We were using the Ross rifle, a splendid target weapon, and Mark VI ammunition – the old, blunt nosed bullet. Later, in England, we switched to the Mark VII with its spitzer bullet and checked up on the changes in elevation required.
Instruction in rifle shooting in the British service, which, of course, includes Canada, is, in the main, similar to that followed in the United States Army. That is, the recruit is first thoroughly grounded in the theory and practice of sighting and aiming and then put through a course of firing with reduced loads at short (gallery) ranges. When he first goes to the range for instruction with the service ammunition however, the first thing he is required to do is to shoot a “group” at one hundred yards. In this practice, the man fires five shots without any marking. It is simply a test of his ability to sight, aim and hold properly. After he has completed his string, the target is withdrawn and the officer in the pit proceeds to measure the group. No consideration is given to its location on the target: size only counts. To avoid delays in making this measurement, a device consisting of a series of wire circles is used, the inner circle being about four inches in diameter and the others running up to something like fifteen inches – if my memory serves me right. There is an official scale for rating the various sized groups. If the man cannot keep his group within the limits of the maximum circle, he goes back for further preliminary instruction and practice. This firing, as is all the regular slow fire practice in the British service, is done from the prone position.
While the sling on the Ross (and the Enfield, too, for that matter) is not especially designed for use in firing, by common practice and authorization it may be taken out of the butt swivel and rigged up much the same as we used to do with the old .45 Springfield and the Krag rifles.
I have said that the musketry instruction was, in the main, similar to that of the United States Army and this is true. The object of both is to instruct the man in the fundamentals of sighting, aiming, holding and firing the rifle. The weakness of both, in my opinion, lies in the lack of sufficient practice after the above instruction has been assimilated. All of us who are or have been in the military service are all too familiar with the “set schedules” for training in this or that branch of the soldier’s educational work. The time for instruction firing is usually limited – as is the ammunition allowance – and the record firing is crammed into a few hectic days. Everything must be done just so and so.
Well, perhaps that is all right, although I cannot see it that way. My idea of training a rifleman would be to put him through the full instructional course and then give him a lot of ammunition and let him go out on the range, at odd times, and work out his own salvation. Have targets available at any time, with men to work them, but keep no records excepting those which the man would be encouraged to keep for his own private information.
Some men learn very quickly while others have to keep hammering at any subject before the right idea gets into their noodle. The whole matter can be likened to the golf player who never goes out but that he plays a “match” with someone or other. He never gets the same shot twice, hence has no opportunity to check up on his errors as they occur. The result is that he joins the great army of “ninety-to-one hundred” players and remains in that class the rest of his life. On the other hand, if he be the one in a thousand who realizes the importance of practice, he will take a couple of dozen balls and a caddy and hunt up some deserted fairway and spend hours in endeavoring to master some one club. This man, given time, will be one who shoots consistently in the seventies.
Oh, yes; I know very well that such a procedure as I have suggested would be contrary to all the accepted rules in an army where every act and movement of man is supposed to be strictly in accordance with the plans and specifications ordained by a lot of “regulations” but don’t you think it is about time we were cutting loose from some of those antedeluvian notions and making some practical use of the individual brains of the soldiers? For close-order drill and such matters, of course, it is necessary that each individual conform to the movements of others but when a man gets into a fight he is very much “on his own” and, unless he is qualified, by nature and training, to do a little independent thinking, he is – well – S.O.L. that’s all.
During our training in Canada we used what was known as the “Oliver” equipment. This was a fearful and wonderful arrangement of straps and buckles. There was a place for everything, all right – in fact, so many places and so many little straps that it made one dizzy to contemplate the thing and, unless one possessed the skill and patience of a Houdini, he usually had to call upon the services of another to get into or out of it.
Later on, in England, we received the Webb equipment which was much more satisfactory in every respect. The shoulder straps were broad and comfortable to the body; the pack-sack was large enough to carry all necessary clothing, and the haversack easily held all the little personal articles as well as a couple of days rations. The ammunition pockets were all at the front. This not only made them easier to get at but served to balance the weight of the pack on the back. The water bottle, holding a full quart – an Imperial quart, I mean – was carried on the right hip and the bayonet on the left, with the haversack just behind it. The entrenching tool was carried in the middle of the back. On the whole, I consider it the most comfortable and satisfactory equipment I have seen for foot soldiers. When going into action, the pack was detached almost instantly, and if there was plenty of time the haversack could quickly be slung in its place. If not, it remained at the side.
During our training and when we first went to Flanders, we wore a peaked cloth cap with a flat, round top, similar to that worn by the United States soldier at that time only a little larger. Later on these were replaced by another type – a soft crowned cap with side flaps which could be turned down so as to cover the ears. In addition to this we had what was called a Balaclava cap – which was nothing more nor less than the familiar “toque” worn by the Canadian woodsman.
