. + +A light showed dimly from one or two crevices in our trenches. We peeped +into one. It was very small, and someone was busy in there. The +bombardment was not half a minute old, but it was now continuous along +the whole horizon behind us. The noise was that of a large orchestra of +street boys each heartily banging his kerosene-tin drum. Our shells +streamed overhead with an almost continuous swish. + +I do not know why, but some curious sense made one keep low in ducking +round to a bay of the front trench. The enemy's reply was not due for +some minutes yet. There was a sudden lurid red glare with a heavy crash +over the parapet to our right--perhaps 150 yards away. "That's not one +of their 5.9's, surely?" exclaims a friend. + +"One of our trench mortars, I think," says another. As we sit in the +narrow trench, with our knees tucked up to our chins, there is no doubt +whatever of the advent of a new sheaf of missiles through the air above +our heads. We can hear the swish of our own shells, perhaps 100 feet up, +and the occasional rustle of some missile passing overhead a good deal +higher than that. One knows that this must be one of our howitzer shells +making his slow path, perhaps 200 or 300 feet above us, on his way to +fall on some German communication trench, and blow it in. I do not know, +but I rather suspect his duty is so to jumble up the walls and banks of +that trench as to prevent German supports from reaching their front line +without clambering into the open fields where our shrapnel is falling +like hail. + +But under those two streams of overhead traffic is a third quite easily +distinguishable. It comes with short, descending screams--sheafs of them +together. + +At the end of each there is a momentary glare over the sandbags, and the +bang as of an exploding rocket. + +That is German shrapnel, bursting in the air and projecting its pellets +in a cone like a shot-gun. A little to the south of us there is a much +more formidable crash, always recurring several times in the minute. We +always know when that crash is coming by a certain fierce orange glare +which lights up the tops of our sandbags immediately before we hear the +sound. Three or four times the crash and the glare came together, and a +big cloud of stuffy-smelling white smoke drifted low overhead, and bits +of mud and earth cascaded down upon us from the sky above; and just for +two minutes the sheaf of four shells from some particular field battery, +which sent them passing as regularly as a clock about five times a +minute overhead, seemed to lower and burst just above us; and one or +two odd high-explosive bursts--4.2, I should say--crept in close upon us +from the rear, while the parapet gave several ponderous jumps towards us +from the other direction. One would swear that it had shifted inwards a +good inch, though I do not suppose it had. The dazzling orange flashes +and crashes close around us were rather like a bad dream. One could not +resist the reflection that often comes over a man when he begins his +holiday with a rough sea crossing, "How on earth did I ever imagine that +there was advantage to be obtained out of this?" + +That was the moment which was chosen by one of the party to go along and +see that the men were all right. There was a sentry in the next bay of +the trench. All by himself, but "right as rain," as he puts it. Shrapnel +was breaking in showers on the parapet, swishing overhead like driven +hail. While the enemy is bursting shell on your parapet he cannot come +there himself. Provided that your sentry's nerves are all right, and +that a "crump" does not drop right into his little section of trench, +there is not much that can go wrong. And there is nothing much wanting +in the nerves of this infantry. + +However, something had clearly gone wrong with this attack. It was +quite obvious that the enemy somehow or another knew that it was coming +off, and where; for he had begun to shoot back within a very few minutes +of our opening shot, and he was shooting very hard. Clearly he had +noticed some point in our preparations, and he too had prepared. "I will +teach these people a lesson this time," he thought, as he laid his guns +on the likely section. + +Right in the midst of all this uproar we heard one of his machine-guns +cracking overhead. Then another joined in--we could hear them traversing +from flank to front and round to flank again. "Of course, the raiders +cannot have got in," one thought. "Perhaps he has seen them crossing No +Man's Land, and those machine-guns are on to them in the open. Poor +beggars! Not much chance for them now"--and one shivered at the thought +of them out there, open and defenceless to that hail. As the minutes +slipped on towards the hour, and our bombardment slackened, but the +enemy's did not, and no one stirred at all in the trenches, one felt +quite sure of it--of course, we had failed this time--well, we ought to +expect such failures; we cannot always hope to jump into German trenches +exactly whenever we please. + +Just then a dark figure crept round the traverse of the buttress of the +trench. "Room in here?" he asked. + +Two others came after him, bending, and then a fourth. We squeezed along +to make room. + +"Was you hit?" asked the second man of the first. + +"Only a bang on the scalp, and I wouldn't have got that if it hadn't +been for the prisoner--waiting to get him over." + +"Keep your head down, Mac, you'll only get hit," said a third. "Where's +Mr. Franks--you all right, sir?--Mr. Little was hit, wasn't he?" + +So these were the raiders, and they had come through it after all. They +were rather distracted. The man next me wiped his forehead, and took a +cigarette. He looked disinterestedly up at the shell-bursts, but he +talked very little. He looked on the raid as a bit of a failure, +clearly. + +An hour later we heard all about it. The racket had quietened down. The +enemy was contenting himself with throwing a few shrapnel shells far +back over communication trenches. We were in a room lighted with +candles. In the midst of an interested crowd of half a dozen young +officers was a youngster in grey cloth, with a mud be-spattered coat, a +swollen face, and two bandaged hands. On the table were a coffee-pot, +some cups, and biscuits, and a small heap of loot--gas masks and +bayonets, and such stuff from German dug-outs. Most of the crowd was +interestedly fingering a grey steel helmet with a heavy steel shield or +visor in front of the forehead, evidently meant to be bullet-proof when +the wearer looked over the parapet. The prisoner was murmuring something +like "Durchgeschossen," "Durchgeschossen." + +"He says he's shot through," said someone, who understood a little +German. + +"Oh, nonsense," broke in a youth; "you were shot through the hand, old +man, but you were not shot there." The prisoner was pointing to his +ribs. + +"Oh, you've got a rat," said the youngster, as the man went on pointing +to the same place. But he tore the man's shirt open quickly. "Yes, you +have, sure enough," he exclaimed, showing the small, neat entry hole of +a bullet in the side. "Here, sit down, old man, and take this," he added +tenderly, giving the man a cup of warm coffee, and pressing him to a +chair. The whole attitude had changed to one of solicitude. + +It was while the prisoner sat there that we heard about the raid. They +clearly considered it something of a failure. They had to get through a +ditch full of water to their necks, then some trip-wire, then a +knee-deep entanglement, then a ditch full of rusty wire, then some +"French" coils of barbed wire, then more wire knee-deep, with trip-wire +after that. Moreover, the enemy's artillery fire was heavy. They simply +went on over the parapet into the enemy's trench for a few minutes and +killed with their bombs about a dozen Germans, and brought in as +prisoners those who were left wounded. Every man of their own who was +wounded they carried carefully back through the tempest in No Man's +Land. The Germans had spent at least as much artillery ammunition as we +had, and in spite of all the noise they had done wonderfully little +damage. We put a dozen of them out of action till the end of the war--a +dozen that our men saw and know of; and they may have put out of action +five of ours. + +As we took a tired prisoner to the hospital through the grey light of +morning, I thought I would give, for a change, an account of a +"failure." + +[It was almost immediately after this that the Australians were brought +down to the Somme battle. From this time on they left the neighbourhood +of green fields and farmhouses and plunged into the brown, ploughed-up +nightmare battlefield where the rain of shells has practically never +since ceased. They came into the battle in its second stage, exactly +three weeks after the British.] + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +POZIERES + +_France, July 26th._ + + +I have been watching the units of a certain famous Australian force come +out of action. They have fought such a fight that the famous division of +British regular troops on their flank sent them a message to say that +they were proud to fight by the side of them. + +Conditions alter in a battle like this from day to day. But at the time +when the British attack upon the second German line in Longueval and +Bazentin ended, the farther village of Pozieres was left as the hub of +the battle for the time being. This point is the summit of the hill on +which the German second line ran. And, probably for that reason, the new +line which the Germans had dug across from their second line to their +third line--so as to have a line still barring our way when we had +broken through their second line--branched off near Pozieres to meet the +third line near Flers. The map of the situation at this stage of the +battle will show better than a page of description why it was necessary +that Pozieres should next be captured. + +There were several days' interval between the failure of the first +attack on Pozieres and the night on which the Australians were put at +it. The Germans probably had little chance of improving their position +in the meanwhile, for the village was kept under a slow bombardment with +heavy shells and shrapnel which made movement there dangerous. Our +troops could see occasional parties of Germans hurrying through the +tattered wood and powdered, tumbled foundations. The garrison lost men +steadily, and on about the night of Thursday or Friday, July 20th or +21st, the Second Guard Reserve Division, which had been mainly +responsible for holding this part of the line, was relieved; and a fresh +division, from the lines in front of Ypres, was put in. The new troops +brought in several days' rations with them, and never lacked food or +water. It was probably a belated party of these new-comers that our men +noticed wandering through the village in daytime. + +During the afternoon of Saturday our bombardment of Pozieres became +heavier. Most of these ruined villages are marked on this shell-swept +country by the trees around them. It is not that they originally stood +in a woodland; but when the village is a mere heap of foundations +powdered white the only relic of it left standing erect, if you except a +battered wall or two, is the shredded trunks and stumps of trees which +once made the gardens or orchards or hedges behind the houses. Our +troops had three obstacles before them--first a shallow, hastily dug +trench in the open in front of the trees around the village; then +certain trenches running generally through the trees and hedges and +behind a trench railway; thirdly, such lines as existed in the village +itself. The village is strung out along a stretch of the Albert-Bapaume +road up which the battle has advanced from the first. Just beyond the +village, near what remains of the Pozieres Mill on the very top of the +hill, is the German second line still (at time of writing) in possession +of the Germans. Another line crossing the road in front of the village +was then in their hands. + +On Saturday afternoon our heavy shells were tearing at regular intervals +into the rear of the brickheaps which once were houses, and flinging up +branches of trees and great clouds of black earth from the woods. A +German letter was found next day dated "In Hell's Trenches." It added: +"It is not really a trench, but a little ditch, shattered with +shells--not the slightest cover and no protection. We have lost 50 men +in two days, and life is unendurable." White puffs of shrapnel from +field guns were lathering the place persistently, so that when the +German trenches were broken down it was difficult to repair them or move +in them. + +Our men in their trenches were cleaning rifles, packing away spare kit, +yarning there much as they yarned of old over the stockyard fence or the +gate of the horse paddock. + +That night, shortly after dark, there broke out the most fearful +bombardment I have ever seen. As one walked towards the battlefield, the +weirdly shattered woods and battered houses stood out almost all the +time against one continuous band of flickering light along the eastern +skyline. Most of it was far away to the east of our part of the +battlefield--in some French or British sector on the far right. There +must have been fierce fire upon Pozieres, too, for the Germans were +replying to it, hailing the roads with shrapnel and trying to fill the +hollows with gas shell. They must have suspected an attack upon this +part of their line as well, and were trying to hamper the reserves from +moving into position. + +About midnight our field artillery lashed down its shrapnel upon the +German front line in the open before the village. A few minutes later +this fire lifted and the Australian attack was launched. + +The Germans had opened in one part with a machine-gun before that final +burst of shrapnel, and they opened again immediately after. But there +would have been no possibility of stopping that charge with a fire +twenty times as heavy. The difficulty was not to get the men forward, +but to hold them. With a complicated night attack to be carried through +it was necessary to keep the men well in hand. + +The first trench was a wretchedly shallow affair in places. Most of the +Germans in it were dead--some of them had been lying there for days. The +artillery in the meantime had lifted on to the German trenches farther +back. Later they lifted to a farther position yet. The Australian +infantry dashed at once from the first position captured, across the +intervening space over the tramway and into the trees. + +It was here that the first real difficulty arose along parts of the +line. Some sections found in front of them the trench which they were +looking for--an excellent deep trench which had survived the +bombardment. Other sections found no recognisable trench at all, but a +maze of shell craters and tumbled rubbish, or a simple ditch reduced to +white powder. Parties went on through the trees into the village, +searching for the position, and pushed so close to the fringe of their +own shell fire that some were wounded by it. However, where they found +no trench they started to dig one as best they could. Shortly after the +bombardment shifted a little farther, and a third attack came through +and swept, in most parts, right up to the position which the troops had +been ordered to take up. + +As daylight gradually spread over that bleached surface Australians +could occasionally be seen walking about in the trees and through the +part of the village they had been ordered to take. The position was +being rapidly "consolidated." German snipers in the north-east of the +village and across the main road could see them, too. A patrol was sent +across the main road to find a sniper. It bombed some dug-outs which it +found there, and from one of them appeared a white flag, which was waved +vigorously. Sixteen prisoners came out, including a regimental doctor. +There were several other dug-outs in this part and various scraps of +old trenches, probably the site of an old battery. The Germans, now that +they had been driven from their main lines, were naturally fighting from +the various scraps of isolated fortification which exist behind all +positions. During the afternoon two patrols were sent to clear out other +snipers from these half-hidden lurking places. But the garrison was +sufficiently organised to summon up some sort of reserve, and the +patrols had to come back after a short, sharp fight more or less in the +open. + +After dark, the Australians pushed across the road through the village. +By morning the position had been improved, so that nearly the whole +village was secure against sudden attack. + +An official report would read: "The same progress continued on Tuesday +night, and by Wednesday morning the whole of Pozieres was consolidated." +That is to say--in the heart of the village itself there was little more +actual hand-to-hand fighting. All that happened there was that, from the +time when the first day broke and found the Pozieres position +practically ours, the enemy turned his guns on to it. Hour after +hour--day and night--with increasing intensity as the days went on, he +rained heavy shell into the area. It was the sight of the battlefield +for miles around--that reeking village. Now he would send them crashing +in on a line south of the road--eight heavy shells at a time, minute +after minute, followed up by burst upon burst of shrapnel. Now he would +place a curtain, straight across this valley or that, till the sky and +landscape were blotted out, except for fleeting glimpses seen as through +a lift of fog. Gas shell, musty with chloroform; sweet-scented tear +shell that made your eyes run with water; high bursting shrapnel with +black smoke and a vicious high explosive rattle behind its heavy +pellets; ugly green bursts the colour of a fat silkworm; huge black +clouds from the high explosive of his 5.9's. Day and night the men +worked through it, fighting this horrid machinery far over the horizon +as if they were fighting Germans hand-to-hand--building up whatever it +battered down; buried, some of them, not once but again and again and +again. + +What is a barrage against such troops! They went through it as you would +go through a summer shower--too proud to bend their heads, many of them, +because their mates were looking. I am telling you of things I have +seen. As one of the best of their officers said to me, "I have to walk +about as if I liked it--what else can you do when your own men teach +you to?" The same thought struck me not once but twenty times. + +On Tuesday morning the shelling of the day before rose to a crescendo, +and then suddenly slackened. The German was attacking. It was only a few +of the infantry who even saw him. The attack came in lines at fairly +wide intervals up the reverse slope of the hill behind Pozieres +windmill. Before it reached the crest it came under the sudden barrage +of our own guns' shrapnel. The German lines swerved away up the hill. +The excited infantry on the extreme right could see Germans crawling +over, as quickly as they might, from one shell crater to another, grey +backs hopping from hole to hole. They blazed away hard; but most of our +infantry never got the chance it was thirsting for. The artillery beat +back that attack before it was over the crest, and the Germans broke and +ran. Again the enemy's artillery was turned on. Pozieres was pounded +more furiously than before, until by four in the afternoon it seemed to +onlookers scarcely possible that humanity could have endured such an +ordeal. The place could be picked out for miles by pillars of red and +black dust towering above it like a Broken Hill dust-storm. Then +Germans were reported coming on again, as in the morning. Again our +artillery descended upon them like a hailstorm, and nothing came of the +attack. + +During all this time, in spite of the shelling, the troops were slowly +working forwards through Pozieres; not backwards. Every day saw fresh +ground gained. A great part of the men who were working through it had +no more than two or three hours' sleep since Saturday--some of them none +at all, only fierce, hard work all the time. + +The only relief to this one-sided struggle against machinery was the +hand-to-hand fighting that occurred in the two trenches +before-mentioned--the second-line German trench behind Pozieres and the +similar trench in front of it. The story of it will be told some day--it +would almost deserve a book to itself. