The Children's Story of the War Volume 4 (of 10) / The Story of the Year 1915

Position of the Russians in Galicia at the end of 1914.

Meanwhile what had happened in Galicia? Two Austrian armies had been fighting fierce battles in the deep snows and slush of the Carpathians. With infinite labour guns and transports had been hauled up the icy slopes, where a foothold could barely be maintained. Infantry attacks were difficult; the white snow threw up the figures of the men, who thus became excellent targets, no matter what uniforms they wore. Even night attacks were revealed, for on moonless nights the light reflected from the snow made all things clear. Both sides suffered terribly from the cold, but it told more severely on the Austrians than on the Russians, who are accustomed to bitter winters. In the last week of January a bright sun shone, and often the pure white snow was stained scarlet with the blood of the fallen. Blizzards swept across the mountains during February, and checked the fighting on the uplands, though it continued to rage in the foothills. Perhaps the most terrible hand-to-hand fighting known to history took place at a little village near the Uzsok Pass. Large German forces for two months vainly tried to oust the Russians, who had captured the position from them. Some idea of the awful losses sustained by the Germans may be gathered from the statement that one regiment changed from colonel to drummer boy three and perhaps four times. The village stands on a height, and during the winter is shrouded in snow. While the furious battles were raging, the height was reduced to bare soil, every foot of its surface having been ploughed with shell and drenched with blood. You can imagine the horror of trench life in this region, with the thermometer below freezing-point and the icy blizzards blowing almost daily. In some places the trenches were only forty paces apart, and so fierce were the attacks and counter-attacks that eight out of every ten men engaged in them are said to have fallen. At the beginning of February the Russians in this region destroyed a whole battalion of Germans, save the commander and twenty men.

The Austrian army which fought between the Dukla Pass and the Uzsok Pass was charged with the duty of relieving Przemysl, but it was held back by the Russians, as also was the army which was operating more to the east. During the last days of February and the first days of March Brussilov fought a fierce battle on a ridge near the Uzsok Pass. He held the heights, drove back the Austrians, and even the most desperate bayonet attacks could not force him from his position of vantage. The Austrians were held up, and the Russians gained sufficient time to reinforce their weak troops which had been driven out of Bukovina. I have already told you that they advanced again and pushed the Austrians back to the line of the Pruth.

The attempt to relieve Przemysl had failed, and on 22nd March the fortress fell. Before I proceed to tell you the story of this Russian success, let me give you some idea of the situation and importance of Przemysl. It has been famous as a fortress for a thousand years. In early times it was regarded as the key to the Hungarian plains, and in modern times it has been considered as the main outlying protection to the city of Cracow. The town claims to date back to the eighth century, and certainly is one of the oldest cities of Galicia. The river San, which washes its walls, descends in wide sweeps from the Uzsok Pass, through mountain glens filled with fir and beech trees, and then through the vales of the foothills, which are planted with groves of apricot, pear, and cherry, and are dotted here and there with brightly painted wooden houses. The valley of the San is the orchard land of Galicia.

The first modern forts of Przemysl were erected in 1871, and since then have been several times enlarged and improved, until, on the eve of the war, the fortress was one of the strongest in the country. It was a ring fortress like Liége and Namur. At a distance of six miles from the city there was a circle of outer forts with smaller works connecting them. Within this ring, about a thousand yards from the city, there was another circular series of forts. Had Russia been supplied with heavy siege guns such as the Germans brought against the Belgian and French fortresses, Przemysl would have fallen in a month. As it was, it held out, during its second siege, for seven months.

A glance at the map[24] shows you that Przemysl is chiefly important because of its situation with regard to the railways of Galicia. It stands on the main trunk line connecting Lemberg with Cracow, and it gives railway access to the Lupkow and Uzsok passes. While Przemysl held out the Russians had to send supplies to their armies by long and roundabout routes, and they could not readily mass troops for a big movement against the passes. As far back as September 27, 1914, the Russians had closed round it, and had sat tight in their trenches hoping to starve it into surrender. The town was not well supplied with provisions, and by the middle of October the defenders were on very short commons indeed. Then came a blessed respite. Von Hindenburg's first assault on Warsaw forced Ivanov to retire beyond the San, and the Austrians found themselves able to pour food, ammunition, and supplies into the besieged fortress. By the 12th of November, when the Russians had surrounded it once more, there were four Austrian army corps in the place, and these, with the townsfolk and refugees, numbered some 200,000 souls.

