The tale of disaster was not yet complete. A quarter of an hour after the Irresistible went down the floating mines claimed another victim. The Ocean, a British battleship, fifteen years old, suddenly sank; but once more the destroyers were on the alert, and few lives were lost. Nor had other ships of the fleet escaped scathless. The Gaulois had been holed in the bows, the fire-control station on the Inflexible's foretop had been shot away, and several of her men had fallen. Later in the day she received a gaping wound from a mine.
When the sun set on that disastrous day the fleet slipped out of the Dardanelles, never again to renew its attack in force. The great attempt had failed; three battleships had gone down, and the French and British navies were the poorer by the loss of many gallant men. It was now clear to all that an unsupported naval attack was powerless to force a right-of-way through the Hellespont. Though the lost battleships had been destroyed by mines, the wisdom of our forefathers had been fully justified: well-armed forts are more than a match for the gun fire of ships.
For the next month one or more vessels entered the straits each day and opened fire in order to prevent the Turks from repairing their forts. On 28th March the Russian Black Sea Fleet bombarded the outer forts of the Bosporus. There was, however, no sting in these attacks. The fleet had shot its bolt. Our war lords were now preparing for a combined movement by land and sea.
The Victoria Cross was awarded to Lieutenant-Commander Eric Gascoigne Robinson for several acts of bravery during the operations described above. On 26th February, when detailed to destroy a fort which had been silenced by our ships, he advanced alone, under heavy fire, into the enemy's position, and blew up a 4-inch gun. He then returned to his party for another charge, with which he destroyed a second gun. He did the work single-handed, because he knew that the white uniforms of his comrades would make them a good mark for the enemy. Commander Robinson distinguished himself not only by destroying guns, but also by taking part in four attacks on mine-fields—in each case under heavy fire.
Three miles south of Ypres, close to the railway line which runs from that city to Comines, on the Lys, stands Hill 60, now known to all the world as the scene of a furious struggle which merged into a long and fierce battle. You must not imagine Hill 60 as a towering peak, but as a gentle swell of ground not rising much more than sixty feet above the level of the surrounding country. It was, indeed, formed by the earth taken out of a railway cutting and dumped down by the side of the line. At the time when my story opens (17th April) it was a hillock of ploughed land, with woods on all sides of it. Humble as it was, the heroisms done on it have given it a fame that Mont Blanc might envy.
Hill 60 was valuable to the Germans because it overlooked the lower ground on which the British had dug their trenches. Observers on the hill could watch what was going on down below, and direct the fire of their heavy guns which were stationed a couple of miles or so to the rear. The whole hill was seamed with trenches and saps. The Germans held the upper slopes and the summit, and their positions were only fifty yards away from those of the British. They had strongly fortified the hill, because they knew that its loss would force them to give up a large part of their line. For this reason, and because it would afford us a gun position commanding much of the German front, we now prepared a bold attack upon it.
Since the Battle of Neuve Chapelle and the counter-attack at St. Eloi there had been a lull in the fighting. Of course, the big guns on both sides fired daily, and the aeroplanes of friend and foe made constant raids and observation flights; but the infantry had been but little engaged. On 1st April an Allied aviator played a practical joke on the Germans. He flew over Lille, and dropped a football on the aerodrome.[34] It bounded up to a great height, and the Germans, thinking that it was a new kind of bomb, at once scuttled away into cover. The supposed bomb did not explode, and after a time they ventured out to examine it, and discovered this inscription on it: "April fool—Gott strafe England,"[35]
In the early days of April our engineers, all unknown to the enemy, were busy driving galleries under Hill 60, and preparing mines. At seven o'clock on the morning of 17th April, when the 1st Royal West Kents and the 2nd King's Own Scottish Borderers were waiting with fixed bayonets, the mines under the hillock were exploded. There was a terrific roar, and it seemed as though the German trenches had been struck by an earthquake. Parapets, sand-bags, wire entanglements, and the bodies of the men were blown high into the air. The trenches disappeared, and in place of them yawned huge craters and mounds of piled earth. Before the dense columns of dust and smoke could subside, our guns belched forth shrapnel and high-explosive shells, so as to prevent the enemy from sending up reinforcements. In the midst of the whirlwind of shot and flame the Germans who had survived the explosions were seen falling over one another in their efforts to escape by means of the communication trenches. They were so panic-stricken that some of them forced a way to safety by charging through their own ranks with the bayonet.