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AN ABYSM OF DESOLATION + +_France, August 1st._ + + +When I went through Boiselle I thought it was the limit that desolation +could reach. A wilderness of powdered chalk and broken brick, under +which men had burrowed like rats, but with method, so as to make a city +underneath the shattered foundations of the village. And then their rat +city had been crushed in from above; and through the splintered timbered +entrances you peered into a dark interior of dishevelled blankets and +scattered clothing. It was only too evident that there had been no time +as yet, in the hustle of battle, to search these ghastly, noisome +dug-outs for the Germans who had been bombed there. The mine craters in +the white chalk of La Boiselle are big enough to hide a large church. + +But for sheer desolation it will not compare with Pozieres. On the top +of a gently rising hill, over which the Roman road ran as is the way +with Roman roads, was a pretty village, with its church, its cemetery +under the shady trees; its orchards and picturesque village houses. When +the lines crystallised in front of Albert it was some miles behind the +German trenches. Our guns put a few shells into it; but six weeks ago it +was still a country village, somewhat wrecked but probably used for the +headquarters of a German regiment. Then came the British bombardment for +a week before the battle of the Somme. + +The bombardment shattered Pozieres. Its buildings were scattered as you +would scatter a house of toy bricks. Its trees began to look ragged. By +the time Boiselle and Ovilliers were taken, and the front had pushed up +to within a quarter or half a mile of Pozieres, a tattered wood was all +that marked the spot. Behind the brushwood you could still see in three +or four places the remains of a pink wall. Some way to the north-east of +the village, near the actual summit of the hill, was a low heap of +bleached terra-cotta. It was the stump of the Pozieres windmill. + +Since then Pozieres has had our second bombardment, and a German +bombardment which lasted four days, in addition to the normal German +barrage across the village which has never really ceased. You can +actually see more of the buildings than before. That is to say, you can +see any brick or stone that stands. For the brushwood and tattered +branches which used to hide the road have gone; and all that remain are +charred tree stumps standing like a line of broken posts. The upland +around was once cultivated land, and it should be green with the weeds +of two years. It is as brown as the veldt. Over the whole face of the +country shells have ploughed up the land literally as with a gigantic +plough, so that there is more red and brown earth than green. From the +distance all the colour is given by these upturned crater edges, and the +country is wholly red. + +[Illustration: A MAIN STREET OF POZIERES IN A QUIET INTERVAL DURING THE +FIGHT] + +[Illustration: THE CHURCH, POZIERES] + +But even this did not prepare one for the desolation of the place +itself. Imagine a gigantic ash heap, a place where dust and rubbish have +been cast for years outside some dry, derelict, God-forsaken up-country +township. Imagine some broken-down creek bed in the driest of our dry +central Australian districts, abandoned for a generation to the goats, +in which the hens have been scratching as long as men can remember. Then +take away the hens and the goats and all traces of any living or moving +thing. You must not even leave a spider. Put here, in evidence of some +old tumbled roof, a few roof beams and tiles sticking edgeways from the +ground, and the low faded ochre stump of the windmill peeping over the +top of the hill, and there you have Pozieres. + +I know of nothing approaching that desolation. Perhaps it is that the +place is still in the thick of the fight. In most other ruins behind +battlefields that I have seen there are the signs of men again--perhaps +men who have visited the place like yourself. There is life, anyhow, +somewhere in the landscape. In this place there is no sign of life at +all. When you stand in Pozieres to-day, and are told that you will find +the front trench across another hundred yards of shell-holes, you know +that there must be life in the landscape. The dead hill-side a few +hundred yards before you must contain both your men and the Germans. But +as in most battlefields, where the warmest corner is, there is the least +sign of movement. Dry shell crater upon shell crater upon shell +crater--all bordering one another until some fresh salvo shall fall and +assort the old group of craters into a new one, to be reassorted again +and again as the days go on. It is the nearest thing to sheer desert +that I have seen since certain lonely rides into the old Sahara at the +back of Mena Camp two years ago. Every minute or two there is a crash. +Part of the desert bumps itself up into huge red or black clouds and +subsides again. Those eruptions are the only movement in Pozieres. + +That is the country in which our boys are fighting the greatest battle +Australians have ever fought. Of the men whom you find there, what can +one say? Steadfast until death, just the men that Australians at home +know them to be; into the place with a joke, a dry, cynical, Australian +joke as often as not; holding fast through anything that man can +imagine; stretcher bearers, fatigue parties, messengers, chaplains, +doing their job all the time, both new-joined youngsters and old hands, +without fuss, but steadily, because it _is_ their work. They are not +heroes; they do not want to be thought or spoken of as heroes. They are +just ordinary Australians doing their particular work as their country +would wish them to do it. And pray God Australians in days to come will +be worthy of them! + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +POZIERES RIDGE + +_France, August 14th._ + + +You would scarcely realise it from what the world has heard, but I think +that the hardest battle ever fought by Australians was probably the +battle of Pozieres Ridge. + +There have been four distinct battles fought by the Australian troops on +the Somme since they made their first charge from the British trenches +near Pozieres. The first was the heavy three days' fight by which they +took Pozieres village. The second was the fight in which they tried to +rush the German second line along the hill-crest behind Pozieres. The +third was the attack in which this second line was broken by them along +a front of a mile and a half. The fourth has been the long fight which +immediately began along the German second line northwards from the new +position, along the ridge towards Mouquet Farm. It has been hard +fighting all the way, and what was three weeks ago a German salient +into the British line is now a big Australian salient into the German +line. But I think that the hardest fight of all was that of the second +and third phases--the battle for Pozieres Ridge. + +Pozieres village itself was not on the crest of the hill. It was on the +British side of it, where the German was naturally hanging on because it +was almost the highest point in his position and gave him a view over +miles of our territory. On the other hand, the German main second line +behind Pozieres was practically on the summit; in some parts farther +north it was actually on or just over the summit. It was from two to +seven hundred yards beyond the village itself. + +The German line on the hill-crest was attacked as soon as ever the +village was properly cleared. The Australians went at it in the night +across a wide strip of waste hill-top. The thistles there, and the brown +earth churned up in shell craters, and the absolute absence of any kind +of movement (simply because it was too dangerous to move), call to one's +mind Shakespeare's old stage direction of a "blasted heath." There had +been a short artillery preparation; the attack reminded one of our old +raids up on the Armentieres front. + +I have seen Germans who were in the line in front of that attack. They +state that they were not surprised. In the light of their flares they +had seen numbers of "Englishmen" advancing over the shoulder of the +hill. When the rush came, one German officer told me, he, in his short +sector of the line alone, had three machine-guns all hard at work. The +attack reached the remnants of the German wire. Some brave men picked a +path through the tangle, and, in spite of the cross-fire, managed to +reach the German trench. They were very few. We have since discovered +men in the craters even beyond the front German trench. The German +officer told me that his men had afterwards found an Australian who had +been lying in a crater in front of his line for four days. He had been +shot through the abdomen and had a broken leg, but he had been brought +in by the Germans and was doing well. We also afterwards brought in both +Australians and Germans who had been out there for six days, wounded, +living on what rations they had with them. + +It was a brave attack. On the extreme left it succeeded. But the +trenches won by the Victorians there were on the flank, not on the +hill-top. The country behind that crest, sloping gradually down to the +valley of Courcelette and beyond, where the German field batteries were +firing and where the Germans could come and go unseen--all this was so +far an unknown land into which no one on the British side had peered +since the battle began. + +Six days later the Australians went for that position again. They +attacked just after dusk. There was enough light to make out the face of +the country as if by a dim moonlight. They were the same troops who had +made the attack a week before, because there was a determination that +they, and they alone, should reach that line. The artillery had been +pounding it gradually during the week. + +The German troops who were holding that part were about to be relieved. +They had suffered from the slow, continual bombardment. There were deep +dug-outs in their trenches, where they saved the men as far as possible, +but one after another these would be crushed or blocked by a heavy +shell. The tired companies had lost in some cases actually half their +men by this shell fire, losing them slowly, day by day, as a man might +bleed to death. The remainder had their packs made up ready to march out +to rest. The young officer of one of the relieving battalions was +actually coming into the trenches at the head of his platoon--when there +crashed on them a sudden hail of shell fire. The officer extended his +men hurriedly and pushed on. It was about half-past ten by German time, +which is half-past nine by ours. + +The first sight that met him, as he reached the support line of German +trenches, was two wounded Australians lying in the bottom of it. So the +British must be attacking, he thought. He ordered his platoon to advance +over the trench and counter-attack. But in the dark and the dust they +lost touch and straggled to the north--he saw no more of them. He +tumbled on with two men into a shell crater and began to improve it for +defence--then they found Australians towering around them in the dark. +They surrendered. + +It was a most difficult business to get the various parties for our +attack into position in the night, and some of the troops behind had to +be pushed forward hurriedly. In consequence the officers out in front +had to carry on as if theirs were the only troops in the attack, and see +the whole fight through without relying upon supports. The way in which +junior officers and N.C.O.'s have acted upon their own initiative during +some of this fighting has been beyond praise. The attack went through +up to time. The supports had to come in parties organised in the dark on +the spur of the moment. The Germans had several machine-guns going. But +as another German officer told me, "This time they came on too thick. We +might have held them in front, but they got in on one side of us; then +we heard they were in on the other; then they came from the rear as +well--on all four sides. What could we do?" + +Almost immediately after the Australians reached the trenches, watchers +far behind could see the horizon beyond them lit by five slow +illuminations, about ten minutes' interval between each. They were +beyond the crest of the hill. I do not know, but I think the German must +have been blowing up his field-gun ammunition. + +The men in the new trenches may, or may not, have seen this. What they +did notice, as soon as the battle cleared and they had time to look into +the darkness in front of them, was a succession of brilliant glares from +some position just hidden by the slope of the hill. It was the flash of +the German guns which were firing at them. It is, as far as I know, the +first time in this battle that our men have seen the actual flash of +the enemy's guns. + +When day broke they found beyond them a wide, flat stretch of hill-top, +with a distant hill line beyond. Far down the slope there were Germans +moving. And in the distant landscape they saw the German gun teams +limber up and hurry away with the field guns which for a fortnight had +been firing upon our men. + +The Germans have twice afterwards attacked that position. In the early +light of the first morning a party of them came tumbling up from some +trench against a sector of the captured line. In front of them was an +officer, well ahead, firing his automatic pistol as he went, levelling +it first at one Australian, then at another, as he saw them in the +trenches before him. He was shot, and the attack quickly melted; it +never seemed very serious. Two days later, after a long, heavy +bombardment, the Germans attacked again--this time about fifteen hundred +of them. They penetrated the two trenches at one point, but our company +officers, again acting on their own initiative, charged them straight, +on the instant, without hesitation. Every German in that section was +captured, and a few Australians, whom they had taken, were released. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE GREEN COUNTRY + +_France, August 28th._ + + +For a mile the country had been flayed. The red ribs of it lay open to +the sky. The whole flank of the ridge had been torn open--it lies there +bleeding, gaping open to the callous skies with scarcely so much as a +blade of grass or a thistle to clothe its nakedness--covered with the +wreckage of men and of their works as the relics of a shipwreck cover +the uneasy sea. + +As we dodged over the last undulations of an unused trench, the crest of +each crater brought us for an instant into view of something +beyond--something green and fresh and brilliant, like new land after a +long sea journey. Then we were out of view of it again, for a time; +until we came to a point where it seemed good to climb and peep over the +low parapet. + +It was a peep into paradise. Before us lay a green country. There was a +rich verdure on the opposite hills. Beyond them ran a valley filled with +the warm haze of summer, out of which the round tree-tops stood dark +against the still higher hills beyond. The wheat was ripe upon the far +hill slopes. The sun bathed the lap of the land with his midday summer +warmth. Along the crest of the distant hills ran the line of tall, +regular trees which in this country invariably means a road. A church +spire rose from a tree clump on a nearer crest. Some of the foreground +was pitted with the ugly red splashes which have become for us, in this +horrible area, the normal feature of the countryside. But, beyond it, +was the green country spread out like a picture, sleeping under the heat +of a summer's sun. + +It was the promised land--the country behind the German lines--the +valley about Bapaume where the Germans have been for two years +undisturbed in French territory, until our troops for the first time +peeped over the ridge the other day at the flashes of the very German +guns which were firing at them. + +Quite close at hand was a wood. The trees were not more than half a mile +away, if that. It was a growing wood--with the green still on the +branches, very different from the charred posts and tree stumps which +are all that now remain of the gardens and orchards of Pozieres. I +remember a little over a month ago, when some of us first went up near +to Pozieres village--on the day when the bombardment before our first +attack was tearing branches from off the trees a hundred yards +away--Pozieres had a fairly decent covering then. There was enough dead +brushwood and twigs, at any rate, to hide the buildings of the place. A +few pink walls could then be half seen behind the branches, or topping +the gaps in the scrub. + +Within four days the screen in front of Pozieres had been torn to +shreds--had utterly disappeared. The German bombardment ripped off all +that the British had left. The buildings now stood up quite naked, such +as they were. There was the church--still recognisable by one window; +and a scrap of red wall at the north-east end of the village, past which +you then had to crawl to reach an isolated run of trench facing the +windmill. Both trench and red wall have long since gone to glory. I +doubt if you could even trace either of them now. The solitary arched +window disappeared early, and a tumbled heap of bricks is all that now +marks Pozieres church. One scrap of gridironed roof sticking out from +the powdered ground cross-hatches the horizon. There is not so much +foliage left as would shelter a cock sparrow. + +But here were we, with this desolation behind us, looking out suddenly +and at no great distance on quite a respectable wood. It tempted you to +step out there and just walk over to it--I never see that country +without the feeling that one is quite free to step across there and +explore it. + +There are men coming up the farther side of the slope--men going about +some normal business of the day as our men go about theirs in the places +behind their lines. + +Those men are Germans; and the village in the trees, the collection of +buildings half guessed in the wood, is Courcelette. It has been hidden +ground to us for so long that you feel it is almost improper to be +overlooking them so constantly; like spending your day prying over into +your neighbour's yard. Away in the landscape behind, in some hollow, +there humps itself into the air a big geyser of chestnut dust. One has +seen German shell burst so often in that fashion, back in our +hinterland, that it takes a moment to realise that this shell is not +German but British. I cannot see what it is aimed at--some battery, I +suppose; or perhaps a much-used road; or some place they suspect to be a +headquarters. Clearly, it is not always so safe as it seems to be in the +green country behind the German lines. