Part 5 (1/2)
Nor has any piece of verse in recent years been more widely known in the civilian world. It was used on every platform from which men were being adjured to adventure their lives or their riches in the great trial through which the present generation has pa.s.sed. Many ”replies” have been made. The best I have seen was written in the 'New York Evening Post'. None but those who were prepared to die before Vimy Ridge that early April day of 1916 will ever feel fully the great truth of Mr.
Lillard's opening lines, as they speak for all Americans:
”Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led We've taken up.”
They did--and bravely. They heard the cry--”If ye break faith, we shall not sleep.”
II. With the Guns
If there was nothing remarkable about the publication of ”In Flanders Fields”, there was something momentous in the moment of writing it.
And yet it was a sure instinct which prompted the writer to send it to 'Punch'. A rational man wishes to know the news of the world in which he lives; and if he is interested in life, he is eager to know how men feel and comport themselves amongst the events which are pa.s.sing. For this purpose 'Punch' is the great newspaper of the world, and these lines describe better than any other how men felt in that great moment.
It was in April, 1915. The enemy was in the full cry of victory. All that remained for him was to occupy Paris, as once he did before, and to seize the Channel ports. Then France, England, and the world were doomed. All winter the German had spent in repairing his plans, which had gone somewhat awry on the Marne. He had devised his final stroke, and it fell upon the Canadians at Ypres. This battle, known as the second battle of Ypres, culminated on April 22nd, but it really extended over the whole month.
The inner history of war is written from the recorded impressions of men who have endured it. John McCrae in a series of letters to his mother, cast in the form of a diary, has set down in words the impressions which this event of the war made upon a peculiarly sensitive mind. The account is here transcribed without any attempt at ”amplification”, or ”clarifying” by notes upon incidents or references to places. These are only too well known.
Friday, April 23rd, 1915.
As we moved up last evening, there was heavy firing about 4.30 on our left, the hour at which the general attack with gas was made when the French line broke. We could see the sh.e.l.ls bursting over Ypres, and in a small village to our left, meeting General----, C.R.A., of one of the divisions, he ordered us to halt for orders. We sent forward notifications to our Headquarters, and sent out orderlies to get in touch with the batteries of the farther forward brigades already in action. The story of these guns will be read elsewhere. They had a tough time, but got away safely, and did wonderful service. One battery fired in two opposite directions at once, and both batteries fired at point blank, open sights, at Germans in the open. They were at times quite without infantry on their front, for their position was behind the French to the left of the British line.
As we sat on the road we began to see the French stragglers--men without arms, wounded men, teams, wagons, civilians, refugees--some by the roads, some across country, all talking, shouting--the very picture of debacle. I must say they were the ”tag enders” of a fighting line rather than the line itself. They streamed on, and shouted to us sc.r.a.ps of not too inspiriting information while we stood and took our medicine, and picked out gun positions in the fields in case we had to go in there and then. The men were splendid; not a word; not a shake, and it was a terrific test. Traffic whizzed by--ambulances, transport, ammunition, supplies, despatch riders--and the sh.e.l.ls thundered into the town, or burst high in the air nearer us, and the refugees streamed. Women, old men, little children, hopeless, tearful, quiet or excited, tired, dodging the traffic,--and the wounded in singles or in groups. Here and there I could give a momentary help, and the ambulances picked up as they could. So the cold moonlight night wore on--no change save that the towers of Ypres showed up against the glare of the city burning; and the sh.e.l.ls still sailed in.
At 9.30 our ammunition column (the part that had been ”in”) appeared.
Major---- had waited, like Casabianca, for orders until the Germans were 500 yards away; then he started, getting safely away save for one wagon lost, and some casualties in men and horses. He found our column, and we prepared to send forward ammunition as soon as we could learn where the batteries had taken up position in retiring, for retire they had to.
Eleven, twelve, and finally grey day broke, and we still waited. At 3.45 word came to go in and support a French counterattack at 4.30 A.M.