Then the whistles blew, and the West Kents, closely followed by the Scottish Borderers, clambered over their parapets, and, rushing up the slope, took possession of the craters, while some of their comrades pursued the flying Germans and fought furiously with them in the narrow trenches. Barricades were erected in the communication trenches, and over these the enemy flung hand grenades. The British, however, made good their hold on the craters, and twenty minutes after the charge was made were strongly posted with machine guns on the coveted position. Hill 60 was ours.
Early next morning (Sunday, 18th April) the Germans in mass formation made two attacks on the hill, but they were mown down by machine guns and shrapnel. Nevertheless they kept up their assaults all day, and by 6 p.m. had won back part of the southern edge. The 2nd West Riding and 2nd Yorkshire Light Infantry were now sent up to relieve the West Kents and Scottish Borderers. Supported by heavy artillery fire, they dashed forward and drove out the enemy at the point of the bayonet. While doing so they captured fifty-three prisoners, including four officers. During this advance we lost heavily, but the Germans lost more, and the slopes were littered with the bodies of friend and foe.
For three days the struggle continued, almost without pause. The Germans fiercely shelled the hill, and hurled upon it a constant shower of bombs. Our men were exposed to fire from three sides, but they held on like limpets to a rock. On the evening of the 20th the Germans made another infantry attack, which lasted for an hour and a half, but once more they were repulsed by the stubborn British. It was during this period of fighting that Lieutenant George Roupell and Second Lieutenant Geoffrey Woolley won the Victoria Cross, as you will read on a later page.
At dawn the next morning we discovered that the Germans had dug themselves in on the north-east edge of the hill. In the afternoon they were driven off, and then their artillery literally plastered the hill with shells of all kinds, some of them containing gases which blinded and choked our men. Against a tiny table top of 250 yards long by 200 yards deep tons of metal and high explosives were flung from howitzers and field guns at close range. It seemed to observers that nothing could live in that zone of fire; nevertheless the defenders hung on for four and a half terrible days. The hill was still ours on Thursday, the 22nd. Then came a lull: the storm of battle had begun to rage over a far wider field.
The struggle for the hill did not cease with the opening of this new battle. Before every big attack which the Germans made elsewhere they delivered a furious assault on the hill. At length, on 6th May, after a series of gas attacks, they won it back, and also some trenches to the north of it. By this time, however, it had been so blown away by mine explosions and artillery fire as to be of little value. A friend of mine, who visited it a week later, "could barely detect the gentle swell among the flat meadows."
Before I pass on to describe the Second Battle of Ypres, let me relate some soldiers' stories of the fierce fighting on Hill 60. A correspondent tells us that the Scottish Borderers never lost heart during the awful bombardment to which they were subjected. "These astounding men," he says, "holding hastily-dug trenches by the side of a yawning crater full of dead and wounded, with high-explosive shells bursting all around them and often falling amongst them, actually sang as they fired over the parapets or lobbed their bombs over the barriers across the old communication trenches of the Germans. Amid the flares that lit up the hilltop as clear as day, and the shells that burst with clouds of whitish yellow smoke, they shouted in chorus, 'Here we are! Here we are! Here we are again!' Thus a company of the West Kents, sent up in support, found them at daybreak. The Borderers had been obliged to fall back from the trench on the outer lip of the crater to a trench on its near side, so that the chasm lay between them and the Germans. Their captain lay stark and stiff in the crater, which was so full of dead and wounded that, in the words of a West Kents' officer, 'hardly a portion of the ground could be seen.'" "It's dogged as does it," according to the old saying, and never were men more dogged than the King's Own Scottish Borderers during that fearful ordeal.
