I was just coming down to see how the boys were getting along and was in time to witness the “tragical farce,” if you understand what I mean. With never a thought for anything else, the officer and the men at the head of the column, started after that rat. Up along the shore they raced, right out into the open, where all Germany could see them, trying to spear that rat with bayonets. Thomas (he was in charge of our detail) shouted, “down! down you blighters!” – and more expressive names – “down! Oh, for the love of Christ, have ye no sense? You’ll have those Dutchmen shellin’ us in a minute.” He and the others of our crowd tried to stop the rush and seeing me, as I just then arrived on the scene, ran over to me. I, too, knew what it meant and took them back into the comparative shelter of the trench, then went out and tried to hammer some sense, by word of mouth, into the excited rat hunters. But it was no use; they had the hunting fever and were determined to get that rat. A few weeks later they would have been accustomed to having the vermin crawling all over them in the dugouts, at night, but they were new to the war game and did not know that.
In less than a minute, here came the whiz-bangs, bursting with terrible accuracy over the whole area. Heinie knew all about that place, so used nothing but shrapnel. Men went sprawling into the creek and beside it, while the long line in the trench took shelter as best they could. It lasted only a few minutes but at least a dozen men were dead and as many more wounded. The officer having disappeared, I managed by dint of hard swearing to get the head of the column straightened out and started along up the trench. Thomas and the others of our outfit did what they could for the wounded until the stretcher bearers got there. Of the officer we could find no trace – nor of the dog. I learned afterward that he was what they call an Otter Hound and had been brought in to see if that kind of a dog would be of any use in ridding the trenches of rats. From what I saw of the actions of this one, I would unhesitatingly, vote YES.
A while back, we were talking about armor-piercing bullets I believe. Well, while on or around that subject I might as well tell you my experience with “explosive” bullets. We heard a lot about these explosive bullets – just as you will, now and then, run across a soldier who will tell you he was hit with one of them. While not pretending to be an authority on such things, I do not believe and never did believe that the Germans ever used anything of this kind, at least not on men in the trenches.
Of course I know that explosive bullets have been made. I have a great volume, printed by the U.S. Government, which is the report of our officers who went over and acted as the official observers during the Crimean War in which several types of such bullets are very accurately described. Also another official report of the commission headed by General Sheridan which observed the operations during the Franco-Prussian war. Moreover, I have actually seen the things used, in .45 and .50 calibre cartridges made for and used in our American rifles. All I have tried to indicate here is my opinion that no such bullets were used during the late war. Aside from the difficulty and expense of manufacturing them for the modem, high-power rifle, there was no reason for it. The effect of the bullet as it is is sufficiently “explosive.”
The effect of any bullets fired from the German Mauser was very similar to that of the 150-grain bullet fired from the Springfield. At short ranges, due to the high velocity, it does have an explosive effect and, not only that effect but, when it strikes, it sounds like an explosion. Bullets may be cracking viciously all around you when, all of a sudden, you hear a “whop” and the man alongside goes down. If it is in daylight and you are looking that way, you may see a little tuft of cloth sticking out from his clothes. Wherever the bullet comes out, it carries a little of the clothing – just a bit of fuzz – but it is unmistakable, just as the sound of a bullet hitting a man can never be mistaken for anything else. At the short ranges, as I have said, it is a loud and distinct “pop” or, as I gave it before, “whop.” (If any of the readers can remember the sound of a Champagne cork when turned loose, they will get the approximate sound.) And the effect of the bullet, at short range, also suggests the idea of an explosion, especially if a large bone be struck. I remember one instance when one of our men was struck in the knee (it was a man named T. M. Flanagan and he was hit January 2, 1916) and the bullet almost amputated the leg. He died before he could be taken to a dressing station. I mention these details so that any person of enquiring mind can check up on me in case he should doubt any of my statements.