It is still a matter of wonder why the Austrians kept four army corps in Przemysl. To hold the twenty-five miles circuit of the fortress 50,000 men would have been ample, and every extra mouth in the place only brought the day of surrender nearer. One would have supposed that during the retreat of the Russians in October distant lines of trenches would have been flung out from Przemysl, as had been done at Verdun. The Austrians, however, showed no foresight, and the governor seems to have considered the town a capital place in which to spend the winter. When the Russians returned they had nothing to do but sit down and let the garrison eat up its supplies. When food gave out the fortress was bound to fall.

The Fall of Przemysl.

(From the picture by H. C. Seppings-Wright. By permission of The Illustrated London News.)
This picture, which was drawn by the artist on the spot, shows Russians advancing to occupy the fortress, and passing on the way large numbers of Austrians who had been captured in the final sortie. The town of Przemysl is seen in the distance on the right. In the background are seen Austrian forts and a railway bridge being blown up. Almost in the middle of the picture a land-mine is exploding.

In December the Austrians made an attempt to relieve the fortress. In Chapter XXVII. of our third volume I told you how the Austrians launched two armies against the Russians, who were then threatening Cracow, and how the Russians were forced to retreat to the position shown on the map on page 119. During the Russian retreat the Austrians were so near to Przemysl that they could hear its guns thundering, and exchange signals with its garrison by means of searchlights. The time had come for the Austrians within the fortress to dash out and break through the lines of their besiegers. On 15th December five regiments did so.

They broke through the Russian lines at the south-east angle, and for four days there was fierce and doubtful fighting. The Russians, however, managed to drive the Austrians back into the town. The sortie had failed, with a loss of 3,000 killed and wounded. Shortly afterwards Brussilov cleared the mouths of the passes, and by Christmas Day Przemysl was once more girdled by a ring of iron. I have already told you how the Austro-Germans made another attempt late in January and early in February 1915 to relieve the strain on the fortress, and how it came to nought. Thereafter the fall of Przemysl was only a matter of time.

Fighting went on night and day. Many times the Austrians strove to break out, but each time they were driven back, with huge losses on both sides. The Russians counter-attacked, and won several of the forts. "These unexpected blows," wrote a Russian general, "greatly excite the garrison. Right through the night their searchlights sweep to and fro over our positions, and the long white rays rest trembling on every fold of the ground. At times something alarms the forts, and the air is instantly filled with the thunder of Austrian guns. The fire is kept up for thirty minutes to an hour before it subsides again." It is worthy of note that not a single Russian shell fell within the town itself.

But all the time famine was doing its deadly work. Up to December there was no shortage of food; but when the new year set in the rations were severely cut down, first for the civilians, then for the soldiers, next for the hospitals, and finally for the officers. The weather grew cold, and there was no firewood. Bread could not be obtained at all, and a fowl cost twenty-four shillings. Soon the cavalry began slaughtering their horses for food. By March a cow was selling for £140, and a dog for £2, 10s.

Mr. Stanley Washburn, a correspondent with the Russian army, tells us that the place was greatly over-garrisoned by patient, haggard soldiers starving in the trenches and sleek faultlessly-dressed officers living on the fat of the land in fashionable hotels and restaurants. While the garrison became thin and half starved, the officers ate three meals a day, and enjoyed fresh meat, cigars, wines, and every luxury. While soldiers were falling fainting in the streets, their officers were leading the life to which they had been accustomed in Vienna during times of peace.

On the night of 13th March the end began. The Russians pushed through the outer line of defences and began to bombard the inner forts. Four days later the Austrians strove for the last time to break out, but the Russian guns caught them and mowed them down in swathes. The survivors were driven back with heavy loss, and 4,000 prisoners remained in Russian hands. Early on the morning of the 22nd the besiegers were awakened by the noise of loud explosions. The Austrians were blowing up the forts before surrendering the city. We are told that the burning forts smoked like a circle of volcanoes. Soon a white flag was seen fluttering above the highest building in the town. Przemysl was ready to surrender. Meanwhile the officers were shooting their chargers, to prevent them from falling into the hands of the Russians, and the soldiers, crazy with hunger, were greedily devouring the raw flesh. Tons of explosives were sunk in the river, guns and rifles were destroyed, and bridges were blown up.

