A Rifleman Went to War

by Herbert W. McBride

  When we were all fixed up with the grenades, the sergeant got us together again. “Have you all got your rifles?” he asked. All had, excepting the Kid. “Oh-ho,” says the sergeant, “threw it away again, did you? An’ I know damn well why you did it, laddie. Want to use that pistol, do you? All right, get it out and see does the slide work nice and easy, for this night you are sure going to have a chance to try it.” It was a standing joke among us about that pistol which had been sent from Canada by the Kid’s mother – engraved with his initials and everything. It was a regulation Colt .45 automatic, but he had had no chance to do any practicing with it as it had been received since we came into the line. He kept it, oiled and carefully wrapped up in a cloth and stowed inside his tunic. “Ahhum,” continued the sergeant, “well, here’s where you find out how good you are. Get all your extra magazines in your left-hand pocket. Remember to throw out and reload after every seventh shot – Oh, hell, no, nobody ever remembered that much in a fight. Well, guess that’s about all there is to it. All set? Now, when I give the word, heave over all the grenades and then follow me. When we go over the bank you all start shooting and keep it up as long as there is a German left on his feet. – Let’s go.”

  Working fast, it took but a few seconds to throw all the grenades and but a few more seconds for all of them to explode. Curiously enough, none of us noticed, at the time, that there was no return from the crater. Up and over the top we jumped, firing as we went. Once inside, we realized that the place was practically unoccupied. A few dead and wounded men were there and that was all. Evidently the enemy had not been holding the crater in force but had only used it as a convenient jumping off place for the attempted attack which we had stopped. Whether or not they would at once attempt to re-occupy it was the question that most interested us. These craters (there were six of them) had been debatable ground for weeks, passing back and forth, sometimes twice during the same night. Both sides had made many ineffectual attempts to consolidate and fortify them and, at one time, we had a line of trench that completely surrounded them; but, in that case, as in others, the superiority of the German artillery had driven us out. Bombing attacks by our side would enable us to recapture any one of the places but we had never been able to construct adequate defense against the inevitable hail of shells which followed.

  For the benefit of the layman, perhaps a short talk on the subject of mines, craters, saps, etc. may be in order.

  In any kind of “siege warfare” – and trench war is just a form of siege operation – each side attempts to take and hold certain dominating points, positions which enable them to command or overlook the ground occupied by the enemy forces.

  From such positions they can inflict much damage without incurring an equal measure of casualties. Naturally, then, these places become the focal points of much desperate fighting. Whenever one of the combatants has succeeded in so firmly entrenching himself in such a position that he cannot be dislodged by any of the usual methods of attack, then the job is turned over to the Engineers and they proceed to the work of sapping.

  Now, there are saps and saps – the kind you see around you every day and the other kind, and it is to this other kind I refer. A sap, in military parlance, is merely a tunnel. A miner would call it a “drift.” Starting from a point well behind our lines, it extends across the no-man’s-land and under the enemy trench, where, if the operation has been successfully carried out, a chamber is dug and the space filled with powder or other explosive. The chamber is then sealed up and the tunnel filled in. Wires connected with the electric primers – detonators, they are called – which have been placed in the explosive charge, are carried back into our lines where they can be connected with a battery and the charge exploded.

  If the work has been carried out without the knowledge of the enemy, the result of such an explosion is pretty awful. Earth, buildings and men go up in a veritable geyser and there remains a “crater” or pit, depending in size and depth upon the amount of explosive used. The inside will be in the shape of an inverted cone and all around the edge will be a wall of earth. Before the mine is fired, arrangements will have been made to have a force of men ready to rush forward and occupy the crater and then, for some time, it becomes a cock-pit in which the opposing forces contend for possession.

  However, with the delicate instruments now available, it is nearly always possible to detect and follow the progress of any such sapping, with the result that the enemy will resort to one of two means to defeat the operation. He may elect to try what is known as “counter-sapping.” In this case he endeavors to drive his own sap so as to reach a point directly beneath that of the enemy, from which point he will explode a charge of powder which will destroy the upper work.

  Or, if he has reason to believe that the sap is near the surface, he will direct the fire of several heavy guns on the place in the effort to cave in and destroy the tunnel. During the entire period in which we occupied any part of the line up there around Ypres, such operations were going on. We knew, and the enemy knew, that any of us were liable to be blown up most any time. Which is just another of the things that help to keep war from becoming too monotonous.

  I notice that I have been using the word “saps” rather loosely. I should have brought in the “Tunnelers.” A sap, strictly speaking, is more of a trench than a tunnel but, in the old days, this whole branch of the Corps of Engineers was embraced under the title, “Miners and Sappers.” Nowadays they have the regular “Tunneling Companies.” However, the two lines of work are so closely associated and so often merged into a single operation that I do not expect to be severely criticized on this point, so we will let it go at that.