At the longer ranges, the bullet slips in, if I may use the term. Unless it strikes the head, there is but little sound. I can recall one instance, where a man was struck by a bullet, which lodged in his leg, and never knew it at the time. He was just leaving a latrine, some thousand yards or so behind the front line, and became entangled in some old barbed wire at the entrance. One of the barbs caught in the leg of his trousers above the knee and stung him severely. After a bit of swearing, he disengaged himself and went on his way. That night he was still complaining about the hurt and a brother told him he better go back to the dressing station and have them dope the scratch with iodine. He did so and the surgeon pulled a German bullet out of the “scratch.” Just one of the casual, long-range floaters that were dropping in now and then, but it had struck him just at the time he encountered the wire. This man’s name was Williams – brother of one of our machine-gun sergeants.
My friends back home have often asked me about the experiences we had with poison gas. I suppose the best way to explain about this is to state the fact that after the initial, devastating attack with chlorine gas, in April, 1915, we had very little serious difficulty from that source up to the time I left – in February, 1917.
When my Division went in, in September, 1915, we were equipped with what were called “respirators” – hoods or helmets made of cloth which had been impregnated with certain chemicals which served to neutralize the effect of the chlorine. The only time in my experience when we needed them was on the night of December 19th, when the enemy again tried to smother our line and come over. Troops to our left and in our rear got the most of it but we got some. However, few if any of our Battalion were incapacitated. The attack was a fizzle, as it was promptly stopped by rifle fire.
About that time the Germans commenced to use shell gas of various kinds – mostly the lachrymatory or tear gas – and we were issued special goggles with sponge-rubber padding which proved to be a satisfactory defense against this gas. They had just begun to make use of the phosgene and other really deadly gasses and the mustard gas did not come into use until long after I had left the front, so I can say nothing aboutit.
We got a few of the new type gas masks about the first of January, 1916. They were called Tower Helmets – Lord knows why – and one was issued to each machine-gun crew, together with one of the new steel hats, the idea being, I suppose, that at least one member of the crew might survive and carry on even if the rest were all killed off. No one particularly wanted to be saddled with this extra weight so they were usually shunted off onto the newest recruit. We all had our respirators and figured that they were sufficient protection.
We soon learned to tell the difference between real shells and gas shells, both by the sound in flight and by the burst. Sound cannot well be put into words but the gas shells had a sort of bubbling or gurgling sound in addition to the regular “whish.” The burst was very light – just enough to open the container and release the gas, and was unmistakable if one were close enough to notice it at all.
In the course of time enough supplies had come forward to equip all hands with both the new-style gas mask and the tin hats, but a lot of us put off the wearing of the latter until actually compelled, by personal orders, to do so. I get a grin out of it, whenever I remember the first time I really wore mine. Prior to that time I had carried it slung over my arm. Having received a very pointed and emphatic “bawling out,” I donned it and started up the line to look over a machine gun that was working up that way. I had not gone ten yards until a big “wooly
bear” burst right overhead and a chunk of steel hit right on top of that “lid” with sufficient force to knock me down and make a very noticeable dent in the hat.
As I have just stated, the poison gas did not cause us any great amount of trouble while I was with the Canadian Corps. It was the artillery which caused us the most of our grief. “Now, tell me: why was that?” (The girl asked that question.) I’ll tell you. Just because the doughboys depended on their own feet and their own guts – and these things were not much defense against shells.
Artillery worked from various ranges: the three-inch of the American Army, the 75 m/m of the French, the British 18-pounders: all had about the same range; and the German 77s come in the same class.
What a lot of us infantrymen and machine gunners could never understand was why the artillerymen did not shoot at one another. They knew exactly where the opposing batteries were located. What the hell were their observation planes for?
Every action in warfare is for the purpose of taking certain areas of land from the enemy. Either that, or to so completely whip his personnel that they will just lie down and be “good doggies.” Well; the men of the Northern races do not take their licking in that way. We took many a blasting from shell-fire – but, to the eternal credit of the Canadian Army, as a whole – did we ever take a licking? I’ll tell the world – NEVER.
