Читать книгу Fighting the Boche Underground - H. D. Trounce - Страница 4

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Being of British parentage and birth, most of my earlier life was spent in England. On coming of age, I left England for Canada, and after a few months there decided to study mining engineering in the United States. I attended a Western college, the Colorado School of Mines, leaving there in 1910 to practise my profession as a civil and mining engineer in California, where I took out my final papers as an American citizen several years before the war.

By reason of my birth my sympathies were naturally much aroused in the earlier part of the great struggle, and the fact that my brother had joined the Canadian forces directly after war had been declared, and the subsequent injury and death in battle of several British cousins, infantry officers, early in the war, preyed on my mind to such an extent that I left my home and practice in California in October, 1915, proceeded to New York, and from there to London. I applied for a commission in the Royal Engineers. No unnecessary questions were asked as to my nationality. I proved my engineering experience, and within two weeks was ordered to report to the officer commanding an officers' training-corps in London to commence training.

It may be of interest to note here that I was then in much the same frame of mind as many of our soldiers are now—generally afraid that the war would be over before they reached the trenches. I was first offered a commission in a field-engineering company of the Royal Engineers, but informed at the same time that it would be necessary for me to put in three or four months' preliminary training in England before I could get over to France.

This did not appeal to me. I was also of the opinion at the time that the war would probably be over before long; and later, by inquiry, elicited the fact that mining engineers were in immediate and great demand on account of very active enemy fighting underground in France. I found out later that a number of British mining engineers, coming back to England from India, Africa, and various parts of the globe to enlist in their country's cause, had applied to the War Office for commissions, and had been accepted at once, given three days to arrange their private affairs, obtain their uniforms and active service-kits, and report to the companies they were posted to in the front-line trenches. Certainly the red tape was cut here.

In less than three weeks I received my commission as second lieutenant, with orders to leave the O.T.C. and proceed to Chatham, to the R.E. Barracks, in company with several other mining officers, for a few days' further training preparatory to proceeding overseas. The British Government makes a grant of approximately $250 to all officers when commissioned in order that they may supply themselves with uniforms and kit. These were soon obtained, and we were then instructed to hold ourselves in readiness to sail at any minute. We were first under orders to sail on Christmas morning, much to my disgust, as it was my first Christmas in England for many years, but we did not finally leave until New Year's eve, when we were taken by troop-train to Southampton, and embarked the same day.

On disembarking in Rouen we were all marched up to the various infantry and other camps established there some four or five kilometres out of the town. Together with several other engineer officers, I was assigned to an infantry camp for a few days' infantry training whilst awaiting orders to proceed up the line. Life in these camps is far from unpleasant, although the training is severe and exacting. The city of Rouen is an extremely interesting one, and numerous amusements were provided by the British and French authorities for the troops who are always coming and going from these base camps. As the scene of the martyrdom of the famous French saint Jeanne d'Arc, it is well known to all the world.

At the first officers' parade, at Rouen after I arrived in France, we were all informed by the camp adjutant that cameras were forbidden and that any man who had a camera in his possession after twenty-four hours would be court-martialled. I had one—a small vest-pocket-kodak—but after this order decided to send it back to a friend in England. Some six months later I was fortunate enough to secure a small kodak in one of the villages behind the lines and managed to get the few pictures which illustrate this account.

There are, necessarily, a large number of military-base and training camps established by the British in France, and the camps at Rouen seem to have been used mainly for reinforcement troops and returned casualties. I met one officer of infantry here who was returning to his regiment in a few days and who had just been reported "fit for duty" again after his third wound! Even early in 1916 this was not uncommon.

In the light of subsequent experience, I am more inclined to condole with the poor fellows who have borne the brunt of the struggle and escaped for long periods without being wounded.

