A Rifleman Went to War

dead and as many more wounded. The officer having disappeared, I managed by dint of hard swearing to get the head of the column straightened out and started along up the trench. Thomas and the others of our outfit did what they could for the wounded until the stretcher bearers got there. Of the officer we could find no trace — nor of the dog. I learned afterward that he was what they call an Otter Hound and had been brought in to see if that kind of a dog would be of any use in ridding the trenches of rats. From what I saw of the actions of this one, I would unhesitatingly, vote YES.

A while back, we were talking about armor-piercing bullets I believe. Well, while on or around that subject I might as well tell you my experience with “explosive” bullets. We heard a lot about these explosive bullets — just as you will, now and then, run across a soldier who will tell you he was hit with one of them. While not pretending to be an authority on such things, I do not believe and never did believe that the Germans ever used anything of this kind, at least not on men in the trenches.

Of course I know that explosive bullets have been made. I have a great volume, printed by the U.S. Government, which is the report of our officers who went over and acted as the official observers during the Crimean War in which several types of such bullets are very accurately described. Also another official report of the commission headed by General Sheridan which observed the operations during the Franco-Prussian war. Moreover, I have actually seen the things used, in .45 and .50 calibre cartridges made for and used in our American rifles. All I have tried to indicate here is my opinion that no such bullets were used during the late war. Aside from the difficulty and expense of manufacturing them for the modem, high-power rifle, there was no reason for it. The effect of the bullet as it is is sufficiently “explosive.”

The effect of any bullets fired from the German Mauser was very similar to that of the 150-grain bullet fired from the Springfield. At short ranges, due to the high velocity, it does have an explosive effect and, not only that effect but, when it strikes, it sounds like an explosion. Bullets may be cracking viciously all around you when, all of a sudden, you hear a “whop” and the man alongside goes down. If it is in daylight and you are looking that way, you may see a little tuft of cloth sticking out from his clothes. Wherever the bullet comes out, it carries a little of the clothing — just a bit of fuzz — but it is unmistakable, just as the sound of a bullet hitting a man can never be mistaken for anything else. At the short ranges, as I have said, it is a loud and distinct “pop” or, as I gave it before, “whop.” (If any of the readers can remember the sound of a Champagne cork when turned loose, they will get the approximate sound.) And the effect of the bullet, at short range, also suggests the idea of an explosion, especially if a large bone be struck. I remember one instance when one of our men was struck in the knee (it was a man named T. M. Flanagan and he was hit January 2, 1916) and the bullet almost amputated the leg. He died before he could be taken to a dressing station. I mention these details so that any person of enquiring mind can check up on me in case he should doubt any of my statements.

At the longer ranges, the bullet slips in, if I may use the term. Unless it strikes the head, there is but little sound. I can recall one instance, where a man was struck by a bullet, which lodged in his leg, and never knew it at the time. He was just leaving a latrine, some thousand yards or so behind the front line, and became entangled in some old barbed wire at the entrance. One of the barbs caught in the leg of his trousers above the knee and stung him severely. After a bit of swearing, he disengaged himself and went on his way. That night he was still complaining about the hurt and a brother told him he better go back to the dressing station and have them dope the scratch with iodine. He did so and the surgeon pulled a German bullet out of the “scratch.” Just one of the casual, long-range floaters that were dropping in now and then, but it had struck him just at the time he encountered the wire. This man’s name was Williams — brother of one of our machine-gun sergeants.

My friends back home have often asked me about the experiences we had with poison gas. I suppose the best way to explain about this is to state the fact that after the initial, devastating attack with chlorine gas, in April, 1915, we had very little serious difficulty from that source up to the time I left — in February, 1917.

When my Division went in, in September, 1915, we were equipped with what were called “respirators” — hoods or helmets made of cloth which had been impregnated with certain chemicals which served to neutralize the effect of the chlorine. The only time in my experience when we needed them was on the night of December 19th, when the enemy again tried to smother our line and come over. Troops to our left and in our rear got the most of it but we got some. However, few if any of our Battalion were incapacitated. The attack was a fizzle, as it was promptly stopped by rifle fire.

