A Rifleman Went to War

fifteen or twenty. Taken utterly by surprise, the enemy lost heavily but our total casualties were some six or seven wounded.

It got so that it was considered a point of honor for each battalion to put on a show and get a prisoner or two during every tour of duty in the front line. Usually these were small affairs — perhaps a platoon doing the work — and many a young subaltern earned his Military Cross by leading such a venture.

This is what made trench warfare really war — in between the bigger scraps. I could better appreciate the worth of it during my last few weeks, when I was back a bit with my special duties, and could sort of look on things from the outside. I recall another incident in this same sector that happened just before the big raid which netted the 101 prisoners for the Fourth Brigade. This sector was just to the left of that front and the raid was a small one, such as I have described elsewhere and, though every raid was different and had interesting features of its own, I don’t suppose I should go on relating them indefinitely just because they happened to interest me. So I will only mention this one to record the appearance of another gadget of Heinie’s. This was a small pencil-flashlight to be attached to the rifle barrel, evidently designed to enable Fritz to get his man in the dark. He tried it on one of our raiding party, but like many innovations, had not gotten thoroughly acquainted with it and was too slow with the trigger. Our man simply sat down in the bottom of the trench, and from that position used his Colt — and brought back the flashlighted rifle to show us.

There was not much the German could do to protect himself against our raids. We got the upper hand and kept it. In war, as in most other things, nothing succeeds like success. Our fellows were confident while the Germans just got into the habit of expecting to be taken, which made taking them a comparatively easy matter.

And it didn’t get Heinie anything when he attempted to take the offensive in the matter. Along with his box- barrage affairs he tried some of our methods, amongst which was that one of silent raids, where no advance shooting is indulged in, but the raiding party merely crawls over stealthily until against the parapet, heaves over his grenades and then tries to follow up in the confusion; bombing the dugouts and grabbing off what sentries and men he can. I never knew anyone to fall a victim to these raids; but one of them took place with the battalion I was working with just before leaving the front. There then happened a most interesting occurrence, so I suppose you will have to suffer the old man’s wandering about on a new topic until I tell all about this incident.

This German raiding party comprised but eight Heinies and they got almost through our wire before being discovered by the sentry. That is the main defense against trench raids of this sort, just have sentries which keep awake and on their feet, doing what they should be doing — watching. This sentry immediately spread the alarm. Other sentries looked about sharp and promptly vacated the bays where the potato-mashers started falling. Some of them mounted the parapet just as soon as the Germans got into the trench, and went running along toward what seemed to be the center of the excitement. This center was a deep dugout, the exact position of which the Germans probably knew quite well, since it had been built some months before.

The men in that main dugout heard the alarm and were already on their way out by the time those Germans got into that bay. It happened that the company sergeant-major (first sergeant) was in that dugout at the time, having come up to see the platoon sergeant about something, and he was the first man out and into the main trench, where he ran head-on into three Heinies coming along pulling the strings and heaving their potato- mashers.

Now, often since the war, I have been with folks who were examining one of those Very pistols and invariably somebody in the crowd commences to wonder what the result would be if you shot a man with one of those hand cannons. Well, I can tell them, because I saw a German who was shot with one and it happened during this very incident I am now describing. The sergeant-major had a Very pistol stuck in his belt when the alarm was sounded, so he drew it as he came out of the dugout and promptly shot the first Heinie in the face with it at a range of about three feet. The slug, or canister, or whatever is in one of those shells, caught this first man in the temple, knocked him off his feet, and then from the bottom of the trench provided a fine light which made good shooting for the men up on top the parapet. They promptly shot down both the other two Germans, killing one and wounding the other. The remaining five of the raiding party never got out of the bay they landed in, three being killed there and the other two captured. That Dutchman who caught the Very shell had the entire side of his head taken off.

And such was about the usual outcome of the affair when Heinie tried to emulate our tactics in this trench raiding business. The best defense against such small raids is to keep alert, give the alarm promptly and then everyone get out of the dugouts and front trench and go for the raiders. The open is really the safest place of any, because the enemy will not be able to shoot up the exact spot being raided for fear of killing his own men. So much for defense against such trench raids.

Chapter 9. Sighting Shots

THAT winter of 1915-1916 was a wet one. It rained almost every day and seldom got cold enough to freeze, although the nights were always cool enough to cause keen discomfort. We had thin ice a few times and a couple of light snowstorms. The water and liquid mud in our trenches was anywhere from ankle deep to waist deep. We lived like muskrats. Looking at it from this range, I don’t see how any human beings could have survived it, but the amazing fact is that we not only did survive but that there was very little illness of any character and, so far as my personal knowledge goes, not a single case of either rheumatism or pneumonia.

How did the others take it? Well, I suppose about the same as I did. They were intensely patriotic: those Canadians. Much more so than the average man I found in the United States Army later on. The Americans did not seem to have the feeling that they were fighting, literally, for the homeland. It was more of a gesture of recognition of the assistance given us in the Revolutionary War by the French, and, with the volunteer soldiers, was taken more as a lark and in the spirit of adventure than as a patriotic duty. But WE, the Canadians (I emphasize that we, because, as long as I was in the Canadian service, I was, heart and soul, a Canadian, myself) realized that it was for Britain we were fighting — the Motherland. We took the game seriously, realizing, generally, that mud was a part of it, and not chargeable to red tape or the Brass Hats, who had done about the best they could by providing suitable clothing. Further, we felt that they were actually concerned as to our welfare.

All this time, we were learning more about war and were rapidly becoming what might be called “real soldiers”. You know, it takes a long time to learn that game. Of course, a great many of those best qualified, physically and mentally, never do learn it. As things go in modem warfare, many a man is killed before he ever gets within miles of the enemy. What with shells ranging over all the country for ten miles or so behind the lines, especially on the roads, a lot of them never get into it at all — just like the ambulance and transport drivers and the artillery and some of the staff officers. They get bumped off and, I suppose they are entitled to all the honor we can render them, but it does seem a pity that they never even had a chance to see what it is all about. That is something that can only be learned at the front. Now, I know, a lot of mighty good men and good soldiers will rear up on their hind legs and take exception to that remark. They, as well as the artillery, will claim that they were “at the front”. Well; all I got to say is, “there is only one actual front in war and that is when there is not another damn man between you and the enemy.” The F.O.Os (forward observing officers) of the artillery and their accompanying signallers see it from time to time and it has been recorded that some staff officers have, during quiet times, made the rounds of the front lines but, for the most part, their duties keep them farther back. Right here, I want to mention one staff officer who appeared to take delight in coming up and he is no other than H.R.H. The Prince of Wales — or Captain Windsor, as he was then known. That boy sure wanted to see it all.

Now, this will probably sound like a fool statement but I am willing to abide the consequences. “No soldier is really fit to go into a battle until after he has been through one.” Figure it out for yourself.

During peace times soldiers can be trained for war. To the layman and, even the inexperienced soldier himself, this may be considered all that is necessary to fit him for battle. But, I hope to show you, such is not the case at all. The training for war; which is the training which all soldiers receive, is to instruct them in personal hygiene, (so that they may keep in good physical condition); close and open order drills; the use of and care for the weapons with which they are armed, and discipline, which, in its broadest sense, covers all the other requirements.