Byron’s: “Childe Harold.”

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

I got a biscuit from Tibby Tennant, and was eating it when I got shot. M‘Phail was beside me, and dressed my wounds as well as he could: Pte. Clark, Highland Light Infantry.

Unexpected

I will tell you of a cute trick of our gunners. They got a lot of empty wagons and put them in a wood. The Germans, seeing them, thought they were our guns put out of action. They rushed out for them, and our artillery did not half scatter them, killing about four hundred: Pte. Brown, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment.

Turpinite

I saw some of the effects of turpinite, the wonderful French explosive, used in this war for the first time. I saw a trench full of dead Germans killed by it. They were standing right up in the trenches looking as though they were still alive: Pte. Thompson, 2nd Dragoon Guards.

Took Off the Roof!

I was standing within 50 yards of a house one day when a shell came and took the roof clean off; you could see the cups on the table quite plain; a clean sweep. I counted about thirty shells drop around us the same day in half an hour; we had only two horses and a man shot: Tpr. C. McCarthy, 4th Hussars.

Lancashire!

Fellows were being knocked out all round, and wounded were crying for help. Frequently one would say to his neighbour, “Bill, how’s ta gettin’ on?” but Bill, who had been as cheery as a cricket just before, was found to be picked off. Our ranks were so thinned that by the time we got within charging distance of the enemy’s trenches we had not sufficient men left for the charge: Pte. Harvey, North Lancashire Regiment.

Up Aloft!

All our troops blamed the German aeroplanes for the heavy loss which we sustained. It did not matter where we went to try and get an hour’s sleep, there would be an aeroplane over us. The Germans dropped a little disc—a sort of long tape—from their aeroplanes, about twenty yards in front of our trenches, and shortly after the Germans would start shelling us. I think it is mostly the aeroplanes which enable them to get our range so accurately as they do: A Private of the Manchester Regiment.

His Own Back

We were only 300 yards from a battery of German “death screechers,” which naturally opened fire into us, doing great damage. We soon silenced them, though. Worked round their flank and picked off the gunners. Please don’t think I am boasting, but I picked off eight. I had a splendid position. I was firing three hours before they hit me seriously. When I was hit I didn’t care; my rifle was smashed to atoms by a shell, but I was gloriously happy, having got my own back before being put out of action: A Private of the Sussex Regiment.

Sleep Through Anything

The Germans keep firing away by night as well as day, and that gives them a big pull over us, because the men in our lines find it hard to sleep with the continual shelling. Firing from your own lines doesn’t affect you in the same way, so that it doesn’t keep the Germans awake unless we bombard them. Men without sleep are not nearly so fit for fighting the next day. Not all of our chaps are kept awake. There are some who could sleep through anything: Gunner Dyson, Royal Artillery.

“Lucky, Considering”

My company was advancing on a wood from which the Germans were picking off our men. We were lying down firing, when from the wood was shouted, “Stop it, you are firing on your own men.” Someone said, “Cease fire,” and we did. Then a very hot fire came at us from the wood. My left-hand man was shot through the stomach, and then my right-hand man was shot through the head. It was a German who had shouted to us. Then a shell, a 96-pounder, burst over us, and a piece of it took away from me a large piece of my left side. I am lucky, considering: Pte. J. Sullivan, South Lancashires.

Nothing Wasted

We killed a tremendous number of them, and owing to their massed formation they were practically standing up dead in front of us. It just suited us to be plugging at them. They came on as if they thought they had nothing to do but take the lot of us, but they were surprised to find that they could not do so. The Germans shoot promiscuously, believing that their shots must hit someone. They had not the same chance of hitting us, and rarely attempted to pick out their man before they shot. I should think that in three days I fired between five hundred and six hundred rounds of ammunition, and we did not waste any; every shot was meant for someone: Private P. Case.

Those Uhlans

We were attacked by a brigade of German cavalry—Uhlans. We got out of the trenches and prepared to receive their attack. I caught the first horse with my bayonet, causing it to swerve so suddenly to the right that the Uhlan was pitched on his head, breaking his neck, I fancy, but not before I heard a sword whizz past my head. I did not feel at all comfortable. I also caught the second horse, but he got his hoof on my left foot, and I felt something on my chest throwing me on to the ground. What happened afterwards I don’t know, as I was unconscious for the next thirty-six hours: Sergt. Gibson, Sussex Regiment.

Stonewalling!