Our uniforms were of good woolen material – in fact, every article of wearing apparel was woolen, the underwear, especially being of excellent quality. (I wish I could buy any as good now, at any price.) Heavy woolen socks were supplied in abundance by the various women’s organizations back in Canada. The shoes were heavy and clumsy, of course: had to be to stand the wear, but early in 1916 we got an issue of genuine Canadian “pacs” with sixteen-inch tops and, while in the trenches, had rubber boots. We even received regular Mackintosh capes of excel lent quality.
Perhaps a little thoughtful study of the above will explain why it was that, although exposed to cold and wet weather for weeks at a time – living like muskrats – there was scarcely any illness. Looking over the official record of the Twenty-first Battalion I find that, during the period from October, 1914, to April 1919, the total deaths were – killed in action and died of wounds, nine hundred and twenty – from all other causes, just twenty. As the normal strength of the Battalion was about eleven hundred, it can be seen that the death rate, exclusive of battle injuries, was not more than four to the thousand annually.
Those men were just the ordinary run of volunteers, probably no better nor worse than the average in the National Guard units of the United States Army and I attribute the fact of their greater stamina and immunity to disease to another undeniable fact, and that is that the authorities in Canada devoted all their efforts to the task of keeping their soldiers warm and comfortable, indoors and out, using any and all available supplies to that purpose – regardless of whether or not it was “uniform.”
And right here is a good place to mention a matter that did not come up until three years later. During the fall and winter of 1917, I was in command of a battalion of machine gunners at Camp Shelby, Mississippi. I say machine gunners: well, that was what they were destined to be although, at that time, we had no guns of any kind. That winter, as many will remember, was very severe and even in November we had freezing weather away down there in Mississippi.
There had been no provision for heating the tents and most of the organizations there were but poorly equipped for that kind of weather. My outfit, which had been a part of the 4th Indiana Infantry, had only the cotton khaki uniforms which they had bought and paid for out of their own pockets because our Uncle Sam had none to issue them. Most of them, however, had sweaters of various hues, which they had either brought with them or had received from loving mothers or sweethearts – personally knitted with good, honest wool yarn.
On a particularly cold morning (away below freezing) I had them out for a practice march and happened to pass the Brigade Headquarters, both going and coming. By the time we came back it was near noon and the sun had warmed things up a bit and most of the men had shed their sweaters and were carrying them, in various fashions, across their shoulders.
No sooner had we reached our quarters than I was called upon by a young officer whom I well knew – an Aide to the General – and informed that the General wanted to see me at once. It was only about one hundred yards from my quarters to his, so I was there within a couple of minutes. It was General G –––, so far as I know, a very able officer, according to the standards at that time in effect in the United States Army – but what he did not know about common sense, as applied to the care and comforts of troops was a plenty. He bawled me out for allowing my men to go out on parade wearing all those nondescript sweaters when every article of clothing they wore, from their B.V.D.’s out had been bought and paid for with their own money. At that time there was not a nickel’s worth of clothing or equipment in that whole battalion that had not been privately purchased.
Well; I had just lately come from a war, out of an inferno which can never be adequately described: and this damned poppycock seemed so trivial and childish – so far from the realities of war – that I was first a bit sickened, and then mad. In that frame of mind, is it reasonable to suppose that I would be unduly worried by the unreasonable and senseless tirade of an officer who, so far as I knew, didn’t know a damn thing about war – certainly not about this latest edition of the game.
Anyway; I told him what I thought of his speech and, incidentally, of the whole General Staff at Washington. Before the incident was closed, I had occasion to say the same things, with elaborations, (I had time to think them up), to the General in command of the Division – the 38th – General Sage, I think it was. (They changed so fast I never could keep track of them.)
I suppose they thought I ought to be taken out and shot. I do not know, to this day, why they did not take some summary action for I told them plainly that no General officer, not even the President himself, could prevent me from doing my best to promote and preserve the health and comfort of the troops under my command. Dodging the direct issue, the Division Commander called me to task for wearing a Sam Brown belt. Well, that was the only one I had (part of my Canadian equipment), so I just remarked that they would all be wearing them before long and let it go at that. I got away with my life and my self-respect but had to make my men put their sweaters on inside their shirts after that.
This was but one of the asinine regulations that our Higher Command promulgated. Had they spent one-tenth of the time in trying to teach the newly-made soldiers something of the real and practical side of warfare, there would not be so many graves over there for the Mothers to visit.
Canada was fortunate in having General Sam Hughes at the head of her Militia Bureau – Minister of Militia and Defense – when the war started. Few men would have had the courage to do what he did. From the very start, he seemed to realize that this was to be a great war – greater than the world had ever seen – and he proceeded accordingly. The Gordian knot of red tape he cut with one slash of his pen and proceeded to apply the practical, common sense methods of industry. He authorized the purchase of necessary materials and equipment wherever they could be found. He built, at ValCartier, one of the greatest training camps and rifle ranges the world had ever seen. From one end of Canada to the other, he ranged back and forth with but the one thought – to make the Canadian Expeditionary Force thoroughly and practically efficient as fighting soldiers. The records show that he was eminently successful.
