;.D. LIVE TNG 
 
 mm 
 mm-y 
 
Class D .S">f >f 
 
 Book. ( ,S 7 A S 
 
 Gopyiiglitl^? 
 
 COPXRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
 1 
 
 (I 
 
ATTACK 
 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NSW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
 ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 
 
 LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
 MELBOIJRNB 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
ATTACK 
 
 AN INFANTRY SUBALTERN'S IMPRESSIONS 
 OF JULY 1st, 1916 
 
 BY 
 EDWARD G. D. LIVEING 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 N^m fork 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1918 
 
 ±11 rights reserve A 
 

 Copyright, 1918 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electretyped. Published, April, 1818 
 
 ^ 24 1918 
 ©Ci.A494708 
 
TO 
 
 THE N. C. 0.8 
 
 AND 
 
 MEN OF No. 5 PLATOON 
 
 Of a Battalion of the County of London 
 
 Regiment, whom I had the good 
 
 fortune to command in France 
 
 during 1915-1916, and in 
 
 particular to the 
 
 memory of 
 
 Rfn. C. N. DENNISON 
 
 My Platoon Observer, who fell in action 
 
 July 1st, 1916. in an attempt 
 
 to save my life 
 
INTEODUCTION 
 
 The attack on the fortified village of 
 Gonunecourt, which Mr. Liveing describes 
 in these pages with such power and colour, 
 was a part of the first great allied attack 
 on July 1, 1916, which began the battle 
 of the Sonune. That battle, so far as it 
 concerns our own troops, may be divided 
 into two sectors : one, to the south of the 
 Ancre Eiver, a sector of advance, the 
 other, to the north of the Ancre Eiver, a 
 containing sector, in which no advance was 
 possible. Gonunecourt itself, which made 
 a slight but important salient in the enemy 
 line in the containing sector, was the most 
 
8 Introduction 
 
 northern point attacked in that first day's 
 fighting. 
 
 Though the Gonunecourt position is not 
 impressive to lock at, most of our soldiers 
 are agreed that it was one of the very 
 strongest points in the enemy's fortified 
 line on the Western Front. French and 
 Eussian officers, v^ho have seen it since 
 the enemy left it, have described it as 
 ^ terrible" and as 'Hhe very devil." 
 There can be no doubt that it was all that 
 they say. 
 
 The country in that part is high-lying 
 chalk downland, something like the down- 
 land of Berkshire and Buckinghamshire, 
 though generally barer of trees, and less 
 bold in its valleys. Before the war it was 
 cultivated, hedgeless land, under corn and 
 sugar-beet. The chalk is usually well- 
 
Introduction 9 
 
 covered, as in Buckinghamshire, with a 
 fat clay. As the French social tendency 
 is all to the community, there are few 
 lonely farms in that countryside as there 
 would be with us. The inhabitants live in 
 many compact villages, each with a 
 church, a market-place, a watering-place 
 for stock, and sometimes a chateau and 
 park. Most of the villages are built of 
 red brick, and the churches are of stone, 
 not (as in the chalk countries with us) of 
 dressed flint. Nearly all the villages are 
 planted about with orchards; some have 
 copses of timber trees. In general, from 
 any distance, the villages stand out upon 
 the downland as clumps of woodland. 
 Nearly everywhere near the battlefield a 
 clump of orchard, with an occasional dark 
 fir in it, is the mark of some small village. 
 
10 Introduction 
 
 In time of peace the Picardy farming com- 
 munity numbered some two or three hun- 
 dred souls. Gommecourt and Hebuterne 
 were of the larger kind of village. 
 
 A traveller coming towards Gomme- 
 court as Mr. Liveing came to it, from the 
 west, sees nothing of the Gommecourt 
 position till he reaches Hebuterne. It is 
 hidden from him by the tilt of the high- 
 lying chalk plateau, and by the woodland 
 and orchards round Hebuterne village. 
 Passing through this village, which is now 
 deserted, save for a few cats, one comes 
 to a fringe of orchard, now deep in grass, 
 and of exquisite beauty. From the hedge 
 of this fringe of orchard one sees the 
 Gommecourt position straight in front, 
 with the Gommecourt salient curving 
 
Introduction 11 
 
 round on slightly rising ground, so as to 
 enclose the left flank. 
 
 At first sight the position is not remark- 
 able. One sees, to the left, a slight rise 
 or swelling in the chalk, covered thickly 
 with the remains and stumps of noble 
 trees, now mostly killed by shell-fire. 
 This swelling, which is covered with the 
 remains of Gommecourt Park, is the sali- 
 ent of the enemy position. The enemy 
 trenches here jut out into a narrow point- 
 ing finger to enclose and defend this slight 
 rise. 
 
 Further to the right, this rise becomes a 
 low, gentle heave in the chalk, which 
 stretches away to the south for some miles, 
 becoming lower and gentler in its slope 
 as it proceeds. The battered woodland 
 
12 Introduction 
 
 which covers its higher end contains the 
 few stumps and heaps of brick that were 
 once Gonunecourt village. The lower end 
 is without trees or buildings. 
 
 This slight wooded rise and low, gentle 
 heave in the chalk make up the position of 
 Gommecourt. It is nothing but a gentle 
 rise above a gentle valley. From a mile 
 or two to the south of Gommecourt, this 
 valley appearance becomes more marked. 
 If one looks northward from this point 
 the English lines seem to follow a slight 
 rise parallel with the other. The valley 
 between the two heaves of chalk make the 
 No Man's Land or space between the 
 enemy trenches and our own. The salient 
 shuts in the end of the valley and en- 
 filades it. 
 
 The position has changed little since 
 
Introduction 13 
 
 the attack of July 1. Then, as now, 
 Gommecourt was in ruins, and the trees of 
 the wood were mostly killed. Then, as 
 now, the position looked terrible, even 
 though its slopes were gentle and its 
 beauty not quite destroyed, even after two 
 years of war. 
 
 The position is immensely strong in it- 
 self, with a perfect glacis and field of 
 fire. Every invention of modern defen- 
 sive war helped to make it stronger. In 
 front of it was the usual system of barbed 
 wire, stretched on iron supports, over a 
 width of fifty yards. Behind the wire 
 was the system of the First Enemy Main 
 Line, from which many communication- 
 trenches ran to the central fortress of the 
 salient, known as the Kern Redoubt, and 
 to the Support or Guard Line. This 
 
14 Introduction 
 
 First Main Line, even now, after count- 
 less bombardments and nine months of 
 neglect, is a great and deep trench of im- 
 mense strength. It is from twelve to fif- 
 teen feet deep, very strongly revetted with 
 timberings and stout wicker-work. At 
 intervals it is strengthened with small 
 forts or sentry-boxes of concrete, built 
 into the parapet. Great and deep dug- 
 outs lie below it, and though many of 
 these have now been destroyed, the shafts 
 of most of them can still be seen. At the 
 mouths of some of these shafts one may 
 still see giant-legged periscopes by which 
 men sheltered in the dug-out shafts could 
 watch for the coming of an attack. 
 When the attack began and the barrage 
 lifted, these watchers called up the bomb- 
 ers and machine-gunners from their un- 
 
Introduction 15 
 
 derground barracks, and had them in ac- 
 tior within a few seconds. 
 
 Though the wire was formidable and 
 the trench immense, the real defences of 
 the position were artillery and machine- 
 guns. The machine-guns were the chief 
 danger. One machine-gun with ample 
 ammunition has concentrated in itself the 
 defensive power of a battalion. The 
 enemy had not less than a dozen machine- 
 guns in and in front of the Kern Redoubt. 
 Some of these were cunningly hidden in 
 pits, tunnels and shelters in (or even out- 
 side) the obstacle of the wire at the 
 salient, so that they could enfilade the No 
 Man's Land, or shoot an attacking party 
 in the back after it had passed. The sites 
 of these machine-gun nests were well hid- 
 den from all observation, and were fre- 
 
16 Introduction 
 
 quently changed. Besides the mach''^^- 
 guns outside and in the front line, i!^^^^ 
 were others, mounted in the trees and ijy 
 the higher ground above the front line, in 
 such position that they, too, could play 
 upon the No Man's Land and the Eng- 
 lish front line. The artillery concen- 
 trated behind Gonunecourt was of all 
 calibres. It was a greater concentration 
 than the enemy could then usually afford 
 to defend any one sector, but the number 
 of guns in it is not known. On July 1 
 it developed a more intense artillery fire 
 upon Hebuterne, and the English line out- 
 side it, than upon any part of the English 
 attack throughout the battlefield. 
 
 In the attack of July 1, Gommecourt 
 was assaulted simultaneously from the 
 north (from the direction of Ponquevil- 
 
Introduction 17 
 
 lers) and from the south (from the direc- 
 tion of Hebuterne). Mr. Liveing took 
 part in the southern assault, and must 
 have ^^gone in" near the Hebuterne- 
 Bucquoy Road. The tactical intention of 
 these simultaneous attacks from north and 
 south was to '^ pinch off" and secure the 
 salient. The attack to the north, though 
 gallantly pushed, was unsuccessful. 
 The attack to the south got across the first- 
 line trench and into the enemy position 
 past Gommecourt Cemetery almost to the 
 Kern Redoubt. What it faced in getting 
 so far may be read in Mr. Liveing 's ac- 
 count. Before our men left the trenches 
 outside Hebuterne they were in a heavy 
 barrage, and the open valley of the No 
 Man's Land hissed, as Mr. Liveing says, 
 like an engine, with machine-gun bullets. 
 
18 Introduction 
 
 Nevertheless, our men reached the third 
 line of enemy trenches and began to se- 
 cure the ground which they had captured. 
 
 During the afternoon the enemy 
 counter-attacked from the south, and, 
 later in the day, from the north as well. 
 Our men had not enough bombs to hold 
 back the attackers, and were gradually 
 driven back, after very severe hand-to- 
 hand fighting in the trenches, to an evil 
 little bend in the front line directly to the 
 south of Gommecourt Cemetery. At 
 about 11 p.m., after sixteen hours of in- 
 tense and bitter fighting, they were driven 
 back from this point to their own lines. 
 
 Mr. Liveing's story is very well told. 
 It is a simple and most vivid account of a 
 modern battle. No better account has 
 been written in England since the war be- 
 
Introduction 19 
 
 gan. I hope that so rare a talent for 
 narrative may be recognised. I hope, 
 too, that Mr. Liveing may soon be able 
 to give us more stories as full of life as 
 this. 
 