  Now, these particular craters were the results of many months of work and were among the largest I have ever seen, one of them being at least two hundred feet across and three of the others were almost as large. The walls of earth, on the lips of the craters were raised up some ten feet or more above the surrounding ground and the pits inside were anywhere from ten to twenty feet deeper. At the time of which I write, the central part of all the craters was filled with water, only a few feet around the edge being available for standing room. The water was filled with things not pleasant to think about. Many men had died there and the bodies of these, together with the twisted metal, broken timbers and other debris from the blown-up trenches made a horrible mess, but, “believe it or not,” we had become so accustomed to that sort of thing that we could and did move about, eat and sleep there without the slightest compunction.

  After considerable groping around in the dark, assisted now and then by the light of a flare from one side or the other, we found the end of the trench which communicated with “Germany.” Moving cautiously down this some fifty or sixty feet, we left one man there to watch. Returning to the crater we looked over the wounded men and found that only two of them still lived. One of these had a shattered leg and the other was suffering from a head wound and was delirious. We did what we could for them and then went outside and got three more whom we brought in. One of these was shot through the body and died before morning, while another had received two bullets through the legs and was unable to stand. The third, who proved to be the one who had been knocked out with the gun barrel, was but slightly injured, having been stunned by a grenade and cut in a few places by fragments. Fortunately, this one could talk English and we got a lot of information from him. Among other things, he said that he had been in this crater before and that they had orders that, if they were overwhelmed, to throw the machine guns into the water in the middle of the crater. Acting on this tip, we spent some time in fishing around and we really did find one tripod and several belts of ammunition.

  Paul – that was this German’s name – when he found that we did not intend to kill him – loosened up and told us all he knew. He was a Saxon and had lived in New York for several years, but, being in Germany on a visit when the war broke out, had been immediately drafted into the army. Owing to the fact that he happened t
o be sightseeing in Munich at the time, as near as I could make out, he was put in with the Bavarian troops and had become a machine gunner. It was apparent that he had but little love for the Bavarians, especially the officers, and I rather think he was very well satisfied to be taken prisoner.

  I met more than one like that.

  Along toward morning – just as it was beginning to get light in the east – the man who was on guard in the trench came hurrying in and said that he could hear someone coming our way. Without a moment’s hesitation, the sergeant ran for the trench, calling for two men to follow. They ran down until they were concealed by a traverse, quickly hiding themselves under an overhanging roof – probably an ammunition bay. In a few moments men could be heard coming along the trench. Acting on the instructions of the sergeant, we all crouched close to the wall in silence. One after another, eight men passed us, the first six carrying a machine gun, with mount and many boxes of ammunition. The last two carried large cooking pots and sacks of something. When the last had passed, we slipped out behind them and followed until, just as they were rounding the corner leading into the crater, the sergeant called for them to halt. We all had our rifles and when those fellows turned around to see what it was all about, they simply gave a few grunts of astonishment, dropped their loads and put up their hands.

  It was the easiest capture I ever saw. We made them carry all the stuff inside, and then, after disarming them, took them around to the other side of the hole and left them, with one man to watch. They were coming up to relieve the gun crew who were supposed to be in the crater and had two days cooked rations with them, in addition to the regular haversack ration. Pretty soft for us. In the sacks were several little loaves of schwartzbrod, cheese and some kind of wurst while one of the cans contained a mess of stew, the principal ingredient of which appeared to be onions. There were some other vegetables in it and, of meat there was, as a chemist or assayer might say “a trace.” However, it was not at all hard to take at that time and we soon disposed of the lot, sharing, of course, with the prisoners. The other can held nothing but water but that, too, was very welcome.

  About this time I noticed one of the prisoners taking his little round water bottle off his belt and slipping it into his inside coat pocket. Acting on a hunch, I went over and asked one of them to give me a drink. He pretended not to understand, so I took possession of his “canteen” and helped myself. My hunch was a good one, for the bottle was filled with brandy. We quickly possessed ourselves of the others and found that they all contained the same liquor. Oh, man: that was a godsend. We let each of the prisoners take a good drink and gave the wounded men a little extra and then put the rest where it would do the most good for the cause of “democracy.” We then started a search of all the other bottles on the dead Germans lying around but found them to contain nothing but water. Paul did a little talking with the new bunch and learned that they had found a case of brandy which was intended for some officer’s mess and had appropriated all they could carry.

  By then it was broad daylight and high time to consider the future. The wounded men must be cared for very soon or it would be too late. In that place, where the earth, water and even the air, were polluted with the rotten flesh of long-dead men and all the other nasty things which your imagination can supply, it was imperative that wounds be thoroughly cleansed and disinfected without delay or death would probably result. After considerable cogitation the sergeant decided upon a course which might have been thought foolish but which, as events proved, was the correct one. It was obviously impossible to get back to our lines in daylight as the ground over that way was under direct observation from Germany and not even a snake could have covered it without being detected. So he called Paul and told him he was going to send two of the last batch of prisoners out with the wounded Germans – back to their own lines – as we did not wish to be encumbered with them and he emphasized the fact that it was their only chance for life. These men were to take the wounded, one at a time, to the nearest dressing station and leave them there. The carriers were to be told that all the other prisoners were to be kept in the crater – as hostages. He figured that this would serve to prevent any shelling or other attempt at hostilities, during the day.