Now, personally, I am not crying about this. I went to war expecting it to be plenty tough. It was. So I hope you will understand that I am not belly-achen’ about what happened to us or the many better men who are not here to tell you about it.
The guns above mentioned were all “rifles” – that is, guns that fired high-velocity shells with a correspondingly low or flat trajectory. There was little chance to dodge a shell from any of that type or of the other, larger calibre rifles – mostly of the type used in the navy. Some of these latter, used by the Germans, ran up to about eleven inches. The French and British both had howitzers of twelve- and fifteen-inch calibre. Of course everybody knows about the original “Big Berthas” used by the Germans. Curiously enough, they were not German guns, at all, having been manufactured at the Austrian Skoda works. They had been used to reduce the Belgian forts and we saw plenty of the great craters formed by the bursts of these 42-centimeter shells in and around Ypres but, to the best of my knowledge, they were not much used after the winter campaign of 1914-15.
There were plenty of others, however, of smaller calibre, to make life miserable for us. One in particular – also Austrian – threw a shell of about eleven inches in diameter. All those big shells had the fuzes in the base and not on the nose-cap and it was a frequent occurrence for the whole base of the shell, which was the size of a large dinner plate and screwed into the shell proper, to blow out backward and go hurtling through the air for a mile or more.
For use against any entrenched or fortified positions the howitzers are much more effective than the rifles, due to the fact that they throw their shells up at a sharp angle and they drop at a correspondingly sharp angle. The rifle shells have more of a grazing effect and often, after striking on hard ground, will ricochet for miles beyond the target.
Aside from the light field guns – commonly designated as “whiz-bangs” – the most generally used both by the Germans and the allied armies was of approximately six inch calibre and the shells from these were called “crumps.” The British had both “four-point-sevens” and “nine-point-twos,” this latter being an exceptionally efficient device for rooting out the concrete machine-gun emplacements – called Pill Boxes.
Then, of course, there were the innumerable types of trench mortars; throwing everything from the size of a small pineapple up to monstrous cargoes of high explosive weighing, in some cases, as much as two hundred pounds.
Yes, the artillery caused us plenty of grief but, now here is something for the ordinary tax-payer to consider; they also cost several times as much as the infantry or machine gunners. It was a common jest with us that, when one of the fifteen inch howitzers sent a shell over our heads, someone would remark: “there goes another hundred pounds.” No, he did not mean the weight of the shell, but that it cost about one hundred pounds, Sterling (approximately $500) for each and every one of those shots. Oh, yes, of course, they did a lot of execution – mostly in some vacant lot or field; but my opinion is, based on close observation during the war and careful thought since that time, that, excepting for the purpose of breaking down the strongest fortifications and for the use of heavily armoured battleships, it is a woeful and unwarranted waste of the taxpayer’s money to construct and operate these large-calibred guns. I mean, so far as actual destruction is concerned. There is, of course, the other angle – the moral effect on our own men. I readily admit that it was a great comfort to me the first time our people brought up some of those big fellows of twelve and fifteen-inch calibre. The Royal Marine Artillery handled them in firing but we of the infantry did most of the work of getting the huge and unwieldy monsters into place. The Railway Corps, of course, did their part but it was usually working parties from the infantry, during their periods back at the REST camps, who put in the long hours of night work necessary to lay the tracks and get the guns under cover and then obliterate all traces of the work before Heinie came over with his photographing planes in the morning.
What we had to do was to build literally miles of railway, first removing all the sod and, when they had brought the gun up to the appointed place, to replace everything that might give an indication of what had happened. Usually these big guns were ensconced in buildings, and it was necessary to remove a large part of the roof and one side and replace these parts with the especially-prepared camouflage. Also, in most instances, it was necessary to tear out a lot of the inside walls of the house. Taken all in all, it was a tough job, as it all had to be done during the hours of darkness – in one night. The real Railway Guns were, of course, different. They remained on their mounts and were fired from the curved tracks which the Railway Corps had prepared for them. The 14-inch naval guns used by the U.S. army at the close of the war were of that type, but there were plenty of them in use a long time before that.