 John Masefield. 
 
 The Author wishes to thank Messrs. 
 Blackwood and Sons for their kind per- 
 mission to republish this article, which 
 appeared in Blackwood^s Magazine, De- 
 cember, 1917, under the title of ** Battle." 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Gathering for Attack 23 
 
 II. Eve of Attack . . ^. . . . . . 28 
 
 III. Attack . 54 
 
 IV. Toll OF Attack ...... [. . 93 
 
ATTACK 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GATHERING FOR ATTACK 
 
 The roads were packed with traffic. 
 Column after column of lorries came 
 pounding along, bearing their freight 
 of shells, trench-mortar bombs, wire, 
 stakes, sandbags, pipes, and a thousand 
 other articles essential for the offensive, 
 so that great dumps of explosives and 
 other material arose in the green wayside 
 places. Staff cars and signallers on 
 motor-bikes went busily on their way. 
 Ambulances hurried backwards and for- 
 wards between the line and the Casualty 
 
 23 
 
24 Attack 
 
 Clearing Station, for the days of June 
 were hard days for the infantry who dug 
 the *4eaping-off'' trenches, and manned 
 them afterwards through rain and raid 
 and bombardment. Horse transport and 
 new batteries hurried to their destina- 
 tions. ** Caterpillars" rumbled up, tow- 
 ing the heavier gims. Infantrymen and 
 sappers marched to their tasks round and 
 about the line. 
 
 Eoads were repaired, telephone wires 
 placed deep in the ground, trees felled for 
 dug-outs and gun emplacements, water- 
 pipes laid up to the trenches ready to be 
 extended across conquered territory, 
 while small-gauge and large-gauge rail- 
 ways seemed to spring to being in the 
 night. 
 
 Then came days of terror for the enemy. 
 
Gathering for Attack 25 
 
 Slowly our guns broke forth upon them 
 in a tumult of rage. The Germans in re- 
 taliation sprayed our nearer batteries with 
 shrapnel, and threw a barrage of whizz- 
 bangs across the little white road leading 
 into the village of Hebuterne. This 
 feeble retaliation was swallowed up and 
 overpowered by the torrent of metal that 
 now poured incessantly into their terri- 
 tory. Shells from the 18-pounders and 
 trench-mortars cut their wire and demor- 
 alised their sentries. Guns of all calibres 
 pounded their system of trenches till it 
 looked for all the world like nothing more 
 than a ploughed field. The sky was filled 
 with our aeroplanes wheeling about and 
 directing the work of batteries, and with 
 the black and white bursts of anti-aircraft 
 shells. Shells from the 9.2 howitzers 
 
26 Attack 
 
 crashed into strong points and gun em- 
 placements and hurled them skywards. 
 Petrol shells licked up the few remaining 
 green-leaved trees in Gommecourt Wood, 
 where observers watched and snipers 
 nested: 15-inch naval guns, under the 
 vigilant guidance of observation balloons, 
 wrought deadly havoc in Bapaume and 
 other villages and billets behind their 
 lines. 
 
 Thrice were the enemy enveloped in gas 
 and smoke, and, as they stood-to in ex- 
 pectation of attack, were mown down by 
 a torrent of shells. 
 
 The bombardment grew and swelled and 
 
 .brought down showers of rain. Yet the 
 
 ground remained comparatively dry and 
 
 columns of dust arose from the roads as 
 
 hoof and wheel crushed their broken sur- 
 
Gathering for Attach 27 
 
 faces and battalions of infantry, with 
 songs and jests, marched up to billets and 
 bivouacs just behind the line, ready to give 
 battle. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 EVE OF ATTACK 
 
 Boom! Absolute silence for a minute. 
 Boom! followed quickly by a more dis- 
 tant report from a fellow-gun. At each 
 bellowing roar from the 9.2 near by, bits 
 of the ceiling clattered on to the floor of 
 the billet and the wall-plaster trickled 
 down on to one's valise, making a sound 
 like soot coming down a chimney. 
 
 It was about three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. I did not look at my watch, as its 
 luminous facings had faded away months 
 before and I did not wish to disturb my 
 companions by lighting a match. A sigh 
 
 28 
 
Eve of Attack 29 
 
 or a groan came from one part of the room 
 or another, showing that our bombard- 
 ment was troublesome even to the sleepers, 
 and a rasping noise occasionally occurred 
 
 when W k, my Company Commander, 
 
 turned round uneasily on his bed of wood 
 and rabbit- wire. 
 
 I plunged farther down into the recesses 
 of my flea-bag, though its linings had 
 broken down and my feet stuck out at 
 the bottom. Then I pulled my British 
 Warm over me and muflSed my head and 
 ears in it to escape the regularly-repeated 
 roar of the 9.2. Though the whole house 
 seemed to be shaking to bits at every min- 
 ute, the noise was muffled to a less ear- 
 splitting fury and I gradually sank into a 
 semi-sleep. 
 
 About six o'clock I awoke finally, and 
 
30 Attack 
 
 after an interval the battery stopped its 
 work. At half -past seven I hauled myself 
 out of my valise and sallied forth into 
 the courtyard, clad in a British Warm, 
 pyjamas, and gum-boots, to make my 
 toilet. I blinked as I came into the light 
 and felt very sleepy. The next moment 
 I was on my hands and knees, with every 
 nerve of my brain working like a mill- 
 stone. A vicious ^^ swish" had sounded 
 over my head, and knowing its meaning 
 I had turned for the nearest door and 
 slipped upon the cobbled stones of the 
 yard. I picked myself up and fled for 
 that door just as the inevitable ** crash" 
 came. This happened to be the door to 
 the servants' quarters, and they were 
 vastly amused. We looked out of the 
 window at the debris which was rising 
 
Eve of Attack 31 
 
 into the air. Two more '* crumps" came 
 whirling over the house, and with shatter- 
 ing explosions lifted more debris into the 
 air beyond the farther side of the court- 
 yard. Followed a burst of shrapnel and 
 one more ^^ crump," and the enemy's re- 
 taliation on the 9.2 and its crew had 
 ceased. The latter, however, had de- 
 scended into their dug-out, while the gun 
 remained unscathed. Not so some of our 
 own men. 
 
 We were examining the nose-cap of a 
 shell which had hit the wall of our billet, 
 when a corporal came up, who said hur- 
 riedly to W ^k, ''Corporal G 's 
 
 been killed and four men wounded." 
 
 The whole tragedy had happened so 
 swiftly, and this sudden announcement 
 of the death of one of our best N.C.O.s 
 
32 Attack 
 
 had come as such a shock, that all we did 
 was to stare at each other with the words : 
 
 ''Mj God I Corporal G gone! 
 
 It's impossible." 
 
 One expects shells and death in the line, 
 but three or four miles behind it one grows 
 accustomed, so to speak, to live in a fool's 
 paradise. We went round to see our 
 casualties, and I found two of my platoon, 
 bandaged in the leg and arm, sitting in a 
 group of their pals, who were congratulat- 
 ing them on having got ^^soft Blighty- 
 ones. " The Company Quartermaster- 
 Sergeant showed me a helmet, which was 
 lying outside the billet when the shells 
 came over, with a triangular gash in it, 
 into which one could almost place one's 
 
 fist. At the body of Corporal G I 
 
 could not bring myself to look. The poor 
 
Eve of Attack 33 
 
 fellow had been terribly hit in the back 
 and neck, and, I confess it openly, I had 
 not the courage, and felt that it would be 
 a sacrilege, to gaze on the mangled re- 
 mains of one whom I had valued so much 
 as an N.C.O. and grown to like so much 
 as a man during the last ten months. 
 
 Dark clouds were blowing over in an 
 easterly direction ; a cheerless day added to 
 the general gloom. We had a Company 
 Officers' final consultation on the plans 
 for the morrow, after which I held an in- 
 spection of my platoon, and gave out some 
 further orders. On my return to the bil- 
 let W ^k told me that the attack had 
 
 been postponed for two days owing to 
 bad weather. Putting aside all thought 
 of orders for the time being, we issued out 
 rum to the men, indulged in a few **tots" 
 
34 Attack 
 
 ourselves, and settled down to a pleasant 
 
 evening. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 In a little courtyard on the evening of 
 June 30 I called the old platoon to atten- 
 tion for the last time, shook hands with 
 the officers left in reserve, marched off 
 into the road, and made up a turning to 
 the left on to the Blue Track. We had 
 done about a quarter of the ground be- 
 tween Bayencourt and Sailly-au-Bois 
 when a messenger hurried up to tell me 
 to halt, as several of the platoons of the 
 
 L S had to pass us. We sat 
 
 down by a large shell-hole, and the men 
 lit up their pipes and cigarettes and 
 shouted jokes to the men of the other regi- 
 ment as they passed by. 
 
 It was a very peaceful evening — re- 
 
Eve of Attack 35 
 
 markably peaceful, now that the guns 
 were at rest. A light breeze played east- 
 ward. I sat with my face towards the 
 sunset, wondering a little if this was the 
 last time that I should see it. One often 
 reads of this sensation in second-rate 
 novels. I must say that I had always 
 thought it greatly ^ ^ overdone " ; but a great 
 zest in the splendour of life swept over 
 me as I sat there in the glow of that set- 
 ting sun, and also a great calmness that 
 gave me heart to do my uttermost on the 
 morrow. My father had enclosed a little 
 card in his last letter to me with the words 
 upon it of the prayer of an old cavalier of 
 the seventeenth century — Sir Jacob Ast- 
 ley — before the battle of Newbury: — 
 ^^Lord, I shall be very busy this day. I 
 may forget Thee, but do not Thou forget 
 
36 Attack 
 
 me." A peculiar old prayer, but I kept 
 on repeating it to myself with great com- 
 fort that evening. My men were rather 
 quiet. Perhaps the general calmness was 
 affecting them with kindred thoughts, 
 though an Englishman never shows them. 
 On the left stood the stiunpy spire of 
 Bazencourt Church just left by us. On 
 the right lay Sailly-au-Bois in its girdle 
 of trees. Along the side of the valley 
 which ran out from behind Sailly-au- 
 Bois, arose numerous lazy pillars of 
 smoke from the wood fires and kitchens 
 of an artillery encampment. An English 
 aeroplane, with a swarm of black puffs 
 around it betokening German shells, was 
 gleaming in the setting sun. It purred 
 monotonously, almost drowning the 
 
Eve of Attack 37 
 
 screech of occasional shells which were 
 dropping by a distant chateau. The calm 
 before the storm sat brooding over every- 
 thing. 
 