The same correspondent gives us some details of the splendid advance made by the Duke of Wellington's Own (2nd West Riding) and the 2nd Yorkshire Light Infantry, when they drove the Germans off the southern edge. "At six o'clock the Duke's, as full of fight as ever, with bayonets fixed, were away over the parapet of their battered trench, followed by their fellow-countrymen of Yorkshire, some of the K.O.S.B.'s, and the Queen Victoria Rifles, a London Territorial battalion that did magnificent work that day. 'B' Company of the Duke's, on the right, reached the German trenches with only slight casualties. 'C' company, in the centre, had to cross open ground, and of the hundred men who charged only Captain Barton and eleven others got into the German trench, where, notwithstanding their small numbers, they killed or routed all the Germans there. 'D' Company, on the left, had likewise to traverse the open, and lost all its officers in passing through the heavily-shelled zone; but with the help of the gallant Yorkshire Light Infantry it managed to secure the trench. Some fine deeds of gallantry were performed on that sombre hillside. Privates Behan and Dryden, of the Duke's, became separated from their company, but charged a German trench single-handed, killing three Germans and capturing two others. When they were reinforced by a detachment without an officer, Behan took command, and showed great ability. Both men afterwards received the Distinguished Conduct Medal."
A "Gaspipe Officer,"[36] writing in Blackwood's Magazine, tells us that, on the evening of 17th April, a group of officers standing on a little rise watched the shrapnel bursting over Hill 60, three and a half miles away. "They were half joyful and half sick at heart. Not one of them would have confessed it, yet each had a great pride in the old division, and a great anxiety that it should do well. Had the charge been successful? Had the gains been made good? They went back into their hut, and sang . . . until it was time to go to bed.
"In the morning news came that the position had been rushed; the Germans had been filled with such panic that they had fled from the trenches on either side of the crater; they were heavily attacking; their guns and bombs were sweeping the new position; there was no wire down yet.
"About nine the same night there was much cheering in the darkness of the camp. The remains of two battalions had returned from the hill. Then first we learned the names of the fallen. Still there was no wire down. . . . It took five or six days before the wire was down and trenches properly made. During those days no battalion could remain for more than fifteen hours on the hill, and at the end of its shift it would return broken. The men could see the guns that were firing at them. . . . The hill was death. But the 5th Division never let go. They stuck to the hill while the sappers put up wire and made it defensible."
Before I close this chapter I will give you some account of the soldiers who won the Victoria Cross for deeds of outstanding gallantry during the period between the Battle of Neuve Chapelle and the beginning of the Second Battle of Ypres.
Private Robert Morrow, 1st Battalion, Princess Victoria's (Royal Irish) Fusiliers.
Near Messines, on 12th April, some of our trenches were destroyed by the enemy's shell fire, and several of our men were buried in the ruins. Without waiting for orders, and under a very heavy fire, Private Morrow dug out the men and carried them one by one to places of shelter. A score of times he hazarded his own life in rescuing his comrades, and the highest award of valour was the King's tribute to such fearless self-devotion.
Private Edward Dwyer, 1st Battalion, East Surrey Regiment.
When His Majesty the King pinned the coveted cross on the breast of Private Dwyer, he was amazed at the boyish appearance of the hero. He was but nineteen years of age when he ran through the hail of death up the slope of Hill 60; yet he was already a veteran, for he had fought from Mons to the Marne, and back to the Aisne, and had played his part in many a Flanders battle. He and his comrades of the East Surreys held a trench of Hill 60 with wonderful doggedness. Quite early in the encounter Dwyer went out from the cover of his trench and bandaged several of his badly-wounded comrades. No one would have been more surprised than Edward Dwyer if he had been told that these acts of mercy were heroic. He considered them his plain duty—that was all.
Dwyer and his comrades were assailed by German hand-grenade throwers. Their bombs came hurtling into the trench, and did awful execution. Dwyer saw that unless the Germans were beaten back with their own weapons the position would be lost. Seizing a supply of bombs, he sprang upon the parapet, and flung his missiles so rapidly and with such unerring aim that he broke up the enemy's advance. At once he became a mark for the enemy's bombers and sharpshooters. Standing high on the parapet, he was an excellent target. Grenades whizzed and cracked in the air around him, rifles were fired at him, and only by a hair's breadth did he escape time after time. At last he was wounded in the head, but even then he did not cease to fling his bombs. They fell right in the thick of the Germans, who were forced back. One man had beaten back a whole company!