Even the poor chaps who are fatally wounded seldom realize the fact at first, and are only conscious of sudden relief in the thought that they will be away from the trenches for a while. I have seen this instanced many times. In May, 1916, I was sharing a dugout with another officer in the trenches near the Vimy Ridge. R.'s orderly, W., was returning with a message, and as he nearly reached the dugout he was caught by a heavy trench mortar and one of his legs blown off. He was also hit in several other places. We sent for "stretcher-bearers at the double," the usual call when casualties happen in the trenches, and R. promptly fixed him up as best he could with one of the field-bandages we always carried in our blouses. Poor W., one of the finest lads I have ever known, not realizing fully the fatal nature of his wounds, remarked cheerfully: "Blime, I ain't 'alf-crocked now for the rest of my days." We agreed with him, but pretended to envy his certainty of a "blighty." He was carried off to the nearest regimental aid-post, about a quarter of a mile down the nearest communication-trench, but the poor chap never left it, dying within a couple of hours.

At Rouen we received the usual training given to all combatant officers and men reporting there. This included daily lectures and practice in the following subjects: Bomb-throwing, machine-guns and their operation, infantry close and extended order drill, trench mortars and their use, gas lectures, etc., interspersed with long-route marches, sham fights and manœuvres, trench reliefs day and night, and practice and lectures on all the varied forms of frightfulness then indulged in by the opposing armies. The bomb-throwing was most fascinating. At that time the British were using eight or ten varieties of bombs, from the old handle-bombs with streamers attached, to the cricket-ball bomb, which one had to light from a brassard on the arm. I had never even seen a bomb before, and always associated them with the playful humor of the now back-number anarchist. Without any preliminary practice, we were detailed to throw these "live" bombs. My heart was in my mouth as we approached the bombing-trenches, but I very carefully watched the operations of the other fellows, and listened attentively to the very matter-of-fact and callous British corporal instructors. My nerves, however, were in fair shape, and I threw every type without any disastrous consequences, though my heart was certainly working overtime.

While writing of bombs, I want to sound a note of warning to those of our boys who will have this form of amusement in store for them. In these days the throwing of "dummy" bombs always precedes the training with live ones, and this is wise and natural, careful habits being formed in this way which eliminate largely the fatal accidents which have happened so often in the early training of British and French units. The one essential is calmness. Nearly all troops who are highly disciplined have this calmness bred into them, and very useful and necessary it is for almost any operation in modern warfare. A "jumpy" soldier, or one whose nerves are not in the best of shape, very frequently knocks his arm against the parados whilst throwing a bomb, drops it in the trench, fails to throw it clear of the parapet ahead, and in other ways not only seriously endangers his own life but those of his comrades practising with him.

The training at these base camps is made as realistic as possible, one feature being the passage through "gassed" galleries or chambers of all officers and men who report at the camps. The chambers are filled with the strongest and deadliest of gases, chlorine, phosgene, bromine, and other gases being used in more concentrated form than one encounters in the regular attacks. All this and other training gives men the confidence necessary to face bravely the fighting ahead of them.

After six days at Rouen I was posted to my company, and ordered to "go up the line."

Our billet, it developed, was in the village of Sailly-sur-la-Lys, two miles from the front-line trenches opposite Fromelles, and a little south of Armentières, incidentally the scene of very heavy fighting in 1914 and recent operations.

I was fortunate enough to get for a billet a small room off the kitchen of a Flemish farm-house in the village. Our mess, a rough wooden hut, was just across the street, and after proceeding there to meet my company officers, we had a very excellent dinner of a couple of chickens obtained in some mysterious way by our mess corporal. During dinner I was more or less entertained with stories of that day's events as related by the other men, one man describing how a German sniper had put a bullet through his cap during the afternoon in the trenches. (It was not until six months after this that we were supplied with steel helmets.) Another man told how an aerial bomb dropped from an enemy plane had landed within a few yards of him on a road several miles back. I thought the object was to string newcomers like R. and myself, but found out later that it was all part of the usual days' programme.