About that time the Germans commenced to use shell gas of various kinds — mostly the lachrymatory or tear gas — and we were issued special goggles with sponge-rubber padding which proved to be a satisfactory defense against this gas. They had just begun to make use of the phosgene and other really deadly gasses and the mustard gas did not come into use until long after I had left the front, so I can say nothing aboutit.

We got a few of the new type gas masks about the first of January, 1916. They were called Tower Helmets — Lord knows why — and one was issued to each machine-gun crew, together with one of the new steel hats, the idea being, I suppose, that at least one member of the crew might survive and carry on even if the rest were all killed off. No one particularly wanted to be saddled with this extra weight so they were usually shunted off onto the newest recruit. We all had our respirators and figured that they were sufficient protection.

We soon learned to tell the difference between real shells and gas shells, both by the sound in flight and by the burst. Sound cannot well be put into words but the gas shells had a sort of bubbling or gurgling sound in addition to the regular “whish.” The burst was very light — just enough to open the container and release the gas, and was unmistakable if one were close enough to notice it at all.

In the course of time enough supplies had come forward to equip all hands with both the new-style gas mask and the tin hats, but a lot of us put off the wearing of the latter until actually compelled, by personal orders, to do so. I get a grin out of it, whenever I remember the first time I really wore mine. Prior to that time I had carried it slung over my arm. Having received a very pointed and emphatic “bawling out,” I donned it and started up the line to look over a machine gun that was working up that way. I had not gone ten yards until a big “wooly bear” burst right overhead and a chunk of steel hit right on top of that “lid” with sufficient force to knock me down and make a very noticeable dent in the hat.

As I have just stated, the poison gas did not cause us any great amount of trouble while I was with the Canadian Corps. It was the artillery which caused us the most of our grief. “Now, tell me: why was that?” (The girl asked that question.) I’ll tell you. Just because the doughboys depended on their own feet and their own guts — and these things were not much defense against shells.

Artillery worked from various ranges: the three-inch of the American Army, the 75 m/m of the French, the British 18-pounders: all had about the same range; and the German 77s come in the same class.

What a lot of us infantrymen and machine gunners could never understand was why the artillerymen did not shoot at one another. They knew exactly where the opposing batteries were located. What the hell were their observation planes for?

Every action in warfare is for the purpose of taking certain areas of land from the enemy. Either that, or to so completely whip his personnel that they will just lie down and be “good doggies.” Well; the men of the Northern races do not take their licking in that way. We took many a blasting from shell-fire — but, to the eternal credit of the Canadian Army, as a whole — did we ever take a licking? I’ll tell the world — NEVER.

Now, personally, I am not crying about this. I went to war expecting it to be plenty tough. It was. So I hope you will understand that I am not belly-achen’ about what happened to us or the many better men who are not here to tell you about it.

The guns above mentioned were all “rifles” — that is, guns that fired high-velocity shells with a correspondingly low or flat trajectory. There was little chance to dodge a shell from any of that type or of the other, larger calibre rifles — mostly of the type used in the navy. Some of these latter, used by the Germans, ran up to about eleven inches. The French and British both had howitzers of twelve- and fifteen-inch calibre. Of course everybody knows about the original “Big Berthas” used by the Germans. Curiously enough, they were not German guns, at all, having been manufactured at the Austrian Skoda works. They had been used to reduce the Belgian forts and we saw plenty of the great craters formed by the bursts of these 42-centimeter shells in and around Ypres but, to the best of my knowledge, they were not much used after the winter campaign of 1914-15.

There were plenty of others, however, of smaller calibre, to make life miserable for us. One in particular — also Austrian — threw a shell of about eleven inches in diameter. All those big shells had the fuzes in the base and not on the nose-cap and it was a frequent occurrence for the whole base of the shell, which was the size of a large dinner plate and screwed into the shell proper, to blow out backward and go hurtling through the air for a mile or more.