Surgeon In Arms — Ch 15 Staff Officers; Ch 16 The Battle Of Vimy Ridge

STAFF OFFICERS

Now, the ordinary combatant officer who perhaps will read these lines may expect a diatribe against what the boys call, "the brass-hats," but, if so, he will be grievously disappointed.

Outside the fact that Staff Officers, like Medical Officers, are a necessary evil, the writer has the vivid recollection of one occasion on which he might have been court-martialed, and perhaps shot, for _lèse majesté_, or something akin to it, but for the good humor of a well-known Brigadier General.

So there will be no scathing denunciation of Staff Officers here.

At noon I was sitting in a dugout in the lines when I received an order to immediately relieve Captain ----, of the --steenth Canadian Battalion.

The order gave no information as to the whereabouts of this Battalion, and as it turned out the order had been wrongly transmitted, and I had been directed to go to a Battalion which was not on our front.

However, I did not know this at the time, and so, I quickly got my things together, hung my steel hat, my cap, haversack, pack, overcoat, stick, and other odds and ends on various parts of my person,--for an officer, like a private, seems to be made to hang things upon.

To get out of the lines to where I was to be met by an ambulance was a long, hard trudge.

The ambulance was over one hour late, and hours followed in which we searched everywhere to find a trace of the Battalion.

Night came on and we were still searching, and as no food had accompanied us, and a mixture of snow and rain was falling, I was cold, wet, hungry and pugnacious, when I entered a Headquarters in order to try to get some information.

Forgetting I was only a Captain, and stalking angrily in, I demanded:-- "Where the hell is the --steenth Battalion?"

An officer rose, came forward and smilingly asked me what the trouble was.

"I have been hunting for hours," I replied hotly, not even looking for his rank, "searching for this bally Battalion, and I'm fed up to the neck with being pushed around like a basket of fruit," for I had had many moves recently.

"And a pretty healthy looking basket of fruit you are, too," he returned with a good-humored laugh, while he proceeded to put me on the right track, and at last I noted his rank.

He was the General of my Brigade.

So now you have the reason that I will say nothing against Staff Officers.

A story akin to this of an incident that happened in one of our trenches may be worth relating, though it has nothing to do with Staff Officers.

My Colonel who always, even in his busiest times, had a vivid sense of humor, was sitting in his dugout when a Tommy's voice yelled down:-- "Say, Bub, how do we get to the Vistula railhead from here?"

The Colonel's voice floated up giving directions.

But the Tommy, thinking he was talking to another Private, said:-- "Oh, say, Bub, don't be so damned lazy, come up and show us the way," and the consternation of the Tommy as the Colonel good-naturedly came up and showed him the way was good to look at.

On a drizzling, rainy day when our Battalion occupied the front lines on part of the Vimy Ridge, I was standing in front of a so-called dugout, which consisted of a room about twelve feet by twelve, in which, through lack of space, two Medical Officers and their four Assistants and two batmen, ate, slept, and attended the wounded and sick.

We were sheltered from shells by a tin roof, on which someone had piled two layers of sandbags.

The trenches were of sand with no revetments of any kind, so that the rain, which had been pouring for days, washed the earth down and formed mud to the knees.

Sometimes the mud was rich and creamy, and, except for the fact that whoever happened to be in front of you spattered it in your face, it was easy to get through.

The other variety of mud was mucilaginous and tenacious, and in getting through it one was very likely to lose his boots--particularly if they were the long rubber kind--and socks, or to get stuck fast.

There were many cases where men had to be dug or pulled out; and not one but many men, and on one occasion an officer, came into this dugout of mine during the night in their bare feet.

They had come for hundreds of yards in some cases in this manner.

On the day of which I speak I was standing in the creamy mud half way to my knees listening to the sharp crack made by bullets whizzing over head, and to the singing of shells, by way of a change from the rather poisonous atmosphere in the dugout, made offensive by the carbon monoxide from a charcoal fire, when I heard someone splashing along through the mud.