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +TROMMELFEUER + +_France, August 21st._ + + +The Germans call it _Trommelfeuer_--drum fire. I do not know any better +description for the distant sound of it. We hear it every day from some +quarter of this wide battlefield. You will be sitting at your tea, the +normal spasmodic banging of your own guns sounding in the nearer +positions five, ten, perhaps fifteen times in the minute. Suddenly, from +over the distant hills, to left or right, there breaks out the roll of a +great kettledrum, ever so far away. Someone is playing the tattoo softly +and very quickly. If it is nearer, and especially if it is German, it +sounds as if he played it on an iron ship's tank instead. + +That is _Trommelfeuer_--what we call intense bombardment. When it is +very rapid--like the swift roll of a kettledrum--you take it that it +must be the French seventy-fives down South preparing the way for a +French assault. But it is often our own guns after all--I doubt if +there are many who can really distinguish between the distant sound of +them. + +Long afterwards--perhaps in the grey of the next morning--one may see +outside of some dug-out, in a muddy wilderness of old trenches and +wheel-tracks, guarded by half a dozen Australians with fixed bayonets, a +group of dejected men in grey. The cold Scotch mist stands in little +beads on the grey cloth--the bayonets shine very cold in the white light +before the dawn--the damp, slippery brown earth is too wet for a +comfortable seat. But there is always some Australian there who will +give them a cigarette; a cheery Melbourne youngster or two step down +into the crowd and liven them with friendly chaff; the blue sky begins +to show through the mist--the early morning aeroplane hums past on its +way to the line, low down, half hidden in the wrack. The big bushman +from Gippsland at a neighbouring coffee stall--praise heaven for that +institution--gives them a drink of the warm stuff. And I verily believe +that at that moment they emerge for the first time out of a frightful +dream. + +For they are the men who have been through the _Trommelfeuer_. + +Strong men arrive from that experience shaking like leaves in the wind. +I have seen one of our own youngsters--a boy who had fought a great +fight all through the dark hours, and who had refused to come back when +he was first ordered to--I have seen him unable to keep still for an +instant after the strain, and yet ready to fight on till he dropped; +physically almost a wreck, but with his wits as sharp and his spirits as +keen as a steel chisel. I have seen other Australians who, after doing +glorious work through thirty or forty hours of unimaginable strain, +buried and buried and buried again and still working like tigers, have +broken down and collapsed, unable to stand or to walk, unable to move an +arm except limply, as if it were string; ready to weep like little +children. + +It is the method which the German invented for his own use. For a year +and a half he had a monopoly--British soldiers had to hang on as best +they could under the knowledge that the enemy had more guns and more +shell than they, and bigger shell at that. But at last the weapon seems +to have been turned against him. No doubt his armaments and munitions +are growing fast, but ours have for the moment overtaken them. And hell +though it is for both sides--something which no soldiers in the world's +history ever yet had to endure--it is mostly better for us at present +than for the Germans. I have heard men coming out of the thick of it +say, "Well, I'm glad I'm not a Hun." + +Now, here is what it means. There is no good done by describing the +particular horrors of war--God knows those who see them want to forget +them as soon as they can. But it is just as well to know what the work +in the munition factories means to _your_ friends--_your_ sons and +fathers and brothers at the front. + +The normal shelling of the afternoon--a scattered bombardment all over +the landscape, which only brings perhaps half a dozen shells to your +immediate neighbourhood once in every ten minutes--has noticeably +quickened. The German is obviously turning on more batteries. The light +field-gun shrapnel is fairly scattered as before. But 5.9-inch howitzers +are being added to it. Except for his small field guns, the German makes +little use of guns. His work is almost entirely done with howitzers. He +possesses big howitzers--8-inch and larger--as we do. But the backbone +of his artillery is the 5.9 howitzer; and after that probably the 4.2. + +The shells from both these guns are beginning to fall more thickly. Huge +black clouds shoot into the air from various parts of the foreground, +and slowly drift away across the hill-top. Suddenly there is a +descending shriek, drawn out for a second or more, coming terrifyingly +near; a crash far louder than the nearest thunder; a colossal thump to +the earth which seems to move the whole world about an inch from its +base; a scatter of flying bits and all sorts of under-noises, rustle of +a flying wood splinter, whir of fragments, scatter of falling earth. +Before it is half finished another shriek exactly similar is coming +through it. Another crash--apparently right on the crown of your head, +as if the roof beams of the sky had been burst in. You can just hear, +through the crash, the shriek of a third and fourth shell as they come +tearing down the vault of heaven--_crash--crash_. Clouds of dust are +floating over you. A swifter shriek and something breaks like a glass +bottle in front of the parapet, sending its fragments slithering low +overhead. It bursts like a rainstorm, sheet upon sheet, _smash, smash, +smash_, with one or two more of the heavier shells punctuating the +shower of the lighter ones. The lighter shell is shrapnel from field +guns, sent, I dare say, to keep you in the trench while the heavier +shell pounds you there. A couple of salvos from each, perhaps twenty or +thirty shells in the minute, and the shrieks cease. The dust drifts +down the hill. The sky clears. The sun looks in. Five minutes later down +comes exactly such another shower. + +That is the beginning. As the evening wears on, the salvos become more +frequent. All through the night they go on. The next morning the +intervals are becoming even less. Occasionally the hurricane reaches +such an intensity that there seems no interval at all. There is an +easing in the afternoon--which may indicate that the worst is over, or +merely that the guns are being cleaned, or the gunners having their tea. +Towards dusk it swells in a wave heavier than any that has yet come. All +through the second night the inferno lasts. In the grey dawn of the +second day it increases in a manner almost unbelievable--the dust of it +covers everything; it is quite impossible to see. The earth shakes and +quivers with the pounding. + +It is just then that the lighter guns join in with the roll as of a +kettledrum--_Trommelfeuer_. The enemy is throwing out his infantry, and +his shrapnel is showering on to our lines in order to keep down the +heads of our men to the last moment. Suddenly the whole noise eases. The +enemy is casting his shrapnel and big shell farther back. + +The chances are that most men in those racked lines do not know whether +the enemy ever delivers the attack or not. Our artillery breaks the head +of it before it crosses No Man's Land. A few figures on the skyline, +hopping from crater to crater, indicate what is left of it. As soon as +they find rifle fire and machine-guns on them the remnant give it up as +hopeless. They thought our men would have run--and they found them still +at their post; that is all. + +And what of the men who have been out there under that hurricane, night +and day, until its duration almost passed memory--amidst sights and +sounds indescribable, desperately tried? I was out there once after such +a time as that. There they were in their dusty ditch in that blasted, +brown Sahara of a country--Sydney boys, country fellows from New South +Wales, our old friends just as we knew them, heavy eyed, tired to death +as after a long fight with a bush fire or heavy work in drought +time--but simply doing their ordinary Australian work in their ordinary +Australian way. And that is all they had been doing and all they wished +anyone to believe they had been doing. + +But what are we going to do for them? The mere noise is enough to break +any man's nerves. Every one of those shrieking shells which fell night +and day might mean any man's instant death. As he hears each shell +coming he knows it. He saw the sights around him--he was buried by earth +and dug out by his mates, and he dug them out in turn. What can we do +for him? I know only one thing--it is the only alleviation that science +knows of. (I am talking now of the most modern and heaviest of battles, +and of the thick and centre of it; for no men have ever been through a +heavier fight than Pozieres.) We can force some mitigation of all this +by one means and one alone--if we can give the Germans worse. The chief +anxiety in the mind of the soldier is--have we got the guns and the +shells--can we keep ahead of them with guns and our ammunition? That +means everything. These men have the nerve to go through these infernos, +provided their friends at home do not desert them. If the munition +worker could see what I have seen, he would toil as though he were +racing against time to save the life of a man. + +I saw yesterday a letter picked up on the battlefield--it was from an +Australian private. "Dear Mother, sisters, brothers and Auntie Lill," it +said. "As we are about to go into work that must be done, I want to ask +you, if anything should happen to me, not to worry. You must think of +all the mothers that have lost ones as dear to them. One thing you can +say--that you lost one doing his little bit for a good cause. + +"I know you shall feel it if anything does happen to me, but I am +willing and prepared to give my life for the cause." + +Such lives hang from hour to hour on the work that is done in the +British factories. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE NEW FIGHTING + +_France, August 20th._ + + +It is a month this morning since Australians plunged into the heart of +the most modern of battles. They had been in many sorts of battle +before; but they had never been in the brunt of the whole war where the +science and ingenuity of war had reached for the moment their highest +pitch. One month ago they plunged into the very brunt and apex of it. +And they are still fighting there. + +People have spoken of this war as the war of trenches. But the latest +battles have reached a stage beyond that. The war of trenches is a +comfortable out-of-date phase, to be looked upon with regret and perhaps +even some longing. The war of to-day is a war of craters and potholes--a +war of crannies and nicks and crevices torn out of the earth yesterday, +and to be shattered into new shapes to-morrow. It may not seem easy to +believe, but we have seen the Germans under heavy bombardment leaving +the shelter of their trenches for safety in the open--jumping out and +running forward into shell holes--anywhere so long as they got away from +the cover which they had built for themselves. The trench which they +left is by next day non-existent--even the airmen looking down on it +from above in the mists of the grey dawn can scarcely tell where it was. +Then some community of ants sets to work and the line begins to show +again. Again it is obliterated, until a stage comes when the German +decides that it is not worth while digging it out. He has other lines, +and he turns his energy on to them. + +The result of all this is that areas of ground in the hot corners of +battles like that of the Somme and Verdun, and especially disputed hill +summits such as the Mort Homme or this Pozieres Ridge, become simply a +desert of shell craters. + +A few days back, going to a portion of the line which had considerably +altered since I was there, I went by a trench which was marked on the +map. It was a good trench, but it did not seem to have been greatly used +of late, which was rather surprising. "You won't find it quite so good +all the way," said a friend who was coming down. + +Presently, and quite suddenly, the trench shallowed. The sides which had +been clean cut were tumbled in. The fallen earth blocked the passage, +and the journey became a switchback over tumbled rubbish and into the +trench again. Someone had before been living in the trench, for there +were tools in it and bits of soldiers' gear. Here and there a shattered +rifle stuck out of the terra-cotta soil. The trench shallowed still +further. There had been little hastily scraped dug-outs in the sides of +it. They were more than three parts filled with earth; but in them, +every now and again, there showed a patch of muddy grey cloth above the +debris. It was part of the uniform of a German soldier buried by the +shell that killed him. It must have been an old German trench taken by +our men some weeks before. It can scarcely have been visited since, for +its garrison lay there just as the shells had buried them. Probably it +had been found too broken for use and had been almost forgotten. + +The trench led on through these relics of battle until even they were +lost altogether; and it came out into a region where it was really a +puzzle to say what was trench and what was not. Around one stretched a +desert of shell craters--hole bordering upon hole so that there was no +space at all between them. Each hole was circular like the ring of earth +at the mouth of an ants' nest several thousand times magnified, and they +stretched away like the waves of the sea. Far to the left was a bare, +brown hill-side. In front, and to the right, billows of red shell-holes +rose to the sharp-cut, white skyline a hundred yards away. + +You feel as a man must feel in a very small boat lost in a very wide +ocean. In the trough of a shell-hole your horizon was the edges of the +crater on a level with your head. When you wandered over from that +shell-hole into the next you came suddenly into view of a wide stretch +of country all apparently exactly the same as that through which you +were plunging. The green land of France lay behind you in the distance. +But the rest of the landscape was an ocean of red craters. In one part +of it, just over the near horizon, there protruded the shattered dry +stubble of an orchard long since reduced to about thirty bare, black, +shattered tree stumps. Nearer were a few short black stakes protruding +among the craters--clearly the remains of an ancient wire entanglement. +The trench was still traceable ten or twelve paces ahead, and there +might be something which looked like the continuation of it a dozen +yards farther--a line of ancient parapet appeared to be distinguishable +there for a short interval. That was certainly the direction. + +It was the parapet sure enough. There, waterlogged in earth, were the +remains of a sandbag barricade built across the trench. A few yards on +was another similar barrier. They must have been the British and German +barricade built across that sap at the end of some fierce bomb fight, +already long-forgotten by the lapse of several weeks. What Victoria +Crosses, what Iron Crosses were won there, by deeds whose memory +deserved to last as long as the race endures, God only knows--one trusts +that the great scheme of things provides some record of such a +sacrifice. + +Here the trench divided. There was no sign of a footprint either way. +Shells of various sizes were sprinkling the landscape impartially--about +ten or fifteen in the minute; none very close--a black burst on the +brown hill--two white shrapnel puffs five hundred yards on one side--a +huge brick-red cloud over the skyline--an angry little high-explosive +whizzbang a quarter of a mile down the hill behind. It is so that it +goes on all day long in the area where our troops are. + +[Illustration: THE WINDMILL OF POZIERES AND THE SHELL-SHATTERED GROUND +AROUND IT] + +[Illustration: THE BARELY RECOGNISABLE REMAINS OF A TRENCH] + +One picked the likeliest line, and was ploughing along it, when a +bullet hissed not far away. It did not seem probable that there were +Germans in the landscape. One looked for another cause. Away to one +side, against the skyline, one had a momentary glimpse of three or four +Australians going along, bent low, making for some advanced position. It +must be some stray bullet meant for them. Then another bullet hissed. + +So out on that brown hill-side, in some unrecognisable shell-hole +trench, the enemy must still have been holding on. It was a case for +keeping low where there was cover and making the best speed where there +was not; and the end of the journey was soon reached. + +Now that is a country in which I, to whom it was a rare adventure, found +Australians living, working, moving as if it were their own back yard. +In that country it is often difficult, with the best will in the world, +to tell a trench when you come to it. One of the problems of the modern +battle is that, when men are given a trench to take, it is sometimes +impossible to recognise that trench when they arrive at it. The stretch +in front of the lines is a sea of red earth, in which you may notice, +here or there, the protruding timber of some old German gun position +with its wickerwork shell-covers around it--the whole looking like a +broken fish basket awash in a muddy estuary. An officer crawled out to +some of this jetsam the other day, and, putting up his head from the +wreckage, found nothing in the horizon except one solitary figure +standing about two hundred yards in front of him; and it was a German. + +Imagine the factory hand from Saxony set down to do outpost duty in this +sort of wilderness. I spoke the other day to a little tailor or +bootmaker, with a neck that you could have put through a napkin ring, a +tremendous forehead, and big, startled eyes. "Yes, we were put out there +to dig an outpost trench," he said. "The sergeant gave us a wrong +direction, I think. We took two days' rations and went out hundreds of +yards. No one came near us. There was firing on all sides, and we did +not know where we were. Our food was finished--we saw men working--we +did not know who they were--but they were English, and we were +captured." