In Flanders Fields And Other Poems [15]
Sunday, May 9th, 1915.
At 4 we were ordered to get ready to move, and the Adjutant picked out
new retirement positions; but a little later better news came,
and the daylight and sun revived us a bit. As I sat in my dugout
a little white and black dog with tan spots bolted in over the parapet,
during heavy firing, and going to the farthest corner began to dig furiously.
Having scraped out a pathetic little hole two inches deep,
she sat down and shook, looking most plaintively at me. A few minutes later,
her owner came along, a French soldier. Bissac was her name,
but she would not leave me at the time. When I sat down a little later,
she stole out and shyly crawled in between me and the wall;
she stayed by me all day, and I hope got later on to safe quarters.
Firing kept up all day. In thirty hours we had fired 3600 rounds,
and at times with seven, eight, or nine guns; our wire cut and repaired
eighteen times. Orders came to move, and we got ready. At dusk
we got the guns out by hand, and all batteries assembled at a given spot
in comparative safety. We were much afraid they would open on us,
for at 10 o'clock they gave us 100 or 150 rounds, hitting the trench parapet
again and again. However, we were up the road, the last wagon
half a mile away before they opened. One burst near me,
and splattered some pieces around, but we got clear,
and by 12 were out of the usual fire zone. Marched all night,
tired as could be, but happy to be clear.
I was glad to get on dear old Bonfire again. We made about sixteen miles,
and got to our billets at dawn. I had three or four hours' sleep,
and arose to a peaceful breakfast. We shall go back to the line elsewhere
very soon, but it is a present relief, and the next place
is sure to be better, for it cannot be worse. Much of this narrative
is bald and plain, but it tells our part in a really great battle.
I have only had hasty notes to go by; in conversation
there is much one could say that would be of greater interest.
Heard of the `Lusitania' disaster on our road out. A terrible affair!
==
Here ends the account of his part in this memorable battle,
and here follow some general observations upon the experience:
==
Northern France, May 10th, 1915.
We got here to refit and rest this morning at 4, having marched
last night at 10. The general impression in my mind is of a nightmare.
We have been in the most bitter of fights. For seventeen days
and seventeen nights none of us have had our clothes off,
nor our boots even, except occasionally. In all that time
while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds,
and it was sticking to our utmost by a weak line all but ready to break,
knowing nothing of what was going on, and depressed by reports
of anxious infantry. The men and the divisions are worthy of all praise
that can be given. It did not end in four days when many of our infantry
were taken out. It kept on at fever heat till yesterday.
This, of course, is the second battle of Ypres, or the battle of the Yser,
I do not know which. At one time we were down to seven guns,
but those guns were smoking at every joint, the gunners using cloth
to handle the breech levers because of the heat. We had three batteries
in action with four guns added from the other units. Our casualties
were half the number of men in the firing line. The horse lines
and the wagon lines farther back suffered less, but the Brigade list
has gone far higher than any artillery normal. I know one brigade R.A.
that was in the Mons retreat and had about the same. I have done
what fell to hand. My clothes, boots, kit, and dugout at various times
were sadly bloody. Two of our batteries are reduced to two officers each.
We have had constant accurate shell-fire, but we have given back no less.
And behind it all was the constant background of the sights of the dead,
the wounded, the maimed, and a terrible anxiety lest the line should give way.
During all
At 4 we were ordered to get ready to move, and the Adjutant picked out
new retirement positions; but a little later better news came,
and the daylight and sun revived us a bit. As I sat in my dugout
a little white and black dog with tan spots bolted in over the parapet,
during heavy firing, and going to the farthest corner began to dig furiously.
Having scraped out a pathetic little hole two inches deep,
she sat down and shook, looking most plaintively at me. A few minutes later,
her owner came along, a French soldier. Bissac was her name,
but she would not leave me at the time. When I sat down a little later,
she stole out and shyly crawled in between me and the wall;
she stayed by me all day, and I hope got later on to safe quarters.
Firing kept up all day. In thirty hours we had fired 3600 rounds,
and at times with seven, eight, or nine guns; our wire cut and repaired
eighteen times. Orders came to move, and we got ready. At dusk
we got the guns out by hand, and all batteries assembled at a given spot
in comparative safety. We were much afraid they would open on us,
for at 10 o'clock they gave us 100 or 150 rounds, hitting the trench parapet
again and again. However, we were up the road, the last wagon
half a mile away before they opened. One burst near me,
and splattered some pieces around, but we got clear,
and by 12 were out of the usual fire zone. Marched all night,
tired as could be, but happy to be clear.
I was glad to get on dear old Bonfire again. We made about sixteen miles,
and got to our billets at dawn. I had three or four hours' sleep,
and arose to a peaceful breakfast. We shall go back to the line elsewhere
very soon, but it is a present relief, and the next place
is sure to be better, for it cannot be worse. Much of this narrative
is bald and plain, but it tells our part in a really great battle.
I have only had hasty notes to go by; in conversation
there is much one could say that would be of greater interest.
Heard of the `Lusitania' disaster on our road out. A terrible affair!
==
Here ends the account of his part in this memorable battle,
and here follow some general observations upon the experience:
==
Northern France, May 10th, 1915.
We got here to refit and rest this morning at 4, having marched
last night at 10. The general impression in my mind is of a nightmare.
We have been in the most bitter of fights. For seventeen days
and seventeen nights none of us have had our clothes off,
nor our boots even, except occasionally. In all that time
while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds,
and it was sticking to our utmost by a weak line all but ready to break,
knowing nothing of what was going on, and depressed by reports
of anxious infantry. The men and the divisions are worthy of all praise
that can be given. It did not end in four days when many of our infantry
were taken out. It kept on at fever heat till yesterday.
This, of course, is the second battle of Ypres, or the battle of the Yser,
I do not know which. At one time we were down to seven guns,
but those guns were smoking at every joint, the gunners using cloth
to handle the breech levers because of the heat. We had three batteries
in action with four guns added from the other units. Our casualties
were half the number of men in the firing line. The horse lines
and the wagon lines farther back suffered less, but the Brigade list
has gone far higher than any artillery normal. I know one brigade R.A.
that was in the Mons retreat and had about the same. I have done
what fell to hand. My clothes, boots, kit, and dugout at various times
were sadly bloody. Two of our batteries are reduced to two officers each.
We have had constant accurate shell-fire, but we have given back no less.
And behind it all was the constant background of the sights of the dead,
the wounded, the maimed, and a terrible anxiety lest the line should give way.
During all