Warrior

by Isabel George

  Although a small number of men and horses were lost in that skirmish, the overall effect was that it inspired the Canadians – it renewed their belief in themselves and their purpose as cavalrymen. On 27 March 1917 came the blessing of a snowstorm. Visibility was dreadful and that was all Lieutenant Frederick Harvey needed to make his move. Only one problem: there was an old adversary in the way – machine guns. Harvey was cantering through the snow ahead of his troop of Strathcona’s when the rattle of the guns began. The machine gun was in a trench dug into a slope in the walls of the village and ideally situated to pick off anyone entering the village. Harvey didn’t want his men to be in danger, so, using the cover of the snow, he galloped them over to a ridge to shelter. Meanwhile, he intended to deal with the gun himself. All he needed to do was calculate how quickly the gunner could reload. A clip carried forty rounds, and when they were used up his plan had a slim chance of success.

  The light was fading and the sleet was lashing down in sheets of grey when suddenly the gun fell silent. Within that split second Harvey turned his horse and galloped full pelt towards the gun position. A hundred yards before the wire barricade he took out his Colt revolver, still galloping for all he was worth, and pointed it at the enemy. His horse leapt clear over the wire and crashed down on the German gunner as Harvey somehow somersaulted out of the saddle and with a single shot relieved him of his duties forever. Taking control of the machine gun, the strapping Irish international rugby cap turned it on the remaining Germans in the trench. The machine gun post now belonged to the Strathcona’s.

  The intensity of the 20 seconds it took Harvey to complete his mission gave all three troops trapped in the shadow of the gun their chance to escape. Harvey’s heroism earned him the Victoria Cross – on King George V’s insistence. It was the first for the Canadian Cavalry but it would not be their last.

  Seely, trapped with his troop, had watched the entire episode sitting astride his Warrior. There must have been a moment when he saw Harvey turn and gallop towards the gun and wondered what possessed the man. He probably wished he had thought of it himself. But the power of that one selfless act ran through the entire brigade. The men had been in the trenches for almost two years and were spoiling for a charge and the chance to do the job they had joined up to do. The smell of victory must have been intoxicating. Seely’s maverick tendencies probably rubbed off on his men, who must have realised that he was directing proceedings free-style and with all the gung-ho he could muster. If it had gone wrong and the two villages had not been retaken by the Allies, he would have been answerable, but Harvey and his fellow brave souls saved the day for everyone.

  Once again, Warrior lived up to his reputation as ‘the horse the Germans could not kill’, and just as the men congratulated Lieutenant Harvey on his bravery (although he refused to see it as heroics), they gathered around to make sure that Warrior was all right. They must have noticed that his body was still flexing and flinching from the excitement of the adrenalin-soaked charge. They all wanted to make a fuss of him. They wanted to touch the horse that seemed to live a charmed life and brought them luck, too. They wanted to trace the line of the bright white star on his forehead. Surely a lucky star if ever there was one?

  On 14 April Seely hosted a dinner to celebrate the Canadians’ victories at Equancourt and Guyencourt, and to toast with champagne the bravery of his men and the award of the Victoria Cross to Lieutenant Harvey. Over the two days it took to take the villages, several of the men had distinguished themselves in the service of their country, and at the dinner Seely made reference to each one. During the dinner a telegram arrived for the General but it was put to one side, unopened, until after the celebrations were over. When everyone had gone he opened the envelope and read the saddest news: his eldest son, Frank, had been killed in action. Devastated, Seely called for his Warrior and the two rode through the night towards Arras, where Frank had been killed. The next morning, Seely wandered the battlefield in a desperate bid to find some trace of his boy.

  The winter of 1917–18 was a cruel one, especially for the horses. The severe cold and hard rain made everything more difficult to bear, and Seely recognised that Warrior was nearing a state of complete exhaustion. The severity of the weather and the long and arduous march to join the Battle of Passchendaele was proving almost too much for this brave horse. Somehow, though, he managed to hold on, and because of this, others did too. The cry went out: ‘If old Warrior can do it, we can!’