Private Dwyer came down from the sand-bags sorely wounded but victorious. He was still unaware that he had done anything heroic. But you and I honour him as a supremely brave man, who added to his gallantry the charm of modesty. While he was recovering from his wounds he addressed recruiting meetings with such burning words that many a man forthwith offered his services to his King and country. Before the year was out he carried the King's commission as second lieutenant.
Lieutenant George Rowland Patrick Roupell, 1st Battalion, the East Surrey Regiment.
This young officer was in command of his company in a front trench on that terrible April day when our men were clinging on to Hill 60 by their eyebrows. Though wounded in several places, he remained at his post, and led his men when they repelled a strong German assault. During a lull in the shattering salvos of fire he had his wounds hurriedly dressed, and then insisted on returning to his trench, which was soon heavily shelled once more. Towards evening, when his company was dangerously weakened, he went back to headquarters through a whirlwind of fire, and returned, bringing with him reinforcements. With these he held the position until his battalion was relieved next morning. Lieutenant Roupell was one of the few survivors of his company. It was his splendid example of courage, devotion, and doggedness that inspired his men to hold out to the end.
Second Lieutenant Benjamin Handley Geary, 4th Battalion (attached 1st Battalion), East Surrey Regiment.
Second Lieutenant Geary held the left crater on Hill 60 with his platoon, a detachment of the Bedfordshire Regiment, and a few reinforcements sent up during the evening and night. The crater was so heavily bombarded by the enemy that the defences were broken down, and throughout the night there were repeated bomb attacks which filled the great hole with dead and wounded. Each attack, however, was splendidly repulsed, mainly owing to the personal gallantry and inspiring example of Lieutenant Geary. At one time he used a rifle with great effect, at another time he threw hand grenades and held off the enemy. Again and again he exposed himself with entire disregard of danger, in order to see by the light of flares where the attack was to be made. In the pauses between the attacks he was busy arranging for ammunition supply and for reinforcements. Lieutenant Geary displayed all the ancient virtues of his race—alertness in seizing opportunities, courage that is heedless of self, leadership that inspires confidence, and steadfastness that never knows defeat. He was severely wounded just before daylight on 21st April. A bullet passed through his head from one side to the other, completely destroying the sight of one eye, and seriously injuring that of the other. He made, however, a rapid recovery.
Lieutenant Geoffrey Harold Woolley, 9th (County of London) Battalion, the London Regiment (Queen Victoria's Rifles), Territorial Force.
At one time during the frenzied struggle which I have described in this chapter, Lieutenant Woolley was the only officer on the hill. With a handful of men he resisted all attacks on his trench, and continued throwing bombs and encouraging his comrades until he was relieved. All this time his trench was under heavy fire from the artillery, bombers, and machine gunners of the enemy. For "sticking it" so gallantly Lieutenant Woolley was rightly awarded the cross of valour. He had the honour of being the first of all Territorials to win this high distinction. Lieutenant Woolley was the son of an Essex clergyman, and was a student at Oxford, preparing to take holy orders, when the war broke out. Although he confessed that he hated fighting, he nevertheless felt that he must serve his country. Shortly after his exploits on the hill he was promoted captain.
Private Edward Warner, 1st Battalion, Bedfordshire Regiment.
On 1st May the Germans launched a gas attack against Hill 60, and Trench 46 had to be abandoned by our men. Though suffering agonies from the poisonous fumes, Private Warner, all by himself, returned to the trench, and prevented the enemy from taking possession of it. Reinforcements were ordered up, but they could not reach the gallant fellow owing to the gas. He then came back, and returned with other men, who helped him to hold the trench until the enemy's attacks ceased. By this time he was completely worn out, and shortly afterwards died from the effects of gas poisoning. Thus perished a hero of heroes.
While the Germans were fiercely shelling Hill 60 the tide of war rolled along the Ypres Salient, which has so often figured in these pages. The Gaspipe Officer already quoted says: "The old Ypres salient was such a silly thing. Imagine for a moment one of those old Greek theatres, semicircular. All the way round the Germans were on the top row of seats, and we were only halfway up. They could see everything that we were doing, while we, hemmed in, had to trust to aeroplanes. And down on the floor of the theatre stood Ypres, through which, or by which, nearly every road to the salient passed."
