PRIVATE JAMES PETER ROBINSON, 27TH BATTALION

Late in the afternoon of November 5th, the 27th (City of Winnipeg) Battalion, under Lieutenant-Colonel P. J. Daly, D.S.O., left Hill 37 and began the weary tramp along the duckboard trail to the front line. The village of Passchendaele was to be captured by the 2nd Canadian Division on the morrow, and all along the Corps front soldiers, weary with long days in the trenches, were being replaced by fresh men. The relief of the 29th Battalion was completed early in the evening, but the move to the assembly position was not made for several hours, Colonel Daly contenting himself with establishing a line of posts some fifty yards in advance of the front line, to intercept any inquisitive Hun. Soon after midnight the men moved to the assembly, and by 3 a.m. the gathering was complete and the troops resting in the mud after their long tramp from the reserve area.

The night was very dark, and, though the enemy did not spare his artillery, few casualties were caused. On the left of the 27th Battalion lay the troops of the 31st, and on the right those of the 26th. Their objective this time was the village of Passchendaele itself, and the men were pleased because it was their part to attack the real objective of the whole offensive, after the stubborn preliminary operations of the 26th and 30th of October.

Promptly at 6 a.m. our barrage came down, 150 yards in advance of our front line, and from there it advanced, at a rate of 100 yards in eight minutes, with our men close behind. The morning was dull and overcast, and the attack appeared to be a complete surprise, the assailants following so close upon the curtain of shell-fire that they were amongst the enemy and using their bayonets freely before the surviving Germans had recovered from the whirl of flame and explosions that had so suddenly enveloped them.

The German front line of defence consisted of fortified shell-holes, and many of the machine-guns established there were knocked out at once by our heavy fire; the occupants stood no chance against our men with the bayonet, and the Canadians swept over with scarcely a halt, catching up the barrage and reaching the outskirts of Passchendaele town just behind it. The troops holding the enemy's main line before the village had no desire to try conclusions with the owners of those free-swinging bayonets, and without hesitation they bolted, unfortunately for themselves, arriving in the middle of the ruined town simultaneously with our barrage, which had been arranged to play on this portion of the objective for a double space of time. But strong emplacements amongst the masonry still gave our men pause.

On the left flank of the 27th Battalion a German machine gun, surrounded by uncut wire and broken, reinforced walls, formed an ideal point for stubborn defence. The flanking platoon charged this position three times, and on each occasion was driven back. The assaults were met by the point-blank fire of the machine-gun, and by bullets from riflemen in the ruined houses along the main street of the village. Then, while his platoon brought as heavy rifle and Lewis gun fire as possible to bear upon the emplacement, Private Robertson crossed the open line of fire alone, and running round the flank of the position, leapt the barbed wire and got in with his bayonet among the garrison. He had bayoneted several men before the gun crews had gathered their wits to meet the sudden onslaught, and his furious fighting daunted the remainder. They fled, nothing left them but the instinct of self-preservation. But Robertson did not intend to let them escape—he had been told too often at his training camp that his aim in life, nay, his whole ambition and purpose, should be centred on the elimination of the Bosche. Seizing the captured gun, he swung it about and opened fire on the running men, killing most of them before his platoon had arrived at the position he had captured so gallantly. Then, bearing the captured gun with him, he continued on his way towards the final objective, the eastern outskirts of the town, meeting with several opportunities to use his new weapon and wasting none. The troops followed him down the main Passchendaele street, past the broken church, mopping up the enemy's strong points among the masonry as they advanced, and taking few prisoners. About each damaged machine-gun and every ruined cottage they left German dead, almost every man killed with the bayonet.

Little further resistance was encountered. The enemy had no taste for the brand of fighting in vogue, and our snipers, passing through the foremost line, lay out in advance of our busy troops, harassing points of possible hostile observation, and making an end of many Germans who sought refuge in the woods behind the town. But the enemy's shell-fire was intense and destructive. With his range noted to a nicety from his previous occupation of our new line, he pounded the unfortunate village, occasionally revenging himself for our successful shooting with a burst of shrapnel just in advance of our line.

During the consolidation, Private Robertson had been busy with his new machine-gun, but, seeing two of our men lying wounded well in advance of the line, he abandoned the gun and without hesitation went forward to bring them in. He got in successfully enough with the first man, but now the Germans, stiffened by reinforcements, had returned on their tracks and were establishing posts behind every available piece of cover. In spite of a veritable storm of bullets, Robertson went out again. He fell before reaching the second man—he was probably hit—but picking himself up, he continued his way, and secured his wounded comrade. Slipping on the sticky mud, nearly exhausted, he stuck to his man, and had put him down close to our own line, when an unlucky shell exploded near by, killing him instantly. He did not live to know the honour he had won, but the men of his battalion who fought through Passchendaele village will not forget him.