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +ANGELS' WORK + +_France, August 28th._ + + +It had been a wild night. Not a first-rate full-dress attack on a big +front, but one of those fierce struggles on a small front which have +been so frequent in the stubborn fight northwards, up the Pozieres Ridge +towards Mouquet Farm. Along a good part of the line the troops were back +in the trenches they had left, or had dug themselves a new trench only +slightly in advance of it. At other points they were in the trenches +they had gone out for. + +The bombardment, which had been turned on as though somebody held the +key to the thunderstorm, and which had crashed and flashed into the +hill-side nearly all the night, had gradually died down. The artillery +Staff officers on both sides had long since read the last pink signal +form, and had given instructions to cover any possible trouble, and had +turned into bed. The normal early morning gun was sending its normal +shell at intervals ranging up the long valley--_rattle, rattle, rattle_, +until the echo died away up the slopes, like that of a vanishing railway +train, or the long-drawn bark of a dog. As it died another gun would +bark, and another, until for a few seconds the noise dwindled and died +altogether, and there was a silence; as if somebody, just for a second +or two, had stopped the battle. The German artillery Staff had left its +gun barking too--every now and again the little shell came and spat over +the hill-side. + +The morning broke very pale and white through the mist--as though the +earth were tired to death after that wild nightmare. The soft white hand +of the fog covered the red land, so that your sight ranged no more than +three hundred yards at most, and often not a hundred. We were stumbling +over ground smashed in by the last night's fire--red earth new turned. +Only a few hundred yards away another fold of the land loomed out of the +mist--you could see the crest rising dull grey out of the white vapour +in the dip between. That hill-crest was in German territory--not ours. +For which good reason we hurried to the shelter of a trench. + +It was while we did so that I noticed a little grey procession coming +towards us from the ground out beyond the trench in front of the German +lines. It came very slowly--the steady, even pace of a funeral. The +leader was a man--a weatherbeaten, square-jawed, rugged old bushman--who +marched solemnly, holding a stick in front of him, from which hung a +flag. Behind him came two men carrying, very tenderly and slowly, a +stretcher. By them walked a fourth man with a water-bottle. + +They were the stretcher-bearers bringing in from out there some of the +wreckage of the night before. We went along the trench farther, and at a +later stage we could see men in the mist in ones and twos out in front +of the line. A rifle or two from somewhere behind the mist were pecking +regularly--sniping from some German outpost; and it seemed not wise to +show yourself too freely--the mist was lifting, and you never knew +whether the Germans were this side of it or not. But though those +bullets pecked constantly at the small parties or at stragglers of the +night's attack hopping back from advanced shell-holes, the little +procession with the flag passed through unharmed. If the sniper saw it +he must have turned his rifle for the moment somewhere else. + +We made our way back, when we went, across a hill-side literally flayed +of all its covering. The barrage of the night before, and of other days, +had fallen there, and the slope was simply a ploughed field. I could not +get rid of that impression at the time, and it is the only one that I +have of it still--that we were hurrying up a ploughed countryside along +a little, irregular, newly-made footpath. We had come out upon a road +and crossed it at one point. After a second or two's thought one +recognised that it _was_ a road, because the banks of it ran straight. +It had been like coming on the body of a man without his skin--it took +you some time to realise that this flayed thing was a road at all. + +There was a shrapnel shell regularly spitting across that country. We +knew we should have to pass it, and one was naturally anxious to be +under cover at the moment. At this time I noticed on our left a little +group of figures, faintly seen in the mist, attending to some job in the +open. We came in sight of the trench we were making for, and they hailed +us asking the way. We told them, and they came slowly across the open +towards us. They were standing above the trench intent on some business +which needed care when the expected shell whizzed over the hill and +burst. I ducked. + +The men, standing on the brink above the trench there, did not even turn +a head to look at it. Five or six angry pieces hissed by, but they no +more heeded them than if it were a schoolboy pelting mud. They were +intent on their business and nothing else. They did not ask for a trench +to get into, but only to be shown the way. Their burden was carried +easier over the open. They were stretcher-bearers. + +We started home a good deal later from another part of the line by a +short cut. Five minutes after we had set out, the Germans happened to +turn their barrage across a patch whither our aged trench seemed certain +to lead. There may not have been more than fifteen shells in the minute, +but it seemed, looking along that path, more like thirty. They were of +all sorts mixed--ugly, black, high-explosive shrapnel bursting with the +crash of a big shell; little, spiteful whizzbang field gun tearing into +the brown earth; 5.9 shells flinging up fountains of it. We pushed on +until the shelter petered out and the shorter shells were already +bursting behind us, and the trench was little more than a crater to nip +into when you heard them singing towards you--and then we decided to +give it up. At one time, as we dodged back, a visitor came singing so +straight that we dived headlong into a crater just as you would dive +into the sea. + +A few minutes later we were back in the comfort of a fair trench, +perfectly snug, watching the storm. As we reached that trench and turned +into it, two men were clambering up on to the bank to join a party of +five others who were standing up there already, in the open. They were +stooping down to arrange with others the lifting of something up to +them. + +They were stretcher-bearers--Australian stretcher-bearers. The two pair +on the bank already had their load, and the others were lifting theirs +up thither. They were just setting out to carry their burden overland on +a track which led straight to the barrage which had turned us back. + +I learned more about Australian stretcher-bearers that morning than I +had known since the first week in Gallipoli. I cursed my fate that I was +not permitted to have a camera there, to prove to Australians that these +things are true. As luck would have it, the next time I saw that same +scene the British official photographer was beside me. We saw the smoke +of a barrage on the skyline. And coming straight from it were two +little parties each headed by a flag. + +We hurried to the place--and there it is on record, in the photograph +for every man to see some day just as we saw it, the little party coming +down the open with the angry shells behind them. + +I asked those stretcher-bearers as I looked up at the shell-bursts how +the Germans treated them. + +"They don't snipe us so long as we have this flag," one of them said. +"You see, we started it by not firing on theirs when they came out to +their wounded. Of course, we can't help the artillery," he added, +looking over his shoulder at the place from which he had come, where a +line of black shell-bursts was fringing the hill. "That's not meant for +us." + +That understanding, if you can maintain it honourably and trust the +enemy to do the same, means everything--everything--to the wounded of +both sides. The commander who, sitting safely at his table, condemns his +wounded and the enemy's in No Man's Land to death by slow torture +without grounds for suspecting trickery, would incur a responsibility +such as few men would face the thought of. + +Load after load, day and night, mile upon mile in and out of craters +across the open and back again--assuredly the Australian +stretcher-bearer has not degenerated since he made his name glorious +amongst his fellow soldiers at Gallipoli. Hear them speak of him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +OUR NEIGHBOUR + +_France, October 10th._ + + +There are next to us at present some Scotsmen. + +Australians and New Zealanders have fought alongside of many good mates +in this war. I suppose the 29th Division and the Navy and the Indian +Mountain Batteries and Infantry were their outstanding friends in +Gallipoli. In France--the artillery of a certain famous regular +division. And the Scotsmen. + +It is quite remarkable how the Australian seems to forgather with the +Scotsman wherever in France he meets him. You will see them sharing each +other's canteens at the base, yarning round each other's camp fires at +the front. Wherever the pipers are, there will the Australians be +gathered together. + +I asked an Australian the other day how it was that he and his mates had +struck up such a remarkable friendship with some of these Highland +regiments now camped near them. "Well, I think it's their sense of +humour," he said. + +We looked at him rather hard. + +"You see, they can understand our jokes," he said. "They don't seem to +take us too serious like." + +And I think he had just hit it. The Australian has a habit of pulling +his mate's leg, and being on his guard against a leg-pull in return. He +has sharpened his conversation against the conversation of his friends +from the time he could speak--his uncles are generally to blame for it; +they started him on the path of repartee by pulling his legs before +those same legs had learnt to walk. As a result he is always sparring in +conversation--does not mean to be taken seriously. And the Scotsman, +cautious and always on the look-out for a feint, is seldom caught by it. +If he is, the chances are he gives it back--with interest. + +It is a grim, old, dry variety of humour, and it goes with a wonderful, +grim, sturdy nature. Few people here see a Scottish regiment passing +without waiting, if they have the time, to watch the last square figure +disappear down the road. Many look at the perfect swing of the kilts, +and the strong bare knees. For myself I can never take my eyes off +their faces. There is a stalwart independence in their strong mouths and +foreheads and chins which rivets one's interest. Every face is different +from the next. Each man seems to be thinking for himself, and ready to +stand up for his own decision against the world. There is a sort of +reasoned determination uniting them into a single whole, which, one +thinks, must be a very terrible sort of whole to meet in anger. + +And it is. The Scotsman is, I think, the most unrelenting fighter that I +have come across. The Australian is a most fierce fighter in battle, but +he is quite ready to make friends afterwards with his enemy. Once he has +taken a German prisoner, he is apt to treat him more liberally than most +troops--more so even, I think, than the English soldier--and that is +saying a good deal. To the Scotsman, when he escorts his prisoners home, +those prisoners are Germans still. He has never forgotten the tremendous +losses which Scottish regiments suffered at the beginning of the war. He +does not feel kindly towards the men who inflicted them. With the +Australian, once the fight is over, the bitterness is left behind. The +Scotsman makes prisoners, but he does not make friends. + +I shall not forget a talk that I had, some time since, with a Scottish +driver who had been very badly wounded during the first winter. He had +not been in the Army Service Corps in those days. He was in a certain +famous regiment of infantry--joined up in the first weeks of the war as +a recruit, and was sent to the front with a draft almost at once--by +some process which I do not now understand--to replace heavy casualties. +He was with them through that first winter in their miserable, +overflowing apology for a trench. It was a shallow ditch with a wretched +parapet, and all they could do for weeks on end was to send the men into +the trench over the top of the ground at night--they had actually to +approach this trench from the front, at times, because the rear was a +marsh--get into it over the parapet, and sit there on the back of the +trench until nightfall, sheltered only by the parapet, since the trench +was too wet to live in. + +At last there came a dawn when the regiment charged, to cover operations +elsewhere. They left their ditch, and half-way across No Man's Land John +Henderson--it is not his name, but it will do as well as another--John +Henderson was hit. He lay out there for a day and a night. A brave +officer bandaged him and passed on to others. John Henderson was +brought in at last, delirious, with two bullets in him and a heavy +rheumatism. He was invalided out of the service, and as soon as he +thought himself well enough he came back and enlisted at another place, +under another name, in another corps; he could not face his native +village if he remained out of it, and at the same time he could not get +into the fight again if the authorities knew he had once been invalided. +His dread still was that they might find out. He would not ask for his +leave, when it became due, for fear of causing inquiries; he preferred +to stick it out at the front. + +He was as stern against the German after two years as he was on the day +when he enlisted. "It's a funny thing," he said to me, "but Ah was no +worrying about anything at all that night, when Ah was lying out there +wounded, excepting that they might tak me a prisoner. Ah was kind of +deleerious, ye know, but there was always just that thought running +through ma head. I just prayed to God that He wad tak ma life." + +And, oddly, I found that he was of the same mind still. + +That spirit makes great fighting men; and the friendship between the +Scot and the Australian persisted into the fighting. A Scottish unit has +been alongside of the Australians for a considerable time. I was told +that an Australian working party, while digging a forward trench, was +sniped continually by a German machine-gunner out in front of his own +line in a shell-hole. One or two men were hit. The line on the flank of +the working party happened to be held by Scottish troops. An officer +from the Australians had to visit the Scottish line in order to make +some preparations for a forthcoming attack. + +He found the Scotsmen there thirsting for that sniper's blood, +impatiently waiting for dark in order to go over the parapet and get +him--they could scarcely be held back even then, straining like hounds +in the leash. + +The sniper was bagged later, and his machine-gun. It was a mixed affair, +Scottish and Australian; and I believe there was an argument as to which +owned the machine-gun. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +MOUQUET FARM + +_France, September 7th._ + + +On the same day on which the British took Guillemont and reached Ginchy +and Leuze Wood; on the same day on which the French pushed their line +almost to Combles; at the same time as the British attacked Thiepval +from the front, the Australians, for the fifth time, delivered a blow at +the wedge which they have all the while been driving into Thiepval from +the back, along the ridge whose crest runs northwards from Pozieres past +Mouquet Farm. + +It was a heavy punch this time. I cannot tell of all these fierce +struggles here--they shall be told in full some day. In the earliest +steps towards Mouquet British troops attacked on the Australian flank, +and at least once the fighting which they met with was appallingly +heavy. Victorians, South Australians, New South Welshmen have each dealt +their blow at it. The Australians have been in heavy fighting, almost +daily, for six solid weeks; they started with three of the most terrible +battles that have ever been fought--few people, even here, realise how +heavy that fighting was. Then the tension eased as they struck those +first blows northwards. As they neared Mouquet the resistance increased. +Each of the last five blows has been stiffer to drive. On each occasion +the wedge has been driven a little farther forward. This time the blow +was heavier and the wedge went farther. + +The attack was made just as a summer night was reddening into dawn. Away +to the rear over Guillemont--for the Australians were pushing almost in +an opposite direction from the great British attack--the first light of +day glowed angrily on the lower edges of the leaden clouds. You could +faintly distinguish objects a hundred yards away. Our field guns, from +behind the hills, broke suddenly into a tempest of fire, which tore a +curtain of dust from the red shell craters carpeting the ridge. A few +minutes later the bombardment lengthened, and the line of Queenslanders, +Tasmanians and Western Australians rushed for the trenches ahead of +them. + +On the left, well down the shoulder of the hill towards Thiepval, was +the dust-heap of craters and ashes, with odd ends of some shattered +timber sticking out of it, which goes by the name of Mouquet Farm. It +was a big, important homestead some months ago. To-day it is the +wreckage of a log roof, waterlogged in a boundless tawny sea of craters. +There is no sign of a trench left in it--the entrances of the dug-outs +may be found here and there like rat-holes, about half a dozen of them, +behind dishevelled heaps of rubbish. They open into craters now--no +doubt each opening has been scratched clear of debris a dozen times. You +have to get into some of them by crawling on hands and knees. + +The first charge took the Western Australians far beyond the farm. They +reached a position two hundred yards farther and started to dig in +there. Within an hour or two they had a fairly good trench out amongst +the craters well in front of the farm. The farm behind them ought to be +solidly ours with such a line in front of it. A separate body of men, +some of them Tasmanians, came like a whirlwind on their heels into the +farm. The part of the garrison which was lying out in front in a rough +line of shell craters found them on top of the craters before they knew +that there were British troops anywhere about. They were captured and +sent back. The Australians tumbled over the debris into the farm itself. + +The fight that raged for two days on this ridge was not one of those in +which the enemy put up his hands as soon as our men came on to him. Far +on the top of the hill to the right, and in the maze of trenches +between, and in the dug-outs of the farm on the left, he was fighting +stiffly over the whole front. In the dim light, as the party which was +to take the farm rushed into it, a machine-gun was barking at them from +somewhere inside that rubbish yard itself. They could hear the bark +obviously very close to them, but it was impossible to say where it came +from, whether thirty yards away or fifty. They knew it must be firing +from behind one of the heaps of rubbish where the entrances of the +dug-outs probably were, firing obliquely and to its rear at the men who +rushed past it. They chose the heap which seemed most probable, and +fired six rifle grenades all at once into it. There was a clatter and +dust; the machine-gun went out like a candle. Later they found it lying +smashed at the mouth of a shaft there. + +[Illustration: THE TUMBLED HEAP OF BRICKS AND TIMBER WHICH THE WORLD +KNOWS AS MOUQUET FARM] + +[Illustration: "PAST THE MUD-HEAPS SCRAPED BY THE ROAD GANGS" (_See p. +192_).] + +The Germans fought them from their rat-holes. When a man peered down the +dark staircase shaft, he sometimes received a shot from below, +sometimes a rifle grenade fired through a hole in a sandbag barricade, +which the Germans had made at the bottom of the stair. Occasionally a +face would be seen peering up from below--for they refused to come +out--and our men would fling down a bomb or fire a couple of shots. But +those on the top of the stair always have the advantage. The Germans +were bombed and shot out of entrance after entrance, and at last came up +through the only exit left to them. Finding Australians swarming through +the place, they surrendered; and the whole garrison of Mouquet Farm was +accounted for. Those who were not lying dead in the craters and +dust-heap were prisoners. Mouquet Farm was ours, and a line of +Australian infantry was entrenching itself far ahead of it. + +On the ridge the charge had farther to go. It swarmed over one German +trench and on to a more distant one. The Germans fought it from their +trench. The rush was a long one, and the German had time to find his +feet after the bombardment. But the men he was standing up to were the +offshoot of a famous Queensland regiment; and, though the German +guardsmen showed more fight than any Germans we have met, they had no +match for the fire of these boys. The trench is said to have been +crowded with German dead and wounded. On the left the German tried at +once to bomb his way back into the trench he had lost, and for a time he +made some headway. Part of the line was driven out of the trench into +the craters on our side of it. But before the bombing party had gone +far, the Queenslanders were into the trench again with bomb and bayonet, +and the trenches on the right flank of the attack were solidly ours. + +The Queenslanders who reached this trench and took it, found themselves +looking out