Looking up, I saw three Staff Officers with the distinguishing red bands on their caps, for they were not wearing helmets.

Two of them wore raincoats, so that their rank could not be seen; the third wore no overcoat, but an ordinary officer's uniform with ankle boots and puttees.

He strode doggedly behind the others, apparently caring nothing for mud or rain, and to my surprise he had upon his breast, though he looked no more than twenty years of age, the ribbons of a number of decorations.

They stopped just before they came to where I was.

Taking out a map of these trenches they and their guide, or runner, began studying it, while I stood wondering how a boy of twenty could have won these coveted decorations, finally deciding that he must be in the Air Service.

While I was still wondering he turned to me, and, though he was of my own rank, he saluted and, with a pleasant smile, asked me if I could give them any information as to this front.

I joined them, and for some time I answered their questions, which, rather strangely, were in regard to a cemetery to which Guillemot trench--the one in which we stood--led on its way to the firing line 500 yards away.

"After we go there," asked one of the older officers, "what is the easiest way out?"

I explained that the easiest way was overland to Neuville St. Vaast, and then down the road, but as we still heard the bullets passing a few feet above the parapet it might not be the safest.

He smiled whimsically, and said he would personally rather take the risk than plow through this dreadful mud, but perhaps they'd better stick to the trenches.

We chatted a few moments more, and they put their feet once again to the task of getting them through the trenches, the rather thin legs of the young officer pushing him determinedly along behind the others.

That evening the Colonel informed me that he had learned at Brigade that my questioner of the afternoon was the Prince of Wales, who is Honorary Chairman of a Commission in charge of British cemeteries in France.

And this removes, for me at least, the idea which many of us had that, while the Prince is in France, he is kept well out of the danger zone.

For on this day he was well up toward the front lines and under filthy trench conditions at that.

A Prince with as much red blood in his veins as he displayed in making that journey should not have enough blue blood to prevent his being some day a strong and righteous monarch.

CHAPTER XVI THE BATTLE OF VIMY RIDGE

On Easter Monday, April 9, 1917, occurred on the western front the great push which has been named by the press the Battle of Arras.

For some days previously our bombardment of the enemy lines had been almost continuous, the so-called "drum fire" which sounded like rolls of thunder.

At times during the night the rumble would become a roar, and one of my tent mates would half awaken, and say: "Well, they're giving poor Heiny hell tonight," and the tone would almost imply pity.

A grunt from the rest of us, and then we'd roll over on our steel-hard cots to try unsuccessfully to find a soft spot, and shortly the snores from one of the officers who was notorious for snoring would drown even the roll of the guns.

Since the Somme advance in 1916 no great pushback of the Germans had occurred.

After all the many and great preparations had been completed, an attack was now to be made on a ten-mile front north and south of the ruined city of Arras by British and Canadian troops.

To the Canadians fell the lot of taking the famous Vimy Ridge which they, with the absolutely necessary assistance of almost unlimited artillery, successfully took, consolidated, and held, on Easter Monday, April 9. The argument which sometimes occurs as to whether the artillery or infantry did the greater work in the taking of the Ridge is beside the question; one was as necessary as the other.

The artillery could have hammered the Ridge until it became absolutely uninhabitable by the enemy, but the artillery could not consolidate and hold the Ridge, which could be done only by foot-soldiers.

Without the proper aid being given by artillery, no foot soldiers in the world, be they ever so valorous, could have taken this strongly fortified hill.

The taking of this Ridge was considered a most difficult achievement for the reason that the French in 1915 nearly captured it, but with losses estimated unofficially at from 150,000 to 200,000 men.

Anyone who has been in this neighborhood and has seen the areas dotted with equipment and bones of killed French soldiers, and the trenches marked at almost every turn by little white wooden crosses, "Erected to an unknown French soldier," by their British allies, could hardly doubt these figures.

