When the Somme ran red

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Foreword

THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE SOMME IN RELATION TO THE BRITISH OFFENSIVE OF 1916

When the Germans undertook their great offensive against France in 1914 their plan was, of course, to overrun with the utmost speed, a sufficiently large area of the country to ensure an almost immediate and complete victory. Paris was the first important objective. The attainment of this was to have been followed rapidly by a drive against the sea-port towns on the English Channel, with the obvious effect of preventing Great Britain from coming to the assistance of her ally. In planning this ambitious scheme of conquest the German strategists realized the possibility of failure and selected as their strategic line of defense, in case they were forced ^back from Paris, the region east of the Somme 'and northward from Curlu, taking in the line which included the villages of Mametz, Fricourt, La Boisselle, Ovillers, Thiepval, Beaumont, Hamel, Gommecourt, and on in a more or less northerly direction to the coast.

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This line was chosen with the greatest possible skill. It followed the series of ridges and hills and thus gave command of the country to the west ; in other words, any attack against the Germans would have to be made uphill, always a difficult undertaking. Besides the natural strength of the position the line was made still more secure by the employment of every device known to military science, so that it was regarded as an almost impregnable system of trenches. This then was the line we were to attack in July, 1916, largely with the idea of relieving the pressure that was being exerted against Verdun.

In the following pages I have attempted to give some idea of how at least on one part of the front, the offensive was carried out. It was written before the recent gigantic German attacks, which, unfortunately, have succeeded in forcing us back to a line which in part is west of the position we occupied in June, 1916. Whether or not we could have avoided yielding this ground I am not in a position to know, but there is every reason to believe that to have held our line would have involved the sacrifice of such an immense number of lives that it was considered wiser to give up the ground, at the same

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time making the Germans pay a toll in lives out of all proportion to the value of the territory they have gained.

Whether or not this is Germany's final effort none of us can tell. The common idea is that if it fails the German people will demand peace, as they will be sickened by the ghastly slaughter, which has surpassed anything the world has ever known. This theory is not generally believed by those who are in the best position to judge, so it is not wise for us to make plans based on the supposition that peace is near. Such action would mean the delaying of the most necessary war preparations, and this is exactly what the Germans are most anxious to have happen. It is the work of their propagandists to make people believe that the war will very soon be finished, so that we shall slow down on the manufacturing of war material and the training of men. It is well, therefore, to guard against all stories dealing with early peace, and if possible try to trace the origin of such stories. The source will in nearly all cases be found to be German, or what is equally vile, pacifist, for the pacifist is quite as dangerous as the pro-German in our midst. He would have us, among other things, conclude a shameful peace on any terms, he would have us

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barter our heritage of liberty and freedom for whatever disgraceful form of govermnent the unprincipled military power of Germany would impose on us, so that those who have died for our cause would have died in vain.

Unfortunately so little information has been given to the public regarding the exact position occupied by the Allies at the present time that it is extremely difficult to form any accurate opinion of the situation. Apparently the Germans are in possession of the country east of a line running south from Bailleul to Mourlancourt, from which point it appears to swing slightly westerly, curving round to Montdidier. Albert is in the hands of the enemy, and the famous statue of the leaning Virgin, mentioned in another chapter, has probably already been melted down for the purpose of making munitions. From Albert to Corbie runs the little river Ancre, which is bordered by more or less swampy ground from Ville to where it joins the Somme. On either side of the valley is high rolling ground, most of which is under cultivation, with patches of woodland here and there. It is ideal country for open warfare. Judging from the accounts that have been published, I am inclined to believe that we still hold the north side of the valley as far as

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Heilly, or perhaps a little farther toward Corbie, but whether we are in possession of the high ground which overlooks the town from the east and south I do not know. Everything depends on this, as these hills completely dominate the town. Should Corbie fall, the position of Amiens will be very serious and for many rearsons the Germans are most anxious to force us out of this important town and railway centre.

From Corbie to Amiens there is a wide belt of low and somewhat swampy land following the river. This is controlled to some extent by a range of hills on the north side and to a less extent by lower rolling ground on the south, so that unless the Huns cross the Somme, and attempt to outflank us, the attack on Amiens would be difficult and very costly. It is quite impossible to make predictions with any degree of accuracy, but though the situation at the present moment is serious, the optimistic tone of the French and British commanders as expressed in the newspapers should give us reason to believe that the great German offensive is doomed to ultimate failure, even though it gains a considerable amount of territory.