The next morning my section commander suggested that I ride up with him to inspect our work in the front line. It was taken for granted that I could ride an English motorcycle, and although I was familiar enough with our American varieties, I surely had my troubles with this one. The slipperiness of the metalled and paved roads in this part of Flanders increased my uneasiness. I broke down several times on a very unhealthy road, shelled with annoying regularity by the Boches, much to the disgust of Captain P., who, however, good-naturedly helped me out on each occasion. We all had our troubles in riding motorcycles on the roads in Flanders and France, especially on the pavé or granite-block paving which is so common. When it's wet, and that means most of the time, about the only way to prevent skidding is to open your throttle for all it's worth and travel as fast as you can. One morning, during my first week, I had some six, more or less, painful falls within a mile in riding up. After the last one, I was so mad that I flung the remains of the machine into the ditch on the side of the road and proceeded to walk the rest of the way up. In a short time, though, we got the hang of the machine and could ride anywhere day or night. As a matter of fact, we never lingered on the roads going in and out of the trenches. Most of the metalled or flint roads of Flanders had a ditch on either side, into which we took occasional headers. One had to ride carefully and fast. A motorcycle with the throttle wide open helps to drown the noise of enemy shells bursting in one's vicinity.

Many wild rides I remember, especially at night when, of course, no lights could be used within three or four miles of the front line; and candor compels me to confess that occasionally we would take an extra "whiskey and soda"—the standard British drink—at the mess before leaving in order to give us a little extra Dutch courage. It was always effective; we didn't care much what shell-holes we hit, or how many mud-baths we obtained. To resume, after much trouble Captain P. and I arrived at the advanced material billet, which is always situated within a few hundred yards of the entrance to the communication-trenches, and, leaving our machines here, we started up the trench.

This sector of the trenches, opposite Fromelles, at that time would have been described by veterans in trench fighting as a quiet sector, but I cannot say that it appeared particularly quiet to me that day.

My first impressions under fire were quite complex, but I distinctly recall the fact that I was more scared by the firing of our own artillery than by the comparatively few shells of the enemy which burst in our vicinity. So many things were happening around me in which I was so intensely interested that my curiosity got somewhat the better of my fears, and only when bullets whistled very close, or shells burst fairly near, was I much worried. My second day in the trenches was quite different. I had started to come out alone a few minutes before "stand to," or "stand to arms," as it is officially termed, that is, just before dusk; and as I was making for the communication-trench to go out I was nearly scared out of my wits by a "strafe" which started as a preliminary to a raid which occurred a few minutes later. This raid was not on my immediate front, but about a quarter of a mile farther south, opposite Laventie, and was staged by the Irish Guards. The abrupt change from more or less intermittent fire between the trenches to a violent and constant bombardment from every machine-gun, trench-mortar, rifle-grenade, and other weapon in the trenches, joined at the same time by the howitzers and guns from one to three miles back of the lines, combined to make me feel as though "hell had broken loose," and I made for the nearest dugout with as much assumption of dignity and speed as any near-soldier could effectively combine. It was only then that I fully realized that there was a war on.

I have been in numerous bombardments of this nature preceding night raids since that time, and they are always peculiarly violent, but I never recall any occasion on which I was more badly scared. It was rather curious, too, because nearly all the fire was from our own trenches at first, and the German retaliation did not come until some time after; but all our trench-mortars and other shells from the back just skimmed our parapets so closely that they certainly "put the wind up" me in more senses than one. One's first raid, anyhow, is calculated to be more exciting than a pink tea-party. "Put the wind up" is a term which requires some explanation. The Tommies use it on every occasion when a man shows fear; they say he is "windy" or "has the wind up," until now it is an essential part of the trench language.

Enemy rifle and machine-gun fire was very heavy and we had our share of casualties in this way. One of our advanced billets, Two Tree Farm, was an unhealthy spot. The Boche had several rifles trained on the entrance to this old ruin and the bullets whistled by about shoulder-high regularly through the night across this spot. It was not a favorite place for nightly gossip. We had built a wooden track from near here right up to the front line and would each night tram up our timber and supplies on this light track. We had plenty of grief when our trolleys would slip off the rails and into a foot or two of mud alongside. At one of these times I was going up with supplies and the enemy were getting us taped nicely with their machine-gun fire. Several attached infantrymen were working with us. One lad who was working particularly hard came around to the back to give us an extra hand in getting the car on the track again, and dropped quietly into the mud without a sound with a bullet through his head. We used to figure on two or three casualties a night on this tram. On going in or out we had to walk from Two Tree Farm over a stretch of level ground about a quarter of a mile before we entered V.C. Avenue, the communication-trench. This was not a pleasant walk on account of the absence of cover and the rain of machine-gun and rifle fire which swept this area.