VI THE LONDON MEN AT GOMMECOURT

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July 19

As long ago as Loos, which seems an enormous time ago, it was proved that London produces men of great fighting qualities, not weakened by City life, and, in spite of more sensitive nerves than country-bred men, able to stand the strain of battle just as well, with a quick intelligence in a tight corner, and with pride and imagination that do not let them surrender self-respect.

“London men fight on their nerves,” said one of our Generals the other day, “but they make great soldiers. More stolid men often give way to shell shock and strain more easily than the Londoner, with all his sensibility.”

In our great attack of July 1 some of the London battalions again showed a very fine courage and a most self-sacrificing devotion to duty in hours of supreme ordeal.

They broke the German line at Gommecourt and when ill-luck beset them on either side, so that they found themselves in utterly untenable positions, with heavy losses, they held on stubbornly against the enemy’s counter-attacks, and suffered all that war can make men suffer—there is hardly a limit to that, God knows—with Stoic endurance.

These men belonged to old Volunteer regiments, famous in times of peace, when once a year young City clerks and professional men took a fortnight’s leave at Easter for manœuvres on Salisbury Plain, and came back rather stiff and rather bronzed, with stories of sham fights and jolly bivouacs at night, and smoking concerts with good fellows who lead a chorus. It was a great adventure—in times of peace!

But even when the Volunteers changed their form into the Territorials and war tightened up in discipline, and attended more drills and had a harder time in camp, no man guessed that before a year or two had passed the Queen’s Westminsters would be fighting through hell-fire in France, or that “the old Vics”—the Queen Victoria Rifles—would be smashing through German barbed wire under machine-gun fire, or that the Rangers and the London Rifle Brigade and the London Scottish would be crossing ground, strewn with dead and wounded, in a storm of high explosives.

“Punch” made funny pictures about this amateur soldiering. The “Terriers” were not thought to count for much by military critics who had seen service in South Africa....

Well, in this war the Territorial infantry and the Territorial gunners have counted for a great deal, and during these last few days they have proved themselves, once again, great soldiers—great in attack and great in resistance.

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When the four leading battalions left their trenches near Gommecourt at 7.30 after the great bombardment of the German position they had a long way to go before they reached the enemy’s front lines.

No Man’s Land was a broad stretch of ground, 400 yards across in some parts, and not less than 200 yards at the narrowest point.

It was a long, long journey in the open, for 50 yards, or 20, are long enough to become a great graveyard if the enemy’s machine-guns get to work.

But they advanced behind dense smoke-clouds, which rolled steadily towards the German trenches and kept down the machine-gunners in their dug-outs. Unlike the experience of most of our men in other parts of the line, they escaped lightly from machine-gun fire, and their chief risk was from the barrage of shell-fire which the enemy flung across No Man’s Land with some intensity.

But the Londoners started forward to this line of high explosives and went on and through at a quick pace, in open order. On the left was the London Rifle Brigade, in the centre came the Rangers and “Vics.,” on the right the London Scottish, and, behind, the Queen’s Westminsters and Kensingtons, who were to advance through the others.

Men fell across the open ground, caught by flying bits of shell or buried by the great bursts of high explosives which opened up the earth. But the others did not look back, afraid to weaken themselves by the sight of their stricken comrades, and at a great pace, half walking and half running, reached the German line. It was no longer a system of trenches.

It was a sea of earth with solid waves. Our heavy guns had annihilated parapet and parados, smashed the timbers into matchwood, strewn sandbags into rubbish heaps, and made a great wreckage. But German industry below ground was proof against all this shell-fire, and many of the dug-outs still stood.

They were full of Germans, for the line was strongly held, and many of these men came up with their machine-guns and bombs to resist the attack. But the Londoners sprang upon them, swept over them, and captured the front network of trenches with amazing speed.

It was not a steady-going business, slow and deliberate. The quick mind of the London man spurred him to quick action.

He did not linger to collect souvenirs, or to chat with English-speaking Germans. “London leads!” was the shout of Victorias and Westminsters.

The London Scottish were racing forward on the right with their brown kilts swinging across the broken ground. But the officers kept their heads and as much order as possible at such a time.

They held back enough men to clear the dug-outs and collect prisoners—the best kind of souvenirs.

Two hundred of them were captured in the dug-outs and brought up and sent back over the place that had been No Man’s Land and now, for a time, was ours.

At least 200 came back, but there were many more who never got back, though they started on the journey under armed guard.

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The enemy’s artillery was increasing the density of the barrage upon our old front-line trenches and the ground in front of it.

He made a wall of high explosives through which no living thing could pass. The escorts and their prisoners tried to pass—and failed.

At the time the London men fighting forward did not think of that barrage behind them. They were eager to get on, to be quick over the first part of their business before taking breath for the next.

And they got on with astounding speed. In less than the time it has taken me to write this narrative No Man’s Land had been crossed, the trenches had been taken, the prisoners collected and sent back on their way, and German strongholds and redoubts behind the first system of trench work had been seized by London regiments.

It would have taken them longer to walk from Charing-cross to St. Paul’s-churchyard with no Germans in the way. It was the quickest bit of work that has been done by any freemen of the city.