From a sentimental point of view we feel very deeply having to yield ground that was won at xii FOREWORD

such a terrible cost in lives and energy; to those of us who took part in the 1916 advance it is a very great blow, for we believed that if once the Bapaume region was taken we would be able to hold it against any forces the Germans could bring against us. Through the greater part of the regained area the work of reconstruction had been carried on with the utmost energy. The shell-torn ground was being levelled and made ready for cultivation, roads were repaired and railways laid. And now, not only has all this work been either destroyed or taken over by the Germans, but many villages, which hitherto had been peacefully occupied by the French people, who had always treated us with such kindness, have been wrested from us, and the chances are very great that the wretched people will never again see anything but the ruined remains of their former homes.

Apart from the actual material loss there is the terrible thought that the graves of our poor Dead are desecrated by the very presence of the Hun. At least we had hoped that the bodies of those who made the Great Sacrifice for the cause of Right might have been allowed to rest undisturbed in their simple graves. But such apparently was not to be, and we can only pray that

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the time is not far distant when the Hun and all he stands for shall be driven forever from the soil of France and Belgium. Before that day comes we must expect to go through periods of great strain and anxiety. Our endurance will perhaps be tested almost to the point of breaking, but the knowledge of the righteousness of our cause, of the greatness of our resources, and above all, the wonderful spirit and determination of our men, who are engaged in the fighting, and the no less wonderful spirit of those who, though forced to remain at home, are so generously backing up the fighting forces, make ultimate victory a matter of certainty. The Hun can never triumph. Even though he were to force us out of France; even though he were to capture Paris, that will not bring him nearer to victory. So long as a drop of living blood remains in France and Great Britain the war must continue. America's gigantic preparations are bearing fruit, her limitless resources will, as time goes on, make her powder more and more a factor in the task of defeating the Hun. She has championed the cause of World freedom, and she will not rest until that cause has been won, and adequate measures taken to ensure a lasting peace, a peace which will guarantee safety for even the smallest xiv FOREWORD

and most helpless of nations. We owe nothing less than this to our heroic Dead, and we should never dare look on the little White Crosses that mark their last resting places if we failed in this sacred obligation.

A. R. D.

Part One Chapter Page

I In Belgium — a Prisoner 19

II Wounded at Alost 43

III In England — from Civilian to Soldier . 59

PART TWO IV Rejoining My Battalion 73

V First View of the Trenches .... 83

VI AtBecordel — Strafed 94

VII In the Front Line Trenches . . . . 115

VIII Preparing for the Great Offensive . . 142

IX Hell Let Loose 176

X Battle OF the SoMME — ^The Great Day . 189

XI A Bad Night Among the Shells . . . 208

XII Captured Ijnes and Prisoners . . . 218

XIII The Toll OF Battle 234

XIV Rest — ^and Return to the "Show" . . 250 XV A Hot Corner — Gassed 264

XVI The Pivot 281

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ILLUSTRATIONS

Serving the Big Guns Frontispiece

PAGES

German Metrailleuse (Machine Gun) ... 54

Billets! Tommy Always Cheerful Manages to Make Himself Comfortable 78

Aeroplane Photograph Showing the Opposing Lines of Trenches Near Fricourt . . . 110

Aeroplane Photograph Showing Part of the German Lines 110

Message Sent by Author from Brigade Headquarters 128

Magnetic Compass Bearings Laid Out . . . 128

List of Work to be Done by the Company Which Relieved the Author 128

Description of Enemy's Attitude as Experienced by the Author 128

A Typical Scene on the Roads Immediately Back OF the Front Line 140

Part of Actual Map Used During the Battle of the somme 176

Sketch of Trenches Occupied by the Author . 176

Scaling Ladders Being Put in Position . . . 196

xvii xviii ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGES

During the Advance, the Men March Across No Man's Land at Slow Speed 206

Wave After Wave of Infantry Streamed Across 206

The German Front Line Trenches Near Fricourt 224

A British Tommy Leading a Wounded Hun . . 234

Part of Map Taken from Dead German Officer 256

A Tank Crushing Down Barbed Wire Entanglements 272

Chapter I

Before dealing with my somewhat limited experiences and impressions of the Great War I feel that a word of explanation as to how at my age I happened to give up my peaceful occupation as a private citizen and join the army will not be altogether out of place, especially as it relates to that ghastly period of the war, the devastation of Belgium.