The fighting was hard at times, but only really terrible when you were groping about in the dark exposed to heavy rifle or artillery fire without the least suspicion of where it was coming from at the moment or likely to come from next. Later, when we had settled down to the work and could see what we were up against, it was child’s play, so to speak, and all you had to do was to lie in the trenches and pick the Germans off as you saw them coming on to the attack. And to pick them off is just like taking shots at a stone-finished wall. You can’t help hitting something, and every time you hit you are taking chips off the wall: A Private of the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment.

The Way of It

The shrapnel shells of the Germans were bursting over the trenches where we were lying, and I was struck in the foot with a piece of shell, which took the sole of my boot clean off. Five minutes later, when I was trying to help a fellow near me who had been hit in the shoulder, I was struck in the right thigh by a pellet from a shrapnel shell. I fired one more shot after that. I aimed for the driver of a German machine gun and hit him. This was my first experience of actual fighting, and I can tell you it is a funny sensation at first to see the shells bursting near and around you, to hear the bullets whistling by you, but you soon get used to it all. It tries your nerves a bit at first, but you soon get in the way of it: Private C. D. Moore.

Like an Exodus

We of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders took up a position facing a wood where the Germans were in strong force. As they emerged our boys met them with a raking rifle fire, which mowed them down. On they came again, and again with the same devastating result. Their bullets came whistling round us, but we were indifferent, the marksmanship being very poor. The German infantry carry their rifles under their arms, the butts resting on their hips, and they fire as they march. As the enemy poured out en masse into the open it was like the exodus from the Celtic and Rangers Scottish Cup final! Man, if they were only three to one we could go through them easily, but when it comes to ten to one, strategy as well as bravery has to be considered: An Argyll and Sutherland Highlander.

A Long, Long Day

I rolled a cigarette, thinking the engagement finished for the time, and was making my way up the ridge ahead of my company to see how far the Germans had retired. I had gone some considerable distance when thousands of Germans reappeared on the sky-line, and of course I had to dash back to my company. Every second I expected a bullet through my back, but I was lucky and was bowled over by one which fractured my right elbow, and I broke my forearm as I fell. The Germans advanced right over me, but after taking all my grub out of my haversack they left me to my fate. I lay there until dark and it was the longest day I remember. The bullets and shells flew over my head incessantly, some only falling a few yards away from where I lay. As soon as darkness fell and the firing ceased the stretcher-bearers came out and got me away. Once or twice I sat up to see what chance I had of getting away, but the dirty devils kept on sniping at me, and I had to lie down again. I could see, however, that the ground was covered with dead Germans: Pte. Priest, Coldstream Guards.

Every House a Fort

We were standing close to an orchard, and some of us were killing time and quenching thirst by picking apples from the overhanging trees, when the enemy opened fire with their guns and their rifles. We were quickly formed into positions allotted to us, and advanced to the attack supported by the Irish Rifles, who were moving slowly, as their job was to cover our rushes with rifle fire. Our own artillery opened out, adding to the frightful din, and making us think we had been transported to the infernal regions. Soon we reached the village and found the Germans occupying the houses in strong force. Every house was a little fort, and the infantry were firing from the windows furiously, picking us off as we came along. In some houses they had machine guns mounted at the windows with which to sweep our line of advance. On another house a big gun was placed in position, and some of our sharpshooters were told off to pick off the men working it. This they did in a short time, and it was silenced. Seeing that, the Germans attempted to send up a new gun’s crew, but they had to pass under fire when they came out on the roof, so that our men lay there picking them off as fast as they showed their heads. That went on for over an hour, but they didn’t get their gun manned, for every man who tried it was shot down. After that they gave it up: A Wounded Corporal.

A Gallant Sky Pilot

We had no trenches, all that was available being head “cover,” and in some parts there was very little of that. The noise was terrible, while all the time the shells were bursting around. Occasionally when they exploded near us the shrapnel even tore our clothes. The shells, however, which did the most damage were those which burst in the air. While the action was going on we could see quite a number of the German aeroplanes operating above us. Their object was to discover our position, and when they had accomplished this they dropped some kind of powder which burst into flames as it descended and showed their artillery at what places to direct their shell fire. There was a most exciting and peculiar incident in the course of the engagement. An aeroplane hovered above our lines and then darted towards the Germans. Our artillery fired at it, and when the enemy saw it their artillery also attempted to bring it down. The machine came back in our direction, still under a heavy fire, and you can imagine our surprise when it descended amongst us and a young Frenchman stepped out of it. He had been sent to discover the position of the Germans. The frame of the aeroplane was riddled with bullets, but in spite of that fact he made several visits in the course of the evening towards the German lines: Pte. R. Stobbie, Highland Light Infantry.