Now, I may be “all wet” about this but I still believe and insist that the actual results of heavy calibred and long range gun-fire is not worth what it costs in actual dollars and cents.
The fire of the lighter “rifles” – say up to about six inches – is not only more accurate but the guns themselves are so much more mobile that they can readily be moved from point to point quickly enough to keep the other fellow guessing. The French 75s and the German 77s, in my opinion, killed off more men than all the heavier guns used during the war.
What good did it do the Germans to shoot shells into Paris from a range of sixty or seventy miles. Just exactly the same as dropping Zeppelin bombs on England. What it did was to make both those people resolve to fight harder. The material damage, I venture to say, never in any case was equal to the cost of the effort and as to the personal damage, well, it was so small as compared to an hour or so of real battle, that it is not worth considering at all. It is possible, as I have before remarked, that such a policy of frightfulness might be effective against Germans. They, I believe, called it “schrecklichkeit.” Now, anyone who can think up a name like that is liable to have some funny emotions – I don’t know – but I do know that all of their bombing in England never scared anyone. It just made them madder. And I presume the effect on the French of that willfully murderous shelling of the non-combatants of Paris was probably about the same. It certainly had no military significance.
Chapter 10. The Pistol in War
SO FAR, our fighting had not amounted to much. There we were – the Germans all the time trying to find a weak spot to break through and we trying to hand back some of the misery we were enduring. We staged a few raids, sometimes with the idea of catching a prisoner or two but more often just to harass the enemy and break the monotony of the game.
By this time, many o
f the machine gunners had equipped themselves with pistols and discarded their rifles. I can’t say that I blamed them in the least. There was only one method by which the rifle could be carried – slung diagonally across the back – as both hands were occupied and the man loaded down with ammunition boxes, tools, the gun or its tripod. Slung in this manner, the rifle proved to be much of a hindrance and annoyance, and on top of all this it could not be gotten into action very speedily. Hence, it soon became common for the machine gunners to “lose” their rifles. Some of us, however, tried to always have a rifle handy, although aside from the sniping which I was doing from behind the line, there had so far been but little chance for any real rifle shooting.
Right here, lets have another shift of subject and talk about pistols for a change. One-hand guns were, undoubtedly, designed for the use of mounted men so that they could deliver fire at the enemy while, at the same time, they had the other hand free for the management of their horses. They only fired the one shot and were then useless until reloaded, so they made them big and cumbersome in order that they could be used effectively as a club until a time came when they could again be loaded – a slow process in that day. They were, really and truly, “horse pistols,” being so big and cumbersome that no gentleman could have carried one on his person while afoot. When and where they were first invented is probably known to some of our specialists in antique weapons – I don’t know and it is really of no consequence here as this is not supposed to be a treatise on the evolution of firearms anyway.
But I am afraid that I shall, now and then, refer to some of the old timers. You see, I’m just as big a “nut” as the next one, and anything pertaining to firearms – yes anything pertaining to killing, whether it be with a stone axe or a blow gun, excites my interest and I want to know about it. As the son of an ex-cavalryman, born soon after the end of the Civil War, I had a good initiation into the pistol question. Everything from Starr and Colt revolvers back to Tower flintlocks were available for my education. Pepper-boxes, derringers – I tried them all and just naturally grew up with the idea that it was a part of the education of every American citizen to know how to shoot a pistol well enough to disable your enemy before he gets you. I never, then or since, have made any effort to become a prize-winning shot on the range. I am not and never have been a threat to the pistol shooters in the National Matches, but have always tried to keep in practice sufficiently to give myself the feeling of assurance that in a pinch I can get my gun out and shoot as fast and as straight as the other fellow.
A Rifleman Went to War Page 17