It will be remembered that within a few days after Great Britain's declaration of war against Germany accounts of the atrocities committed by the invaders of Belgium were circulated throughout the country. We were incredulous at first, no one believed that a great nation could be guilty of the horrors attributed to Germany, and yet evidence was not lacking to show that the worst stories were to a great extent true. Throughout my life, which has been devoted to aO WHEN THE SOMME RAN RED

the study of outdoor natural history, I have always found it advisable to see before believing, in other words to verify reports before regarding them as facts. Thus it happened that on August 14th, 1914, I made my way to Belgium armed with a camera and a large and most imposing British passport.

Ostend was my first objective, and I found the famous watering place in a very peaceful condition, but there was a great deal of suppressed excitement, and the conversation was only of the war and what the Germans were doing in other and less fortunate parts of the country. The town was more or less bedecked with the flags of the Allies, and various proclamations regarding the duties of the people and other matters, together with coloured posters of the uniforms of friendly and enemy soldiers were conspicuous in every street. Later on refugees from various parts of the invaded country drifted into Ostend, and arrangements were hastily made to feed and house the unfortunate homeless people. Private individuals as well as the Red Cross undertook this work of relief, but it put a great strain on the resources of the town. There was a rumour that Brussels was to be taken, so I went there and found the amusing, even pitiful, spectacle of ridiculous little barricades thrown across various main streets. These were guarded by members of the Garde Civique, The whole thing struck me as being absurd, to think that such childish efforts could stay the troops of the most highly organised military organisation the world had ever known. Reason fortunately prevailed and these futile preparations were abandoned. Sixteen hours after I left the city the Germans entered, so I missed the great but lamentable sight. I returned to Ostend in time for a small taste of excitement when a few Uhlans made what was apparently a reconnaissance of the town. They were warmly received by the Belgians who met and engaged them on the outskirts. The town was in a badly frightened condition. Allied flags were hastily concealed. All who could were flocking to the steamer landing in hopes of getting away to England. Frantic efforts were made to get hold of money, English gold realising as much as 35 francs for the sovereign. I was eating my breakfast at the Hotel Maritime when the excitement outside in the square suggested a new development of affairs. A few minutes later some Belgian soldiers passed through the diningroom, leading a highly indignant German officer on whose arm was the sign of the Red Cross. It appeared that he had been caught red-handed in the act of trying to shoot some Belgians. One of his captors was carrying the revolver. Soon a couple of badly wounded Uhlans were brought in and put on board the steamer for England. It is a pleasure to record that they were treated with the utmost care. This apparently was all we were to see of the skirmish. If I remember correctly about nine Germans were killed and three or four Belgians. It brought home to the people of Ostend that the war was very near. But their faith in France and Britain was great, help would come in time they felt sure. Alas they were doomed to disappointment.

From Ostend I moved to Ghent, and while there paid several visits to Termonde during the various periods of its destruction, and what a pitiful sight it was. The wretched little town of some 1600 houses was almost a complete wreck. Over 1200 houses were destroyed, whole streets were simply piles of bricks and broken stones, mingled here and there with remains of bodies and torn clothing. A few houses stood intact for on their doors was the magic chalk mark that good people lived there — in other words Germans, or at least German sympathisers, or still worse, spies. The churches and convents were

IN BELGIUM— A PRISONER 2S

ruthlessly destroyed and this was not because the churches being usually high were places of observation, for in one case the little low built chapel in the square surrounded by the houses of the old women who were supported by the town was burned, though it could offer no possible point for observation, while at the entrance to the square was the chalked order, that, as only very old women lived there the houses need not be destroyed. The Germans seem to have had the idea that by destroying the churches they were taking the heart and soul from the people. It is one of their many great psychological mistakes. The last time I visited Termonde was a Sunday two or three days after the most recent destructive visit made by the Germans. I had with great difficulty obtained a pass. In fact it was granted only by explaining how necessary it was that people in England and America should know exactly what was happening to Belgium, so that they could help in whatever ways were possible, and that I would send or take these photographs directly to England. It made one's heart sick to see the misery of the wretched Termonde people. They seemed to be stunned. Of course during the bombardment, and subsequent incendiary work, practically all of the inhabitants had fled. On this Sunday the country seemed so quiet and peaceful that they returned as though in hopes that it had all been a dream, and they wandered about among the blackened ruins trying vainly to discover what had but a few hours before been their homes. What had they done that they should be so treated? They were peaceful people working only that they might live in their simple homes. Why then should these German devils come without cause or provocation and ruin them? One nice looking woman, who was carrying a tiny baby in her arms, pointed to a pile of bricks and said, "My little baby was born there three weeks ago and now I have not even a cradle for her. My God, this is not war, this is the work of the devils," and she was right.