The Unexpected

We were in a field when the Germans dropped on us all of a sudden as though from the sky. The first hint we had of their presence was when a battery of guns on our right sang out, dropping shells into a mob of us who were waiting for our turn at the washtub—the river. We all ran to our posts in response to bugles, and by the time we all stood to arms the German cavalry came into view in great strength all along the left front. As soon as they came within range we poured a deadly volley into them, emptying saddles right and left, and they scattered in all directions. Meanwhile their artillery kept working up closer on the front and the right, and a dark cloud of infantry showed out against the sky-line on our front, advancing in formation rather loose for the Germans. We opened on them, and they made a fine target for our rifle fire, which was very well supported by our artillery. The fire from our guns was very effective, the range being found with ease, and we could see the shells dropping right into the enemy’s ranks. Here and there their lines began to waver and give way, and finally they disappeared: A Wounded Guardsman.

No Love Lost

It’s very little love indeed there is lost between us and the Germans, and when they get to grips with Irish soldiers they don’t get much chance of saving their skins. The things the Germans do in Belgium are ten times worse than anything you ever heard tell of in ’98, and there’s few Irishmen can stand what they’ve done without wanting to tear them to bits in good, honest fighting. We saw the Irish Guards give the Germans a fine basting at CompiÈgne, and we were proud of the way they behaved. When they came back to our lines after it was over they had a grand cheer from all of us, and the French troops, who were nearer to the fight and saw it better than us, weren’t behindhand in giving our boys a good pat on the back. It would have done your heart good to see the Frenchmen standing up in their trenches and shouting like mad as the Guards passed by. The poor chaps got shy and sick of all the fuss that was made over them. They didn’t like the idea that it was their first time on active service and that they were only babies at fighting, and there was many a row in the camp that night over men saying fine things about the Guards, and reminding them of the fact that they never had had any battle honours before that day: Private P. Heffernan.

“Up, Guards,” and at ’Em?

Shrapnel began to burst around us, and the Guards had to prepare to engage the cavalry now creeping closer. Suddenly the cavalry remounted their horses, and came crashing down on our chaps. “Now, Guards!” was all the officer in command said, but his men knew what he meant, and they braced themselves for the tussle. They lined up in the good old British square that has proved a terror to European armies before, and the front ranks waited with the bayonet, while the men inside kept blazing away at the advancing horsemen. They came closer and closer, and the earth seemed to shake and quiver beneath their rush. “Steady!” was all the commander of the Guards said, and he said it in a dull way, as though he were giving a piece of advice to some noisy youngsters who had been making a row. The men answered not a word, but they set their teeth. Then the crash came. Steel met steel, and sparks shot out as sword crossed bayonet. The game of the Germans was to ride down our ranks, but they didn’t know that that trick won’t work with British troops, and the Guardsmen kept their ground, in spite of the weight of men and horses. The Germans came to a dead stop, and just then they got a volley from the centre of the square. They broke and scattered, and then they got another volley: A British Guardsman.

Clearing Them Out

The Germans held a position on the hills in front of us, and their infantry had trenches just below them. Their shells started to drop on us. We rushed along. We were getting mowed down, but we had to shift them, as the officer said they were there long enough. How they missed me I do not know. We got to about 100 yards of their trenches, when the general passed the word up that the brigade would fix bayonets and charge, taking the time to “go” from the bugle. It was an anxious time waiting for the moment. I said to myself, and a lot more the same, “This is my last rush, but I will fight for my life to the last.” The bugle sounded at last, and we made a dash for it. The men were falling each side of me. I was doubled up. We made a bit of a cheer, but it was more like a groan. There was only about half of us got there. When I got to their trenches I made a sort of a dive at it with my bayonet leading, and it stuck in one of them, in the chest. We killed and wounded the lot, but we found that they had a trench running backward, and a lot escaped by that way. We stopped in the trenches a while to get our wind, and we shook each other by the hand, and I said, “I will never be hit after that,” and was confident of it. And I thanked God from my heart for being alive: Pte. Grace, Northumberland Fusiliers.

Steady, Boys, Steady!