Hastily we got the order spread; it was 4 A.M. and three miles to go.
Of one's feelings all this night--of the asphyxiated French soldiers--of the women and children--of the cheery, steady British reinforcements that moved up quietly past us, going up, not back--I could write, but you can imagine.
We took the road at once, and went up at the gallop. The Colonel rode ahead to scout a position (we had only four guns, part of the ammunition column, and the brigade staff; the 1st and 4th batteries were back in reserve at our last billet). Along the roads we went, and made our place on time, pulled up for ten minutes just short of the position, where I put Bonfire [his horse] with my groom in a farmyard, and went forward on foot--only a quarter of a mile or so--then we advanced. Bonfire had soon to move; a sh.e.l.l killed a horse about four yards away from him, and he wisely took other ground. Meantime we went on into the position we were to occupy for seventeen days, though we could not guess that. I can hardly say more than that it was near the Yser Ca.n.a.l.
We got into action at once, under heavy gunfire. We were to the left entirely of the British line, and behind French troops, and so we remained for eight days. A Colonel of the R.A., known to fame, joined us and camped with us; he was our link with the French Headquarters, and was in local command of the guns in this locality. When he left us eight days later he said, ”I am glad to get out of this h.e.l.l-hole.” He was a great comfort to us, for he is very capable, and the entire battle was largely fought ”on our own”, following the requests of the Infantry on our front, and scarcely guided by our own staff at all. We at once set out to register our targets, and almost at once had to get into steady firing on quite a large sector of front. We dug in the guns as quickly as we could, and took as Headquarters some infantry trenches already sunk on a ridge near the ca.n.a.l. We were subject from the first to a steady and accurate sh.e.l.ling, for we were all but in sight, as were the German trenches about 2000 yards to our front. At times the fire would come in salvos quickly repeated. Bursts of fire would be made for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. We got all varieties of projectile, from 3 inch to 8 inch, or perhaps 10 inch; the small ones usually as air bursts, the larger percussion and air, and the heaviest percussion only.
My work began almost from the start--steady but never overwhelming, except perhaps once for a few minutes. A little cottage behind our ridge served as a cook-house, but was so heavily hit the second day that we had to be chary of it. During bursts of fire I usually took the back slope of the sharply crested ridge for what shelter it offered. At 3 our 1st and 4th arrived, and went into action at once a few hundred yards in our rear. Wires were at once put out, to be cut by sh.e.l.ls hundreds and hundreds of times, but always repaired by our indefatigable linemen.
So the day wore on; in the night the sh.e.l.ling still kept up: three different German attacks were made and repulsed. If we suffered by being close up, the Germans suffered from us, for already tales of good shooting came down to us. I got some sleep despite the constant firing, for we had none last night.
Sat.u.r.day, April 24th, 1915.
Behold us now anything less than two miles north of Ypres on the west side of the ca.n.a.l; this runs north, each bank flanked with high elms, with bare trunks of the familiar Netherlands type. A few yards to the West a main road runs, likewise bordered; the Censor will allow me to say that on the high bank between these we had our headquarters; the ridge is perhaps fifteen to twenty feet high, and slopes forward fifty yards to the water, the back is more steep, and slopes quickly to a little subsidiary water way, deep but dirty. Where the guns were I shall not say; but they were not far, and the German aeroplanes that viewed us daily with all but impunity knew very well. A road crossed over the ca.n.a.l, and interrupted the ridge; across the road from us was our billet--the place we cooked in, at least, and where we usually took our meals. Looking to the south between the trees, we could see the ruins of the city: to the front on the sky line, with rolling ground in the front, pitted by French trenches, the German lines; to the left front, several farms and a windmill, and farther left, again near the ca.n.a.l, thicker trees and more farms. The farms and windmills were soon burnt.
Several farms we used for observing posts were also quickly burnt during the next three or four days. All along behind us at varying distances French and British guns; the flashes at night lit up the sky.