over a wide expanse of country. Miles in front of them, and +far away to their flank, there stretched a virgin land. They were upon +the crest of the ridge, and the landscape before them was the country +behind the German lines. Except for a gentle rise, somewhat farther +northward behind Thiepval, they had reached about the highest point upon +the northern end of the ridge. + +The connecting trenches, between Mouquet Farm and the ridge above and +behind it, were attacked by the Tasmanians. The fire was very heavy, and +for a moment it looked as if this part of the line, and the +Queenslanders immediately next to it, would not be able to get in. +Officer after officer was hit. Leading amongst these was a senior +captain, an officer old for his rank, but one who was known to almost +every man in the force as one of the most striking personalities in +Gallipoli. He had two sons in the Australian force, officers practically +of his own rank. He was one of the first men on to Anzac Beach; and was +the last Australian who left it: Captain Littler. + +I had seen him just as he was leaving for the fight, some hours before. +He carried no weapon but a walking-stick. "I have never carried anything +else into action," he said, "and I am not going to begin now." He was +ill with rheumatism and looked it, and the doctor had advised that he +ought not to be with his company. But he came back to them that evening +for the fight; and one could see that it made a world of difference to +them. He was a man whom his own men swore by. Personally, one breathed +more easily knowing that he was with them. It would be his last big +fight, he told me. + +Half-way through that charge, in the thick of the whirl of it, he was +seen standing, leaning heavily upon his stick. It was touch and go at +the moment whether the trench was won or lost. "Are you hit, sir?" +asked several around him. Then they noticed a gash in his leg and the +blood running from it--and he seemed to be hit through the chest as +well. + +"I will reach that trench if the boys do," he said. + +"Have no fear of that, sir," was the answer. A sergeant asked him for +his stick. Then--with the voice of a big man, like his officer, the +sergeant shouted, and waved his stick, and took the men on. In the +half-dark his figure was not unlike that of his commander. They made one +further rush and were in the trench. + +They were utterly isolated in the trench when they reached it. A German +machine-gun was cracking away in the same trench to their right, firing +between them and the trench they had come from. There was barbed wire in +front of it. When they tried to force a way with bombs up the trench to +the gun, German bombers in craters behind the trench showered bombs on +to them. Then a sergeant crawled out between the wire and the +machine-gun--crawled on his stomach right up to the gun and shot the +gunner with his revolver. "I've killed three of them," he said, as he +crawled back. Presently a shell fell on him and shattered him. But our +bombers, like the Germans, crept out into craters behind the trench, +and bombed the German bombers out of their shelter. That opened the way +along the trench, and they found the three machine-gunners, shot as the +sergeant had said. The Tasmanians went swiftly along the trench after +that, and presently saw a row of good Australian heads in a sap well in +front of them. There went up a cheer. Other German guardsmen, who had +been lying in craters in front of the trench, and in a scrap of trench +beyond, heard the cheering; seeing that there were Australians on both +sides of them, they stumbled to their feet and threw up their hands. +They were marched off to the rear, and the Tasmanians joined up with the +Queenslanders. + +So the centre was joined to the right. On the left it was uncertain +whether it was joined or not. There was a line of trench to be seen on +that side running back towards the German lines. It was merely a more +regular line of mud amongst the irregular mud-heaps of the craters; but +there were the heads of the men looking out from it--so clearly it was a +trench. As the light grew they could make out men leaning on their arms +and elbows, looking over the parapet. Every available glass was turned +on them, but it was too dark still to see if they were Australians. Two +scouts were sent forward, creeping from hole to hole. Both were shot. A +machine-gun was turned at once on to the line of heads. They started +hopping back down their tumbled sap towards the German rear. Clearly +they were Germans. The machine-gun made fast practice as the line of +backs showed behind the parapet. + +There were Germans, not Australians, in the trenches on the Tasmanians' +left--in the same trench as they. The flank there was in the air. There +was nothing to do except to barricade the trench and hold the flank as +best they could. + +And for the next two days they held it, shelled with every sort of gun +and trench mortar, although fresh companies of the Prussian Guard +Reserve constantly filed in to the gap which existed between this point +and Mouquet Farm. Their old leader, who had promised to reach that +trench with them, was not there. They found him lying dead within a few +yards of it, straight in front of the machine-gun which they had +silenced. So Littler had kept his promise--and lost his life. They had a +young officer and a few sergeants. All through that day their numbers +slowly dwindled. They held the trench all the next night, and in the +grey dawn of the second day a sentry, looking over the trench, saw the +Germans a little way outside of it. As he pointed them out he fell back +shot through the head. They told the Queenslanders, and the +Queenslanders came out instantly and bombed from their side, in rear of +the Germans. The Queensland officer was shot dead, but the Germans were +cleared out or killed. + +That afternoon the Germans attacked that open flank with heavy +artillery. For hours shell after shell crashed into the earth around. A +heavy battery found the barricade and put its four big shells +systematically round it. They reduced the garrison as far as possible, +and four or five only were kept by the barricade. They were not all +Australians now. + +For the end of the Australian work was coming very near. But that +occasion deserves a letter to itself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +HOW THE AUSTRALIANS WERE RELIEVED + +_France, September 19th._ + + +It was before the moment at which my last letter ended that the time had +come for the first relieving troops to be drafted into the fight. + +I shall not forget the first I saw of them. We were at a certain +headquarters not a thousand miles from the enemy's barrage. Messages had +dribbled through from each part of the attacking line telling exactly +where every portion of it had got to; or rather telling where each +portion believed it had got to--as far as it could judge by sticking up +its collective head from shell craters and broken-down trench walls and +staring out over the limitless sea of craters and crabholes which +surrounded it. As the only features in the landscape were a ragged tree +stump, and what looked like the remains of a broken fish basket over the +horizon, all very distant--and a dozen shell-bursts and the bark of an +unseen machine-gun, all very close--the determination was apt to be a +trifle erratic. Still, the points were marked down, where each handful +believed and trusted itself to be. The next business was to fill up +certain gaps. An order was dispatched to the supports. They were to send +an officer to receive instructions. + +He came. He was a man nearing middle age, erect, tough as wire, with +lines in his face such as hard fighting and responsibility leave on the +face of every soldier. + +The representative of authority upon the spot--an Australian who also +had faced ugly scenes--explained to him quietly where he wished him to +take his men, into such and such a corner, by such and such a route. It +meant plunging straight into the thick of the Somme battle, with all its +unknown horrors--everyone there knew that. But the new-comer said +quietly, "Yes, sir"--and climbed up and out into the light. + +It was not an Australian who spoke. That "Yes, sir" came unmistakably +from the other side of the Pacific. It was the first of the Canadians +upon the Somme battlefield. + +An hour or so later an Australian officer, moving along with his men to +improve an exposed and isolated trench (a trench which was outflanked +already, and enfiladed, and in half a dozen ways unhealthy) into a +condition to be held against any attacks at all costs--found, coming +across the open towards his exposed flank, a line of stalwart men in +kilts. His men were dead tired, the enemy's shell-fire was constant and +heavy, grey heads and helmets constantly seen behind a red mud parapet, +across a hundred yards of red mud craters, proved that the Prussian +Guard Reserve was getting ready to counter-attack him. Every message he +sent back to Headquarters finished, "But we will hold this trench." + +And yet here the new men came--a line of them, stumbling from crater +into crater, and by one of those unaccountable chances that occur in +battles, only two or three of them were hit in crossing over. They +dropped into the trench by the side of the Australians. Their bombers +went to the left to relieve the men who had been holding the open flank. +They brought in with them keen, fresh faces and bodies, and an +all-important supply of bombs. It was better than a draught of good +wine. + +So it was that the first of the Canadians arrived. + +Long before the last Australian platoon left that battered line, these +first Canadians were almost as tired as they. For thirty-six hours they +had piled up the same barricades, garrisoned the same shell-holes, were +shattered by the same shells. Twenty-four hours after the Canadians +came, the vicious bombardment described in the last letter descended on +the flank they both were holding. They were buried together by the heavy +shell-bursts. They dug each other out. When the garrison became so thin +that whole lengths of trench were without a single unwounded occupant, +they helped each others' wounded down to the next length, and built +another barricade, and held that. + +Finally, when hour after hour passed and the incessant shelling never +ceased, the garrison was withdrawn a little farther; and then five of +them went back to the barricade which the enemy's artillery had +discovered. They sat down in the trench behind it. A German battery was +trying for it--putting its four big high-explosive shells regularly +round it--salvo after salvo as punctual as clockwork. It was only a +matter of time before the thing must go. + +So the five sat there--Tasmanians and Canadians--and discussed the rival +methods of wheat growing in their respective dominions in order to keep +their thoughts away from that inevitable shell. + +It came at last, through their shelter--slashed one man across the face, +killed two and left two--smashed the barricade into a scrap-heap. Then +others were brought to stand by. Shells were falling anything from +thirty to forty in the minute. One of the remaining Tasmanian +sergeants--a Lewis gunner--came back from an errand, crawling, wounded +dangerously through the neck. "I don't want to go away," he said. "If I +can't work a Lewis gun, I can sit by another chap and tell him how to." +In the end, when he was sent away, he was seen crawling on two knees and +one hand, guiding with the other hand a fellow gunner who had been hit. + +That night a big gun, much bigger than the rest, sent its shells roaring +down through the sky somewhere near. The men would be waked by the +shriek of each shell and then fall asleep and be waked again by the +crash of the explosion. And still they held the trench. And still every +other message ended--"But we will hold on." + +They had withdrawn a little to where they could hold during the night; +but before the grey morning, the moment the bombardment had eased, they +crept back again lest the Germans should get there first. + +With the light came a reinforcement of new Canadians--grand fellows in +great spirit. And the last Australian was during that morning withdrawn. +It was the most welcome sight in all the world to see those troops come +in. Not that the tired men would ever admit that it was necessary. As +one report from an Australian boy said, "The reinforcement has arrived. +Captain X---- may tell you that the Australians are done. Rot!" + +Whether they were done or whether they were not, they spoke of those +Canadian bombers in a way it would have done Canadian hearts good to +hear. Australians and Canadians fought for thirty-six hours in those +trenches inextricably mixed, working under each others' officers. Their +wounded helped each other from the front. Their dead lie and will lie +through all the centuries hastily buried beside the tumbled trenches and +shell-holes where, fighting as mates, they died. + + * * * * * + +And the men who had hung on to that flank almost within shouting +distance of Mouquet for two wild days and nights--they came out of the +fight asking, "Can you tell me if we have got Mouquet Farm?" + +We had not. The fierce fighting in the broken centre had enabled us to +hold all the ground gained upon the crest. But through this same gap the +Germans had come back against the farm. They swarmed in upon its +garrison, driving in gradually the men who were holding that flank. +Under heavy shell-fire the line dwindled and dwindled until the Western +Australians, who had won the farm and held it for five hours, numbered +barely sufficient to make good their retirement. The officer left in +charge there, himself wounded, ordered the remnant to withdraw. And the +Germans entered the farm again. + +But on the crest the line held. The Prussian Guard Reserve +counter-attacked it three times, and on the last occasion the +Queenslanders had such deadly shooting against Germans in the open as +cheered them in spite of all their fatigue. I saw those Queenslanders +marching out two days later with a step which would do credit to a +Guards regiment going in. + +So ended a fight as hard as Australians have ever fought. + +Mouquet Farm was taken a fortnight later in a big combined advance of +British and Canadians. The Farm itself held out many hours after the +line had passed it, and was finally seized by a pioneer battalion, +working behind our lines. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ON LEAVE TO A NEW ENGLAND + +_Back in France._ + + +It was after seven weeks of very heavy fighting. Even those whose duty +took them rarely up amongst the shells were almost worn out with the +prolonged strain. Those who had been fighting their turns up in the +powdered trenches came out from time to time tired well nigh to death in +body, mind and soul. The battle of the Somme still grumbled night and +day behind them. But for those who emerged a certain amount of leave was +opened. + +It was like a plunge into forgotten days. War seemed to end at the +French quayside. Staff officers, brigadier-generals, captains, privates +and lance-corporals--they were all just Englishmen off to their homes. +They jostled one another up the gangway--I never heard a rough word in +that dense crowd. They lay side by side outside the saloon of the +Channel turbine steamer. A corporal with his head half in the doorway, +too seasick to know that it was fair in the path of a major-general's +boots; a general Staff officer and a French captain with their backs +propped against the oak panelling and their ribs against somebody else's +baggage; a subaltern of engineers with his head upon their feet; a +hundred others packed on the stairs and up to the deck; and a horrible +groaning from the direction of the lavatories--it was truly the happiest +moment in all their lives. + +The crossing passed like a dream--scarcely noticed. Seven weeks of +strain can leave you too tired almost to think. A journey in a +comfortable railway compartment through prim, hazy English fields, the +carriage blue with smoke from the pipes of its inhabitants (a Canadian, +three or four Englishmen and a couple of Australians), has gone almost +unremembered. As the custom is in England, they were mostly ensconced +behind their newspapers, although there is more geniality in an English +railway carriage to-day than was usual before the war. But most people +in that train, I think, were too tired for conversation. + +It was the coming into London that left such an impression as some of us +will never forget. Some of us knew London well before the war. It is +the one great city in the world where you never saw the least trace of +corporate emotion. It divides itself off into districts for the rich and +districts for the poor, and districts for all the grades in between the +two, which are the separate layers in the big, frowning edifice of +British society; they may have had some sort of feeling for their class +or their profession--the lawyer proud of his Inns of Court and of the +tradition of the London Bar, the doctor proud of London schools of +medicine, and the Thames engineer even proud of the work that is turned +out upon the Thames. But there was no more common feeling or activity in +the people of London than there would be common energy in a heap of sand +grains. They would have looked upon it as sheer weakness to exhibit any +interest in the doings even of their neighbours. + +The battle of the Somme had begun about nine weeks before when this +particular train, carrying the daily instalment of men on leave from it, +began to wind its way in past the endless back-gardens and yellow brick +houses, every one the replica of the next, and the numberless villa +chimneys and chimney-pots which fence the southern approaches of the +great capital. They are tight, compact little fortresses, those English +villas, each jealously defended against its neighbour and the whole +world by the sentiment within, even more than by the high brick wall +around it. But if they were all rigidly separate from each other, there +was one thing that bound them all together just for that moment. + +It happened in every cottage garden, in every street that rattled past +underneath the railway bridges, in every slum-yard, from every window, +upper and lower. As the leave train passed the people all for the moment +dropped whatever they were doing and ran to wave a hand at it. The +children in every garden dropped their games and ran to the fence and +clambered up to wave these tired men out of sight. The servant at the +upper window let her work go and waved; the mother of the family and the +girls in the sitting-room downstairs came to the window and waved; the +woman washing in the tub in the back-yard straightened herself up and +waved; the little grocer out with his wife and the perambulator waved, +and the wife waved, and the infant in the perambulator waved; the boys +playing pitch-and-toss on the pavement ran towards the railway bridge +and waved; the young lady out for a walk with her young man waved--not +at all a suppressed welcome, quite the reverse of half-hearted; the +young man waved, much more demurely, but still he did wave. The flapper +on the lawn threw down her tennis-racket and simply flung kisses; and +her two young brothers expressed themselves quite as emphatically in +their own manner; the old man at the corner and the grocer-boy from his +cart waved. For a quarter of an hour, while that train wound in through +the London suburbs, every human being that was near dropped his work and +gave it a welcome. + +I have seen many great ceremonies in England, and they have left me as +cold as ice. There have been big set pieces even in this war, with brass +bands and lines of policemen and cheering crowds and long accounts of it +afterwards in the newspapers. But I have never seen any demonstration +that could compare with this simple spontaneous welcome by the families +of London. It was quite unrehearsed and quite unreported. No one had +arranged it, and no one was going to write big headlines about it next +day. The people in one garden did not even know what the people in the +next garden were doing--or want to know. The servant at the upper +window did not know that the mistress was at the lower window doing +exactly as she was, and vice versa. For the first time in one's +experience one had experienced a genuine, whole-hearted, common feeling +running through all the English people--every man, woman and child, +without distinction, bound in one common interest which, for the time +being, was moving the whole nation. And I shall never forget it. + +It was the most wonderful welcome--I am not exaggerating when I say that +it was one of the most wonderful and most inspiriting sights that I have +ever seen. I do not know whether the rulers of the country are aware of +it. But I do not believe for a moment that this people can go back after +the war to the attitude by which each of those families was to all the +others only so much prospective monetary gain or loss. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE NEW ENTRY + +_France, November 13th._ + + +Last week an Australian force made its attack in quite a different area +of the Somme battle. + +The sky was blue in patches, with cold white clouds between. The wind +drove icily. There had been practically no rain for two days. + +We were in a new corner. The New Zealanders had pushed right through to +the comparatively green country just here--and so had the British to +north and south of it. We were well over the slope of the main ridge, up +which the Somme battle raged for the first three months. Pozieres, the +highest point, where Australians first peeped over it, lay miles away to +our left rear. From the top of the ridge behind you, looking back over +your left shoulder, you could just see a few distant broken tree stumps. +I think they marked the site of that old nightmare. + +We were looking down a long even slope to a long up-slope beyond. The +country around us was mostly brown-mud shell-holes. Not like the +shell-holes of that blasted hill-top of two months back--I have never +seen anything quite like that, though they say that Guillemont, which I +have not seen, is as devastated. In this present area there is green +grass between the rims of the craters. But not enough green grass to +matter. The general colour of the country on the British side is +brown--all gradations of it--from thin, sloppy, grey-brown mud, trampled +liquid with the feet of men and horses, to dull, putty-like brown mud so +thick that, when you get your foot into it, you have a constant problem +of getting it out again. + +For it is the country over which the fight has passed. As we advance, we +advance always on to the area which has been torn with shells--where the +villages and the trenches and the surface of the green country have been +battered and shattered, first by our guns and then by the German guns, +until they have made a hell out of heaven. + +And always just ahead of us, a mile or so behind the German lines, there +is heaven smiling--you can see it clearly; in this part, up the +opposite slope of the wide, open valley. There is the green country on +which the Germans are always being driven back, and up which this +monstrous engine of war has not yet begun its slow, gruesome climb. +There are the beautiful green woods fading to soft autumn brown and +yellow--the little red roofs in the trees, an empty village in the +foreground--you can see the wet mud shining in its street and the white +trickle of water down the centre of the road. + +Down our long muddy hill-slope, near where the knuckles of it dip out of +sight into the bottom of the valley, one notices a line of heads. In +some places they are clear and in others they cannot be seen. But we +guess that it is the line ready to go out. + +At the top of the opposite up-slope the tower of Bapaume town hall +showed up behind the trees. We made out that the hands of the clock were +at the hour--but I have heard others say that they were permanently at +half-past five, and others a quarter past four--it is one of those +matters which become very important on these long dark evenings, and +friendships are apt to be broken over it. The clock tower, +unfortunately, disappeared finally at eighteen minutes past eleven +yesterday morning, so the controversy is never likely to be settled. + +The bombardment broke out suddenly from behind us. We saw the long line +of men below clamber on to the surface, a bayonet gleaming here and +there, and begin to walk steadily between the shell-holes towards the +edge of the hill. From where we were you could not see the enemy's +trench in the valley--only the brown mud of crater rims down to the +hill's edge. And I think the line could not see it either, in most parts +at any rate. They would start from their muddy parapet, and over the wet +grass, with one idea above all others in the back of every man's +head--when shall we begin to catch sight of the enemy? + +It is curious how in this country of shell craters you can look at a +trench without realising that it is a trench. A mud-heap parapet is not +so different from the mud-heap round a crater's rim, except that it is +more regular. Even to discover your own trench is often like finding a +bush road. You are told that there is a trench over there and you cannot +miss it. But, once you have left your starting-point, it looks as if +there were nothing else in the world but a wilderness of shell craters. +Then you realise that there is a certain regularity in the irregular +mud-heaps some way ahead of you--the top of a muddy steel helmet moves +between two earth-heaps on the ground's surface--then another helmet and +another; and you have found your bearings. That is clearly the trench +they spoke about. + +Well, finding the German trench seems to be much the same experience, +varied by a multitude of bullets singing past like bees, and with the +additional thought ever present to the mind--when will the enemy's +barrage burst on you? When it does come, you do not hear it +coming--there is too much racket in the air for your ears to catch the +shell whistling down as you are accustomed to. There are big black +crashes and splashes near by, without warning--scarcely noticed at +first. In the charge itself men often do not notice other men hit--we, +looking on from far behind, did not notice that. A man may be slipping +in a shell-hole, or in the mud, or in some wire--often he gets up again +and runs on. It is only afterwards that you realise.... + +Across the mud space there were suddenly noticed a few grey helmets +watching--a long, long distance away. Then the grey helmets moved, and +other helmets moved, and bunched themselves up, and hurried about like a +disturbed hive, and settled into a line of men firing fast and coolly. +That was the German trench. + +It was fairly packed already in one part. The rattle of fire grew +quickly. The chatter of one machine-gun--then another, and another, were +added to it. Our shells were bursting occasionally flat in the face of +the Germans--one big bearded fellow--they are close enough for those +details to be seen now--takes a low burst of our shrapnel full in his +eyes. A high-explosive shell bursts on the parapet, and down go three +others. But they are firing calmly through all this. + +Three or four Germans suddenly get up from some hole in No Man's Land, +and bolt for their trench like rabbits. Within forty yards of the German +parapet the leading men in our line find themselves alone. The line has +dwindled to a few scanty groups. These are dropping suddenly--their +comrades cannot say whether they are taking cover in shell-holes, or +whether they have been hit. The Germans are getting up a machine-gun on +the parapet straight opposite. The first two men fall back shot. Two or +three others struggle up to it--they are shot too; our men are making +desperate shooting to keep down that machine-gun. But the Germans get it +up. It cracks overhead. In this part of the line the attack is clearly +finished. + +One remembers a day, some months back, when a Western Australian +battalion, after a heavy bombardment of its trench, found a German line +coming up over the crest of the hill about two hundred yards away. The +Western Australians stood up well over the parapet, and fired until the +remnant of that line sank to the ground within forty or fifty yards of +them. That line was a line of the Prussian Guard Reserve. We have had +that opportunity three or four times in the Somme battle. This time it +was the Germans who had it. The Germans were of the Prussian Foot +Guards--and it was Western Australians who were attacking. + +In another part, where the South Australians attacked, they found fewer +Germans in the trench. They could see the Germans in small groups +getting their bombs ready to throw--but they were into the trench before +the Germans had time to hold them up. They killed or captured all the +German garrison, and destroyed a machine-gun, and set steadily to +improve the trench for holding it. + +Everything seemed to go well in this part, except that they could get no +touch with any other of our troops in the trench. As far as they knew +the other portions of the attack had succeeded, as well as theirs. And +then things changed suddenly. After an hour a message did come from +Australians farther along in the same trench--a message for urgent help. +At the same time a similar message came from the other flank as well. A +shower of stick-bombs burst with a formidable crash from one side. A +line of Germans was seen, coming steadily along in single file against +the other end of the trench. A similar shower of crashes descended from +that direction. A machine-gun began to crackle down the trench. Our men +fought till their bombs, and all the German bombs they could find, were +gone. Finally the Germans began to gain on them from both ends, and the +attack here, too, was over. They were driven from the trench. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +A HARD TIME + +_France, November 28th._ + + +He is having a hard time. I do not see that there is any reason to make +light of it. If you do, you rob him of the credit which, if ever man +deserved it, he ought to be getting now--the credit for putting a good +face upon it under conditions which, to him, especially at the +beginning, were sheer undiluted misery. Some people think that to tell +the truth in these matters would hinder recruiting. Well, if it did, it +would only mean that the young Australians who stay at home are guilty +of greater meanness than one has ever thought. For the Australian here +has plunged straight into an existence more like that of a duck in a +farmyard drain than to any other condition known or dreamed of in his +own sunny land. He is resisting it not only passably but well. And if +you want to know the reason--as far as any general reason can be +given--the motive, which keeps him trying day after day, is the desire +that no man shall say a word against Australia. I don't know if his +country is thinking of him--a good part of it must be--but he is +thinking of his country all the time. Australia has made her name in the +world during this war--the world knows her now. It is these men--not the +men who shout at stadiums and race meetings at home, but the simple, +willing men who are described in this letter--who are making Australia's +name for her--and just at present holding on to it like grim death. + +Even the life of a duck in a farmyard drain becomes in a wonderful way +supportable when you tackle it as cheerfully as that. It comes to the +Australian as a shock, at the first introduction--the Manning River +country after the Manning River flood has subsided is, as a New South +Welshman suggested, the nearest imitation that he has ever seen. But +then there was blue sky and dazzling sun over that; whereas here the +whole grey sky seems to drip off his hatbrim and nose and chilled +fingers and the shiny oil sheet tied around his neck, and to ooze into +his back and his boots. It is all fairly comfortable in the green +country from which he starts. There has been a fairly warm billet in the +half dark of a big barn, where the morning light comes through in +strange shafts and triangles up in the blackness amongst the gaunt roof +beams. There was a canteen--which is really an officially managed shop +for good, cheap groceries--in an outhouse at the end of the village; +there were three or four estaminets and cafes, with cheerful and +passably pretty mademoiselles, and good coffee, and very vile wine, +labelled temporarily as champagne. There was also--for some who obtained +leave--a visit to a neighbouring town. + +The battalion moved off early--its much-prized brass band at its +head--and the men who didn't obtain leave at the tail. The battalion is +to be carried to the front in the same string of groaning autobuses +which brought out its weary predecessors. The buses are a great help +immensely valued--but the battalion has to march four miles to them--to +warm it, I suppose. The men who did not obtain leave are carrying the +iron cooking dixies for those four miles. In the nature of things +military, there will be another four miles to march at the other end. +The platoon at the tail thoroughly appreciates this. Its philosophy of +life is wasted, unfortunately, on four miles of stately, dripping French +elm trees which cannot understand, and one richly appreciative +Australian subaltern who can. + +The battalion was not disappointed. The motor-buses brought it to a most +comfortable-looking village--pretty well as good as the one it had left. +It climbed out, and straightaway marched to another village five miles +distant. The darkness had come down--huge motor-wagons shouldered them +off the road into gutters, where they found themselves ankle deep in the +mud-heaps scraped by the road gangs. Every second wagon blinded them +with its two glaring gig-lamps, and slapped up the mud on to their +cheeks. A mule wagon, trotting up behind, splashed it into their back +hair, where they found it in dry beads of assorted sizes next morning. +It was raining dismally. The head of the column was commenting richly on +its surroundings--the platoon at the tail had ceased to comment at all. +The last couple were a pair who, I will swear, must have tramped +together many a long road over the Old Man Plains towards the evening +sun--old felt hats slightly battered; grim, set lips, knees and backs a +little bent with the act of carrying; and pack, oil sheet, mess tin +rising heavenwards in one mighty hump above their spines. At the gap in +a hedge, where the column turned off into a sort of mud lake, stood an +officer whose kindly eyes were puckered from the glare of the central +Australian sun. You could have told they were Australians at a mile's +distance. He looked at them with a queer smile. + +"Are you the Scottish Horse?" he asked inquiringly. + +"We are the blanky camel corps," was the answer. + +That march at both ends of the motor trip was the adjutant's salvation. +When the battalion splashed up to its appointed billets, and found them +calculated for receiving only half of its number of soldiers awake, he +shifted two-thirds of them in; and, as they promptly fell to sleep the +moment the column ceased to move, he shifted in the remainder when they +were asleep. + +When the battalion drew its breath next morning, it was inclined to +think that it was enduring the full horror of war; and was preparing to +summarise the situation. But before it could draw a second breath it was +marched off to--to what I will call a reserve camp. It was not +technically a reserve camp, which was farther on; but they knew it was a +camp for battalions to rest in--when they have been very good, and it +is desired to give them time to recover their wind. They were rather +"bucked" with the idea of this resting-place. + +At midday they arrived there. That is to say, they waded up to a +collection of little tents, not unlike bushmen's tents in Australia, and +stood knee deep at the entrances, looking into them--speechless. They +were not much by way of tents at the best of times. There was nearly as +much mud inside as there was outside. But on top of the normal +conditions came the fact that the last battalion to occupy those tents +must have camped there in dry weather. Since there was not enough +headroom upwards it had dug downwards. And, as it had not put a drain +round them, the water had come in, and the interior of a fair proportion +of these residences consisted of a circular lake, varying in depth from +a few inches to a foot and a half. + +The battalion could only find one word, when its breath came--and, as +the regiment which had made those holes, and the town major to whom they +now belonged, were probably of unimpeachable ancestry, I do not think +the accusation was justified. But when it realised that, good or bad, +this was the place where it was to pass the night, it split itself up, +as good Australian battalions have a way of doing. + +"Which is the way to our tents, Bill?" asked the rear platoon of one of +the band, which had arrived half an hour before. + +"I don't know--I'm not the blanky harbour-master," was the reply. The +battalion set to work, like a tribe of beavers, to make a home. It +banked up little parapets of mud to prevent water coming in. It dug +capacious drains to let the water which was in run out. It scraped the +mud out of the interior of its lake dwellings, until it reached more or +less dry earth. A fair proportion of the regiment melted out into the +landscape, and returned during the rest of the day by ones and twos, +carrying odd bits of timber, broken wood, bricks, fag ends of rusty +sheet iron, old posts, wire and straw. By nightfall those Australians +were, I will not say in comfort, but moderately and passably warm and +dry. + +It so happened that they stayed in that camp four days. By the time they +left it they were looking upon themselves as almost fortunate. There was +only one break in its improvement--and that was when a dug-out was +discovered. It was a charming underground home, dug by some French +battery before the British came--with bunks and a table and stove. The +privates who discovered it made a most comfortable home until its fame +got abroad, and the regimental headquarters were moved in there. +Dug-outs became all the fashion for the moment--everyone set about +searching for them. But the supply in any works on the Allied side is, +unfortunately, limited--and after half a day's enthusiasm the battalion +fell back resignedly on its canvas home. + +When it came back some time later to these familiar dwellings, +heavy-eyed and heavy-footed, there was no insincerity in the relief with +which it regarded them. They were a resting-place then. Another +battalion had kept them decently clean, and handed them over drained and +dry; for which thoughtfulness, not always met with, they were more +grateful than those tired men could have explained. + +For they had been up into the line, and the places behind the line, and +out again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE WINTER OF 1916 + +_France, December 20th._ + + +A friend has shown me a letter from Melbourne. Its writer had asked a +man--an educated man--if he would give a subscription for the Australian +Comforts Fund. "Certainly not," was the reply. "The men have every +comfort in the trenches." + +That is the sort of dense-skinned ignorance which makes one unspeakably +angry--the ignorance which, because it has heard of or read a letter +from some