Lyddite, shrapnel, common siege, and other sorts of shells were bursting all around us. The fumes from the terrible lyddite were sickening—we were spitting up yellow stuff three days afterwards. Some of the shrapnel bullets hit our chaps pretty badly, but some were harmless. One fell red-hot across my fingers, but its force was expended. Shortly afterwards a big lump of shell plunged into the earth a few inches from my face. Then every other shell that came seemed to strike the earth a few inches above my head, knocking lumps of earth and stones all over me. I gave up all hope of ever seeing England again, and so did everyone, so I said just a wee fervent prayer, and keeping low down I managed to scribble what I really thought would be the last line to my sister in my pocketbook. Then I remembered that I still possessed half a cigarette, so I managed to strike a match and finish that just as my look-out man saw the German infantry advancing on us about 800 yards away. I can tell you we gave them a warm reception. The German artillery were busy just then trying to drop shells into our artillery, and we gave the German infantry the very best of our attention. Our men simply mowed them down with rifles and machine guns. Still the Germans came on like great waves. My men acted admirably, taking steady aim every time until the fields in front of us were covered with lines and heaps of German dead and wounded: Sergt. J. Williams, Highland Light Infantry.

Scared Gun-Horses

What impressed me most was a battery of artillery under fire. It dashed up to a point that had been marked by a stake with a number on it by the officer who was responsible for allocating the positions. Just as it stopped the Germans, who seemed to have the position to a hair’s-breadth, sent shells shrieking around the battery. The horses got frantic and began prancing and kicking out in terror. The drivers held on like grim death, but the poor animals could not be pacified, and at last they dashed off in the direction of the German lines with the guns. The drivers stuck to their posts and did all they could to restrain the mad horses. Meanwhile a party of new men with horses were brought out and dashed off in pursuit. They caught up soon, and rode alongside to get hold of the runaways. It was no use, however, and now they came within range of more German guns, and the shells were bursting overhead, making the poor animals madder than ever. There was nothing for it but to shoot the mad animals, and this was done after some difficulty. Then it was necessary to take out the dead team and put the new one in, while German shells were dropping around. Half of the men were hit, but they meant to stick to their posts, and not all the Germans in the field could have driven them away. Just as they were getting the guns away a party of German infantry came on the scene, but by that time our battalion had moved out to cover the withdrawal of the guns, and we gave the Germans as much as they could stand: A Corporal, Northamptonshire Regiment.

A Cameron Man

We retired into a wood, and it was here that I got put out of action. I was struck with a piece of shell, and I fell, thinking it was all over with me. The shell had struck my pack, and I was not injured in the least, but the strange thing was that I could not find my pack. The straps on it had been broken. I then got up, and had not gone twenty yards when I got what seemed like a terrible blow on the left thigh with a big forehammer. Looking down, I saw that my kilt was all blood, and I realized I was knocked out. I tried to get up, but my old leg would not come. I saw my chance and seized it. An ammunition pony came flying past me, and I made one desperate jump at it. I did not look for the reins: I got hold of something, and I was pulled right across an open space between the woods. My God, it was something terrible coming over that open ground. The enemy had been waiting for our advance across it all day. This was where most of our fellows fell. The bullets were dropping like hail, shells were bursting all around us, and it was worse than hell, if anything could be. A few got across, but how many I cannot say, for when I got this length I dropped. I never saw the old pony afterwards: Pte. Brooks, Cameron Highlanders.

The Cold Steel

We fixed bayonets and clambered out, and somehow got together some kind of formation and rushed towards the hedge. All we could see was a few strange uniforms a quarter of a mile away. Away we went, and one of our officers was bowled over straight away, whilst many on my right and left dropped out. We shouted out our slogan, and went at them as fast as we could. At last we arrived with a yell at the ditch where the German riflemen were concealed, and they fired at us point-blank, but not one of us went down. Then we went at them with the steel, and the Germans being six feet below us, they had no chance. When we had each “done” our man we had to jump over the ditch and on towards the German guns. We were running like hell, when all of a sudden machine guns poured into us from both sides, knocking dozens of us over in heaps. The officers gave the word to retire, and we came back at a run. When we came to the trench we had already jumped we found that we had not killed all the Germans in it, and as we passed over it again we were shot at, and my pal was nearly bayoneted. We got back, and did not do much good. We killed a few hundred Germans, it is true, but we lost one hundred and fifty men! The Germans will do anything to get away from the cold steel: A Cameron Highlander, at the Aisne.

“Is This Death?”