Then the Allies, after holding the conquered part of the Ridge for some months, were pushed off it by the Germans, who successfully held it till the Battle of Arras.

Before this battle it was said that French and British were betting odds that the Canadians would not succeed in this project of taking the Ridge.

These facts are not given in any spirit of rivalry or criticism, but only as points of interest and to give honor where honor is due.

The Canadians certainly can never complain that they were denied their proper meed of praise by the British press and public for their work at Vimy, but neither can it be gainsaid that they deserved the praise accorded.

The advance was to have taken place much sooner, but preparations were not complete.

Easter Sunday, then Easter Monday became the day decided upon, and 5. 30 a. m.

of that day was to be the zero hour, or hour of attack.

Promptly at that hour the wonderfully heavy artillery barrage multiplied one hundredfold.

Three minutes later the soldiers began going over the top and following the barrage.

So complete were the arrangements, and so successful every move, that objectives were taken almost to the minute as planned, and returns coming in to Brigade H.

Q.

on the immediate front on which our battalion attacked were as optimistic as could be hoped for by the most critical.

A little over one hour after the first wave of Canadians started across No Man's Land, our O. C.

, Lieutenant Colonel J----, with an orderly room staff, signalers and scouts, started for the German lines to open a battalion H.

Q.

at Ulmer House dugout, about 600 yards behind the trenches which two hours before this had been the enemy front line.

I

accompanied the party, for I was to establish a Regimental Aid Post somewhere near the H. Q.

When we stepped out of the tunnel which led from Zivy cave to the center of No Man's Land, we had the misfortune to arrive in a sap--a trench leading toward the Hun lines--which sap at the moment of our arrival was being very heavily shelled by German artillery.

As the sides of the sap were no more than two or three feet in height, and as the shells were dropping so close that we were continually in showers of mud from them, our party became broken up, leaving the Colonel and five of us together.

Some two hundred yards on our way we stopped to rest.

The Colonel and I were sitting behind a small parapet, our bodies touching, when a shell dropped beside him, pieces of it wounding him in five or six places.

He pluckily insisted on going on toward our goal, but soon fell from exhaustion.

The problem then was to get him back in safety, for there had been no cessation in the shelling.

Fortunately this was accomplished with no other casualties, with great pluck on the Colonel's part, and some slight assistance on the part of his companions.

Major P----, M. C.

, then took charge, and with most of the original party set out for Ulmer House.

Our route this time was slightly altered by dodging the unlucky sap and going directly overland.

Stepping around shellholes and keeping well away from a tank stuck in a mud hole to our right, in order to avoid the numerous shells that the Germans were pouring about it, we proceeded on our trip through the German barrage, which was somewhat scattered now.

In passing it may be said that on this immediate front, because of the depth of the mud, the only assistance given by the five or six tanks to the troops was that of drawing and localizing the enemy fire to a certain extent, and so marking out areas of danger that it were well to avoid.

None of them got even as far as our first objective, but remained stuck in the thick mud till they were dug out by hand.

On hard ground they are no doubt dangerous weapons of war, but in this deep mud their only danger was to their occupants and to those about them.

Our trip across this time was not particularly eventful.

Veering this way and that to avoid the most heavily shelled bits of ground, stepping over corpses of Germans, or, what was more trying, of our own Canadian boys, saying a word of comfort to some poor wounded chaps in shellholes, we gradually and successfully made our way across the shell-devastated and conquered territory to Ulmer House.

We suffered only two slight casualties, a wounded hand to the assistant adjutant, Lieutenant C----, and a bruised chest to the signaling officer, Captain G----.

A couple of hours later the shelling had ceased so completely that it was comparatively safe for anyone to wander about the field which had so recently been the scene of one of the greatest battles in history.

Here and there, in shellholes marked by a bit of rag tied to a stick, we found many of our own boys and the boys of other Canadian battalions who needed attention.