brave-hearted youngster, making light of hardships for his +mother's sake, therefore flies to the conclusion that everything written +and spoken about the horrors of this war is humbug, and what the Army +calls "eyewash"--a big conspiracy to deceive the people who are not +there. + +As a matter of fact, the early winter of 1916 which these men have just +been going through will have a chapter to itself in history as long as +history lasts. It is to some extent past history now--to what extent I +do not suppose anyone on the German side or ours can tell. + +I, personally, do not know how the men and their officers can live +through that sort of time. Remember that a fair proportion of them were +a few months ago adding up figures in the office of an insurance company +or a shipping firm--gulping down their midday coffee and roll in a +teashop in King or Collins Streets. But take even a Central District +farmer or a Newcastle miner--yes, or a Scottish shepherd or an English +poacher--take the hardest man you know, and put him to the same test, +and it is a question whether the ordeal would not break even his spirit. +Put him out of doors into the thick of a dirty European winter; march +him ten miles through a bitter cold wind and driving rain, with--on his +back--all the clothing, household furniture, utensils and even the only +cover which he is allowed to take with him; dribble him in through mud +up to his knees--sometimes up to his waist--along miles and miles of +country that is nothing but broken tree stumps and endless shell +holes--holes into which, if a man were to fall, he might lie for days +before he were found, or even might never be found at all. After many +hours, trickle him, half dead with dragging his feet at every step out +of the putty-like mud, into a shallow, straggling, open ditch not in any +way different from a watery drain between two sodden country paddocks, +except that there is no grass about it--nothing but brown, slippery mud +on floor and trench sides and over the country in all directions as far +as eye can see. At the end of it all put him to live there, with what +baggage he carried on his back and nothing more; put him in various +depths of mud, to stay there all day in rain, wind, fog, hail, +snowstorm--whatever weather comes--and to watch there during the endless +winter nights, when the longed-for dawn only means another day and +another night out there in the mud ditch, without a shred of cover. And +this is what our men have had to go through. + +The longed-for relief comes at last--a change to other shell-battered +areas in support or reserve--and the battalion comes back down the long +road to the rear, white-faced and dreary-eyed, dragging slowly through +the mud without a word. For they have been through a life of which you, +or any people past and present who have not been to this war, have not +the first beginnings of a conception; something beside which a South +Polar expedition is a dance and a picnic. And that is without taking +into account the additional fact that night and day, on the Somme where +these conditions existed, men live under the unceasing sound of guns. I +can hear them as I write--it is the first longed-for gloriously bright +day, and therefore there is not an interval of a second in that +continuous roar, hour after hour. There is nothing like it anywhere else +in the world--there has never yet been anything to approach it except at +Verdun. + +Life is hard enough in winter in the old-established trenches along more +settled parts of the front--there is plenty for the Comforts Fund to do +there. Dropping into the best of quiet front trenches straight from his +home life the ordinary man would consider himself as undergoing +hardships undreamt of. Visiting those trenches straight from the Somme +the other day, with their duck-boards and sandbags, and the occasional +ping of a sniper's bullet, and the momentary spasm of field guns and +trench mortars which appeared in the official summary next day as +"artillery and trench mortar activity"--after the Somme, I say, one +found oneself looking on it, in the terms of the friend who went with +me, as "war de luxe." + +It is unwise to take what one man writes of one place as true of all +places or all times, or indeed of anything except what he personally +sees and knows at the moment. These conditions which I have described +are what I have seen, and are fortunately past history, or I should not +be describing them. I personally know that English troops, Scottish +troops and Australian troops went through them, and have, in some cases, +issued from such trenches and taken similar German trenches in front of +them. Our troops are more comfortable than they were, but it is in the +nature of war to find yourself plunged into extremes of exertion and +hardship without warning; and no man knows when he writes to-day--and I +doubt whether anyone of his superiors could tell him--whether he will, +at any given date, be in a worse condition or a better one. + +What the German is going through on his side of the muddy landscape is +described in another chapter. For our grand men--and though to be called +a hero is the last thing most Australians desire, the men are never +grander than at these times--the Australian Comforts Fund, the Y.M.C.A. +and the canteen groceries provide almost all the comfort that ever +enters that grim region. In the areas to which those tired men come for +a spell, the Comforts Fund is beginning to give them theatres for +concert troupes and cinemas. It provides some hundreds of pounds to be +spent locally on the most obtainable small luxuries at Christmas, +besides such gifts in kind as Christmas brings. + +But, for those who are actually in the front or just behind it, one cup +of warm coffee in a jam-tin from a roadside stall has been, in certain +times and places, all that can be given; the Fund has given that, and it +has been the landmark in the day for many men. In those conditions there +was but one occasional solace. A friend of mine found an Australian in +the trenches in those days, standing in mud nearly to his waist, +shivering in his arms and every body muscle, leaning back against the +trench side, fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +AS IN THE WORLD'S DAWN + +_France, December 20th._ + + +Yesterday morning we were looking across a bare, shallow valley at the +opposite knuckle of hill-side, around the foot of which the valley +doubled back out of sight. A solitary grey line of broken earth ran like +a mole burrow up the bare knuckle and vanished over the top. A line of +bare, dead willow stumps marked a few yards of the hollow below. On the +skyline, beyond the valley's end, stood out a distant line of ghostly +trees--so faint and blue as to be scarcely distinguishable from the sky. +There was nothing else in the landscape--absolutely nothing but the +bare, blank shape of the land; save for those old ghosts of departed +willows--no trees--no grass--no colour--no living or moving or singing +or sounding thing. + +Only--that morning at dawn had found a number of men tumbling, jumping, +running, dodging in and out of the shell-holes across that slope, +making towards our lines. The peck of occasional rifles came from some +farther part of the grey, featureless hill-side--the report was the only +trace of the rifles or of the men firing them. But as the men who were +dodging back were Australians the rifles must have been the rifles of +Germans, in trenches or shell-holes, somewhere on the face of that +waste. Who these Australians were, the men who watched from where we +stood did not know. Apparently they were men who had lost their way in +the dark and wandered beyond our trenches; as the light grew they had +suddenly realised that they were in front of our front line, and not +behind it, as they thought, and had come tumbling back over the craters. +They all reached the trench safely. + +For this battle has now reached such a formless, featureless landscape, +that it is a hard thing to tell whether you are looking at your own +country or the German country, or the country between the lines. The +stretch between the two sides has for the moment widened, the Germans +abandoning many of their waterlogged, sodden ditches close in front of +our lines, and contenting themselves with fighting a sort of rearguard +action there, while they tunnel, bore, dig, burrow like moles into the +farther heights where their reserve line runs near Bapaume. The battle +has widened out generally over the landscape. + +It is a very great difference from that boiling, bursting nightmare of +Pozieres, where the whole struggle tightened down to little more than +one narrow hill-top. This battle is now being fought in a sort of +dreamland of brown mudholes, which the blue northern mist turns to a +dull purple grey. The shape of the land is there, the hills, valleys, +lines of willow stumps, ends of broken telegraph poles. But the colour +is all gone. It is as though the bed of the ocean had suddenly risen, as +though the ocean depths had become valleys and the ocean mudbanks hills, +and the whole earth were a creation of slime. It is as though you +suddenly looked out upon the birth of the world, before the grass had +yet begun to spring and when the germs of primitive life still lay in +the slime which covered it; an old, old age before anything moved on the +earth or sang in the air, and when the naked bones of the earth lay bare +under the naked sky century after century, with no change or movement +save when the cloud shadows chased across it, or the storms lashed it, +or the evening sunlight glinted from the water trapped in its +meaningless hollows. It is to that unremembered chaos that German ideas +of life have reduced the world. + +Up the hill-side opposite there is running a strange purple-grey streak +between two purple-grey banks. There is something mysterious in this +flat ribbon, ruled, as if by the hand of man, across that primeval +colourless slope. The line of it can be traced distinctly over the hill +and out of sight. It takes a moment's thinking to realise that the grey +streak was once a road. It is a road which one has read of as the centre +of some desultory fighting. I dare say it will appear in its own small +way in history. "The battalion next attacked along the Bapaume-Cambrai +road"--to give it a name it does not own; and readers will picture the +troops in khaki dodging along a hedge, beneath green, leafy elm +trees.... + +Something moved. Yes, as I live, something is moving up that old +purple-grey scar across the hill-side. Two figures in pink, untanned +leather waistcoats are strolling up the old road, side by side. Their +hands are in their trousers pockets, and the only sign of war visible +about them is their copper-green hats. A sniper's rifle pecks somewhere +in the landscape thereabout, but the two figures do not even turn a +head. They are Bill and Jim from South Melbourne let loose upon the +antediluvian landscape, strolling up it, yawning. And they gave me much +the same shock as if some green and pink animal had suddenly issued from +its unsuspected burrow in a field of primeval grey slime and begun +crawling over its face to some haunt in the slime elsewhere. Two other +distant figures were moving on the far hill-side too. Perhaps it was at +them the rifle was pecking; for to our certain knowledge the crest of +that hill was German territory. + +Men lose their bearings in that sort of country every day. Germans find +themselves behind our lines without knowing that they have even passed +over their own; and an Australian carrying party has been known to +deposit its hot food, in the warm food containers, all ready steaming to +be eaten, in German territory. To their great credit be it said that the +party got back safely to the Australian trenches--save for one who is +missing and three who lie out there, face upwards.... Brave men. + +There is only one time when that unearthly landscape returns to itself +again. I suppose men and women lived in those valleys once; French +farmers' girls tugged home at dusk up that ghostly roadway slow-footed, +reluctant cows; I dare say they even made love--French lads and +sweethearts--down some long obliterated path beside those willow stumps +where the German patrol sneaks nightly from shell-hole to shell-hole. +There comes an afternoon when the sky turns dull yellow-white like an +old smoker's beard, and before dusk the snowflakes begin to fall. Far +back the cursing drivers are dragging their jibbing horses past +half-frozen shell-holes, which they can scarcely see. And out there, +where the freezing sentries keep watch over the fringe where +civilisation grinds against the German--out there under the tender white +mantle, flickering pink and orange under the gun flashes--out there for +a few short hours the land which Kultur has defaced comes by its own. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE GRASS BANK + +_France, December 10th._ + + +The connection of Tamar the Hammerhead, who cut the Grass Bank out of +the forest, with Timothy Gibbs, of Booligal, in New South Wales, may not +be clear at first sight. Tam's beech forest covered two or three green +hills in Gaul at the time when Caius Sulpicius, and his working party of +the Tenth Legion, were laying down new paving stones on the big road +from Amiens over the hill-tops. The wagon carrying the military +secretary to the Governor had bumped uncomfortably down that long slope +the week before; and as the Tenth Legion was resting, its commanding +officer received, two days later, an order to detail another fatigue +party. The big trees looked down on a string of private soldiers +shouldering big square paving stones from a neighbouring dump, where the +wagons stood, and fitting them carefully into the pavement, and--and +otherwise enjoying their rest. Caius Sulpicius and his orderly officer +stood watching them. The orderly officer leant on his stick. Caius had a +piece of bread in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other. His +forearm was black with grubbing amongst the paving stones. + +"When the Tenth Legion gets a rest without some old brass helmet helping +us to spend it," he said with his mouth full, "I'll begin to think the +end of the war is coming." + +"Why didn't it strike old Brassribs to make the inhabitants do a job of +work occasionally?" he added presently. "Now, in the old general's +time--" + +Far down on the edge of the forest, across two or three miles of rolling +hills, a patch of orange earth, newly turned, caught the orderly +officer's eye. One of the inhabitants was doing a job of work there, +anyway. Two days ago he had passed that way in a stroll after parade. A +mallet-headed man, his bare arm-muscles orange with mud, was piling up +an earthen embankment on the hill-side. A patch of the forest had been +allowed to him. In two years he had cut out the trees and undergrowth. +He was now trying to make his patch of hill-side level. The orange mud +bank of his terrace had been the labour of twelve months, and there was +a year's work in it yet. He had scarcely hoped to possess even a rood of +land, and now he had two acres. He was going to use every inch of it. +That was Tamar the Hammerhead's life's work. + +The Tenth Legion did get its rest. Caius lay beneath a moss-covered, +tilted gravestone--long, long forgotten--not so far from the great road. +One of a much later generation of orderly officers, who had scraped part +of the inscription clean with his penknife, went back and told the mess +at dinner that he had come across the grave of an officer of their own +unit, who had died thereabouts in some camp a hundred and fifty years +before. He did not mention that, on his stroll, he had scrambled down a +steep grass bank which ran curiously across the hill-side. There was +green grass above it, and green grass below it; and green grass and +patches of ploughland all over the downs. The white frost still hung to +the blades, though it was midday. The remnant of a small wood stood from +the hill-side. "I must get a fatigue party on to that timber to-morrow," +had said the orderly officer to himself. + +And so it was that the forest passed away--the general service wagons +from the neighbouring Roman camp called there daily for sixty years for +fuel cut by generations of fatigue parties. The only trees left, over +miles of sloping downs, were the thickets around the villages and one +row of walnut trees growing along the top of that steep grass +embankment--the one remnant of Hammerhead's old orchard. Years later the +tow-haired Franks swept through the country. The walnut trees were cut +by a farmer for the uprights in his long barn. His children rolled down +the old bank in their games, and in bad baby Latin invited the +youngsters of the farm next door to charge up "the Grass Bank" while +they defended it. The generations, whose bad Latin gradually became +French, still spoke of Hammerhead's old landmark--now situated in a +large grass field--as "The Grass Bank." + +On the military maps some way behind the arterial system of red lines +which stood for the German trenches--exactly as on a German map it +stands for ours--was a shaded mark shaped like an elongated pea pod. +There was no name to it--but a note in some pigeonhole of the local +Intelligence Officer stated that the inhabitants called the place "The +Grass Bank." Through it the map showed a lonely little red capillary, +wandering by itself for a quarter of an inch, and fading off into +nothing again. The stout German colonel of the local artillery +group--big guns which barked mostly of nights--having found his forward +observation post knocked in by a small field-gun shell, had come back +and growled like a bear all dinner-time, most inconsequentially, about +the lack of cover from heavy shells in the back areas. His real object +was to abuse the men at the table with him; but one junior Staff +Officer, hankering after promotion, looked round for the best dug-out +site; and caused to be burrowed downwards, from the bottom of a steep +grassy bank which ran half-way across a neighbouring field, four narrow +dark tunnels leading into low square rooms, held up with stout beams, +and all connected with each other. Two were lined with rough bunks on +wooden frames folding against the wall. Another held a table covered +with papers, a telephone switchboard, and four busy clerks. The fourth +was panelled carefully with deal, the ceiling neatly gridironed with +dark stained wood, a cupboard let into a recess with a looking-glass +panel above it, a comfortable bunk with an electric bulb above the +pillow and a telephone by the bedside. The group commander slept there +undisturbed, even when the British suddenly pushed their front forward, +and the Grass Bank began to shake with the thump of 9-inch shells. The +junior Staff Officer wonders why he is a junior Staff Officer still. + +The great battle climbed like some slow, devouring monster up one green +slope, down the next, and up the green slopes beyond, clawing on to +green fields, and leaving them behind it a wilderness of pock-marked +slime. One of the many small obstacles, which held up its local progress +for a while, was some sort of nest of Germans behind a certain bank. +Several attacks had been made on it. The Intelligence Officer of an +Australian Brigade followed the Intelligence Officer of an Australian +Battalion on his stomach, for one night, up to the barbed wire; and gave +it as his opinion that the enemy kept his machine-guns in dug-outs at +the bottom of the bank. Later, a wild night of driving rain, and +flashes, and crashes, and black forms struggling in the mud against the +glint of flares on slimy white crater edges, left things still +uncertain. + +It was there that Tim Gibbs came in--and Booligal. Tradition in New +South