  By utilizing pieces of board from the wrecked dug-outs, bits of chicken wire which had probably been used as revetting material and strips of cloth torn from uniforms, a serviceable stretcher was made and the first man carried out. The same procedure was carried out with the rest, only that the carriers, when they came back from the first trip, had brought a regular litter. As soon as they had departed with the last of the wounded men, we went to work and built up a substantial barricade across the trench, well outside the crater – and then settled down for a rest. Imagine our surprise when the two stretcher-bearers came back and, without a word, climbed over the barricade and went over and rejoined their comrades in the crater. We asked Paul “How come?” but he just laughed and said they were sick of the war and would rather be prisoners. Now, I cannot conceive of any Canadian, or other Britisher, for that matter, doing a thing like that but you never can tell about a German. They do and think things that are beyond our comprehension.

  We took turns sleeping and the only disturbance during the day was when our own artillery put about a dozen shells into and around the crater – evidently thinking it was occupied by the enemy. No one was hurt, and, as soon as it was dark, Dan and Simpson were sent back to our lines with the prisoners – all but Paul, whom we kept in case we might have further use for an interpreter. He did not like it at all as he wanted as he expressed it, to “get to hell out of here.”

  Dan carried a message to be delivered to the first officer he met, explaining the situation and requesting that a force be sent over to relieve us. We were not disturbed by the enemy and, shortly after midnight, a platoon of infantry and a machine gun crew came in and we returned to our lines – very well pleased with ourselves. And, as events turned out, we were very lucky. Just before daylight, the enemy turned loose with his artillery and killed nearly half of the members of the garrison of the crater: compelling the retirement of the survivors.

  That was the way it went. There was one time, however, when one of our machine gun crews, under Sergeant Norton-Taylor, occupied one of those craters for five days, subsisting on the food and water they took from dead Germans and they not only held the crater all this time but actually took prisoners, including one full crew of enemy machine gunners. During that time, such was the confusion, due to the craters changing hands so often, that we had given them up for lost. They were finally relieved by a patrol from the Nineteenth Battalion, on our left.

  Telling you the incident about the prisoner, Paul, a few pages back reminds me of another extremely odd happening which occurred to me several weeks before this time. During my more or less “checkered” career, I have had many practical demonstrations of the fact that “truth is stranger than fiction.” One such comes to mind now.

  About ten o’clock one night they commenced to give us an awful shelling. This was so unusual that we felt certain that Fritz was up to some devilment so, of course, all hands were wide awake and on the alert. I had been standing beside Major Gray when a couple of shells ripped through the top of our parapet, one on each side of us and not more than five or six feet distant, both going on and exploding in the ditch behind the trench without doing any damage. Hundreds of others were bursting all along the line and, despite all efforts to take cover, many casualties resulted.

  This Major Gray, by the way, was the one who, when we were all so tired and weary on a march that we could scarcely stagger, would stride down along the line and strike up some old nonsensical song that would immediately bring us to life. I well remember one of his favorites. It goes like this:

  “I’m tired of living alone

  “I want a wee wife of my own;

  “Someone to caress me, someone to undress me –

  “I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

/>   Things having quieted down a bit and the Major having gone back to his dug-out, I meandered along the line, stopping now and then to check up on the various M.G. crews. Just as I arrived at the gun emplacement at the junction of the O and P trenches I heard a sharp challenge from the sentry on the firing step and, immediately after, saw a German soldier come crawling over the parapet and drop down into the trench, the sentry all the time keeping him covered with his rifle. Seeing me, he, (the sentry) said: “Here’s a prisoner, Sergeant – and don’t forget that I got him.”

  I took charge of the German and escorted him back to the Major’s quarters. The Major was much interested, but, as he had no German, was at a loss to interrogate the fellow as he would have liked to do. My German was not anything to brag about, but, upon trying to talk to him in his own tongue, the boy – for that was all he was – about eighteen or nineteen – answered in English. He said: “We go bombing: we get lost: the shells come so quick I know not what to do. I look back and it is so far: I look here and it is so near. I think this is the better way so I come.” Can you beat that?

  But here comes the “coincidence.” He was a youngster named Caspar Meyer, from Sachsenhausen, Waldeck, Bavaria, and I had visited with his family when he was a babe in arms and had, at that time persuaded his elder sister to take up the study of English. It seems that the boy also took it up when he became old enough. Well, he went back – a prisoner of war – but he seemed to be pretty well satisfied at that.