About nine o'clock a letter reached the Russian headquarters from the Austrian general saying that hunger had forced him to yield the fortress. A few Russian officers entered and received the surrender; but there was no triumphal parade such as had been witnessed when the Germans entered Antwerp.

So fell Przemysl. Its capture was not so much a Russian victory as an Austrian disgrace. By overcrowding the place with soldiers, and putting careless, ignorant officers in charge of them, the Austrians ensured its downfall. About 120,000 prisoners, including 2,600 officers, fell into Russian hands; about 1,000 guns were captured, 180 of them fit for use, as well as a large amount of shell and small-arm ammunition. Russia had obtained an excellent base from which to advance against the central passes of the Carpathians, and she had set free an army of 100,000 men for future operations.

The fall of Przemysl was greeted with great delight by the Allies, and it was thought that before the end of the summer Cracow would be sure to fall, Silesia would be entered, and the Russian legions would be sweeping through Hungary. Alas! these rosy hopes were soon to be disappointed. Within five weeks clouds began to gather in the East. The Russians were caught napping. The strongest army which Germany had ever mustered was hurled against them, and huge guns drove them remorselessly back from the soil which they had so hardly won. Less than forty days after the Austro-Germans began to move, Przemysl was once more in their hands. Nor was the retreat stayed until the Russians were driven far back on their own soil, and the very existence of their armies was at stake.

CHAPTER XVII.

Mr. Washburn, who has already been mentioned in these pages, tells us that the Russian officer looks upon his men as his children, and that they call him "father." "It is a strange relation," he says, "that one sees between them. I recall seeing a grizzled old colonel marching his much-cut-up regiment past him on the plains of Poland after an action. As each company passed the old hero called out in his deep bass voice, 'I am pleased with you, my children; you have done well,' And each company replied in unison, 'Thank you, father; we are willing to do as much again.' And then they all marched back to the trenches and took up the burden of the campaign once more."

You have already heard much about the Cossacks, who used to be considered demons of cruelty, but are now known to be much like other Russians—easy-going, kindly, and good-natured. One of the Cossack regiments is described as being clad in baggy greatcoats of undressed sheepskin dyed a deep claret colour, while other regiments sport similar garments of a bright orange hue. All wear on their heads hairy busbies about the size of a bushel measure. Each man owns his horse, and grooms it until it looks like a racing thoroughbred. The Germans go in terror of the Cossacks. A story is told that when a German soldier was captured in Poland he looked uneasily about him. On being asked what worried him, he said, "The Cossacks." He then went on to say that he and his comrades believed that the Cossacks could not be trusted alone even by the Russians. They were, he said, brought to the front in huge vans, and when an action began the vans were turned towards the enemy, and the doors were thrown open, when out leaped the Cossacks, sword in hand, and dashed upon the foe. When the fight was over, so he told his captors, the Cossacks were rounded up and coaxed back into their cages, where they were kept in confinement until the next battle!

An American doctor who offered his services to Russia because "Russia stuck to us during the Civil War," tells us that though the Germans are better rifle shots than the Russians, they cannot compare with the Tsar's soldiers when it comes to the bayonet. "When these moujiks,"[25] said the doctor, "climb out of their trenches and begin to sing their national songs they just go crazy, and they aren't scared of anything; and believe me, when the Germans see them coming across the fields bellowing these songs of theirs, they just don't wait one minute, but dig right out across the landscape as fast as they can tear. I don't think there's a soldier in the world that has anything on the Russian private for bravery. They are a stubborn lot, too, and will sit in trenches in all weathers, and be just as cheerful under one condition as another. One big advantage over here, as I regard it, is the good relations between the soldiers and their officers."

Mr. Washburn tells us[26] how the colonel of a Russian battery "had a great laugh on the enemy. What happened was this. A German Taube flew over the line several times, and it kept coming back so frequently, and hovering over the battery, that the officers who were watching it became suspicious that they had been 'spotted.' When darkness fell the men of the battery became extremely busy, and by working like bees moved their guns perhaps 600 yards to the south, and by daylight had them in the new positions and fairly well masked. Shortly after sunrise back came the aeroplane, and when over the old position it gave a signal to its own lines and then flew back. Almost instantly shells fell fast and thick on the abandoned spot. Six hundred yards away the men of the battery watched the shells falling, and laughed their sides out at the way they had fooled the Germans. . . . From glancing at the field torn up with shell fire one begins to realize what observation means to the enemy. With modern methods a single signal from an aeroplane may mean the wiping out in a few minutes of an unsuspecting battery that has been safely hidden for months."

