A Rifleman Went to War

by Herbert W. McBride

  Well, that’s the way it was when the war started in 1914, and I went up to Canada to see what it was all about. The regulation equipment for officers in the Canadian Army, or at least in the Second Division, included the Colt .45 Automatic, an exact duplicate of our Model 1911. Naturally I was quite familiar with this gun and it was my privilege, as Musketry Instructor, to be present when these arms were received by the officers of the Twenty-first Battalion.

  The officers first tried out these .45s on our improvised indoor rifle range, in the armouries at Kingston, and their experience was exactly the same as I had seen, numberless times, in the United States Army. The range was fifty feet, and the targets of the usual short-range type used by the infantry for indoor instruction firing with reduced ammunition. At the first attempts, many of the shots struck on the concrete floor, anywhere from fifteen to forty feet in front of the firer. You can probably imagine the effect this had upon that crowd. It required a lot of argument to persuade some of those officers that the gun was “worth a damn.” But that was only temporary. After a little instruction, emphasized by practical demonstration with those same guns, they soon learned the game and could hold and squeeze as well as the next fellow.

  I have said that this pistol was the authorized “regulation.” Well, that is true in the sense that they were authorized for use, and quantities had been purchased so that the officers could procure them, but it was not obligatory. Those who so desired were at liberty to use the Webley or the .45 Colt or Smith and Wesson revolver. One, whom I well remember, had two Colts which took the .455 Webley cartridge – and did good work with them too. The Webley pistol never appealed to me, probably because of its cumbersome appearance. The thing would shoot however, and it made a dandy club with which to bean an obstreperous prisoner.

  As I was quite familiar with the new Colt Automatic I was able to be of some assistance during the preliminary work of breaking them in and it was not long until the officers were accustomed to the peculiarities of the gun and could make it behave to their satisfaction. Those who had had experience with the revolver entertained the almost universal prejudice against the automatic: ’s funny, isn’t it – how we hate to discard our old loves and take up with new ones (in this shooting game I mean, it appears to be easy enough regarding some other things). But even the most conservative of the old timers soon recognized the real advantages of the later type weapon. I staged several realistic demonstrations; including fast reloading in the dark and such stunts, and that converted most of them. As to reliability – dependability in an emergency – there was little choice between the revolver and the automatic. Both types would function properly with the same degree of care. It is possible that there were instances of an automatic “jamming” now and then, but personally I never had it happen to me during the war, nor did I see or hear of any instance of it happening.

  All these arguments as to the relative merits of the revolver and the automatic pistol will probably continue for another generation. Most of the old timers who learned to shoot with the revolver have a deep seated prejudice against the automatic – but when you come down to the root of their argument, it all seems to base upon the “hang” of the two guns, the newer automatic does not point right with the same old habitual kink in the wrist. I have used the .45 Automatic ever since 1911, but for twenty years prior to that time had used the revolver. Even now, I find myself having a sneaking sort of preference for the revolver and feel confident that I can make a better score on the target with it, either slow or rapid fire. But in spite of all this, I unhesitatingly choose the automatic for actual use in war. To my mind, the great advantage of the automatic lies in the ease and rapidity with which it can be reloaded – especially in the dark. Any one who doubts this can easily satisfy himself by trying to hurriedly reload a revolver in the dark, with a crowd of roughnecks milling all around and trying to hit some one with clubs, knives and fists. Or, if this seems too rough, just get some friend to jostle you about or run into you while trying it. There is really no comparison between slipping a fresh magazine into the butt of the pistol, and fumbling with six small cartridges in trying to get them into six different revolver chambers.

  There is just one little trick the user of the automatic should train himself to keep in mind – and do – reload while there is still a cartridge in the chamber; do not shoot until the gun is entirely empty. Even though you have fired but four or five shots, better drop out that old magazine and slip in a full one.

  Now, all this time and for a year or so afterwards, machine gunners were supposed to carry rifles. Some of us always tried to have one handy, even after we had accumulated pistols. I was the first to sport a hand-gun and others of the section followed suit as fast as they could have the guns bought for them and sent on. None of the others secured any, however, until after we had been in England for some time, but as fast as they came I would take their fortunate possessors up to the chalk pit on Tolsford Hill and give them a work-out, and they all soon became sufficiently proficient for our purpose. This was just another case of where the King’s Regulations were modified to suit the Colonial – just as in the case of the moustache. Now, those King’s Regulations, which are the Bible of all British soldiers, specifically ordain that each and every officer and soldier must shave regularly but must not shave the upper lip. Well, most of us Canadians shaved clean – and got away with it. A lot of others, who lacked the nerve to go the whole way, left a little trace of hair on the upper lip; that’s probably where all these little dinky ingrown moustaches originated.