It was a thousand times worse than being in hell. For six days we were in the same trenches, almost at arm’s reach of the enemy. We could only steal out under cover of darkness for a drink of water. It rained all the time; but we had to make the best of it. Every day was the same as the day before—an advance at daybreak and at night; but every time we were beaten back by frightful odds. Each time we were forced back we left hundreds of our men behind, killed and wounded. Then it was the same old command, “Fall back on the trenches.” My comrades were constantly falling by my side. Day after day, and every minute during the day, German shells were falling around us like rain. We could hear them coming through the air, and we would lie low in the trenches and say, “That is another one that has missed us.” But the fatal one came without us hearing it. Thirteen of us were together, and only one lucky devil escaped. When the blow came I thought my head was taken off. I fell on my knees and put one arm up in the air, and said, “Good God, is this death?” I then put my hand on my face, and I felt the flesh, which was so badly torn. But I felt no pain. It seemed dead. I crept along the top of the trenches until I found the doctor who was with my regiment. He simply put a piece of cotton-wool over my face and laid me under a tree, as the firing was too heavy to get a proper dressing on. For five hours I lay bleeding under that tree, and the German shells were still falling about us like rain: Pte. Kneale, Liverpool Regiment.

Spoiled Their Appetite

“It’s a fine night for the Germans,” is what we say when it’s so dark that you could not see your finger before you, and it was just on such a night that I was nicked while serving my gun. Just about two in the morning there was a heavy rattle of rifle fire on the hill where our advance men were posted, and soon the whole camp was alive with noise and bustle as the men sprang to arms. We always sleep beside our guns so as to be ready for anything, and in five minutes we were at our posts waiting for information about the range. That came later, and then we began plugging away for all we were able. We caught sight of a mass of Germans swarming up a slope on the right to take cover in a wood there, and they didn’t know what we knew. We dropped a few shells into them just to liven things up a bit, and keep them from thinking too much about the Fatherland, but we had to be careful because some of our own chaps were posted in that wood. The Germans kept rushing along gaily, and there wasn’t the slightest sound from the wood, where our men were securely posted behind felled trees. Now the German searchlights began to play all around and the air was lit up with bursting shells, so we could see the Germans getting nearer and nearer to that wood. Suddenly the whole side of the wood was one big sheet of flame as our hidden men sent volley after volley ripping through the ranks of the advancing Germans. They were fairly staggered at the suddenness and fierceness of the fire, and before they had time to collect their wits a big body of our chaps were into them with the bayonet. Just when this little show was in full blast the Germans obliged with more limelight, and we saw it clearly. That spoiled the German appetite for breakfast in that part of the field, though from what we heard later there was no doubt that this was the point where they expected to break through, and they cleared off quickly: A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery.

“A Jigsaw Puzzle”

The Germans came on at a smart pace with the plan of seizing a hill on our right. At the same moment our cavalry came into view, and then the whole Guards Brigade advanced. It was really a race between the two parties who should reach the hill first; but the Germans won easily, owing to their being nearer by half a mile. As soon as their guns and infantry had taken up a position the cavalry came along in a huge mass with the intention of riding down the Irish Guards, who were nearest to them. When the shock came it seemed terrific to us in the distance, for the Irishmen didn’t recoil in the least, but flung themselves right across the path of the German horsemen. We could hear the crack of the rifles and see the German horses impaled on the bayonets of the front rank of the guardsmen, and then the whole force of infantry and cavalry were mixed up in one confused heap like so many pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: A Guardsman, from CompiÈgne.

“Erin Go Bragh!”

We are British soldiers, and proud of the name and proud to belong to the great British Empire, but in doing our duty for the glory and honour of the Empire we have always also in our minds to add, if we can, more lustre to the fair name of Erin. Our flag of green with the harp and shamrock and the words “Erin Go Bragh” is now faded and torn, but still loved and cherished. Talking about that dear old flag, I shall endeavour to describe how, at ——, when the fate of the day seemed to waver in the balance, when the ruthless enemy by sheer weight of numbers was pressing onward at every point of vantage, that faded flag turned a threatened defeat into decisive victory. On our left were the Munsters, on our right the Leinsters and Connaught Rangers. All were hard-pressed and were about to retire, when suddenly from the firing line one of our comrades rushed out flourishing the old green flag and shouting “Erin Go Bragh.” With the blood coursing fast through my veins, I watched with pride and admiration the marvellous effect produced these simple words. With a mighty cheer that seemed to rend the heavens, and that rose and swelled even above the din of battle, those hard-pressed sons of Erin charged down on the advancing enemy with fixed bayonets. The Germans were completely staggered by this unexpected turn of events when victory seemed just within their grasp, but they were given little time for hesitation, for, to slightly alter the words of a well-known Irish ballad:

The Germans turned and fled in all directions, completely routed and wholly disorganized. Such was the effect on the Irish Guards of the sight of their old green flag and the cry of “Erin Go Bragh”: Corpl. Michael O’Mara, of the Irish Guards.