Wales puts the climate of Hay, Hell, and Booligal in that order. +Tim had driven starving, rickety sheep across his native plains when the +earth's surface had been powdered to red sand and driven by shrivelling +westerlies in travelling sandhills from mirage to summer mirage. Tim was +used to hot places. That is why he became a stretcher-bearer for his +company in Gallipoli, and transferred to the regimental bombers when +they reached France. When they came to a sea of brown mud waves, which +some cynic had misnamed the "Grass Bank," it was not Tim who volunteered +to take it. He had been in far too many hot corners to retain any of his +old hankering after them, and the Grass Bank was hotter than Booligal. +He went for the place because his colonel told him to--went cheerfully +to do a thing he horribly disliked, without letting anyone guess by word +or deed or the least little sign that he disliked it--which, if you +think of it, is more heroic by a long chalk. + +It was after dark on a winter's night that he and his men--about sixteen +of them--crept out up a slimy trench deep to the knees in sloppy mud; +peered at the enemy's wire against the skyline; half crawled, half slid +through a gap in it, and disappeared, Tim leading. A white flash--a +shower of bombs--red and orange flares breaking like Roman candles in +the sky--the chatter of a machine-gun--the enemy's barrage presently +shrieking down the vault of heaven. A dozen wounded men came back +before dawn. And Tim--Tim lay with his face to the stars, dreaming for +ever and ever of red plains and travelling sheep, on the edge of Tamar +the Hammerhead's Grass Bank. + +Slime Trench--Grass Bank--Gibbs' Corner--you will read of them all in +their chapter in the War's History. They were in every map for a +month--the newspapers made headings of them--they were household words +in London suburbs and Melbourne teashops. A month later the flood of +battle swept past them all in a great general attack without so much as +pausing to look. Two months--and a string of lorries pushed up a newly +made road until a policeman held them up, just as he would in London, to +let some cross stream of traffic through. One of the crossing lorries +bumped into a hole and impaled itself on a beam that had fallen off the +lorry ahead. The two drivers of a lorry far behind climbed up a steep, +shell-shattered neighbouring bank, and munched bread and bully beef +while the afternoon grew to dusk and gun flashes showed like lightning +on the angry low winter clouds ahead. + +"What they want to get us stuck in this flaming mud-hole for?" said the +driver to the second driver. "The Huns must have had a dug-out down +there, Bill," he added, pointing to certain splintered, buried timber at +the foot of the bank. + +Now there may be no such place as the Grass Bank; and there may have +been no Hammerhead nor Tim Gibbs; and he did not come from Booligal. But +the story is true to this extent--that it happens all the time upon this +battlefield. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +IN THE MUD OF LE BARQUE + +_France, December 20th._ + + +By the muddy, shell-pitted roadside of the sunken road in Le Barque, +behind the German lines, were found three shapeless forms. The mud +dripped from them as they lay, but they were the forms of men. And the +German soldiers who saw them, and who buried them, took it that they +were men who had not lost their lives from any shell wound; that they +had not been killed by the fire of our machine-guns, or by stray +bullets. They put down the death of those men to the mud and the mud +alone. The sunken road at Le Barque had been mashed with shells and +trampled to slime with traffic; some runner from battalion headquarters +at night, slipping through the sleet, some couple of men straggling +after the tail of an incoming platoon on a wild night when the English +barrage suddenly startled them and caused them to miss the path by a few +yards in the blackness, had stumbled unnoticed into a shell-hole. All +their company officer knew was that they were missing--and no trace of +them was found until three bodies were dragged from a shell crater, when +men told stories of men missed there before. + +Now, I do not know if it really was the mud which engulfed alive the +three Germans who lay beside the sunken road of Le Barque; but I know +that their comrades thought it was. And that is a simple proof that the +mud, of which the Germans talk so much, is not all on the British side +of the trenches. + +Looking from our lines yesterday across a valley one noticed a German +trench running up the farther side, the grey mud parapet heaped out, +like the earth of one long, continuous grave, on both sides of the +trench. Behind that trench, along its whole length, as far as we could +see, ran a sinuous thread of light-coloured soil. It was the beaten +track by which the Germans had moved up and down their trench. They +could not move _in_ the trench, so when they wanted to move they had to +hop up and move outside of it. If we were sniping by day they could not +move at all; and the track had probably been made by Germans moving at +night. It hugged the trench in case we started shooting or +shelling--when the Germans could at once jump back into the mud again. + +The Germans in some parts of the Somme battlefield have been going down +with frostbite in great numbers, so great as to put at least one +battalion out of action. This is through getting feet wet and frozen in +muddy trenches. To reach their front line, last month, in these valleys +in front of Bapaume and Le Transloy, has been quite impossible to the +Germans unless they went up over the open, or used such trenches as a +self-respecting man could scarcely enter. They came up, as would any +other soldiers under the same circumstances, across the open land. Even +then there were places which a man could scarcely pass. I know a man +who, in that same sunken road at Le Barque, pulled two of his comrades +by force out of the mud--an everyday matter. They left their boots and +socks in the mud behind them. + +If a man is wounded in some of those German trenches it takes eight men +to get him to the dressing station and five hours to arrive there, and +very much longer if there is any fighting in progress. One would not say +that any of these difficulties have been more acute amongst the Germans +than with the British and Australians--in some ways our men have faced +and overcome greater hardships than the Germans. But there is this chief +difference--the German is now getting back the shells which for two +years he rained upon the British. And he is talking--like a +German--about the unfairness of it. + +The German Staff claims that German infantry is the best in the world. +Certainly it is tough, and thoroughly convinced that it is better than +any of its friends. "The Turk is a pretty good fighter," said a German +to me a few days ago, "and the Bulgars fight well. The Austrians are +worth little. Every time the Russians drive the Austrians back they have +to call us in to repulse the Russians again for them." + +The German infantryman is tough, but not tougher than ours, and without +the dash; his outstanding virtue is his great power of work. But I do +not believe from what I have seen that he works one scrap harder than +the Australian. He might be supposed to have his heart more in the war +than the soldier of any other nation, but he certainly has not. Many +German soldiers have told me that there was a universal longing for the +war to end--but they seem to wonder at your asking them what they +think, or what their people in Germany think--as though it mattered one +straw. They tell you, in a detached sort of way, that a great many of +their people in Germany are tired of the war. "But they have no +influence on these matters," they say, "nor have the soldiers. We do not +meet together--we have nothing to say with it. They would go on with the +war all next year even if a million more men are killed--they will bring +back all the wounded, and the sick, if necessary." + +The German who used those words seemed to have no quarrel with those who +were driving his country, and no pride in them--he did not approve and +he did not disapprove. He seemed to accept them as part of the +unquestioned, unchangeable laws of his existence; they were there--and +what business was it of his to interfere with them? + +One can scarcely see a gleam of hope for them in the attitude of their +prisoners--a people that cannot rebel. But perhaps it is unfair to +judge. + +For these men, whom we now see, have been at long, long last through the +fire of guns heavier than their own; and through the mud of Le Barque. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE NEW DRAFT + +_France, December 11th._ + + +A fair-sized shell recently arrived in a certain front trench held by +Australians in France. It exploded, and an Australian found himself +struggling amongst some debris in No Man's Land. He tried to haul +himself clear, but the tumbled rubbish kept him down; and, as often as +he was seen to move, bullets whizzed past him from a green slope near +by. The green slope ran like a low railway embankment along the other +side of the unkempt paddock between the trenches. It was the German +front line. + +Finally one of his mates, I am told, jumped over to his help and dragged +him clear. When he got in he asked to be put into the very next party +that should visit the German trenches. He wanted his own back. + +He was one of the newest Australians. That is exactly the sort of +request that would have been made by the oldest ones. + +We have seen the newest Australian draft in France, and the verdict from +first to last amongst those who know them is, "They will do." There is +always a certain amount of chaff thrown out by the oldest Australians at +the latest arrivals. The sort of Australian who used to talk about our +"tinpot navy" labelled the Australians who rushed at the chance of +adventure the moment the recruiting lists were opened "the six bob a day +tourists." Well--the "Tourists" made a name for Australia such as no +other Australians can ever have the privilege to make. The next shipment +were the "Dinkums"--the men who came over on principle to fight for +Australia--the real, fair dinkum[3] Australians. After them came the +"Super-dinkums"--and the next the "War Babies," and after them the +"Chocolate Soldiers," then the "Hard Thinkers," who were pictured as +thinking very hard before they came. And then the "Neutrals." "We know +they are not against the Allies," the others said, when came news of the +latest drafts still training steadily under peace conditions, "we know +they are not against us--we suppose they are just neutral." + +[3] "Dinkum"--Australian for "true." + +There has always been some chaff thrown at the latest arrival--and it +is a mistake to think that there was never any feeling behind the chaff. +I remember long ago at Anzac when a new draft was moving up past some of +the older troops--past men who were thin with disease and overworn with +heavy work--there was a cry of "You have come at last, have you?" flung +in a tone of which the bitterness was unmistakable. There has always +been a feeling, amongst the older troops here, that they have been +holding the fort--hanging on for Australia's name until the others have +time to come along and give them a hand. There is a tendency to feel +that soldiers who are still at home are getting all the limelight--the +parading of streets and praises of the newspapers--and will probably +live to reap most of the glory at the end of it all. + +If so, there was never a feeling that melted more quickly the moment +each new draft arrives and is really tested. The moment it goes into the +whirl of a modern battle, and acquits itself through some wild night as +every Australian draft always has done in its first fight and always +will do, every sign of that old feeling melts as if it had never +existed; and the new draft finds itself taken into the heart of the old +force on the same terms as the oldest and proudest regiment there. I +make no apology for talking of them as "old" regiments. There are +regiments in this war, not three years old, which have seen as much +terrible fighting as others whose record goes back over hundreds of +years. Ages ago, prehistoric ages, the "Dinkums" became a title for men +to be intensely proud of. Men who were through the first fortnight at +Pozieres need never be ashamed to compare their experiences with those +of any soldiers in the world, for it is the literal truth that there has +never in history been a harder battle fought. The "Chocolate Soldiers" +became veterans in one terrible struggle. The "War Babies" were old +soldiers almost before they had cut their teeth. It is one of the pities +of the censorship, but a necessary one, that the Australian public +cannot know, until the story of this war is fully told at the end of it, +the famous Australian battalions which will most assuredly go down to +history as household names. + +And if there are not battalions, amongst the newest troops, which will +go down to history with some of the very best Australia possesses--then +I am a German. They have had a wonderful training of late--a training +which can only be compared in thoroughness with that of Mena Camp in +Egypt where our first troops trained, and with the full experience of +this war to back it. The British authorities are equipping the new +Australian drafts generously. The discipline of Australians, once they +come to understand their work, has never given the slightest real +anxiety to those responsible for them. The newest men have exactly the +same straight frank look and speech as has every other batch that I have +seen. If there is any difference between them first and last I will be +bound that it is beyond the keenest eye to detect it. + +Indeed, if there is a difference between one Australian infantry +battalion and another, it is, and has always been, a matter of officers. +A commander who can make all his subordinates feel that they are pulling +in the same boat's crew--that they are all swinging together, not only +with their own but with every other battalion and brigade; who can make +them look upon themselves as all helping in the one big cause; who can +make them regard the difficulty of another battalion merely as a chance +for freely and fully assisting it--a commander who can do these things +with his officers can make a wonderful force of his Australians. This +may sound abstract and vague, but it is real to such an extent that it +is the main reason of all differences that exist between Australian +units. + +Australian units have, like the Scots, a wonderful confidence in each +other. They have been proud to fight by the side of grand regiments and +divisions; but I fancy they would rather fight beside other Australians +or New Zealanders than beside the most famous units in the world. +Chaffing apart, that is the feeling of the oldest unit towards the +newest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +WHY HE IS NOT "THE ANZAC" + +_France, November 28th._ + + +"You don't call us the Anzacs, do you?" asked the man with the elbow +sling appealingly. "You call us just Australians and New Zealanders, +don't you?" + +I hesitated for a minute or two racking my brain--it seemed to me that +once, some months back, I had used that convenient term in a cabled +message. + +"Oh, don't for goodness sake say you do it, too," said the owner of the +elbow sling pathetically. "Isn't Australians good enough?" + +"I'm not sure--once--I may have. Not for a long time, anyway. I +sometimes speak of the Anzac troops or the Anzac guns." + +"Oh, that is all right--Anzac troops--there's no objection to that--we +are that," went on the grammarian with the elbow sling, "but there's no +such thing as an Anzac--the Anzacs--it's nonsense." + +I remember that day well. It was the day before their first entry on the +Somme. The man with the elbow sling had stopped a shrapnel pellet one +frosty morning eight months before at Anzac; the man who sat next to him +had a Turkish shrapnel shell burst between his shins at Hell Spit. They +were some of the oldest hands, back again, and about to plunge with the +oldest division into the heaviest battle the division had yet faced. + +It was more than a grammatical objection. You know the way in which it +makes you wince, if ever you have lived in Australia or New Zealand or +Canada, to hear people talk of "the colonies" or "the colonials." The +people who use the words do not realise that there is anything unpopular +in their use, although the objection is really quite universal in the +self-governing States, and represents a revolt against an out-of-date +point of view which still lingers in some quarters. + +In the same way anyone who _is_ in touch with them knows that to speak +of the feats of "an Anzac" or of "the Anzacs" is unpopular with the men +to whom it is applied. You will never hear the men refer to themselves +as Anzacs. They call themselves simply Australians or New Zealanders. + +It is an interesting mental phase. The reason of it is not that +Australians and New Zealanders dislike being clubbed together. Quite the +reverse--the Australians are never more satisfied than when they are +next to the New Zealanders. The two certainly feel themselves in some +respects one and inseparable to a greater extent than any other troops +here. They are proud of Anzac as the name of their corps, and as the +name of that hill-side in Gallipoli where their graves lie side by side. +The reason why they always avoid calling themselves "the Anzacs" is that +the term was at one time associated in the Press with so many highly +coloured, imaginative, mock heroic stories of individual feats, which +they were supposed to have performed, that its use from that time forth +was, by a sort of tacit consent, irrevocably damned within the force. +The picture which it called up was that of the "Anzac" in London, with +his shining gaiters and buttons and generally unauthorised cock's +feathers in his hat, reaping the glory of the acrobatic performances +which his battered countrymen, very unlovely with sweat and dust, were +credited with achieving in No Man's Land. This was before the Somme +fight, when first these Gallipoli troops came to Europe. The regular +British war correspondents were not responsible for it--this nonsense +was not written by them; when the day of real trial came they wrote of +it conscientiously and brilliantly, and nothing that could be written +was too much. But the vogue of the wildest stories of the "Anzacs" was +when Australians and New Zealanders were doing little beyond hard work +in France, and knew it. The noun "an Anzac" now bears with it, in the +force, the suggestion of a man who rather approves of that sort of +"swank"; and there are few of them. + +The Australian and New Zealander are both intensely, overwhelmingly +proud of their nationality; and only good can come of the pride. They +are also intensely proud of their two-year-old units--and one of the +drawbacks of the necessary rules of censorship is, that battalions of +our army, which are famous throughout the force by name, have to be +known to you only through vague references. Their character and history, +as distinct and strongly marked as those of different men, will only +come to be known to Australia when the history of these campaigns comes +to be written. + + +Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Belle Sauvage, London, +E.C.4 + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM FRANCE*** + + +******* This file should be named 18390.txt or 18390.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/3/9/18390 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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