As I wandered through the scene of desolation I came upon a building, two-thirds of which had fallen, and its walls were pitted with shot. All that remained was a small wine and coffee shop. A voice called as I passed, "Come in, you are a friend — you are English. Have a cup of coffee. It is all I have left to offer, but you are welcome to it."

I accepted the welcome refreshment from the old couple who were happy to find even a part of their house more or less intact. When I offered to pay for the coffee they refused to accept any money saying that soon the English were coming over to help them and they would then be happy. Poor people, I wonder what has become of them and if they are still waiting for the help they were expecting over three years ago.

After crossing the river where my car was waiting I engaged in conversation with a Belgian officer who told me how the soldiers had done all in their power to protect the town. The odds against them were overwhehning. He pointed with pride to the decapitated tower of the Place de rule. It appears that the Germans had managed to place a machine gun in the belfry and it must have been a difficult task. I had been up there only a couple of days earlier and had great difficulty in getting my camera up to the top. The officer who was in the field artillery told his men that he wanted the gun destroyed. Two shots striking simultaneously cut off the upper half of the tower completely and with it the machine gun and crew. This same officer told how two German officers wishing to examine carefully the river banks, came out in the open street, carrying in their arms a baby, evidently hoping by this means to protect themselves. A man who was an expert shot was detailed to attend to the case with the result that the officer carrying the baby was shot through the head. The baby escaped unhurt while the second officer hurriedly sought the nearest shelter.

It was some days after this visit to Termonde that in company with my friend Arthur H. Gleason (whose splendid unselfish work in Belgium and France is well known) I visited a convent in which I had been told there was a young girl who had been terribly maltreated by German soldiers. She was lying then at the point of death, a victim of some twenty human devils, who forced the father and mother to be present that they might witness their daughter's ruin. This is not a nice subject to write about, and I merely touch on it to show one of the causes of my joining the army.

Near Ghent is, or rather was, the little village of Melle. It happened to be in the way of the German army of invasion. Early one morning reports came into Ghent that severe fighting was in progress. My car not being available I hired a carriage to which was more or less attached a dilapidated horse, and which took us along the road toward Melle. We passed numbers of Belgian soldiers, ill equipped but always cheerful, going forward. Also numbers of wounded men being brought back. They were in all sorts of vehicles, from fine motor cars to springless waggons, and it was indeed a pitiful sight. Two cases I can even now remember clearly were men, one with his lower jaw completely shot away, and the other terribly wounded in the body, lying on the top of an old fashioned covered carriage. The inside was full to its utmost capacity with wounded. Every jolt over the rough paved roads sent a shock of pain through their torn bodies. They endured it heroically, for it was better than falling into the hands of the Germans whose treatment of Belgian wounded was in so many cases absolutely brutal. But what a contrast were these makeshift vehicles to the ambulances of the present time, pneumatic tired and smooth running, and equipped with stretchers, on which the wounded are borne with the minimum of pain. Conditions have greatly changed since those days of trial.

By the time we had gone within two or three miles of Melle the sounds of battle filled the air. NTot battle as we now know it with its overwhelming voice of heavy artillery, but chiefly the rifle, and the machine gun with its regular rapping death-dealing shots. Now and then light artillery punctuated the sound, and we wondered whether this meant that the Germans were advancing on Ghent. No one seemed to know much of what was going on. The peasants stood about in silent groups, worried at the prospect of what fate had in store for them. Some few went on with their regular work apparently deaf to the unceasing clatter of shot. It did not seem advisable for us to proceed any further along the road by carriage, so, much to the driver's relief, for he thought we were urging him straight into the jaws of death, we told him to hide his vehicle in a narrow alley, and leaving the motion picture camera in his care we walked forward armed only with a small pocket camera.