The Riflemen had swarmed into a strong point on the left, knocking out the machine-guns, and on the right the London Scots were holding a strong redoubt in a very ugly corner of ground. Everything had been won that London had been asked to win.

Before some hours had passed these London soldiers knew that they were in a death-trap and cut off from escape.

Owing to the great strength of the enemy to the right and left of the position where they had concentrated masses of guns, and where the ground was more difficult to carry, the troops on either side of the Londoners, in spite of heroic courage and complete self-sacrifice, had advanced so far.

The London men had therefore thrust forward a salient into the German lines, and were enclosed by the enemy.

Behind them, on the way to their own lines, the enemy’s barrage was steadily becoming more violent. Having stopped the other attacks to the north and south, he was now able to concentrate the fire of his guns upon the ground in the London area, and by the early afternoon he had smashed our trenches and communication trenches, while still flinging out a line of high explosives to prevent supports coming up to the men who were in the captured salient.

They were cut off, and had no other means of rescue but their own courage.

Desperate efforts were made by their comrades behind to send up supplies of ammunition and other means of defence. The carrying parties attempted again and again to cross No Man’s Land, but suffered heavy casualties.

One party of 60 men, with supplies of hand grenades, set out on this journey, but only three came back. Single men went on with a few grenades, determined to carry some kind of support to the men in front, but fell dead or wounded before they reached their goal.

On the right the London Scottish were holding on to their redoubt, building barricades and beating off the German bombers. But as the hours passed ammunition became scarce. Our supplies of bombs were almost exhausted, here and there quite exhausted. The London men went about collecting German bombs, and for some time these served, but not enough could be found to maintain effective fire. The position became more ugly.

But the men did not lose heart. In those bad hours there were many men who showed great qualities of courage, and were great captains whatever their rank. One officer—to mention only one—was splendid when things were worst.

He had taken command of a company when his senior officer was killed in the first assault, and kept his men in good heart so that they could organise a defence against the enemy’s counter-attacks.

They were surrounded by German grenadiers and suffered heavily from artillery, machine-gun and sniping fire. The number of the wounded increased steadily. The bombing party keeping the enemy back flung all their bombs, and then had empty hands and were helpless. Not many rounds of ammunition were left for the riflemen. After that there would be no defence. But the officer would not give way to hopelessness. He rallied six or seven good men about him, and ordered the others to retreat with the wounded and take their chance across No Man’s Land while he put up a last fight.

With his small band he held the barricade until the others had gone away, and held on still until all but two of his men were killed.

He was the last to leave, and by a miracle of luck came back to his own lines unwounded, except for a few scars and scratches. The courage of the man and his fine spirit saved the situation at the most critical time, and saved also many good lives.

There were many men of fine valour there. Men of London, not bred for war, and liking life as one sees it when there are pretty faces in Kensington Gardens, and when there’s sunlight on the windows in the Strand, and when the dome of St. Paul’s rises like a white cloud above the busses in Ludgate-hill.

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One of them was a lance-corporal who was wounded in two places, so badly that his right arm hung useless by his side. But he would not give in.

“If I can’t use a weapon,” he said, “I can give a lead to my chums.” And he gave them a lead, taking charge of a group of men holding the left flank of a position, organising them into bombing parties, and directing them to build barricades. He held on to his post until the German attack became too strong and was the last to leave.

A boy in the London Scottish—I played at ball with him once in an old garden when there was laughter in the world—escaped death by a kind of miracle.

The trench he was in, with forty men, was being shelled to bits, and rather than fall into the hands of the Germans he decided to attempt escape. With one of his sergeants he made his way towards our lines, but had only gone a short distance when the sergeant was shot dead.

A bullet came a moment later and struck my friend. It was deflected from his brandy flask and went through his thigh, knocking him head over heels into a shell-hole. Here he lay for some hours until it was dark, when he succeeded in crawling back to his lines.

He was the only one saved of his forty comrades.

Gradually the men withdrew, straggling back across No Man’s Land, which was still under great shell-fire, so that the way of escape was full of peril.

It was the turn of the stretcher-bearers, and they worked with great courage. And here one must pay a tribute to the enemy.

“We had white men against us,” said one of the officers, “and they let us get in our wounded without hindrance as soon as the fight was over.”

It is only fair to say that they acted with humanity, and one wishes to God that they would not use such foul means of destruction as those newly invented by chemists with devilish cruelty.

The soldiers are better than their scientists, and in this case at least they remembered the spirit of chivalry which they have not often remembered in all the foulness of this war.

It was difficult enough to get in the wounded. Many of them could not be found or brought back and stayed on the field of battle suffering great anguish for days and nights. One man who was wounded early in the battle of July 1 crawled over to three other wounded men and stayed with them until the night of July 6.

During that time he tended his comrades, who were worse than he was, and went about among dead men gathering food and water from their haversacks and bottles.

But for him his friends would have died. On the night of the 6th he succeeded in getting back to our lines across that awful stretch of No Man’s Land, and then insisted upon going back as the guide of the stretcher-bearers who brought in the others.