  Laden with hand grenades and ammunition for the machine gunners they rode north towards Ypres. They hoped they had enough to keep them going, whatever it was they were due to face when they got there. It was a steady march in heavy rain that showed no mercy and no sign of lifting. The pools of water just lay on top of the ground until they were trodden into the thick glue-like mud by the thousands of hooves and boots passing through. On and on went the sombre trail of men and horses merging into the khaki landscape. All perfectly camouflaged against each other, their heads bowed under the weight of the rain. Suddenly Warrior shied, almost throwing Seely off his back. ‘Warrior, what on earth is wrong?’ Seely asked him. He was concerned, but also relieved that Warrior hadn’t bolted, even though he was trembling all over and resisting being handled. Something was making him afraid of going further. What could he see that was scaring him so much? What could be terrifying a horse that had stood fast as shells exploded at his feet and horses were cut down at his side? There was a long line of several hundred Chinese gravediggers working just ahead. He did not want to go past them. The smell of death to a horse’s heightened sense of smell must have been overpowering.

  Advancing in the rain, Seely and his men walked out of the gloom and into the ruins of Ypres. It had been three years since Warrior had last been there, and now they were passing by what was left of the Cathedral and the Cloth Hall on their way to the rendezvous point of St Julien. A northwest wind battered the rain against Warrior’s flanks and the road blurred under the swell of so much water. It was miserable to see all the horses lying dead along the way. The mud had claimed them all when there was no escaping its depth and grip. Suddenly Warrior himself slipped deep into the mud. In moments he was in up to his belly. It took Seely and three others to grapple with Warrior and somehow release him from the mud that was sucking him down. Along with all the expected grit and determination, Seely also showed an incredible certainty and faith: ‘My Warrior cannot die …’ he said to himself. It was with the power of such belief that Warrior was pulled from the clutches of death once more.

  That was the end of Warrior’s walking in the mud at dusk. Seely and Antoine continued on foot. This was no place for horses. Huge shell craters sat like gaping wounds on the desolate landscape. Taking only a stick each to help them stay upright, the two men picked their way between these death pools that were now filled with the merging grey of mud and broken bodies. It took three hours for them to cover the two miles to reach what remained of Passchendaele and to find the remnants of the battalion they had travelled so long and hard to support.

  The battalion Commander noticed the two men approach and stepped out of the gloom to greet them. As they shook hands, the few men who had survived the last onslaught rose, like spectors, from the mist behind him. The idea that Seely and Antoine were there to recce a cavalry attack gave the Commander the biggest laugh he’d had in a long while. He assured Seely that there would be no galloping that day. Once again the cavalry was redundant.

  The frustration of being denied another opportunity for a cavalry charge was felt throughout the Canadian Brigade. The truth was that the infantry weren’t able to move in the mud, never mind the cavalry, and it was very clear why. The Battle of Passchendaele was hell for the horses and the mules. Ammunition and supplies had to get to the front line and the animals were the only means. Keeping to the mule tracks was vital, as a slip away from the walkway resulted in almost certain death by drowning. The gun carriages pulled by teams of four or six horses often just disappea
red into the mud with the drivers still astride the lead horses. Men died frantically trying to remove the horses’ traces and bridles so they could pull them free, but very often all they could do to help their faithful steeds was to hold their heads above the surface of the mud until they took their last breath.

  It wasn’t unusual for an officer to be called to shoot a horse if it was impossible to save it, and to help those who had never had to do this before the Officer’s Handbook included a three-point instruction on shooting a horse humanely on the battlefield. The men were often glad their loyal companions could be put out of their misery. The close bond they formed with the horses in their care was something unique to the war. They shared the horrors of the cold, the lice, bullets, bombs and extreme hunger. They were brothers in arms, and Seely felt every bit of that about Warrior. He would often sleep beside his horse if there was no stabling, just to make sure he came to no harm. The Canadians knew this about their General and admired him for it. He was the General who always led his men from the front as they charged into battle, and the man who loved and respected his horse. He was a man after their own hearts.