  The pistol is particularly adapted to the needs of the machine gunner, and in my humble opinion every member of the crew should be armed with one and trained in its use. I will admit that a machine gunner seldom has a chance to use either rifle or pistol, unless it is during a long stretch of trench warfare where he may have the opportunity, as I did, to kill time (and a few of the enemy) by doing sniping and scouting work. In anything like open warfare, or during an assault or attack by the enemy, he will be plenty busy taking care of his machine guns. With adequate flank protection (riflemen) he will never be called upon to meet the direct assault of enemy infantrymen. Artillery, trench mortars and tanks will make life plenty miserable for him without that.

  But “nevertheless and notwithstanding” he should be armed with a good pistol and know how to use it. Those flank-protecting riflemen may not be on hand when most needed, and pistols are especially suited to repelling a sudden rush upon the gun by an enemy coming in from the flanks – the only way they can get in on a working machine gun and its crew. The men lying about operating a machine gun are invariably in such positions that a rifle cannot be picked up or swung into action within the necessarily short notice given; but a pistol can be drawn from its holster when in any position and once out, any number of men rushing in should be stopped before they can get close enough to use the bayonet.

  The entire case of the pistol may be summed up in “I don’t want this thing often, but when I do I want it damn bad.” A historical instance in point, is the plight of those men who worked the two “sacrifice guns” at Sanctuary Wood during the Third Battle of Ypres on June 2, 1916. The Germans had launched a sudden and intense drive against the Princess Pats at Hooge and a large forest nearby called Sanctuary Wood. In this latter forest were two guns, placed to cover an exposed approach, with orders to stay there and fight to a finish. And they did – they worked those two guns until the last man was killed by German bayonets. This was one of the exceedingly rare instances of where the bayonet was actually used in the war. Those gunners had no arms at all excepting the two eighteen-pounders, yet every one of them was bayoneted at the guns, after having shot down many times their own number of the enemy. BUT – had those gunners all been equipped with pistols, there is no doubt in the world that most of them would have been able to make their getaway, after the guns had been silenced, or would have taken an additional number of the enemy with them to the happy hunting grounds.
/>   Those of us in the Machine Gun Section who were fortunate enough to have pistols thoroughly appreciated the advantages of such weapons and we were much envied by the others who were not so armed. No pistol was ever permitted to be taken to the rear on a dead or wounded man; someone always grabbed for it as soon as the owner was picked up.

  I am also of the opinion that every man in an army who is not armed with a rifle should carry a pistol. By this, I mean all those men who are in any manner liable to come into actual contact with the enemy – “rub bellies with them” as old Colonel Evans used to say. In war, a pistol is liable to be needed at what may seem a most inopportune time and without a second’s notice. Maybe I better describe an incident in which I consider a lucky pistol shot to have saved my entire machine gun crew.

  Early one afternoon, during the fighting of the St. Eloi scrap, a crew of six men and myself were working a gun forward over some ground which had been changing hands quite a bit during the preceding days. We had a Colt gun and its tripod, together with the usual loads of filled belts in boxes. Some few of the crowd had rifles slung across their backs and all hands were loaded down to the limit. We crawled and worked our way ahead slowly, finally rushing over into a bit of trench and dropped right on top of a few Germans who were hidden in there unknown to any of us. With the exception of one Heinie, who was sitting on a fire step, the rest of this crowd bolted down a side trench and got away easily, but we jumped on the one sitting down and soon knocked him out. What really happened was that the man carrying the Colt gun actually threw it on this German and then fell on top himself. We others dropped our loads and ran on after the German party, but only went a few yards and then returned, leaving a man down at the end of the trench to watch in case any of them came back.

  Our Dutchman was not hurt much and he soon got to his feet and seemingly made the best of the deal. He was a big, surly looking chap and did not seem to be any too well pleased with the mauling he had just received – what else he could have expected I do not know. I was in a hurry to get along and have the machine gun set up so we could handle the counter attack we all felt would soon be pulled off, so I motioned to this Heinie to jump on out of the trench and take himself back to the rear, where some of our fellows would see to it that he was sent on further back with other prisoners. This was our usual method of handling prisoners taken by an advanced or small unit. Often such a detachment could not spare a man to escort them back, so we just took their arms away and then made them run back across the open ground with their hands held up in the air. Neither our men nor the Germans were likely to shoot at prisoners going to the rear in this manner, but in case they did, it was just too bad, that’s all.

  Those Germans who ran out on us had evidently been a combat group or outpost of some sort, for they left two rifles and plenty of ammunition behind them, and also a sizable stack of “potato-masher” grenades piled up in a corner of the trench. I had the prisoner climbing out, and we all picked up our loads and started on when that Heinie slid back into the trench and reached for those grenades. Very fortunately, the last man in our party was one who carried a pistol – he dropped his load, made one of the quickest draws I have ever seen, fired twice, and shot that smart Dutchman through the knee joint, almost smashing his leg apart. All this was done and over with in much less time than it has taken me to tell you about it – and none of our party could possibly have unslung a rifle, or fired it in time to have stopped that German – had he managed to pick up three or four of those grenades and gotten around the corner with them we would simply have been S.O.L.