Before long the glint of a lance caught our eyes, and we saw what we thought was a German Uhlan peering from among the trees at the entrance of a big estate. He was about 300 yards distant. How strange it was to see this silent evidence of the war, this human being stalking his own kind. It gave me a curious thrill of excitement for it was practically the first time I had been hunted by a soldier, a man trained to hunt his fellow man. And I was among those he was watching. He was dressed in the elusive greygreen uniform of the German army, and the colours blended among the trees so that he was scarcely visible. Silently he had come and as silently he vanished from our view.

After he had disappeared we looked further along the road and saw clearly a gi'oup of cavalry, all carrying their long tubular lances. Being filled with curiosity we wanted a nearer view, and decided to walk slowly in their direction. Before we had advanced more than three or four hundred yards we were startled by the clatter of horses' hoofs behind us, and turning we were very much upset by seeing three mounted men in field green uniforms following us. It was too late to attempt concealment and we dared not turn back. The only possible course was to continue forward as though we were not afraid, though I do not mind confessing I was so thoroughly frightened that my knees trembled violently. Before we had gone far the three hussars, as they turned out to be, overtook us and wanted to know who we were and what we were doing. I acknowledged myself an Englishman while my friend said he was American, whereupon one of the three spoke to us in good English, and told us he had been in New York for some years.

All this time we were approaching the cross roads while we talked in quite a friendly way about New York. As we drew near to the group of about a dozen, which proved to be of the same regiment as our escorts, our three formed up, one on either side, and one behind, and I had horrible thoughts of what might be in store for us. We were taken before the officer who on hearing our nationahties addressed us in perfect English. He was most polite and told us that for a number of years he had lived in England, had been to Oxford, and finished by saying that he hoped the war would soon end as he was very much attached to English life and was most anxious to get back to his friends there. He declared that he thoroughly disliked the idea of fighting us but that he had been recalled, and could not do other than obey. Altogether he seemed a thoroughly decent sort of Saxon. We asked whether we could go forward as we both were very anxious to see a fight.

"You can't go yet," he replied, "as you would most certainly be shot, but later, when things have quieted down, you may perhaps be able to go with safety, and by the way do you happen to have any cigarettes, I have not had a decent smoke for a week?"

So I handed him a nearly full box, telling him to keep them, for I fully expected to be back in Ghent within a few hours. I then asked if he

I had any objection to my taking a photograph of hini and his men. He did not object at all, in fact he was very much pleased.

"Don't forget to send me prints after the war," he said, as he wrote his name and address on the envelope containing my passport.

"I shall be delighted to do so only, of course, there won't be any Germans left when we have finished with you."

He replied, "You mean there won't be any English left."

How little either of us realised what was before us, and how soon that war would develop into such gigantic proportions. That it would last even until Christmas of that year did not seem probable, for we in general knew nothing on the subject. We all thought that with modern methods conditions would be made so intolerable that no country could endure the slaughter which apparently must result. Only those who were in high command, and who had studied the subject, understood that there was a probability of the war continuing for many years. Did not people regard Lord Kitchener as a pessimist when he said we must prepare for at least three years? That period has passed and the end is not yet in sight. But to go back to our interview with the Saxon officer.

By half past three the sounds of fighting had subsided. Only an occasional shot disturbed the stillness of the afternoon. We were told that it would be reasonably safe to go forward and foolishly enough we went. Our way led us through a small one-street village which had not been molested. The people stood about in groups talking over what had been going on in the nearby village of Melle, and we gathered from what they said that the place had been completely destroyed, and a great many civilians and troops killed. While pressing along the road between the two villages a German sentry warned us not to walk on the paved part as he said it was mined. Why he let us pass I cannot understand, but he asked no questions. Evidently he imagined that we had a right to be there.

Soon we came on signs of the recent conflict, buildings burned or destroyed by shell, bodies of Belgian troops and occasional peasants in civilian garb, lying about in the queer distorted attitudes so common on the battlefield. Here and there the carcass of a cow or a pig lay across the road, often with the body of a soldier lying against it showing that the man had been foolish enough to trust to the soft body for protection against the enemy's bullet.

All that remained of the village of Melle was the row of slowly burning cottages. A truly desolate sight. I was in the act of securing a photograph of the scene, in the foreground of which lay a poor Belgian soldier slowly burning, when a German cyclist approached without my seeing him. Quickly dismounting he seized my camera, and was about to break it, when I made him understand that it contained the photograph of one of his officers. At first he seemed incredulous, but on being shown the name and address written in the officer's own handwriting he somewhat reluctantly handed back the camera. But strange to say, he did not seem in the least surprised and never even asked us what we were doing.