  As the mud of Passchendaele claimed its last victims, hundreds of thousands more horses were being shipped from Canada and the US to join the Allied war effort on the Western Front.

  Warrior meets the tanks

  General Jack Seely lived a charmed life in much the same way as his horse. Warrior had a habit of stepping out of very dangerous situations unscathed while others who galloped beside him were cut down in seconds. Seely, too, had a reputation for survival against the odds, and in that way the war horse and the soldier mirrored each other.

  The General survived a horse falling on him and just about crushing every bone in his legs, but he recovered and returned to his Canadian Cavalry Brigade to rapturous applause. Every man turned out to welcome him back, and Warrior snorted and pawed the ground when he saw his master return. Seely described it as a ‘homecoming’; after four years with the same cavalry regiments, the men and the General probably saw the brigade as their extended family. For the Canadians it was a matter of trust: their General always led them from the front on his brave horse, Warrior. He was not a General who commanded from a remote position miles from the action. So on his return, despite his lingering injuries, the men knew (if they ever doubted it) that Seely was prepared to die with them and for them.

  The incredible band of brothers that made up ‘C’ Company Lord Strathcona’s were once again in the saddle and this time they were going to be joined by tanks. Warrior had seen a tank before but that had been only one and it was not under his nose. This time things were going to be a little different. The secret plans for a tank attack on Cambrai had been shared with Seely some weeks before it was due to launch on 20 November 1917. The quarter-of-a-million-man operation was to be aided by the presence of an impressive 374 tanks. It was the first mass tank assault of the war and its purpose was to crush the much-feared Hindenburg Line into the mud. To charge through the ‘Gap’ created by the tanks mowing down the line, Field Marshall Haig assigned five divisions of cavalry – 27,500 men in all. The investment of men, horses and tanks was to secure, it was recorded, ‘a most far-reaching effect, not only on the local situation but on the course of the war’. The 5th Division on the right flank was led by the Canadians, with Seely and Warrior right out front.

  Cantering along the main street of Masnières behind a tank must have been a strange experience for Warrior. Being a thoroughbred, his capability for speed could have put him well ahead of the lumbering metal beast, so Seely must have needed all his strength to hold his horse back. At one point Warrior’s nose was almost touching the tank’s rear, and then – disaster hit. As the tank crossed the bridge over the Canal de l’Escaut the bridge collapsed and the tank landed in the icy water. Its overheated engine exploded on impact. Warrior had been on the tank’s tail but had managed to sidestep the approach to the bridge just in time – miraculously, without a scratch.

  The crippled tank sat in the water hissing and clunking and useless. Clearly the tanks were going nowhere, so now it was all up to the cavalry to take the initiative. A makeshift bridge had to be constructed to get 400 men and horses over to the other side. For some reason no one thought to see if there was another, stronger bridge nearby that they could use instead. If they had, no one would have started to build a bridge made of spare planks of timber at a narrow point by a lock gate, as there was indeed another bridge just 400 yards away. Ignorant of that fact, men and horses from Fort Garry’s Horse were first over, and straight away the horses were slipping on the wood, which was no surprise as the farriers had adjusted their shoes for galloping on soft, muddy ground. Some slipped off the side and couldn’t make it up and out due to the sloped canal banks; others were easily picked off by the German snipers as they tottered over the bridge.

  Back at HQ, the situation had forced a decision to call the cavalry back. The problem was, no one could get through to tell most of the cavalry that. Blindly, the Canadians continued their part of the operation. When one squadron was faced with a line of unmanned enemy machine guns they decided to go ahead and take them. Charging downhill, swords outstretched, they ran clean through the chests of two enemy gunners who were just standing in their position in front of them. Revolvers came out to dispatch the gun carriage drivers as they tried to escape the surprise attack. Another squadron gave up the opportunity to take a group of surrendering Germans and their four machine guns and decided to charge through them instead. If the idea had been to fight bravely and leave the regiment’s other two squadrons to gather the prisoners, it backfired. As the cavalry galloped on, the Germans changed their minds about surrendering and went back to manning their guns, hitting the Canadians from the rear. And as for the expected cavalry support, that was never going to arrive. The men and horses who had made it over the makeshift bridge before the order to pull back had hit troubles of their own and experienced almost total wipe-out. A trail of dead and dying men and horses was left in their wake. If Seely and Warrior had attempted the makeshift bridge and not received the order to retreat, they might have been among them.