CHAPTER XVIII.

The month of March has come. The trenches are in much the same position as they were in the preceding November. The gains and losses of the last five months have been trifling. But amongst the Allies there is a feeling that their day has at last arrived. Especially strong is this belief in the British lines. New troops are crossing the narrow seas every day; the Canadians and many Territorial divisions are in the field, and before the month is over there are half a million Britons on French and Flemish soil. Never before have we arrayed such a mighty army. It is fifty-five times as great as that with which King Harry charged the French at Agincourt, twelve times as great as that with which Wellington won victories in the Peninsula, twenty-five times as great as the British part of the mixed army with which he made an end of Napoleon at Waterloo, and twice as great as that which brought the South African War to a close. Four months ago the little British army had barely been able to beat off the fierce attacks of an overwhelming enemy. By miracles of valour alone had our much-tried soldiers been able to stem the torrent in the first onset of its fury. Now, for every man who kept the gate at La Bassée and Ypres there are four. Britons and Germans have now changed parts. It is ours to attack, theirs to defend.

By the middle of February our General Staff felt itself strong enough to take the offensive. In Chapter IX. I told you how the French in Champagne had punctured the German line by means of an intense bombardment of the opposing trenches. We were now ready to make a similar attempt. If you look at the map on page 132, you will see a thick black line showing the position of our trenches about midway between La Bassée and Estaires. In front of the village of Neuve Chapelle this line makes a distinct sag to the westward. It was upon this section of the line that we meant to operate, and we hoped that we might not only capture the village and straighten out our line, but push the Germans off the Aubers ridge, from which coign of vantage the La Bassée-Lille railway line could be commanded. If fortune were kind, we might even reach Lille itself.

Though Neuve Chapelle is only a small village, its fame is now world wide, and it will figure in the history books of the future. It is an unimportant collection of houses and small farms scattered about a junction of country roads, with a church in its centre. Our soldiers looking eastward from the British front could see the long, straggling line of houses among gardens, and the white church standing up tall and clear from the flat, marshy land. Let us suppose that we are aviators flying over the pretty village. What do we see? First, we notice the broad highway running from La Bassée to Estaires (AA), and from this road see two other roads, less than a mile apart, running parallel in a north-easterly direction (BB and CC). A road (DD) almost parallel to the broad highway (AA) connects these roads, and thus forms a diamond-shaped figure which is divided into two by a winding cross road (EE). Neuve Chapelle lies within the northern half of the diamond. Along the road (DD) the houses are small, and stand close together; those along the roads CC and EE are surrounded by gardens and orchards. At the north-east of the village (F) there is a small piece of ground filled with enclosures, and bounded on three sides by roads. Here the Germans have made a strong post so as to flank the approaches to the village from the north. Between the houses and the La Bassée-Estaires road are meadows and ploughland, seamed with German trenches. At the northern angle of the diamond our own trenches are but 100 yards away from those of the Germans. In other parts of the line the distance is greater.

From our lofty eyrie we look eastward, and make out a clearly-marked ridge which is well known to us as the Aubers ridge. We see at a glance that Neuve Chapelle is the gateway to this ridge. Between the ridge and the village runs a small stream, and behind it, to the south-east, is the Biez wood. Along the stream is the German second line of defence, with strong posts at the bridgeheads. We notice that the stream crosses the La Bassée-Estaires road, and that to the north of it is a group of ruined buildings which our men call "Port Arthur." A mile eastward from the village is Pietre[27] Mill, with a tall chimney, which is a landmark for miles around. From the mill to Port Arthur runs a great network of German trenches. Earthworks are also to be seen in the Biez wood to the south-east of the stream. It is clear that before our soldiers can attain the ridge and threaten Lille they must carry this formidable line.

The Battle of Neuve Chapelle.

The black line shows the general position of the British front before the battle. A, 24th Brigade; B, 23rd Brigade; C, 25th Division; D, Garhwal Brigade; E, Dehra Dun Brigade.

On 8th March Sir John French called his commanders together and explained his plans. The main assault was to be made by the First Army, and two Indian divisions were to share in it, while the Second Army was to form a general support. In order to prevent the Germans from sending up reinforcements to the scene of the main attack, two other attacks were to take place at the same time, the one from Givenchy, the other just south of Armentières. A great mass of artillery was to be brought up, and a bombardment four times as intense as any which we had yet made was to be undertaken. Then when the German trenches were wrecked, our infantry were to go forward and attempt to drive a deep wedge into the German line. If all went well, we might be in Lille within a few days.