 The kilted platoons having gone on their 
 way, we resumed our journey, dipping 
 into the valley behind Sailly-au-Bois, and 
 climbing the farther side, as I passed the 
 officers' mess hut belonging to an anti- 
 aircraft battery, which had taken up a 
 position at the foot of the valley, and 
 whence came a pleasant sound of clink- 
 ing glass, a wild desire for permanent 
 comfort affected me. 
 
 Rounding the outskirts of Sailly-au- 
 Bois, we arrived in the midst of the bat- 
 tery positions nesting by the score in the 
 level plain behind Hebuterne. The bat- 
 
38 Attack 
 
 teries soon let us know of their presence. 
 Eed flashes broke out in the gathering 
 darkness, followed by quick reports. 
 
 To the right one could discern the dim 
 outlines of platoons moving up steadily 
 and at equal distances like ourselves. 
 One could just catch the distant noise of 
 spade clinking on rifle. When I turned 
 my gaze to the front of these troops, I 
 saw yellow-red flashes licking upon the 
 horizon, where our shells were finding 
 their mark. Straight in front, whither 
 we were bound, the girdle of trees round 
 Hebuterne shut out these flashes from 
 view, but by the noise that came from be- 
 yond those trees one knew that the Ger- 
 man trenches were receiving exactly the 
 same intensity of fire there. Every now 
 and then this belt of trees was being 
 
Eve of Attack 39 
 
 thrown into sharp relief by German star- 
 shells, which rocketed into the sky one 
 after the other like a display of fireworks, 
 while at times a burst of hostile shrapnel 
 would throw a weird, red light on the 
 twinkling poplars which surrounded the 
 cemetery. 
 
 As we marched on towards the village 
 (I do not mind saying it) I experienced 
 that unpleasant sensation of wondering 
 whether I should be lying out this time 
 to-morrow— stiff and cold in that land 
 beyond the trees, where the red shrapnel 
 burst and the star-shells flickered. I re- 
 member hoping that, if the fates so de- 
 creed, I should not leave too great a gap 
 in my family, and, best hope of all, that 
 I should instead be speeding home in an 
 ambulance on the road that stretched 
 
40 Attack 
 
 along to our left. I do not think that I 
 am far wrong when I say that those 
 thoughts were occurring to every man in 
 the silent platoon behind me. Not that 
 we were downhearted. If you had asked 
 the question, you would have been greeted 
 by a cheery ^^No!" We were all full of 
 determination to do our best next day, 
 but one cannot help enduring rather an 
 unusual *^ party feeling" before going into 
 an attack. 
 
 Suddenly a German shell came scream- 
 ing towards us. It hurtled overhead and 
 fell behind us with muffled detonation in 
 Sailly-au-Bois. Several more screamed 
 over us as we went along, and it was 
 peculiar to hear the shells of both sides 
 echoing backwards and forwards in the 
 sky at the same time. 
 
Eve of Attack 41 
 
 We were about four hundred yards 
 from the outskirts of Hebuterne, when I 
 was made aware of the fact that the pla- 
 toon in front of me had stopped. I im- 
 mediately stopped my platoon. I sat the 
 men down along a bank, and we waited — 
 a wait which was whiled away by various 
 incidents. I could hear a dog barking, 
 and just see two gunner officers who were 
 walking imconcemedly about the battery 
 positions and whistling for it. The next 
 thing that happened was a red flash in 
 the air about two hundred yards away, and 
 a pinging noise as bits of shrapnel shot 
 into the ground round about. One of my 
 
 men, S (the poor chap was killed next 
 
 day), called to me: ^^Look at that fire in 
 Sailly, sir!" I turned roimd and saw a 
 great yellow flare illuminating the sky in 
 
42 Attack 
 
 the direction of Sailly, the fiery end of 
 some barn or farm-building, where a high 
 explosive had found its billet. 
 We remained in this spot for nearly a 
 
 quarter of an hour, after which E d's 
 
 platoon began to move on, and I followed 
 at a good distance with mine. We made 
 our way to the clump of trees over which 
 the shrapnel had burst a few minutes 
 before. Suddenly we found ourselves 
 floundering in a sunken road flooded with 
 water knee-deep. This was not exactly 
 pleasant, especially when my guide in- 
 formed me that he was not quite certain 
 as to our whereabouts. Luckily, we soon 
 gained dry ground again, turned off into 
 a bit of trench which brought us into the 
 village, and made for the dump by the 
 church, where we were to pick up our ma- 
 
Eve of Attack 43 
 
 terials. When we reached the church — 
 or, rather, its ruins — the road was so filled 
 with parties and platoons, and it was be- 
 coming so dark, that it took us some time 
 before we found the dump. Fortunately, 
 the first person whom I spotted was the 
 Regimental Sergeant-Major, and I handed 
 over to him the carrying-party which I 
 had to detail, also despatching the rum 
 and soup parties — the latter to the com- 
 pany cooker. 
 
 Leaving the platoon in charge of 
 
 Sergeant S 1, I went with my guide 
 
 in search of the dump. In the general 
 
 melee I bumped into W k. We found 
 
 the rabbit wire, barbed wire, and other 
 material in a shell-broken outhouse, and, 
 grabbing hold of it, handed the stuff out 
 to the platoon. 
 
44 Attack 
 
 As we filed through the village the re- 
 flections of star-shells threw weird lights 
 on half -ruined houses ; an occasional shell 
 screamed overhead, to burst with a dull, 
 echoing sound within the shattered walls 
 of former cottages ; and one could hear the 
 rat-tat-tat of machine-guns. These had 
 a nasty habit of spraying the village with 
 indirect fire, and it was, as always, a re- 
 lief to enter the recesses of Wood Street 
 without having any one hit. This com- 
 munication trench dipped into the earth 
 at right angles to the ** Boulevard" 
 Street. We clattered along the brick- 
 floored trench, whose walls were overhung 
 with the dewy grass and flowers of the 
 orchard — that wonderful orchard whose 
 aroma had survived the horror and desola- 
 tion of a two years' warfare, and seemed 
 
Eve of Attack 45 
 
 DOW only to be intensified to a softer f rag- 
 grance by the night air. 
 
 Arriving at the belt of trees and hedge 
 which marked the confines of the orchard, 
 we turned to the right into Cross Street, 
 which cut along behind the belt of trees 
 into Woman Street. 
 
 Turning to the left up Woman Street, 
 and leaving the belt of trees behind, we 
 wound into the slightly undulating ground 
 between Hebuterne and Gommecourt 
 Wood. ^^ Crumps" were bursting round 
 about the communication trench, but at a 
 distance, judging by their report, of at 
 least fifty yards. As we were passing 
 Brigade Headquarters' Dug-out, the 
 Brigade-Major appeared and asked me 
 the number of my platoon. ^^ Number 
 5," I replied; and he answered **Good," 
 
46 Attack 
 
 with a touch of relief in his voice — for we 
 had been held up for some time on the way, 
 and my platoon was the first or second 
 platoon of the company to get into the 
 line. 
 
 It was shortly after this that ^^ crumps" 
 began to burst dangerously near. There 
 was suddenly a blinding flash and terrific 
 report just to our left. We kept on, 
 with heads aching intolerably. Winding 
 round a curve, we came upon the effects 
 of the shells. The sides of the trench had 
 been blown in, while in the middle of the 
 dehris lay a dead or unconscious man, and 
 farther on a man groaning faintly upon 
 a stretcher. We scrambled over them, 
 passed a few more wounded and stretcher- 
 bearers, and arrived at the Eeserve Line. 
 
 Captain W 1 was standing at the 
 
Eve of Attack 47 
 
 juncture of Woman Street and the Re- 
 serve Line, cool and calm as usual. I 
 asked him if New Woman Street was 
 blocked, but there was no need for a reply. 
 A confused noise of groans and stertor- 
 ous breathing, and of some one sobbing, 
 
 came to my ears, and above it all, M 
 
 W 's voice saying to one of his men: 
 
 *^It's all right, old chap. It's all over 
 now. ' ' He told me afterwards that a shell 
 had landed practically in the trench, kill- 
 ing two men in front of him and one be- 
 hind, and wounding several others, but not 
 touching himself. 
 
 It was quite obvious to me that it was 
 impossible to proceed to the support 
 trench via New Woman Street, and at any 
 rate my Company Commander had given 
 me orders to go over the top from the re- 
 
48 Attack 
 
 serve to the support line, so, shells or no 
 
 shells, and leaving Sergeant S ^1 to 
 
 bring up the rear of the platoon, I scaled 
 a ladder leaning on the side of the trench 
 and walked over the open for about two 
 hundred yards. My guide and I jumped 
 into New Woman Street just before it 
 touched the support line, and we were soon 
 joined by several other men of the platoon. 
 We had already suffered three casualties, 
 and going over the top in the darkness, the 
 men had lost touch. The ration party 
 also had not arrived yet. I despatched 
 the guide to bring up the remainder, and 
 proceeded to my destination with about 
 six men. About fifteen yards farther up 
 the trench I found a series of shell-holes 
 threading their way off to the left. By 
 the light of some German star-shells I 
 
Eve of Attack 49 
 
 discerned an officer groping about these 
 holes, and I stumbled over mounds and 
 hollows towards him. 
 
 **Is this the support line?'' I asked, 
 rather foolishly. 
 
 ^* Yes," he replied, *^but there isn't much 
 room in it." I saw that he was an officer 
 of the Royal Engineers. 
 
 **I'm putting my smoke-bombers down 
 here," he continued, ^^but you'll find more 
 room over towards the sunken road." 
 
 He showed me along the trench — or the 
 remains of it — and went off to carry out 
 his own plans. I stumbled along till I 
 could just distinguish the outlines of the 
 sunken road. The trench in this direction 
 was blown in level with the ground. I re- 
 turned to W k, whose headquarters 
 
 were at the juncture of New Woman 
 
50 Attack 
 
 Street and the support line, telling him 
 that the trench by the sunken road was 
 untenable, and that I proposed placing 
 my platoon in a smaller length of trench, 
 and spreading them out f anwise when we 
 started to advance. To this he agreed, 
 and putting his hand on my shoulder in 
 his characteristic fashion, informed me in 
 a whisper that the attack was to start at 
 7.30 A.M. As far as I can remember it 
 was about one o'clock by now, and more 
 of my men had come up. I ensconced 
 them by sections. No. 1 section on the 
 left and No. 4 on the right in shell-holes 
 and the remains of the trench along a dis- 
 tance of about forty yards, roughly half 
 the length of the trench that they were to 
 have occupied. At the same time I gave 
 orders to my right- and left-hand guides 
 
Eve of Attack 51 
 
 to incline off to the right and left re- 
 spectively when the advance started. I 
 was walking back to my headquarters, a 
 bit of trench behind a traverse, when a 
 German searchlight, operating from the 
 direction of Serre Wood, turned itself al- 
 most dead on me. I was in my trench in 
 a second. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Sergeant S r ar- 
 rived with No. 8 platoon. I showed him 
 one or two available portions of trench, 
 but most of his men had to crowd in with 
 mine. The Lewis-gunners, who arrived 
 last, found only a ruined bit of trench 
 next to my ^^headquarters," while they 
 deposited their guns and equipment in a 
 shell-hole behind. 
 