  To make matters worse, we got up to where I had left the man on watch and found it impossible to get any further ahead. So we had to stick in that bit of trench until night and listen to the “goings on” of that shot-up German. By that time, I for one, was sorry our man was not a better pistol shot.

  So much for the occasional “emergency” use of a pistol. However, there comes a time when any fighting man may find that his very existence depends upon a pistol hanging from his side. Now, every new war starts where the last one left off. Of course, the instigator of it will probably have an ace or two up his sleeve in the nature of new inventions, but generally speaking, it will be just the same old game with a new dealer. Innovations will develop, probably more rapidly than in the past. What with the daily-increasing knowledge of the effect of “rays” (for want of a better designation) it is well within the bounds of reason to expect that, when the next great war between modem powers comes along, far more effective measures will have been perfected to separate the soldier from his grocery and rent bills and to transport him to Paradise.

  Think I am trying to get away from our subject? Nay, nay my friend. Just trying to bring this matter back to where it “has been, is now, and ever shall be.” Wars are fought by men, against other men. New weapons, new schemes and devices will be conceived, but when it comes right down to the finish there will be nothing on earth but man opposed to man. If one man has a club and the other has none, the man with the club will undoubtedly win. If one has a sword or bayonet and the other a pistol, the man with the pistol will surely be the survivor. For every aircraft, for every tank or any other as yet unknown mechanical device, there must needs be, not only men to direct and control them but many more men to build, rebuild, repair and service them. Historically, wars are won by nations. Literally and practically, they are won by men – individuals working in concert and following certain well-conceived plans. The last living man able to stand on his feet and fight may decide the issue between victory and defeat.

  Until something better is invented, I believe that the pistol is the best weapon for this last stand. Personally, I have had but three chances to prove it, but I know of many others who have had more than that. If a man really knows how to handle his pistol, he can whip – yes, kill – five men within the last ten yards of any assault. He may be killed, often is, by a shot from the side or from someone behind his immediate adversaries, but he can, with the utmost confidence, undertake to handle at least three enemy bayonet men.

  It must be understood that the pistol is not, habitually, used for sniping – that is, for picking off individual targets by aimed fire at any range from, say, twenty yards up. It is especially adapted for use at any range within that limit, but is seldom actually used beyond fifteen or twenty feet. Most of the men killed with the one-hand gun, including all the more-or-less bad men in the early days of the West have “got their needin’s” at these shorter distances – mostly shorter than that. The average old time bar-rooms were pretty small, and what shooting was done was generally between men spaced the width of a poker table apart. The outside shooting – and I have this from no less authorities than Bat Masterson, Jim Lee and Schwin Box – was not so very effective. They have told me innumerable tales of how this one and that one had emptied their guns, reloaded and emptied them again at adversaries who were doing the same thing, within less than one hundred feet and with scant damage on either side.

  Bat and Lee were both in the famous “Battle of the Barrels” at Abilene, I think it was (possibly Dodge; they were active at both places) and Jim got two .45 bullets right through his chest; “one on either side of my wishbone,” as he described it one day we were both stripped and in bathing. I often thought of these old incidents when we were in France, because the experiences we were then having just about agreed in most respects with the tales these old timers had told to me in my earlier days in New Mexico. Personally I did not have very much experience when it came to using my own automatic, but what little I did have seemed highly essential at the time and if I had not had that pistol along I would not be telling this now. Maybe I better tell about one of those times right here and now.

  During the course of the war, those of us who were equipped with pistols were sometimes called upon to do a little scouting, and if not called, occasionally did it anyway, just to break the monotony. If it were a regularly organized and authorized patrol, probably the only
one in the detachment who carried a pistol would be the officer in charge, the others carrying bombs (Mills hand grenades) and rifles. Some of us however, among my machine gun crews, were prone to slip out at night, just to “see what we could see” or to try and locate some new machine-gun emplacement which we had reason to believe that Heinie had built, and we always “packed a gun”. On these ventures we soon learned that the only logical place to carry your pistol was in a holster slung right square in the middle of your back. You simply can’t carry it anywhere else. I carried mine on the waist belt and saw to it that it didn’t slide about too much. I know of other chaps who slung their pistol between their shoulder blades and reached up over their shoulder to get the gun out. In an argument with one of these lads he told me he could get under the wire better with the pistol holster fastened up there, and could reach up and unfasten it much easier if it did get caught. If you attempt to crawl about with the holster strapped to your side it immediately slides around to the front and punches you in the belly – and gets in the mud, which is worse – and if you try tying the bottom of the holster to your leg, it still hobbles you – and still gets in the mud. Often we had to crawl through mud and slime several inches deep, and the back was the only place where it was possible to keep anything reasonably clean and dry – and ready for use. Even our gas masks, after we were equipped with them, were either carried in the same manner, or (as was usually the case) left at home.