On the 8th and 9th of March our big guns were brought up very quietly and placed in position. We were able to do this quite unknown to the Germans, because our aircraft had gained the upper hand of theirs. All sorts of big guns were massed together, and their positions are roughly shown on the map (page 132). Meanwhile, from ten o'clock that evening endless files of men marched silently down the roads leading towards our trenches. Watch the troops as they file by. Here are sturdy Garhwalis, with slouch hats and kukris at their belts, and farther down the road you see Gurkhas. Here, too, are the Leicesters—"the Tigers," as they are called from their badge. Yonder go the Lincolns and the Berkshires. You see the silver cross of the Rifle Brigade, the star and bugle of the Scottish Rifles, the Black Watch in their bonnets, the North Hants and the Worcesters, heroes of Ypres. Halted by the road are the Middlesex, the West Yorks, the Devons. Every British dialect is heard; men are here from Land's End to John o' Groats. All are eager for the fray; all long for the moment when the whistles will blow and the command will be given, "Over the parapet! Charge!"

Before morning our trenches were literally wedged with men, waiting in silence for the dawn. From the enemy's front there was as yet no sign of alarm, though their trenches at many points were less than one hundred yards away. A prisoner afterwards said that his captain noticed the massing of our men, and sent urgent messages to the artillery to open fire, but with no result. Before sunrise on the morning of the 10th hot meals were served out all along our line, for, as everybody knows, a Briton fights best when his inner man is satisfied. Then came another long wait in tense silence. Aeroplanes buzzed aloft, and every now and then officers looked at their watches. Every man knew that with the earliest light of morning the guns would begin to speak, and that some time later he and his fellows would be out in the open, making for the enemy's line as hard as they could pelt. The minutes dragged on. Would the dawn never come?

Away to the east the faint light of a gray and sullen day now began to appear. The heavy clouds hung low in the sky, and ahead the mist shrouded the view. Before long the Germans knew that a big attack was preparing, but they took no steps to meet it. Our artillery now began to boom; "ranging shots" were being fired, but soon all was silent again. On the stroke of 7.30 some 350 guns suddenly spoke with an overpowering din that racked the brain and split the ears. The terrific roar was incessant, and the discharges were so rapid that it seemed as if they came from a gigantic machine gun. The very earth shook as though struck by Thor's[28] hammer. The first shells that hit the German position raised huge clouds of smoke and dust, and nothing could be seen but the green fumes of lyddite and the spouting columns of red earth. Barbed-wire entanglements were blown into a myriad fragments, parapets crumbled like sand castles, and trenches on which men had worked for months were flung into shapeless ruin. Bodies of mangled men were hurled high into the air, and ghastly fragments were blown back into the British lines. Four shells were hurled on every yard of the German trenches, and more ammunition was used in the thirty-five minutes during which the bombardment lasted than in a year and a half of the South African War. Long before the awful cannonade ended the German trenches had ceased to exist. They were reduced to a welter of earth and dust.

While the bombardment lasted our troops could walk outside their trenches in safety, for the Germans were so "pinned to the ground" that those of them who remained alive dared not lift their heads. From behind the ragged clouds in the sky where the aeroplanes were sailing the sun now began to shine, making still darker the black pall that hung over the German position, and flashing back from the rows of gleaming bayonets in the British trenches. At five minutes to eight our gunners lengthened their fuses, and shells began to fall fast and furiously on the village itself. Some of the houses were seen to leap into the air. Columns of dust like the sand spouts of the desert sprang up; trees went down like wheat before a sickle; bricks and stones fell in torrents. Then came the great moment. Whistles blew; our men swarmed over the parapets and rushed towards the German trenches.

The Rifle Brigade racing headlong through the Ruins of Neuve Chapelle during the Attack on the Village.