If you look at the diagram on page 189, you will see how we were holding the salient on the morning of 22nd April. Our lines ran in a semicircle from Steenstraate, on the Yser canal, about four and a half miles to the north of Ypres, right round to the Ypres-Comines canal, about two miles south of the city. Nowhere was the salient more than four and a half miles across; every part of it, including Ypres itself, was, therefore, within range of the enemy's big guns. As the Gaspipe Officer tells us, the Germans held the higher ground, and were thus in a very favourable position for sweeping all parts of the salient with their fire. All the roads to the outer rim of the salient spread out from Ypres like the spokes of a wheel. Our supply and ammunition columns were, therefore, under fire the moment they entered or passed by the city.
The British forces had greatly increased since those days of terrible trial in the preceding October and November, when, with never more than 150,000 men, we had beaten back the furious onrush of at least half a million Germans, and had blocked for ever the coveted road to Calais. We had now some 500,000 men at the front, and we felt, after our great assault at Neuve Chapelle, that we had the upper hand of the enemy, and that henceforth the attack was with us and the defence lay with him. Before, however, he sank into this secondary position he meant to make another desperate effort to reach the Channel ports. This long and fierce struggle, which I am now about to describe, is known as the Second Battle of Ypres.
Look again at the diagram. The Allied line from Steenstraate to Langemarck was held by Turcos and Spahis, French colonial troops from Algeria. Continuing the curve for 5,000 yards was the Canadian Division, consisting of three infantry brigades, in addition to artillery brigades. The first infantry brigade was in reserve, the second (8th and 5th Battalions) lay on the right, and the third (13th and 14th Battalions) on the left, next to the French. The whole division was commanded by General Alderson; Brigadier-General Turner commanded the 3rd Brigade, and Brigadier-General Curry the 2nd Brigade. The trenches, which the Canadians had taken over from the French, were badly made and very wet, and could only be improved with difficulty, as the dead had been buried in the bottoms and the sides. The 28th Division continued the line to the south-east corner of Polygon Wood, where Princess Patricia's Own were stationed. From the wood to Hill 60 the remainder of the salient was manned by the 27th Division.
Though the salient was well known to be a source of weakness, it was not strongly held by the Allies at this time. Probably the Germans were aware of the fact, for suddenly they launched a furious and determined attack against the forces holding it. The only warning which the Allies received was on the 20th, when the guns of the enemy began to bombard Ypres. Huge shells from the heaviest of guns fell in the streets, which were then thronged with citizens and our own reserves. Fifteen little children were killed at their play, and a number of the townsfolk perished amidst the ruins of their houses. Our generals understood at once the meaning of this bombardment. It was meant to block the roads to our lines on the salient, and make the work of sending forward supplies and ammunition very difficult, if not impossible. It was not meant to embarrass us at Hill 60, for we had free roads leading to that position from the west. It could only be the forerunner of an attack on that part of the salient extending from the Yser Canal to the Menin road—that is, on the portion held by the French Colonials, the Canadians, the 28th Division, and Princess Pat's. Our generals viewed the bombardment with anxiety; they knew that we were ill prepared to meet the attacks which were soon to follow.
Thursday, 22nd April, was a peaceful day, warm and sunny. A light, steady wind was blowing from the north-east. About five in the evening an aviator reported that he had seen a strange green cloud, higher than a man, surging across the open ground from the German lines towards the French trenches. It was the deadly poison gas chlorine, which when taken into the lungs sets up acute bronchitis and causes its victims to die in horrible agony. At every fifty feet or so along the German front a battery of twenty retorts had been established. The gas from these retorts had been pumped at high pressure into huge reservoirs from which pipes ran to the front trenches. When the nozzles were turned on, the deadly gas rushed out, and was carried by the wind towards the French lines. Special respirators had been served out to the German soldiers, who were waiting in readiness to take advantage of this foul blow. Never before had poison gas been used in this manner on the battlefield. The Germans were about to sound the deepest depths of their infamy and try to poison those whom they could not beat in fair fight.