  Warrior had to be content with daily reconnaissance outings and Seely with minor attacks made on foot, but even they were risky in the streets and countryside around Masnières. German snipers were everywhere. On the one occasion Seely chose another horse for one of his surveillance trips it was shot dead at close range and fell where it stood, with him in the saddle. If that horse had been Warrior it would have been the worst time for such a thing to happen. The horse was a military icon by now, a legend on the battlefield. Warrior dodged and defied death. Horse or not, his popularity elevated him to the status of war hero, and Seely was happy about this. If Warrior was a figure that could inspire men to fight for King and Country – and stay alive – so be it. But Warrior’s popularity was linked closely with Seely’s, especially for the Canadians.

  In the wake of Cambrai there was much War Office talk about the role of the cavalry and, in some quarters, the political correctness of having Seely – who was every inch an Englishman – in charge of the Canadian Brigade. Cambrai could have showcased the effectiveness of the cavalry in modern warfare, but instead, due to the terrible consequences of the tank collapsing the bridge, it only displayed a catalogue of disasters. The Canadians who served under Seely loved their General – and they loved his horse even more. It was certain politicians who wanted the maverick man, the gung-ho General, to be put in his place.

  What Seely and Warrior needed was another chance to prove the politicians wrong, and in March 1918 the opportunity arose.

  The last crusade

  On the morning of 27 March 1918 Warrior had yet another lucky escape. His stable, the dining room of a tiny French villa, came under fire and was completely destroyed by shelling – except for one corner of the building, which rather than collapsing into rubble had come to rest on Warrior’s back. Seely organised an emergency digging party
to get his horse out of the debris, but Warrior decided to do it his way and kicked his way out! Only the day before Warrior had been standing beside Colonel McDonald’s horse as their masters discussed the Strathcona’s, and the other horse had been shot dead. The two had been touching noses seconds before the bullet hit.

  Warrior’s miraculous survival gave him one last opportunity to go into battle. The Battle of Moreuil Wood was one of the last great cavalry charges of the First World War, and once again Seely and Warrior would lead the charge. In preparation for the advance, Seely camped under a wall and lay beside Warrior, but their peace was soon shattered by a message from the divisional Commander updating the position of the Germans: the enemy had advanced further and captured the vital Moreuil Ridge, although the infantry were holding out despite great losses.

  It was 9.30 a.m. on Saturday, 30 March 1918, and Warrior was waiting in the tiny French hamlet of Castel, just 10 miles out of Amiens. Four years of conflict had brought Warrior and Seely to this point. If the Allies were going to protect Amiens then they had to recapture Moreuil Ridge. Seely decided that his brigade had to succeed, so he gathered the colonels of the three regiments together to discuss tactics. It was agreed that, as the brigade advanced, Seely would lead the signal troop to the point of the Moreuil Wood, where a soldier, Corporal King, would plant a red pennant (with a ‘C’ in white at its centre) to establish the winning of the first phase of the battle and act as a marker and headquarters for the brigade. Everyone would see it as they passed the infantry line and recognise where they were.

  Warrior, as if he had heard and understood his master’s decision to charge, decided that it was time to get on with it. He circled and pawed the ground, snorting and complaining at being held back. It was sheer impatience that prompted him to kick up his hooves ready for the off, but Seely managed to restrain him while he took in the moment before all hell broke lose. He later wrote in his book Warrior: The Amazing Story of a Real War Horse: ‘I knew that moment to be the supreme event of my life.’