(From the picture by Christopher Clark. By permission of The Sphere.)
"The village," says a writer who visited the scene a few days after the battle, "was a sight that the men say they will never forget. Once upon a time Neuve Chapelle must have been a pretty little place, big as villages in these parts go, with a nice clean church (whence it probably got its name), some neat villas, half a dozen inns, a red-brick brewery, and on the outskirts a little old white château. Now hardly stone remains on stone. It was indeed a scene of desolation into which the Rifle Brigade—the first regiment to enter the village, I believe—raced headlong. Of the church only the bare shell remained; the interior was lost to view beneath a gigantic mound of rubbish. Of all that once fair village but two things remained intact—the great crucifixes reared aloft, one in the churchyard, the other over against the château. From the cross that is the emblem of our faith the figure of Christ, yet intact, though all pitted with bullet marks, looked down in mute agony on the slaying in the village."

Five separate infantry attacks were made on the village. The first attack was made by the 24th Brigade, to the north of the village; the second, by the 23rd Brigade, against its north-east corner; the third, by the 25th Division, against the village itself; the fourth, by the Garhwal Brigade of Indians, against its south-west corner; and the fifth, by the Dehra Dun Brigade, against Port Arthur. The 25th pushed into the wreckage of the German trenches without difficulty. They were only occupied by the shreds and tatters of the dead and a few dazed and stupefied men, their faces yellow with fumes, their clothes torn from their backs, and their equipment and weapons destroyed. In some places a few machine guns which had escaped destruction kept up fire from concealed positions, and snipers took toll of our men as they advanced. The first to reach the goal were the 2nd Lincolns and the 2nd Royal Berkshires, who opened out to let the Irish Rifles and the Rifle Brigade pass through them and take the village. From a trench in front of the Berkshires came the rattle of machine-gun fire. Two German officers, alone, were working the gun, and they continued to fire until they fell beneath the bayonets of our men. Equally gallant deeds were done on the British side. A lance-corporal who had been wounded three times and had been told to lie down insisted on advancing with his fellows. Nor was he the only wounded man who plied bayonet and grenade on that red day.

The village was now only a rubbish heap; the church was a broken shell, and the very graves in the churchyard had been torn open by our shells. Strange to say, while houses and trees were falling, a crucifix at the cross roads remained untouched, and spread its gaunt arms in mute protest above the terrible scene of slaughter and destruction. Once more our gunners lifted their sights and lengthened their fuses, and between the village and the German supports in the rear created a curtain of fire through which no living thing could pass. Then our men swept into the battered streets. Through the thick pall of smoke Germans were seen on all sides, some holding up their hands, others flying for life, and others, again, firing from the windows, from behind carts, and even from behind overturned tombstones. Machine guns clacked viciously from houses on the outskirts, and many a Briton fell a victim to them. Nevertheless, before long the village was wholly ours.

The Garhwalis to the right of the 25th were equally successful. Within a quarter of an hour after the assault began they had carried the first line of German trenches, and soon afterwards the 3rd Gurkhas met the Rifle Brigade in the southern outskirts of the village. Together they swept on past the heap of ruins which had once been the hamlet of Port Arthur into the woods at the foot of the rising ground.

Now comes the tragical part of the story. The 23rd Brigade, which attacked to the left of the 25th, advanced, you will remember, against the north-east of the village. Unhappily, the artillery had not properly shelled this part of the German position, and in a slight hollow the wire entanglements and the trenches were almost untouched. When the 2nd Devons, the 2nd West Yorks, the 2nd Scottish Rifles (Cameronians), and the 2nd Middlesex pushed forward they found themselves up against unbroken wire. The Cameronians suffered severely. A storm of bullets from rifles and machine guns assailed them, but they never wavered. Go on they could not; go back they would not. Men were seen in that zone of death tearing at the wire with raw and bleeding hands, while their comrades were falling fast around them. Those who survived were obliged to retire and lie down in the open under a tornado of shot and shell, until one company made a gap and broke through the line of defence. Fifteen officers, including the commander, Colonel Bliss, were killed or wounded, and when the terrible day was over only 150 men out of 750 answered the roll call. "You have many noble honours on your colours," said Sir John French, when he addressed the gallant remnant some days later; "none are finer than that of Neuve Chapelle, which will soon be added to them."

The 2nd Middlesex had a similar trial, and bore it with the same bravery. Machine guns were turned on them from several points, and as they pressed forward men fell at every step. Three times they strove to reach the trench, but three times they failed, and were forced to lie down in the open until a message was sent back to the artillery. Guns were relaid on the trench, and before long the entanglements were destroyed. When this was done the Middlesex, aided by a bombing party, carried the position, and were able to move forward to an orchard on the north-east of the village, where they joined the Devonshires. The 1st Battalion of the King's Liverpool, which was attached to the ill-fated division, also found itself up against unbroken wire. A company sergeant-major spent five minutes under the entanglement trying to cut it, and miraculously escaped with his life. The colonel, though wounded, refused to leave his men, and remained with them throughout the day. A young officer who had been shot down near the wire kept shouting to his men to come on until his breath failed him. In this battalion alone 100 men were killed and 119 were wounded.