Onward rolled the greenish-white cloud, across fields, through woods, and over hedgerows. Soon the Turcos in their trenches were gasping and choking and suffering unspeakable tortures. They were brave men; there was no mortal foe they were not ready to engage; but this creeping cloud that struck them down in agony was a devilish magic which they could neither understand nor resist. A horrible, unreasoning terror took possession of them, and they ran. Back they fled through the dusk, a coughing, blinded crowd, leaving behind them hundreds of their comrades gasping out their lives or lying dead with blue faces and frothy lips. Some of them fled due south towards the Langemarck road, and in the early darkness came upon the reserve battalions of the Canadians, who gazed in amazement upon their wild dark faces, their heaving chests, and speechless lips. Soon the Canadians began to feel the effects of the gas, and many of them were afflicted by a deadly sickness.
A great breach, four miles wide, now yawned between Steenstraate and Langemarck. On the left of the Canadians there was a huge rent, through which the Germans were preparing to advance, while their artillery pitilessly whipped the fugitives onward. The situation was dangerous in the extreme. Ypres appeared to be within the Kaiser's grasp. The Canadians were unsupported on their left; the French trenches were choked with dead and dying; and fifty French guns were in the hands of the enemy. In vain the officers strove to rally the fleeing Turcos. Meanwhile a great mob of Germans pushed through the wall of gas which was now breaking up into patches behind them, and rushed on towards Ypres. Only two miles of open country now separated them from the city of their desire.
Every Briton may thank God that the Canadians were where they were when the cloud of poison gas sent the Turcos fleeing in panic to the rear. These sons of the eldest daughter of the Empire, who prior to the war knew little or nothing of the art and discipline of warfare, were now called upon to save the situation when all seemed lost. They, too, had been "gassed;" and though they had not suffered so severely as the French, many of them were already out of action. Against the 3rd Canadian Brigade four divisions of Germans now flung themselves. They were working round to the rear when General Turner threw back his left flank until his line ran roughly thus:—
This movement had to be carried out while the air was foul with poisonous fumes, while shells were bursting all around, and bullets were flying from scores of machine guns and hundreds of rifles. By nightfall the left wing of the 3rd Brigade was in its new position. Then, under the flickering light of burning farmhouses and cottages and the fitful rays of the moon, the men dug themselves in and prepared to hold on, come what might. By midnight two battalions of the reserve had been brought up, and the Canadians had settled down to their desperate task. So fierce was the German curtain of fire that no food could reach the trenches for twenty-four hours, and then only bread and cheese. A company of the Buffs which attempted to bring relief was altogether destroyed.
The story of the Second Battle of Ypres is mainly the story of how the Canadian Division—outflanked, and outnumbered by four to one, stormed at with shot and shell by the heaviest artillery known to warfare, stupefied by poisonous vapours, unsupported by big guns, unaided by reinforcements, and short of food and water—fought through the day and through the night, and then through another day and night, losing heavily hour by hour, but enduring gloriously, and finally retiring with the proud knowledge that by its superb endurance it had saved the day.
When the French Colonials fled from their trenches, the enemy captured four British guns in the little wood which you see to the east of St. Julien. The teams were miles away, and the guns could not be carried off during the hurry and confusion of changing position. It was gall and wormwood to the Canadians to think these guns should be lost, and they were eager to recover them. Towards midnight, Colonel Leckie and Colonel Boyle led the Canadian Scottish (the 16th Battalion of the 3rd Brigade and the 10th Battalion of the 2nd Brigade) into the wood in a desperate endeavour to win back the guns. Let me tell you the story of this fine charge in the words of an officer who took part in it:—
"It wanted but a few minutes to midnight when we got to a hollow which was at most three hundred yards from the wood. The moon now reappeared at intervals, and we could have done without her. The shrapnel fire had completely ceased, and we had a second spell of a 'silence which could be felt.'
"Whispered orders were given to fix bayonets, which were obeyed in a flash. Overcoats, packs, and even the officers' equipments were dropped, and we immediately advanced in light order.
"Scarcely had we reached a low ridge, in full view of the wood, when a perfect hail of fire was loosed on us from rifles and machine guns, which the Germans had placed in position behind the undergrowth skirting the wood.