A Midnight Move

One night when it was unusually wet and miserable and dreary, and some of us had got all the humps that ever were seen on a camel’s back, the Assembly sounded, and we were paraded at midnight. We fell in, glad to have something to take us away from our miserable surroundings. We didn’t know what the move was when we were marched out into the darkness, but we didn’t care much so long as it was warming work. We tramped through weary swamps and soaking wet fields for nearly five miles, and then we were halted near to a line of German trenches, while scouts went on ahead and the remainder of the force was being conducted to its assigned position. Just when some of us felt like having the creeps all over because of the uncanny stillness of everything, a rifle shot rang out, followed by others, and then there was a regular volley. We lay down quickly and tried to peer into the darkness to see something to aim at. There was nothing: and then their artillery opened fire all along the line. Shells kept bursting all over us, and our horses began to get restive. By now the whole of our attacking force was in position, and our artillery opened fire at the points where the attack was to be delivered. The order to advance was given quietly, and we sprang to our feet with right good will. Some of us went down again jolly quick under the German fire, but we kept moving on, and by that time the Germans were losing the range. We were supported by an infantry brigade that had to clear a line of trenches on the right. The four battalions opened out in extended order and pressed slowly towards their goal. Men dropped quickly, dotting the line of advance, but in less than half an hour our lads were ready for the tiger-spring that never fails. The Germans met them with a heavy rifle fire as they climbed the last slope, and when they got to the top they were assailed by twice their number of infantry armed with the bayonet. At one point the line broke, and our lads fell back in some confusion. Reserves were pressed forward to feed the fighting line, and the advance began again. Once more the Germans were too heavy for our chaps, and again they were forced back. They halted for a little to take a rest and then began again. They dashed up the slope like wild cats and closed with the Germans, who were by this time getting tired of it. There was no falling back this time, and though it was very hard work indeed, the whole line of trenches was cleared and the Germans sent flying: A Trooper of the 15th Hussars.

A High Ordeal

I was on picket duty, and it was just after midnight when the men ahead fell back reporting strange sounds all along the front. At the same moment we heard rustling in the bushes close by, and as there was no response to the challenge we fired, thus giving the alarm in the sleeping camp. Out of the bushes the enemy’s advanced guard rushed, but we held them in check until we deemed it wise to fall back on the camp with a report of the enemy’s strength and disposition. We reckoned there was at least a whole German army corps attacking, supported by endless bodies of cavalry and ten batteries of guns, besides hundreds of machine guns. When we got back to camp we found everything was in apple-pie order for the fight. The men were standing to their arms, and though some of them were cursing a lot at being roused from their sleep and vowing what they would do to the chuckle-headed pickets if it turned out to be a false alarm, they were ready to do their duty like men. They hadn’t long to wait for the Germans, who were really close on our heels. On our way back we had heard our artillery open fire and saw the shells bursting along the German lines. At the same moment the Germans, who seemed to realize that their surprise was no surprise at all, opened fire with their artillery right along the front, and their searchlights were playing all round like so many will-o’-the-wisps. Their searchlights were useful to us, because they enabled us to see something of their strength as they advanced. Soon we saw coming out of the inky darkness a long line of white faces, and in response to the quick order we fired right into them. The first line wavered for a moment or two, part of it was blotted out, but the line of reserves behind filled up the gaps and the front line advanced again, seeming not to heed the heavy hail of bullets we were pouring into them. Within about one hundred yards of our trenches the first line of advancing Germans flung themselves flat on the earth, fixing bayonets, while the second fired over their heads, and yet a third line was pushing forward men to fill the gaps of the second line where our fire tore through. Then the first line rose and the second fixed bayonets also. Finally, they all came sweeping forward with the bayonet and threw themselves right on to our trenches. We poured one terrible volley into them as they came on, but all the devils in hell would not have stopped them. Our front ranks gave way slightly before the fierceness of the attack and the weight of men hurled at them, but the recoil was only temporary. We steadied ourselves, and while they were standing still for a moment to take breath and dress their ranks for another rush we went at them with the bayonet and hurled them over the trenches down the hill again. It was in this rush that I got run through with a bayonet, but as I lay on the ground doing my best to forget the pain in the exultation of victory, I saw our lads chase them across country in fine style, and I knew from the cheers all along the line that we were beating them back: A Sergeant of the Worcester Regiment.