 It was somewhere about four or half- 
 past when I made my last inspection. I 
 
52 Attack 
 
 clambered over the back of the trench and 
 stood still for a moment or so. Every- 
 thing was uncannily silent. There was 
 just a suspicion of whiteness creeping into 
 the sky beyond the rising ground opposite. 
 Over towards the left rose the remains of 
 Gommecourt Wood. Half its trees had 
 gone since the last time that I had seen 
 it, and the few that remained stood, look- 
 ing like so many masts in a harbour, gaunt 
 and charred by our petrol shells. 
 
 The men in the left fire-bay seemed 
 quite comfortable. But, standing and 
 looking down the trench, it suddenly 
 dawned upon me that I was gazing right 
 into a line of chalky German trenches, and 
 consequently that the enemy in those 
 trenches could look straight into this 
 trench. I left instructions with the cor- 
 
Eve of Attack 53 
 
 poral in charge of that section to build up 
 a barricade in the gap before daybreak. 
 As I went along the rest of our frontage, 
 Sergeant S ^1 doled out the rum. 
 
 I retired to my ^^headquarters," but not 
 
 so Sergeant S ^1, who seemed not to 
 
 bother a bit about the increasing light and 
 the bullets which came phitting into the 
 ground in rather an impleasant quantity. 
 I was glad when I had finally got him 
 
 down into the trench. W k had also 
 
 told him to get in, for he remarked — 
 
 '^Captain W ^k, 'e says to me, *Get 
 
 into the trench, S 1, you b fool!' 
 
 so I've got in." 
 
 He was just in time. A prelude of 
 shrapnel screamed along, bursting over- 
 head, and there followed an hour's nerve- 
 racking bombardment. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 ATTACK 
 
 Dawn was breaking. The morning was 
 cool after a cMU night — a night of waiting 
 in blown-down trenches with not an inch 
 to move to right or left, of listening to the 
 enemy's shells as they left the guns and 
 came tearing and shrieking towards you, 
 knowing all the time that they were aimed 
 for your particular bit of trench and 
 would land in it or by it, of awaiting that 
 sudden, ominous silence, and then the 
 crash — perhaps death. 
 
 I, for my part, had spent most of the 
 night sitting on a petrol tin, wedged be- 
 
 54 
 
Attack 55 
 
 tween the-wo sides of the trench and two 
 human beings — my sergeant on the left 
 and a corporal on the right. Like others, 
 I had slept for part of the time despite the 
 noise and danger, awakened now and then 
 by the shattering crash of a shell or the 
 hopeless cry for stretcher-bearers. 
 
 But morning was coming at last, and 
 the bombardment had ceased. The wind 
 blew east, and a few fleecy clouds raced 
 along the blue sky overhead. The sun was 
 infusing more warmth into the air. 
 There was the freshness and splendour of 
 a summer morning over everything. In 
 fact, as one man said, it felt more as if 
 we were going to start off for a picnic 
 than for a battle. 
 
 *^Pass it down to Sergeant H that 
 
 Sergeant S 1 wishes him the top o' the 
 
56 Attack 
 
 morninV' said my sergeant. But Ser- 
 geant H— — , who was in charge of the 
 company's Lewis-guns, and had been sta- 
 tioned in the next fire-trench, was at pres- 
 ent groping his way to safety with a lump 
 of shrapnel in his back. 
 
 An occasional shell sang one way or 
 the other. Otherwise all was quiet. We 
 passed down the remains of the rum. 
 
 Sergeant S ^1 pressed me to take some 
 
 out of a mess-tin lid. I drank a very lit- 
 tle — ^the first and last **tot" I took during 
 the battle. It warmed me up. Some 
 time after this I looked at my watch and 
 found it was a minute or two before 6.25 
 A.M. I turned to the corporal, saying — 
 ** They '11 just about start now." 
 The words were not out of my mouth 
 before the noise, which had increased a 
 
Attack 57 
 
 trifle during the last twenty minutes, sud- 
 denly swelled into a gigantic roar. Our 
 guns had started. The din was so deafen- 
 ing that one could not hear the crash of 
 German shells exploding in our own lines. 
 
 Sergeant S 1 was standing straight 
 
 up in the trench and looking over to see 
 the effects of our shells. It was a brave 
 thing to do, but absolutely reckless. I 
 pulled him down by the tail of his tunic. 
 He got up time and again, swearing that 
 he would ^Hake on the whole b Ger- 
 man army." He gave us pleasing in- 
 formation of the effects of our bombard- 
 ment, but as I did not want htm to lose 
 his life prematurely, I saw to it that we 
 kept him down in the trench till the time 
 came for a display of bravery, in which 
 he was not lacking. 
 
58 Attack 
 
 We had been told that the final bom- 
 bardment that day would be the most in- 
 tense one since the beginning of the war. 
 The attack was to encircle what was al- 
 most generally considered the strongest 
 German '^fortress" on the Western Front, 
 the stronghold of Gommecourt Wood. 
 There was need of it, therefore. 
 
 Just over the trenches, almost raising 
 the hair on one's head (we were helmeted, 
 I must say, but that was the feeling), 
 swished the smaller shells from the French 
 .75 and English 18-pounder batteries. 
 They gave one the sensation of being un- 
 der a swiftly rushing stream. The larger 
 shells kept up a continuous shrieking 
 overhead, falling on the enemy's trenches 
 with the roar of a cataract, while every 
 now and then a noise as of thunder 
 
Attack 59 
 
 sounded above all when our trench-mortar 
 shells fell amongst the German wire, blow- 
 ing it to bits, making holes like mine cra- 
 ters, and throwing dirt and even bits of 
 metal into our own trenches. 
 
 I have often tried to call to memory the 
 intellectual, mental and nervous activity 
 through which I passed during that hour 
 of hellish bombardment and counter-bom- 
 bardment, that last hour before we leapt 
 out of our trenches into No Man's Land. 
 I give the vague recollection of that or- 
 deal for what it is worth. I had an ex- 
 cessive desire for the time to come when 
 I could go ^^over the top," when I should 
 be free at last from the noise of the bom- 
 bardment, free from the prison of my 
 trench, free to walk across that patch of 
 No Man 's Land and opposing trenches till 
 
60 Attack 
 
 I got to my objective, or, if I did not go 
 that far, to have my fate decided for bet- 
 ter or for worse. I experienced, too, mo- 
 ments of intense fear during close bom- 
 bardment. I felt that if I was blown up 
 it would be the end of all things so far as 
 I was concerned. The idea of after-life 
 seemed ridiculous in the presence of such 
 frightful destructive force. Again the 
 prayer of that old cavalier kept coming to 
 my mind. At any rate, one could but do 
 one's best, and I hoped that a higher power 
 than all that which was around would not 
 overlook me or any other fellows on that 
 day. At one time, not very long before 
 the moment of attack, I felt to its intensest 
 depth the truth of the proverb, **Carpe 
 diem." What was time? I had another 
 twenty minutes in which to live in com- 
 
Attack 61 
 
 parative safety. What was the difference 
 between twenty minutes and twenty 
 years'? Really and truly what was the 
 difference'? I was living at present, and 
 that was enough. I am afraid that this 
 working of mind will appear unintelligi- 
 ble. I cannot explain it further. I think 
 that others who have waited to **go over" 
 will realise its meaning. Above all, per- 
 haps, and except when shells falling near 
 by brought one back to reality, the intense 
 cascade-like noise of our own shells rush- 
 ing overhead numbed for the most part of 
 the time one's nervous and mental system. 
 Listening to this pandemonium, one felt 
 like one of an audience at a theatre and 
 not in the least as if one was in any way 
 associated with it oneself. 
 
 Still, the activity of a man's nerves, 
 
62 Attack 
 
 though dulled to a great extent inwardly, 
 were bound to show externally. I turned 
 to the corporal. He was a brave fellow, 
 and had gone through the Gallipoli cam- 
 paign, but he was shaking all over, and 
 white as parchment. I expect that I was 
 just the same. 
 
 *^We must be giving them hell,'' I said. 
 **I don't think they're sending much 
 back." 
 
 ^^I don't think much, sir," he replied. 
 
 I hardly think we believed each other. 
 Looking up out of the trench beyond him, 
 I saw huge, black columns of smoke and 
 debris rising up from our communication 
 trench. Then, suddenly, there was a 
 blinding *^ crash" just by us. We were 
 covered in mud which flopped out of the 
 trench, and the evil-smelling fumes of 
 
Attack 63 
 
 lyddite. The cry for stretcher-bearers 
 was passed hurriedly up the line again. 
 Followed '^ crash" after ^^ crash," and the 
 pinging of shrapnel which flicked into the 
 top of the trench, the purring noise of 
 flying nose-caps and soft thudding sounds 
 as they fell into the parapet. 
 
 It was difficult to hear one another talk- 
 ing. Sergeant S 1 was still full of the 
 
 ^^get at 'em" spirit. So were we all. 
 The men were behaving splendidly. I 
 passed along the word to *^Fix swords." 
 
 We could not see properly over the top 
 of the trench, but smoke was going over. 
 The attack was about to begin — it was 
 beginning. I passed word round the 
 corner of the traverse, asking whether 
 they could see if the second wave was 
 starting. It was just past 7.30 a.m. The 
 
64 Attack 
 
 third wave, of which my platoon formed 
 a part, was due to start at 7.30 plus 45 
 seconds — at the same time as the second 
 wave in my part of the line. The corporal 
 got up, so I realised that the second wave 
 was assembling on the top to go over. 
 The ladders had been smashed or used 
 as stretchers long ago. Scrambling out 
 of a battered part of the trench, I arrived 
 on top, looked down my line of men, swung 
 my rifle forward as a signal, and started 
 off at the prearranged walk. 
 