Neuve Chapelle, March 10, 1915.

(From the drawing by D. Macpherson. By permission of The Sphere.)
This picture shows a batch of the Prussian Guards surrendering to the 2nd Battalion of the Middlesex Regiment at the first line of trenches before the village of Neuve Chapelle. The distance at this point from the British advanced line was about sixty-five yards, and our men were upon the enemy while most of them were still dazed from the effects of the terrific bombardment. The prisoners were taken in batches of thirty or forty, and were handed over to the oncoming lines of supports until they were passed back to headquarters, the captors meanwhile sweeping on with the advance.

Meanwhile the success of the 25th Brigade had turned the flank of the Germans north of the village, and when the 23rd Brigade at last managed to struggle through the orchard and join hands with the 24th Brigade, which had attacked to their left, the time had come for the combined force to sweep onward to the Aubers ridge. The Germans were still dazed with surprise, and completely paralyzed by the heavy bombardment of the morning; while our men were flushed with victory, and were eager to press forward. But at this moment there was a long delay. The telephone wires had been cut by the bursting shells, and it was difficult to get orders quickly to the first line. The check to the 23rd Brigade had thrown everything out of gear. A halt had to be called for fresh troops to come up, and they were very slow in arriving. The village was ours by noon, but not until 3.30 did the reserve brigades arrive. Had they been brought up promptly the Aubers ridge would have been won. As it was, we were robbed of a great victory. A splendid chance had been thrown away, and an unavailing sacrifice of life was to follow.

The newly-arrived brigades, all belonging to the 7th Division, which had won such glory in the October battle round Ypres, formed up on the left of the 24th Brigade, and the attack began again; but everywhere difficulties were met with. The Germans had taken advantage of the lull to strengthen their third line of trenches, and had brought up reinforcements. When our men advanced they were ready to receive them. The Indian brigades pushed through the wood towards the ridge, but could make but little headway, and suffered terrible losses. One of the Indian battalions would have been entirely cut off but for a splendid bombing attack by the 2nd Leicesters. It was at this point of the battle that the 3rd London—a Territorial regiment—made a brilliant charge to aid the front line, and won the cheers of their regular comrades by their gallantry and devotion.

Further to our left the 25th Division was checked along the line of the little river, while the 24th Brigade and 7th Division were held up by machine-gun fire from the cross roads and the defences of Pietre Mill. The line of the river could not be forced without artillery "preparation." Everywhere in this part of the line there were German positions which our big guns had not touched. To push infantry against them was simple murder. So, as the evening closed in, we busied ourselves in strengthening the positions which we had already won. The village was ours; we had gained a mile, and had straightened out our line. We had, however, failed in the bigger business of seizing the Aubers ridge.

Not until darkness fell did the 1st Brigade of the First Corps arrive. Next morning our guns began to boom again, but they could not repeat the surprise of yesterday. The Germans had pulled themselves together; their lines were strongly reinforced, and mist prevented the artillery observers from directing the fire of their guns. More than once our infantry were caught by their own shells. We could make no further headway, and on the 12th the Bavarians advanced against Neuve Chapelle, an officer on horseback with drawn sword leading them right up to the Worcesters, who met them with a shattering fire. At another point twenty-one machine guns were turned against them, and they fell by the hundred. So fierce was the fire that the survivors were forced to protect themselves behind ramparts of their own dead.

All that day the 7th Division struggled to carry Pietre Mill, while the rest of the line attacked the bridges over the river and the German trenches in the wood. Round about the mill the fighting was very fierce; ground was gained and lost again; houses were captured and recaptured; and friend and foe were mixed up in confused hand-to-hand fighting. Here it was that the 6th Gordons lost Lieutenant-Colonel Maclean. A subaltern found him lying in the open behind the trench with a bullet in his back, and sinking fast. The young officer brought him morphia to ease his pain, and when he had taken it he said, "And now, my boy, your place is not here. Go about your duty." So died a very gallant gentleman.

