Part 21 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ROLL CALL OF THE SEAFORTHS AT ”WHITE CITY,” BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916]
[Ill.u.s.tration: f.a.gGED OUT IN THE ”WHITE CITY” AFTER WE RETIRED TO OUR TRENCHES, JULY 1ST, 1916. SOME OF THE INCOMPARABLE 29TH DIVISION]
CHAPTER XV
ROLL-CALL AFTER THE FIGHT
A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and Answer the Call--I Visit a Stricken Friend in a Dug-out--On the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the Trenches--And Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the German Line--I Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped--But Get Away Safely--And later Commandeer a Couple of German Prisoners to Act as Porters.
The day wore on. The success of the fighting swayed first this way, then that. The casualties mounted higher and higher. Men were coming back into our trenches maimed and broken; they all had different tales to tell. I pa.s.sed along talking to and cheering our wonderful men as much as I could. And the Germans, to add to this ghastly whirlpool of horror, threw sh.e.l.l after sh.e.l.l into the dressing station, killing and wounding afresh the gallant lads who had gone ”over the top” that morning. They seemed to know of this place and played upon it with a gloating, fiendish glee worthy only of unspeakable savages.
As I was pa.s.sing one group of wounded, I ran against my doctor friend of the night before.
”Busy day for you?” I said.
”My word, yes,” he replied. ”They are coming faster than I can attend to them. I am just off to see P----. He's caught it badly.”
”Serious?” I asked.
”Yes, rather; in the back. He's in the dug-out.”
And the doctor rushed away. I followed him. P---- was lying there on a stretcher looking ghastly. The doctor was bending over him. Poor old chap. Only that morning he had hooked me out to film the sunken road scenes as full of life and hope as anyone could conceive. Now he was on his back, a broken wreck. In the trenches there were hundreds of cases as bad, or even worse, but they did not affect me. There were far too many for the mind to fully grasp their meaning. But down here in this dark dug-out, twenty feet below the earth, the sombre surroundings only illuminated by a guttering candle in a bottle, I was far more affected.
It was natural though, for one always feels things more when some one one knows is concerned.
P---- was the first to speak.
”Hullo, old man,” he said in a husky, low voice. ”You've pulled through?”
”Yes,” I replied. ”But 'touchwood'! I'm so sorry. Anyway, you're all right for 'Blighty,'” and to cheer him up I continued in a bantering strain: ”You knew how to manage it, eh? Jolly artful, you know.” His face lighted up with a wan smile.
”Yes, Malins, rather a long 'Blighty,' I'm afraid.”
Two stretcher-bearers came in at that moment to take him away. With difficulty they got him out of the trench, and grasping his hand I bade him good-bye.
”I'm glad you got our boys, Malins. I do so want to see that film,” were his last words.
”I'll show it to you when I get back to England,” I called after him, and then he disappeared.
The fighting was now beginning to die down. The remnants of four regiments were coming in. Each section was acc.u.mulating in s.p.a.ces on their own. I realised that the roll-call was about to take place. I filmed them as they staggered forward and dropped down utterly worn out, body and soul. By an almost superhuman effort many of them staggered to their feet again, and formed themselves into an irregular line.
In one little s.p.a.ce there were just two thin lines--all that was left of a glorious regiment (barely one hundred men). I filmed the scene as it unfolded itself. The sergeant stood there with note-book resting on the end of his rifle, repeatedly putting his pencil through names that were missing. This picture was one of the most wonderful, the most impressive that can be conceived. It ought to be painted and hung in all the picture galleries of the world, in all the schools and public buildings, and our children should be taught to regard it as the standard of man's self-sacrifice.
I stayed in the trenches until the following day, filming scene after scene of our wounded. I learned that nothing more was to be attempted until later, when fresh divisions were to be brought up. Knowing this I decided to leave this section of the trenches. But the ghastly scenes of which I was witness will always remain a hideous nightmare in my memory, though I thank G.o.d I had been spared to film such tremendous scenes of supreme heroism and sacrifice in the cause of freedom.
I got safely back through the trenches to ----, where Brigade H.Q. told me of an urgent message from G.H.Q. I was to report as soon as possible.
On my way I called on General ----, who was delighted to hear I had successfully filmed the attack, the record of which would show the world how gloriously our men had fought.
Reaching advanced G.H.Q. I reported myself. All were pleased to see me safe and sound, and to hear of my success. I was told that lively things were happening at La Boisselle. I heard also how successful our troops had been in other parts of the line. Fricourt and Mametz and a dozen other villages had fallen to our victorious troops. This news put new life into me. At La Boisselle they said we had pushed through, and fighting was still going on. I decided to leave for that district right away.