 A continuous hissing noise all around 
 one, like a railway engine letting off 
 steam, signified that the German machine- 
 gunners had become aware of our advance. 
 I nearly trod on a motionless form. It 
 lay in a natural position, but the ashen 
 face and fixed, fearful eyes told me that 
 
Attack 65 
 
 the man had just fallen. I did not rec- 
 ognise him then. I remember him now. 
 He was one of my own platoon. 
 
 To go back for a minute. The scene 
 that met my eyes as I stood on the parapet 
 of our trench for that one second is al- 
 most indescribable. Just in front the 
 ground was pitted by innumerable shell- 
 holes. More holes opened suddenly every 
 now and then. Here and there a few 
 bodies lay about. Farther away, before 
 our front line and in No Man's Land, lay 
 more. In the smoke one could distinguish 
 the second line advancing. One man 
 after another fell down in a seemingly 
 natural manner, and the wave melted 
 away. In the background, where ran the 
 remains of the German lines and wire, 
 there was a mass of smoke, the red of the 
 
66 Attack 
 
 shrapnel bursting amid it. Amongst it, 
 I saw Captain H and Ms men at- 
 tempting to enter the German front line. 
 The Boches had met them on the parapet 
 with bombs. The whole scene reminded 
 me of battle pictures, at which in earlier 
 years I had gazed with much amazement. 
 Only this scene, though it did not seem 
 more real, was infinitely more terrible. 
 Everything stood still for a second, as a 
 panorama painted with three colours — 
 the white of the smoke, the red of the 
 shrapnel and blood, the green of the grass. 
 If I had felt nervous before, I did not 
 feel so now, or at any rate not in anything 
 like the same degree. As I advanced, I 
 felt as if I was in a dream, but I had all 
 my wits about me. We had been told to 
 walk. Our boys, however, rushed for- 
 
Attack 67 
 
 ward with splendid impetuosity to help 
 their comrades and smash the German re- 
 sistance in the front line. What hap- 
 pened to our materials for blocking the 
 German communication trench, when we 
 got to our objective, I should not like to 
 think. I kept up a fast walking pace and 
 tried to keep the line together. This was 
 impossible. When we had jumped clear 
 of the remains of our front line trench, 
 my platoon slowly disappeared through 
 the line stretching out. For a long time, 
 
 however. Sergeant S 1, Lance-corporal 
 
 M , Rifleman D , whom I remem- 
 ber being just in front of me, raising his 
 hand in the air and cheering, and myself 
 kept together. Eventually Lance-cor- 
 poral M was the only one of my pla- 
 toon left near me, and I shouted out to 
 
68 Attack 
 
 him, *^ Let's try and keep together." It 
 was not long, however, before we also 
 parted company. One thing I remem- 
 ber very well about this time, and that 
 was that a hare jmnped up and rushed 
 towards and past me through the dry, 
 yellowish grass, its eyes bulging with fear. 
 
 We were dropping into a slight valley. 
 The shell-holes were less few, but bodies 
 lay all over the ground, and a terrible 
 groaning arose from all sides. At one 
 time we seemed to be advancing in little 
 groups. I was at the head of one for a 
 moment or two, only to realise shortly 
 afterwards that I was alone. 
 
 I came up to the German wire. Here 
 one could hear men shouting to one an- 
 other and the wounded groaning above 
 the explosions of shells and bombs and 
 
Attack 69 
 the rattle of machine-guns. I found my- 
 self with J , an officer of '^C" com- 
 pany, afterwards killed while charging a 
 machine-gun in the open. We looked 
 round to see what our fourth line was do- 
 ing. My company's fourth line had no 
 
 leader. Captain W ^k, wounded twice, 
 
 had fallen into a shell-hole, while Ser- 
 geant S r had been killed during the 
 
 preliminary bombardment. Men were 
 kneeling and firing. I started back to 
 see if I could bring them up, but they were 
 too far away. I made a cup of my mouth 
 
 and shouted, as J was shouting. We 
 
 could not be heard. I turned round again 
 and advanced to a gap in the German 
 wire. There was a pile of our wounded 
 here on the German parapet. 
 
 Suddenly I cursed. I had been scalded 
 
70 Attack 
 
 in the left hip. A shell, I thought, had 
 blown up in a water-logged crump-hole 
 and sprayed me with boiling water. Let- 
 ting go of my rifle, I dropped forward full 
 length on the ground. My hip began to 
 smart unpleasantly, and I left a curious 
 warmth stealing down my left leg. I 
 thought it was the boiling water that 
 had scalded me. Certainly my breeches 
 looked as if they were saturated with 
 water. I did not know that they were 
 saturated with blood. 
 
 So I lay, waiting with the thought that 
 I might recover my strength (I could 
 barely move) and try to crawl back. 
 There was the greater possibility of 
 death, but there was also the possibility 
 of life. I looked around to see what was 
 happening. In front lay some wounded ; 
 
Attack 71 
 
 on either side of them stakes and shreds 
 of barbed wire twisted into weird contor- 
 tions by the explosions of our trench-mor- 
 tar bombs. Beyond this nothing but 
 smoke, interspersed with the red of burst- 
 ing bombs and shrapnel. 
 
 From out this ghastly chaos crawled a 
 familiar figure. It was that of Sergeant 
 
 K , bleeding from a wound in the 
 
 chest. He came crawling towards me. 
 
 ^' Hallo, K ," I shouted. 
 
 Are you hit, sir?" he asked. 
 Yes, old chap, I am," I replied. 
 
 a 
 a- 
 
 **Tou had better try and crawl back," 
 he suggested. 
 
 a 
 
 I don't think I can move," I said. 
 **I'll take off your equipment for you." 
 He proceeded very gallantly to do this. 
 I could not get to a kneeling position my- 
 
72 Attach 
 
 self, and he had to get hold of me, and 
 bring me to a kneeling position, before un- 
 doing my belt and shoulder-straps. We 
 turned round and started crawling back 
 together. I crawled very slowly at first. 
 Little holes opened in the groimd on either 
 side of me, and I understood that I was 
 under the fire of a machine-gun. In front 
 bullets were hitting the turf and throwing 
 it four or five feet into the air. Slowly 
 but steadily I crawled on. Sergeant 
 
 K and I lost sight of one another. I 
 
 think that he crawled off to the right and 
 I to the left of a mass of barbed wire en- 
 tanglements. 
 
 I was now confronted by a danger from 
 our own side. I saw a row of several men 
 kneeling on the ground and firing. It is 
 probable that they were trying to pick off 
 
Attack 73 
 
 German machine-gunners, but it seemed 
 very much as if they would **pot" a few 
 of the returning wounded into the bar- 
 gain. 
 
 ^*For God's sake, stop firing,'' I 
 shouted. 
 
 Words were of no avail. I crawled 
 through them. At last I got on my feet 
 and stumbled blindly along. 
 
 I fell down into a sunken road with 
 several other wounded, and crawled up 
 over the bank on the other side. The 
 Germans had a machine-gun on that road, 
 and only a few of us got across. Some 
 one faintly called my name behind me. 
 Looking round, I thought I recognised a 
 man of *^C" company. Only a few days 
 later did it come home to me that he was 
 my platoon observer. I had told him to 
 
74 Attack 
 
 stay with me whatever happened. He 
 had carried out his orders much more 
 faithfully than I had ever meant, for he 
 had come to my assistance, wounded twice 
 in the head himself. He hastened for- 
 ward to me, but, as I looked round wait- 
 ing, uncertain quite as to who he was, his 
 rifle clattered on to the ground, and he 
 crumpled up and fell motionless just be- 
 hind me. I felt that there was nothing 
 to be done for him. He died a hero, just 
 as he had always been in the trenches, full 
 of self-control, never complaining, a ready 
 volunteer. Shortly afterwards I sighted 
 the remains of our front line trench and 
 fell into them. 
 
 At first I could not make certain as to 
 my whereabouts. Coupled with the fact 
 that my notions in general were becoming 
 
Attack 75 
 
 somewhat hazy, the trenches themselves 
 were entirely unrecognisable. They were 
 filled with earth, and about half their or- 
 iginal depth. I decided, with that quick, 
 almost semi-conscious intuition that 
 comes to one in moments of peril, to pro- 
 ceed to the left (to one coming from the 
 German lines). As I crawled through 
 holes and over mounds I could hear the 
 vicious spitting of machine-gun bullets. 
 They seemed to skim just over my helmet. 
 The trench, opening out a little, began to 
 assume its old outline. I had reached the 
 head of New Woman Street, though at the 
 time I did not know what communication 
 trench it was — or trouble, for that matter. 
 The scene at the head of that communi- 
 cation trench is stamped in a blurred but 
 unforgettable way on my mind. In the 
 
76 Attack 
 
 remains of a wrecked dug-out or emplace- 
 ment a signaller sat, calmly transmitting 
 messages to Battalion Headquarters. A 
 few bombers were walking along the con- 
 tinuation of the front line. I could dis- 
 tinguish the red grenades on their arms 
 through the smoke. There were more of 
 them at the head of the communication 
 trench. Shells were coming over and 
 blowing up round about. 
 
 I asked one of the bombers to see what 
 was wrong with my hip. He started to 
 get out my iodine tube and field dressing. 
 The iodine tube was smashed. I remem- 
 bered that I had a second one, and we 
 managed to get that out after some time. 
 Shells were coming over so incessantly 
 and close that the bomber advised that we 
 should walk farther down the trench be- 
 
Attack 77 
 
 fore commencing operations. This done, 
 he opened my breeches and disclosed a 
 small hole in the front of the left hip. It 
 was bleeding fairly freely. He poured in 
 the iodine, and put the bandage round 
 in the best manner possible. We set off 
 down the communication trench again, in 
 company with several bombers, I holding 
 the bandage to my wound. We scrambled 
 up mounds and jumped over craters 
 (rather a painful performance for one 
 wounded in the leg) ; we halted at times in 
 almost open places, when machine-gun 
 bullets swept unpleasantly near, and one 
 felt the wind of shells as they passed just 
 over, blowing up a few yards away. In 
 my last stages across No Man's Land my 
 chief thought had been, '^I must get home 
 now for the sake of my people." Now, 
 
78 Attack 
 
 for I still remember it distinctly, my 
 thought was, ^^Will my name appear in 
 the casualty list under the head of * Killed' 
 or ^Wounded"?" and I summoned up a 
 mental picture of the two alternatives in 
 black type. 
 