"Instantly the word was given to charge, and on we rushed, cheering, yelling, shouting, straight for the foe. At first the Germans fired a little too high, and our losses until we came within fifty yards of them were comparatively small. Then some of our chaps began to drop; then the whole front line seemed to melt away, only to be instantly closed up again.
"Cheering and yelling all the time, we jumped over the bodies of the wounded and tore on. Of the Germans with the machine guns not one escaped, but those inside the wood stood up to us in a most dogged style. We were so quickly at work that those at the edge of the wood could not have got away in any case. Many threw up their hands, and we did not refuse quarter.
"Pressing on into the wood itself, the struggle became a dreadful hand-to-hand conflict; we fought in clumps and batches, and the living struggled over the bodies of the dead and dying. At the height of the conflict, while we were steadily driving the Germans before us, the moon burst out. The clashing bayonets flashed like quicksilver, and faces were lit up as by limelight.
"Sweeping on, we came upon lines of trenches which had been hastily thrown up and could not be stubbornly defended. Here all who resisted were bayoneted; those who yielded were sent to the rear."
Another officer who took part in the attack described how the men about him fell under the fire of the machine guns, which, in his phrase, played upon them "like a watering-pot." He added quite simply, "I wrote my own life off." But neither he nor his men wavered. When one man fell another took his place, and with a final shout the two battalions flung themselves on the wood. The Germans were thrust back by the impetuous advance of the Canadians, who reached the far side of the wood and there entrenched themselves. They retook the guns, but were sorely disappointed to discover that the Germans had rendered them useless. They also captured a number of prisoners, including a colonel.
That night a terrible artillery fire swept the wood "as a tropical storm sweeps the leaves from a forest," and the Canadians fell back from the position which they had won at the price of many a brave life. All through the night the fighting went on without pause. The attacks constantly grew in strength, and it seemed hardly possible that the Canadians could resist much longer.
At six on the morning of Friday the enemy began an outflanking movement that looked very dangerous. In order to relieve the strain a counter-attack on the first line of German trenches was ordered. This was carried out by the Ontario 1st and 4th Battalions of the 1st Brigade, under General Mercer. The advance was made across 2,300 yards of open country, every yard of which was under hot shell fire.
"It is safe to say," writes Sir Max Aitken, the Canadian record officer, "that the youngest private in the ranks, as he set his teeth for the advance, knew the task in front of him, and the youngest subaltern knew all that rested on its success. It did not seem that any human being could live in the shower of shot and shell which began to play upon the advancing troops.
"They suffered terrible casualties. For a short time every other man seemed to fall, but the attack was pressed ever closer and closer. The 4th Canadian Battalion at one time came under a particularly withering fire. For a moment—not more—it wavered. Its most gallant commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Birchall, carrying, after an old fashion, a light cane, coolly and cheerfully rallied his men, and at the very moment when his example had infected them, fell dead at the head of his battalion. With a hoarse cry of anger they sprang forward (for, indeed, they loved him) as if to avenge his death.
"The astonishing attack which followed, pushed home in the face of direct frontal fire, made in broad daylight, by battalions whose names should live for ever in the memories of soldiers, was carried to the first line of the German trenches. After a hand-to-hand struggle, the last German who resisted was bayoneted, and the trench was won."
The Canadian left was now safe. The German trench was occupied, and held against all comers in the teeth of every kind of deadly missile that could be hurled against it. It was still in the hands of the victors on Sunday, 25th April, when all that remained of the war-broken battalions was relieved.
At 4 a.m. on the morning of Friday, the 23rd, the Germans sent a great discharge of poison gas against the 2nd Brigade, which held the line running north-east, and upon the 3rd Brigade, which had continued the line up to the pivotal position and had then spread down in a south-easterly direction. In two minutes a cloud seven feet high rolled from the German trenches into those of the Canadians. The defenders had no respirators, but some of them wrapped wet handkerchiefs about their mouths, and thus obtained a little relief. They dared not retire, even if they had wished to do so, for the gas would follow them, and the exertion would cause them to draw deeper breaths of the deadly vapour. So, with blue, swollen faces and bloodshot eyes almost bursting from their sockets, they held on. Men went sick and giddy a thousand yards behind the line, and even the grass and trees grew white as the fumes passed over them.