Victoria Crosses were won on this part of the front by Private Edward Barber and Lance-Corporal Wilfred Fuller of the Grenadiers for a brilliant bombing attack, of which we shall read later. Further south, the 2nd Rifle Brigade managed to carry a section of German trenches, and Sergeant-Major Daniels and Corporal Noble did deeds of outstanding valour which won them the proudest decoration that a soldier can wear. Unhappily, their unit, the Rifle Brigade, was enfiladed and forced to fall back on its old lines.

By the evening of the 12th Sir John French was convinced that nothing more could be won, and he ordered the attack to be suspended for the present. All the 13th was spent by our weary soldiers in digging themselves in on the banks of the little river which they had failed to cross. So worn out were many of the men that they fell asleep while standing at their loopholes. Counter-attacks were to be expected, and they soon began, but met with no success. Only at one point, north-east of the village, did the Germans manage to get into our trenches, and their stay was brief indeed. In one of their attacks they lost more than 600 prisoners, and the captured men seemed glad to be out of the terrible fighting.

The most severe counter-attack was made not at Neuve Chapelle, but at the tiny Belgian hamlet of St. Eloi, 15 miles to the north, and at the junction of two main roads. On the 14th, when mists lay thick on the flats, the Germans, following our example at Neuve Chapelle, began a fierce bombardment of our trenches, and at the same time exploded mines on our front and on a large mound which we held to the south-east of the village. The infantry attacks of the enemy were very determined; our men were driven from their trenches, and our whole line had to fall back. Under cover of the darkness we prepared for a counter-attack, and on the morning of the 15th managed to win back most of the lost ground. The mound, which our soldiers called "the Mound of Death," was not recovered; it lay in the No Man's Land between the rival trenches, exposed to the gun fire of friend and foe.

In this action Princess Patricia's Own specially distinguished itself, and won the praise of Sir John French. It co-operated with a battalion of the Rifle Brigade in an attack on the mound, and advanced with great coolness and resolution, but was checked by a murderous machine-gun fire. Three platoons, however, held on to a breastwork, while the remainder retired across a zone of fire without leaving behind them a single wounded man. Five days later Princess Pat's lost its commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Francis Farquhar, one of the bravest and kindest of men.

You will remember that our assault on Neuve Chapelle was supported by other attacks on various parts of the German front, in order to prevent the enemy from suddenly massing reinforcements against our main attack. I need not describe these operations, for they were only "holding attacks," and were not expected to succeed. Nevertheless the assault on a hamlet to the south-east of Armentières was successful, and an advance of 300 yards on a front of half a mile was made.

Our airmen were very busy during the three days of struggle, though the weather was against them. Bombs were dropped on railway stations and bridges behind the German lines, and much damage was done. One daring aviator flying over Lille hit a house which was used as the German headquarters.

The Battle of Neuve Chapelle was not a failure, but it was not a complete success. We straightened out the sag in our line; we won the village, advanced one mile, took 2,000 prisoners, and killed or wounded 20,000 of the enemy. Our offensive put new heart into our men, who went into battle with the utmost zeal, joking and laughing even under fire. It is said that when they crowded into the German first-line trenches and there was no room for them all to line the parapet, a man would pull his comrade down, crying out that it was his turn for a shot. The Indians greatly welcomed the opportunity of fighting in the open, and the Gurkhas and Garhwalis plied their kukris with deadly effect. Our losses were very heavy. In the three days' fighting we had about 13,000 casualties: 2,337 men and 190 officers were killed.

Our failure to "make good" at a time when the Germans were almost at our mercy was as much due to accident as to blunder. Parts of the enemy lines had not been properly "prepared," and some of our troops were shelled by their own guns. This was, no doubt, due to the dull sky and the mists, which prevented the observers from properly controlling the fire of their guns. It was our first attempt to combine artillery and infantry on a great scale, and, naturally, mistakes were made. The best result was the new ardour which inspired our men. "This time," said one of them, "it was pushing the Germans, instead of trying to hold them. You can't realize, unless you have been in it from Mons onwards, how that bucks you up."

The German people took their beating very badly. They accused us of using German prisoners to screen our advance, and they complained bitterly that we had brought such a vast force of artillery against them. "This is not war; it is murder," they said, coolly ignoring the fact that a mighty artillery onslaught had been their favourite method of attack since the beginning of the war. When they were given a taste of their own medicine they cried out in the usual fashion of the bully.