 After many escapes we reached the Ee- 
 serve Line, where a military policeman 
 stood at the head of Woman Street. He 
 held up the men in front of me and di- 
 rected them to different places. Some 
 one told him that a wounded officer was 
 following. This was, perhaps, as well, 
 for I was an indistinguishable mass of 
 filth and gore. My helmet was covered 
 with mud, my tunic was cut about with 
 shrapnel and bullets and saturated with 
 blood; my breeches had changed from a 
 khaki to a purple hue; my puttees were 
 
Attack 79 
 
 in tatters ; my boots looked like a pair of 
 very muddy clogs. 
 
 The military policeman consigned me to 
 the care of some excellent fellow, of what 
 regiment I cannot remember. After 
 walking, or rather stumbling, a short way 
 down Woman Street, my guide and I came 
 upon a gunner Colonel standing outside 
 his dug-out and trying to watch the prog- 
 ress of the battle through his field-glasses. 
 
 *^ Good-morning," he said. 
 
 ^^Good-morning, sir," I replied. 
 
 This opening of our little conversation 
 was not meant to be in the least ironical, 
 I can assure you. It seemed quite nat- 
 ural at the time. 
 
 *' Where are you hitT' he asked. 
 
 ''In the thigh, sir. I don't think it's 
 anything very bad." 
 
80 Attack 
 
 *^Good. How are we getting on?" 
 **Well, I really can't say mucli for cer- 
 tain, sir. But I got nearly to their front 
 line." 
 
 Walking was now becoming exceed- 
 ingly painful and we proceeded slowly. 
 I choked the groans that would rise to my 
 lips and felt a cold perspiration pouring 
 freely from my face. It was easier to 
 get along by taking hold of the sides of 
 the trench with my hands than by being 
 supported by my guide. A party of 
 bombers or carriers of some description 
 passed us. We stood on one side to let 
 them go by. In those few seconds my 
 wound became decidedly stiffer, and I 
 wondered if I would ever reach the end 
 of the trenches on foot. At length the 
 communication trench passed through a 
 
Attack 81 
 
 belt of trees, and we found ourselves in 
 Cross Street. 
 
 Here was a First Aid Post, and 
 E.A.M.C. men were hard at work. I had 
 known those trenches for a month past, 
 and I had never thought that Cross Street 
 could appear so homelike. Hardly a 
 shell was falling and the immediate din 
 of battle had subsided. The sun was be- 
 coming hot, but the trees threw refresh- 
 ing shadows over the wide, shallow brick- 
 floored trenches built by the French two 
 years before. The R.A.M.C. orderlies 
 were spealdng pleasant words, and men 
 not too badly wounded were chatting 
 gaily. I noticed a dresser at work on a 
 man near by, and was pleased to find that 
 the man whose wounds were being at- 
 tended to was my servant L . His 
 
82 Attack 
 
 wound was in the hip, a nasty hole drilled 
 by a machine-gun bullet at close quarters. 
 He showed me his water-bottle, penetrated 
 by another bullet, which had inflicted a 
 further, but slight, wound. 
 
 There were many more serious cases 
 than mine to be attended to. After about 
 five or ten minutes an orderly slit up my 
 breeches. 
 
 * ' The wound 's in the front of the hip, ' ' I 
 said. 
 
 **Yes, but there's a larger wound where 
 the bullets come out, sir." 
 
 I looked and saw a gaping hole two 
 inches in diameter. 
 
 **I think that's a Blighty one, isn't it?" 
 I remarked. 
 
 ^*I should just think so, sir!" he re- 
 plied. 
 
Attack 83 
 
 ^' Thank God I At last!" I murmured 
 vehemently, conjuring up -^dsions of the 
 good old homeland. 
 
 The orderly painted the iodine round 
 both wounds and put on a larger band- 
 age. At this moment R , an officer of 
 
 ^^D" company, came limping into Cross 
 Street. 
 
 ^^ Hallo, L ," he exclaimed, *'we had 
 
 better try and get down to hospital to- 
 gether." 
 
 We started in a cavalcade to walk 
 down the remaining trenches into the 
 village, not before my servant, who 
 had insisted on staying with me, had re- 
 marked— 
 
 ^^I think I should like to go up again 
 now, sir," and to which proposal I had 
 answered very emphatically — 
 
84 Attack 
 
 ^^ You won't do anything of the sort, my 
 friend!" 
 
 E led the way, with a man to help 
 
 him, next came my servant, then two or- 
 derlies carrying a stretcher with a terribly 
 wounded Scottish private on it; another 
 orderly and myself brought up the rear — 
 and a very slow one at that ! 
 
 Turning a corner, we found ourselves 
 amidst troops of the battalion in reserve 
 to us, all of them eager for news. A sub- 
 altern, with whom I had been at a Divi- 
 sional School, asked how far we had got. 
 I told him that we were probably in their 
 second line by now. This statement caused 
 disappointment. Every one appeared to 
 believe that we had taken the three lines in 
 about ten minutes. I must confess that 
 the night before the attack I had enter- 
 
Attack 85 
 
 tained hopes that it would not take us 
 much longer than this. As a matter of 
 fact my battalion, or the remains of it, 
 after three hours of splendid and severe 
 fighting, managed to penetrate into the 
 third line trench. 
 
 Loss of blood was beginning to tell, and 
 my progress was getting slower every min- 
 ute. Each man, as I passed, put his arm 
 forward to help me along and said a cheery 
 word of some kind or other. Down the 
 wide, brick-floored trench we went, past 
 shattered trees and battered cottages, 
 through the rank grass and luxuriant 
 wild flowers, through the rich, unwarlike 
 aroma of the orchard, till we emerged into 
 the village ^'boulevard." 
 
 The orderly held me under the arms till 
 I was put on a wheeled stretcher and hur- 
 
86 Attack 
 
 ried along, past the ^^ boulevard pool" with 
 its surrounding elms and willows, and, at 
 the end of the ^^ boulevard," up a street to 
 the left. A short way up this street on the 
 right stood the Advanced Dressing Sta- 
 tion — a well-sandbagged house reached 
 through the usual archway and courtyard. 
 A dug-out, supplied with electric light and 
 with an entrance of remarkable sandbag 
 construction, had been tunnelled out be- 
 neath the courtyard. This was being used 
 for operations. 
 
 In front of the archway and in the road 
 stood two ^^ padres" directing the con- 
 tinuous flow of stretchers and walking 
 wounded. They appeared to be doing all 
 the work of organisation, while the 
 E.A.M.C. doctors and surgeons had their 
 
Attack 87 
 
 hands full with dressings and operations. 
 These were the kind of directions : 
 
 ''Wounded Sergeant? Right. Abdom- 
 inal wound? All right. Lift him off— 
 gently now. Take him through the arch- 
 way into the dug-out." 
 
 ''Dead? Yes! Poor fellow, take him 
 down to the Cemetery." 
 
 '^ German? Dug-out No. 2, at the end 
 of the road on the right." 
 
 Under the superintendence of the R.C. 
 ''padre," a man whose sympathy and 
 kindness I shall never forget, my stretcher 
 was lifted off the carrier and I was placed 
 in the archway. The "padre" loosened 
 my bandage and looked at the wound, 
 when he drew in his breath and asked if I 
 was in much pain. 
 
88 Attach 
 
 **Not an enormous amount," I an- 
 swered, but asked for something to drink. 
 
 ^'Are you quite sure it hasn't touched 
 the stomach *?" he questioned, looking 
 shrewdly at me. 
 
 I emphatically denied that it had, and 
 he brought a blood-stained mug with a 
 little tea at the bottom of it. I can hon- 
 estly say that I never enjoyed a drink so 
 much as that one. 
 
 Shells, high explosives and shrapnel, 
 were coming over every now and then. I 
 kept my helmet well over my head. This 
 also served as a shade from the sun, for it 
 was now about ten o'clock and a sultry 
 day. I was able to obtain a view of events 
 round about fairly easily. From time to 
 time orderlies tramped through the arch- 
 way, bearing stretcher-cases to the dug- 
 
Attack 89 
 
 out. Another officer had been brought in 
 and placed on the opposite side of the 
 archway. The poor fellow, about nine- 
 teen, was more or less unconscious. His 
 head and both hands were covered in ban- 
 dages crimson with blood. So coated was 
 he with mud and gore that I did not at 
 first recognise him as an officer. At the 
 farther end of the arch a young private 
 of about eighteen was lying on his side, 
 groaning in the agony of a stomach wound 
 and crying ^^ Mother." The sympathetic 
 ^^ padre" did the best he could to comfort 
 him. Out in the road the R.A.M.C. were 
 dressing and bandaging the ever-increas- 
 ing flow of wounded. Amongst them a 
 captive German R.A.M.C. man, in green 
 uniform, with a Red Cross round his 
 sleeve, was visible, hard at work. Every- 
 
90 Attack 
 
 thing seemed so different from the deadly 
 strife a thousand or so yards away. 
 There, foe was inflicting wounds on foe; 
 here were our men attending to the Ger- 
 man wounded and the Germans attending 
 to ours. Both sides were working so hard 
 now to save life. There was a human 
 touch about that scene in the ruined village 
 street which filled one with a sense of min- 
 gled sadness and pleasure. Here were 
 both sides united in a common attempt to 
 repair the ravages of war. Humanity had 
 at last asserted itself. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock, I suppose, 
 when the ^^ padre" came up again to my 
 stretcher and asked me if I should like to 
 get on, as there was a berth vacant in an 
 ambulance. The stretcher was hoisted up 
 and slid into the bottom berth of the car. 
 
Attack 91 
 
 The berth above was occupied by an un- 
 conscious man. On the other side of the 
 ambulance were four sitting cases — a pri- 
 vate, a sergeant, a corporal, and a rifle- 
 man, the last almost unconscious. Those 
 of us who could talk were very pleased 
 with life, and I remember saying: 
 ^ ' Thank God, we 're out of that hell, boys ! ' ' 
 
 ** What's wrong with him?" I asked the 
 corporal, signifying the unconscious man. 
 
 **Hit in the lungs, sir. They've set him 
 up on purpose." 
 
 The corporal, pulling out his cigarette 
 case, offered cigarettes all round, and we 
 started to smoke. The last scene that I 
 saw in Hebuterne was that of three men 
 dressing a tall badly wounded Prussian 
 officer lying on the side of the road. The 
 ambulance turned the corner out of the vil- 
 
92 Attack 
 
 lage. There followed three ^'crashes" 
 and dust flew on to the floor of the car. 
 