Throughout my whole service with the Canadians, covering more than two years, I had less trouble and bother regarding paper work and reports than any company commander in the United States Army encounters in a week – any week of any month of any year. If our Army, (U.S.), would adopt the systematic methods of any of our large manufacturing concerns, they could either cut off half the amount of money they are now expending or use that much additional for practical training purposes. Just in the matter of pay-rolls, alone, a saving of thousands of dollars and innumerable hours could be saved. In the Canadian service, each man had his “pay-book,” in which was recorded the date of his enlistment and, following that, entries showing when he was promoted to another grade. Subsequent pages were for the use of the paymaster. A soldier could go to any Field paymaster and, upon showing his book, receive whatever money he needed – within the limits of his credit, which was always shown in the book. Officers never had to turn their hands over to get theirs. Upon being commissioned, they were presented with a bank book and a cheque book. If they had been commissioned from the ranks, the amount due them as an enlisted man was shown to their credit and if during the war and overseas, an additional credit of fifty pounds (about $250.00) for uniform and equipment was advanced. From that time on, all the officer had to do was to keep track of his checks. On the 27th of each month his monthly salary was deposited to his credit. No vouchers or anything required.
The Second Division, to which we belonged, was particularly fortunate in having had some six months time for training in Canada and an additional four months in England. The First Division and the “Pats” had been hastily mobilized and sent over as quickly as possible, but as they were largely made up of old, seasoned soldiers, they did not require much training. It was different when it came to the Third Division and the Fourth. By the time they were mobilized it was necessary to get them over as quickly as possible, and, as they comprised a large percentage of men who had had no previous military training, many of them never had any chance to learn how to shoot. Some, I am told, had fired only ten shots before going into action. The experience of the United States vividly emphasizes this same point. Many men of our National Army went into action without having ever fired a shot from their rifles. And yet, we have men and women in this country – fathers and mothers, too – who oppose the idea of training our young men in the use of arms. They know – they must know, that in case of war their sons will go whether they like it or not, yet they refuse to give the boys a chance to learn something about the game. It would be futile to speculate on how many of the little white crosses would not now decorate the graves overseas had the men whose names appear thereon been given the opportunity to learn how to shoot straight. But it is certain that the number is great.
On all our marches, we were accompanied by our bands. Yes, I said bands because we had two, a Bagpipe band and a Bugle band. And they were good. I never saw any, outside the Scots Guards band that could compare with our Pipe band and the Bugle band was equally good. They would alternate in leading the march, the other either bringing up the rear or marching in the middle of the battalion. One of them was always playing. By some system of signalling or by prearrangement, the instant one ceased to play, the other struck up. Bugles and drums – pipes and drums – but always the drums; aye, that’s the music for the soldier. Coming into town after a hard and gruelling march, when those “Scotties” would start “The Cock ’o the North” (which was our own regimental air), you could see the chins come up and the shoulders square away and the command would stride along as though just coming from breakfast. The old fife and drum bands of Civil War days, and which were still common in my youth, were equally inspiring and I have never been able to understand why they were discontinued as “Field Music” in the United States Army. That’s marching music and fighti
ng music, I want to tell you.
Throughout the winter and early spring, we marched and we shot and we drilled. The close order drill in the British service is much simpler than that of the U.S. Army – yet they seem to be able to get to the desired spot and in the required formation just as easily and quickly. But we had but little of that, anyway. What we did mostly was to get out and march anywhere from ten to twenty miles and back again, learning to keep “closed up” at all times. When on the road, a column of British soldiers is as compact as a snake. There are no file-closers and no officers wandering around outside the column of “fours.” Officers and N.C.O.’s simply slip in and fill up the blank files or form extra ranks at the head or tail of their own organizations. Often, from some hill-top, I have looked forward (or back) and marveled at the appearance of that long, smooth column. In all my experience, both before the war and since, I have never seen any large unit of the United States services that could equal it in march discipline.
We were quartered in two separate buildings, about a mile or more apart: the “Right half,” comprising Companies A and B, at the Armouries, where the Headquarters was also located and the “Left half,” Companies C and D, in what had been a large cereal mill. The Machine Gun Section was with the latter. As the mobilization for all parades or maneuvers was at the headquarters, we of the left half had the benefit (?) of that extra march, both going and coming, each day.
There were special courses of instruction for officers and noncommissioned officers – days of sport and recreation and, every Sunday, the inevitable church parade. About the only thing I remember about these latter is that we always sang: “Onward Christian Soldiers.” We went to various churches, as that is one point on which the British army authorities are particular. When a man enlists or is commissioned, he must specify his religion – denomination: Whether Church of England, Methodist or whatever it happens to be and if you do not belong to any of the recognized sects you either choose one or are summarily attached to the C.E. (Church of England). The Catholics always had their own party, under one of their own officers. While I never went with that bunch, I’ll bet they also sang “Onward Christian Soldiers.”
A Rifleman Went to War Page 3