 ^* Whizz-bangs," was the corporal's la- 
 conical remark. 
 
 We had passed the German road bar- 
 rage, and were on our way to peace and 
 safety. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 TOLL OF ATTACK 
 
 We climbed the little white road which led 
 through the battery positions now almost 
 silent, topped the crest, and dipped into 
 Sailly-au-Bois. The village had been 
 very little shelled since the night before, 
 and appeared the same as ever, except that 
 the intense traffic, which had flowed into 
 it for the past month, had ceased. Lim- 
 bers and lorries had done their work, and 
 the only objects which filled the shell- 
 scarred streets were slow-moving ambu- 
 lances, little blood-stained groups of 
 
 93 
 
94 Attack 
 
 ^ talking wounded," and the troops of a 
 new division moving up into the line. 
 
 Though we were all in some pain as the 
 ambulance jolted along through the ruts in 
 the side of the road, we felt rather sorry 
 for those poor chaps as they peered inside 
 the car. Our fate was decided, theirs still 
 hung in the balance. How often on the 
 march one had looked back oneself into a 
 passing ambulance and wished, rather 
 shamefully, for a ^^ Blighty" one. Sun- 
 burnt and healthy they looked as they 
 shouted after us : '^Grood luck, boys, give 
 our love to Blighty." 
 
 At the end of the village the ambulance 
 swung off on a road leading to the left. It 
 must have crossed the track by which my 
 platoon and I had gone up the night be- 
 fore. About 11.30 A.M. we arrived at 
 
Toll of Attack 95 
 
 Couin, the headquarters of the First Field 
 Ambulance. 
 
 A hum of conversation and joking arose 
 from every side, and, with some excep- 
 tions, you could not have found such a 
 cheery gathering anywhere. The immedi- 
 ate strain of battle had passed, and friends 
 meeting friends compared notes of their 
 experiences in the ^^show." Here a man 
 with a bandaged arm was talking affec- 
 tionately to a less fortunate ^^pal" on a 
 stretcher, and asking him if he could do 
 anything for him ; it is extraordinary how 
 suffering knits men together, and how 
 much sympathy is brought out in a man at 
 the sight of a badly wounded comrade: 
 yonder by the huts an orderly assisted a 
 ^^ walking case," shot through the lungs 
 and vomiting blood freely. 
 
96 Attack 
 
 Near by I recognised B 's servant of 
 
 the L S . When he had finished 
 
 giving some tea or water to a friend, I 
 
 hailed him and asked him if Mr. E was 
 
 hit. Mr. E , he told me, had been laid 
 
 up for some days past, and had not taken 
 part in the attack. He was, however, go- 
 ing round and writing letters for the men. 
 Would I like to see him ? We were fairly 
 good acquaintances, so I said that I should. 
 Presently he arrived. 
 
 "Bad luck, old chap. Where have you 
 caught it ? " he asked. 
 
 "In the thigh," I replied. 
 
 He wrote two post-cards home for me, 
 one home and another to relatives, and I 
 did my best to sign them. I remember 
 that on one of them was inscribed : ' ' This 
 is to let you know that E has been 
 
Toll of Attach 97 
 
 caught bending,'' and wondering what my 
 grandfather, a doctor, would make out of 
 
 that! 
 
 The sun was beating down on us now, 
 and since, after I had been duly labelled 
 ''G.S.W. (gun-shot wound) Back," a 
 Medical Staff Officer advised that I should 
 be transferred into the officers' hut, I en- 
 tered its cooler shades with much gladness. 
 
 Captain W 1 came in soon after- 
 wards. In the second line German trench 
 he had looked over the parados to see if 
 any opposition was coming up from the 
 third line trench, and had been hit by a 
 machine-gun bullet in the shoulder. In 
 making his way home he had been hit 
 
 twice again in the shoulder. H also 
 
 put in an appearance with a bullet wound 
 in the arm. He had taken a party of 
 
98 Attack 
 
 ^ talking wounded" up to Sailly-au-Bois, 
 and got a car on. A doctor brought round 
 the familiar old beverage of tea, which in 
 large quantities, and in company with 
 whisky, had helped us through many an 
 unpleasant day in the trenches. Captain 
 
 W ^t refused it, and insisted on having 
 
 some bread and jam. I took both with 
 much relish, and, having appeased an un- 
 usually large appetite, got an orderly to 
 wash my face and hands, which were 
 coated with blood. 
 
 *'I dare say you feel as you was gettin' 
 back to civilisation again, sir," he said. 
 Much refreshed, and quietly looking at a 
 new number of The Tatler, I certainly 
 felt as if I was, though, in spite of an air 
 ring, the wound was feeling rather uncom- 
 fortable. At the end of the hut two or 
 
Toll of Attack 99 
 
 three poor fellows were dying of stomach 
 wounds. It was a peculiar contrast to 
 hear two or three men chatting gaily just 
 outside my end of the hut. I could only 
 catch fragments of the conversation, which 
 I give here. 
 
 ^'When Mr. A gave the order to 
 
 advance, I went over like a bird." 
 
 *'The effect of the rum, laddie!" 
 
 ^^Mr A — — was going strong too." 
 
 ^^ What's happened to Mr. A , do you 
 
 know?" 
 
 ^* Don't know. I didn't see 'im after 
 that." 
 
 ^^'E's all right. Saw him just now. 
 Got a wound in the arm. ' ' 
 
 *'Good. Isn't the sun fine here? 
 Couldn't want a better morning for an 
 attack, could you?" 
 
100 Attack 
 
 The hut was filling rapidly, and the 
 three stomach cases being quite hopeless 
 were removed outside. A doctor brought 
 
 in an officer of the K 's. He was quite 
 
 dazed, and sank full length on a bed, pass- 
 ing his hand across his face and moaning. 
 He was not wounded, but had been blown 
 up whilst engaged in cutting a communica- 
 tion trench across No Man's Land, they 
 told me. It was not long, however, before 
 he recovered his senses sufficiently enough 
 to walk with help to an ambulance. A 
 ^^ padre" entered, supporting a young offi- 
 cer of the , a far worse case of shell 
 
 shock, and laid him out on the bed. He 
 had no control over himself, and was 
 weeping hysterically. 
 
 *^For God's sake don't let me go back, 
 don't send me back!" he cried. 
 
Toll of Attack 101 
 
 The *^ padre'- tried to comfort liim. 
 
 ' ' You 11 soon be in a nice hospital at the 
 Base, old chap, or probably in England." 
 
 He looked at the padi'e blankly, not un- 
 derstanding a word that he was saying. 
 
 A more extraordinary case of shell 
 shock was that of an officer lying about 
 three beds down from me. In the usual 
 course of events an R.A.M.C. corporal 
 asked him his name. 
 
 "Y ," he replied in a vague tone. 
 
 The corporal thought that he had better 
 make certain, so with as polite a manner as 
 possible looked at his identification disc. 
 
 *'It puts Lt. B here," he said. 
 
 There followed a lengthy argument, at 
 the end of which the patient said — 
 
 **Well, it's no use. You had better give 
 it up. I don 't know what my name is ! " 
 
102 Attack 
 
 A Fusilier officer was carried in on a 
 stretcher and laid next to me. After a 
 time he said — 
 
 ^^Is your name L "?" 
 
 I replied affirmatively. 
 
 *' Don't you recognise me?'' he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 I looked at him, but could not think 
 where I had seen him before. 
 
 **My name's D . I was your Com- 
 pany Quartermaster-Sergeant in the Sec- 
 ond Battalion. ' ' Then I remembered him, 
 though it had been hard to recognise him 
 in officer's uniform, blood-stained and tat- 
 tered at that. We compared notes of our 
 experiences since I had left the second 
 line of my battalion in England nearly a 
 year before, until, soon afterwards, he 
 was taken out to an ambulance. 
 
Toll of Attack 103 
 
 At the other end of the hut it was 
 just possible to see an officer tossing to 
 and fro deliriously on a stretcher. I use 
 the word ^^deliriously," though he was 
 probably another case of shell shock. 
 He was wounded also, judging by the 
 bandages which swathed the middle 
 part of his body. The poor fellow 
 thought that he was still fighting, and 
 every now and again broke out like 
 this — 
 
 "Keep 'em off, boys. Keep 'em off. 
 Give me a bomb, sergeant. Get down! 
 My God! I'm hit. Put some more of 
 those sandbags on the barricade. These 
 damned shells! Can I stand it any 
 longer? Come on, boys. Come along, 
 sergeant! We must go for them. Oh! 
 my God! I must stick it!" 
 
104 Attack 
 
 After a time tlie cries became fainter, 
 and the stretcher was taken out. 
 
 About three o'clock I managed to get a 
 doctor to inject me with anti-tetanus. I 
 confess that I was rather anxious about 
 getting this done, for in crawling back 
 across No Man's Land my wound had been 
 covered with mud and dirt. The orderly, 
 who put on the iodine, told me that the 
 German artillery was sending shrapnel 
 over the ridge. This was rather discon- 
 certing, but, accustomed as I had become 
 to shrapnel at close quarters, the sounds 
 seemed so distant that I did not bother 
 more about them. 
 
 It must have been about four o'clock 
 when my stretcher was picked up and I 
 passed once again into the warm sunlight. 
 Outside an orderly relieved me of my steel 
 
Toll of Attack 105 
 
 and gas helmets, in much the same way as 
 the collector takes your ticket when you 
 pass through the gates of a London ter- 
 minus in a taxi. Once more the stretcher 
 was slid into an ambulance, and I found 
 myself in company with a young subaltern 
 
 of the K 's. He was very cheery, and 
 
 continued to assert that we should all be in 
 ^^ Blighty" in a day or two's time. When 
 the A.S.C. driver appeared at the entrance 
 of the car and confirmed our friend's opin- 
 ion, I began to entertain the most glorious 
 visions of the morrow — visions which I 
 need hardly say did not come true. 
 
 ' ' How were you hit ? " I asked the officer 
 of the K 's. 
 
 *^I got a machine-gun bullet in the pit of 
 the stomach while digging that communi- 
 cation trench into No Man's Land. It's 
 
106 Attack 
 
 been pretty bad, but the pain's going now, 
 and I think I shall be all right. ' ' 
 
 Then he recognised the man on the 
 stretcher above me. 
 
 *^ Hullo, laddie," he said. *^What have 
 they done to youl" 
 
 ^^IVe been hit in the left wrist and the 
 leg, sir. I hope you aren't very bad." 
 
 The engine started, and we set off on 
 our journey to the Casualty Clearing Sta- 
 tion. For the last time we passed the vil- 
 lages, which we had come to know so inti- 
 mately in the past two months during rest 
 from the trenches. There was Souastre, 
 where one had spent pleasant evenings at 
 the Divisional Theatre; St. Amand with 
 its open square in front of the church, the 
 meeting-place of the villagers, now de- 
 serted save for two or three soldiers ; Gau- 
 
Toll of Attack 107 
 
 diempre, the headquarters of an Army 
 Service Corps park, with its lines of 
 roughly made stables. At one part of the 
 journey a 15-inch gun let fly just over the 
 road. We had endured quite enough 
 noise for that day, and I was glad that it 
 did not occur again. From a rather tor- 
 tuous course through bye-lanes we turned 
 into the main Arras to DouUens road — 
 that long, straight, typical French high- 
 way with its avenue of poplars. Shortly 
 afterwards the ambulance drew up outside 
 the Casualty Clearing Station. 
 
 The Casualty Clearing Station was situ- 
 ated in the grounds of a chateau. I be- 
 lieve that the chateau itself was used as a 
 hospital for those cases which were too 
 bad to be moved farther. We were taken 
 into a long cement-floored building, and 
 
108 Attack 
 
 laid down in a line of stretchers which ran 
 almost from the doorway up to a screen at 
 the end of the room, behind which dress- 
 ings and operations were taking place. 
 
 On my right was the officer of the K ^^'s, 
 
 still fairly cheery, though in a certain 
 amount of pain ; on my left lay a rifleman 
 hit in the chest, and very grey about the 
 face ; I remember that, as I looked at him, 
 I compared the colour of his face with that 
 of the stomach cases I had seen. A 
 stomach case, as far as I can remember, 
 has an ashen pallor about the face ; a lung 
 case has a haggard grey look. Next to 
 him a boy of about eighteen was sitting on 
 his stretcher; he was hit in the jaw, the 
 arms, and the hands, but he calmly took 
 out his pipe, placed it in his blood-stained 
 mouth, and started smoking. I was talk- 
 
Toll of Attack 109 
 
 ing to the officer of the K 's, when he 
 
 suddenly fell to groaning, and rolled over 
 on to my stretcher. I tried to comfort 
 him, but words were of no avail. A doctor 
 came along, asked a few questions, and 
 examined the wound, just a small hole in 
 the pit of the stomach ; but he looked seri- 
 ous enough about it. The stretcher was 
 lifted up and its tortured occupant borne 
 away behind the screen for an operation. 
 That was the last I saw of a very plucky 
 young fellow. I ate some bread and jam, 
 and drank some tea doled out liberally all 
 down the two lines of stretchers, for an- 
 other line had formed by now. 
 
 My turn came at last, and I was carried 
 off to a table behind the screen, where the 
 wound was probed, dressed, and bandaged 
 tightly, and I had a foretaste of the less 
 
no Attack 
 
 pleasant side of hospital life. There were 
 two Army nurses at work on a case next to 
 mine — the first English women I had seen 
 since I returned from leave six months 
 before. My wound having been dressed, 
 I was almost immediately taken out and 
 put into a motor-lorry. There must have 
 been about nine of us, three rows of three, 
 on the floor of that lorry. I did not find 
 it comfortable, though the best had been 
 done under the circumstances to make it 
 so ; neither did the others, many of whom 
 were worse wounded than myself, judging 
 by the groans which arose at every jolt. 
 
 We turned down a road leading to the 
 station. Groups of peasants were stand- 
 ing in the village street and crying after 
 us: ^^Ah! les pauvres blesses! les pauv- 
 res Anglais blesses ! " These were the last 
 
Toll of Attack 111 
 
 words of gratitude and sympathy tliat the 
 kind peasants could give us. We drew up 
 behind other cars alongside the hospital 
 train, and the engine-driver looked round 
 from polishing his engine and watched us 
 with the wistful gaze of one to whom hos- 
 pital train work was no longer a novelty. 
 Walking wounded came dribbling up by 
 ones and twos into the station yard, and 
 were directed into sitting compartments. 
 The sun was in my eyes, and I felt as if 
 my face was being scorched. I asked an 
 R.A.M.C.N.C.O., standing at the end of 
 the wagon, to get me something to shade 
 my eyes. Then occurred what I felt was 
 an extremely thoughtful act on the part of 
 a wounded man. A badly wounded lance- 
 corporal, on the other side of the lorry, 
 took out his handkerchief and stretched it 
 
112 Attack 
 
 over to me. When I asked him if he was 
 sure that he did not want it, he insisted 
 on my taking it. It was dirty and blood- 
 stained, but saved me much discomfort, 
 and I thanked him profusely. After 
 about ten minutes our stretchers were 
 hauled out of the lorry. I was borne up 
 to the officers' carriage at the far end of 
 the train. It was a splendidly equipped 
 compartment; and when I found myself 
 between the sheets of my berth, with 
 plenty of pillows under me, I felt as if I 
 had definitely got a stage nearer to Eng- 
 land. Some one behind me called my 
 name, and, looking round, I saw my old 
 
 friend M W , whose party I had 
 
 nearly run into the night before in 
 that never-to-be-forgotten communication 
 
Toll of Attack 113 
 
 trench, Woman Street. He told me that 
 he had been hit in the wrist and leg. 
 Judging by his flushed appearance, he had 
 something of a temperature. 
 
 More wounded were brought or helped 
 in — ^men as well as officers — till the white 
 walls of the carriage were lined with blood- 
 stained, mud-covered khaki figures, lying, 
 sitting, and propped up in various posi- 
 tions. 
 
 The Medical Officer in charge of the 
 train came round and asked us what we 
 should like to drink for dinner. 
 
 *^ Would you like whisky-and-soda, or 
 beer, or lemonade?" he questioned me. 
 This sounded pleasant to my ears, but I 
 only asked for a lemonade. 
 
 As the train drew out of the station, one 
 
114 Attack 
 
 caught a last glimpse of warfare — an aero- 
 plane, wheeling round in the evening sky 
 amongst a swarm of tell-tale smoke-puffs, 
 the explosions of '^Archie" shells. 
 
 PBXNTBD IN THB UNITBD STATES Oi< AMEBIOA 
 
*T*HE following pages contain advertisements of a few of 
 the Macmillan books on kindred subjects. 
 
Ambulance 464: Encore 
 des Blesses 
 
 By JULIEN H. BRYAN 
 
 Illustrated. Cloth, i2mo. 
 
 Here we have the story of the experiences of a Princeton 
 Junior — a boy of seventeen, who went to the war and 
 drove an ambulance car in the Verdun and Champagne 
 sectors. He tells exactly what he saw and heard in the 
 American Ambulance Corps, bringing his story down to 
 August, 1917. His accounts are modest, interesting, some- 
 times amusing — always vivid. 
 
 War books by soldiers are very popular these days. The 
 author-fighter has contributed some of the most informing 
 volumes that have been issued on the great conflict. Of 
 all of those who have been to the front and have returned 
 to write about it, no one, perhaps, has had more unusual 
 experiences than fell to the lot of this youth. He has 
 written a book in which he tells what happened to him 
 and his immediate associates; a book that is remarkable 
 for the thrilling character of its narrative, the spirit of 
 good humor, of adventure and excitement which runs 
 through it. 
 
 Mr. Bryan had his kodak with him and his text is illus- 
 trated with many altogether unusual pictures, giving a new 
 and clear idea as to the war and its method of prosecution. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Pnblishers 64-66 Fifth Avenne New York 
 
MASEFIELD'S NEW WAR BOOK 
 
 The Old Front Line 
 
 By JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 Illustrated. Cloth, i2mo. $i.oo 
 
 What Mr. Masefield did for the Gallipoli Campaign, he 
 now does for the Campaign in France. His subject is the 
 old front line as it was when the battle of the Somme be- 
 gan. His account is vivid and gripping — a huge conflict 
 seen through the eyes of a great poet, this is the book. 
 
 Of the importance of the battle, Mr. Masefield writes : 
 
 "The old front line was the base from which the battle 
 proceeded. It was the starting place. The thing began 
 there. It was the biggest battle in which our people were 
 ever engaged, and so far it has led to bigger results than 
 any battle of this war since the Battle of the Marne. It 
 caused a great falling back of the enemy armies. It freed 
 a great tract of France, seventy miles long, by from ten to 
 twenty-five miles broad. It first gave the enemy the 
 knowledge that he was beaten." 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 
 
A War Nurse's Diary 
 
 Illustrated, Cloth, $1.2^ 
 
 High courage, deep sympathy without sentimental- 
 ity, and an all-saving sense of htimor amid dreadful 
 and depressing conditions are the salient features of 
 this little book. The author, who preserves her ano- 
 nymity, has been "over the top" in the fullest sense. 
 She has faced bombardments and aerial raids, she has 
 calmly removed her charges under fire, she has tended 
 the wounded and dying amid scenes of carnage and 
 confusion, and she has created order and comfort where 
 but a short time before all was chaos and suffering. 
 And all the while she marvels at the uncomplaining 
 fortitude of others, never counting her own. Many 
 unusual experiences have befallen this "war nurse" 
 and she writes of them all in a gripping, vivid fashion. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 
 
Victor Chapman^s Letters 
 from France 
 
 Illustrated, $2,00 
 
 Victor Chapman ^as studying architecture in Paris when 
 the war broke out and at once he joined the French Foreign 
 Legion. A year later he was transferred to the Aviation Corps 
 and went to the front as pilot in the American Escadrille. 
 This volume comprises his letters written to his family, cov- 
 ering the full period of his service from September, 1914, to a 
 few days before his death. "They are," says the New York 
 Times in commenting on them, "graphic letters that show 
 imaginative feeling and unusual faculty for literary expression 
 and they are filled with details of his daily life and duties and 
 reflect the keen satisfaction he was taking in his experiences. 
 He knew many of those Americans who have won distinction, 
 and some of them death, In the Legion and the Aviation 
 Service, and there is frequent reference to one or another of 
 them. ... In few of the memorials to those who have laid 
 down their lives in this war is it possible to find quite such a 
 sense of a life not only fulfilled but crowned by its sacrifice, 
 notwithstanding its youthfulness, as one gets from this tribute 
 to Victor Chapman." 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue ITew Tork