Stretcher parties were made up, generally of German prisoners, and the wounded were cleared with all possible speed.

One poor young chap we discovered late in the afternoon in an advanced shellhole, with his leg badly wounded and broken, he having lain there from 6. 15 in the morning.

Yet he smiled good-humoredly and thanked us gratefully for what we did, asking only for a cigarette after we fixed him up.

Field ambulance stretcher bearers and German prisoners under Captain K----, M. C.

, of No. -- Canadian Field Ambulance, worked tremendously to clear the field.

Other working parties were encountered at different points, all with the same object.

In our rounds we visited all that remained of Thelus and saw some of the many captured guns.

One of the most interesting visits we made was to a cave at Les Tilleuls, near Thelus, which was being used as H. Q.

for another battalion as well as H. Q.

for C Company of our own.

Here Lieutenant J---- greeted us warmly but failed to tell us the details of his own exploit, which has acquired a fame it well deserves and for which he received the Military Cross.

Here is the story: Lieutenant J---- was second in command of C Company, the C. O.

being "Old Pop," who was killed early in the fight, the command of the company devolving upon his subordinate.

He is a boy of twenty-two, a bank clerk in civil life, as mild, gentle and good natured a lad as one could find in a day's march.

He had led his men on till they obtained their objective, and then he and a corporal who were scouting about came to this cave with its long, winding staircase.

They threw down a couple of Mills bombs, drew their revolvers, and went down, to be confronted in flickering candle light by one hundred and five German officers and men, all armed.

Bluffing that they had a large force upstairs, they covered and disarmed the 105 Germans, took them prisoners, and, hunting up an escort for them, sent them to the rear.

Those are the cold, bare, undecorated facts.

And then to complete as pretty a bit of work as was done at Vimy Ridge, Lieutenant J---- took a German carrier pigeon that he found in the cave, tied to its leg a message giving the necessary essentials, and finishing with the words, "everything bright and cheery," he freed it.

It found its way to our battalion H.

Q.

at Ulmer House, where we had the pleasure of reading the note!

To stand at the mouth of this cave and look about on all sides as far as the eye could see, and to know that all that shell-racked ground was won in a few hours by the citizen army of Canada made one feel a legitimate pride in being a native of that land.

And the stories which kept dribbling in for days, as we held the line, of the gallantry of this man or the nobly inspiring death of that one, were of deep interest to us all.

Of our own battalion we lost on the 9th, 217 men out of a total of 657, and ten officers--not counting two who were slightly wounded--out of twenty-two of us.

Three of our officers were killed outright: "Old Pop;" Lieutenant Beechraft, an American lawyer from Michigan, who often said to me with a confident smile: "The Germans have not yet made a shell to get me."

And he was right, poor Tom, for I saw him lying dead that day on the field with a German rifle bullet wound in his head.

The third of our officers killed was Major Hutchins, a man well past fifty, who had recently joined us and who had taken a Lieutenant's position of platoon commander in order to serve at the front.

This was his first fight, and he was killed by a shell while leading his platoon across No Man's Land.

All honor to his gray hairs, and may they ever be an inspiration to younger men!

One of the best stories of this battle concerned a Canadian Brigade on our left under the command of Brigadier General H----.

This brigade on April 9 took all its objectives except one very difficult hill, No. 140, nicknamed, because of its shape, the Pimple.

The General of the division sent word to Brigadier General H---- that he was going to send in some British troops to aid him in capturing this hill.

Brigadier General H---- is a bonnie fighter, an Anglo-Indian who has been living some years in British Columbia, and he has a temper much resembling an Irish terrier's. He curtly sent back word that his Canadians needed no assistance.

Knowing him well, the General of division good-naturedly replied that if General H---- succeeded in taking this difficult hill they would give him the title Lord Pimple.

The next day the division received the following message: Have taken, am consolidating, and will hold Hill 140. (Sgd.

) LORD PIMPLE.

The main facts of this story can be verified in the official records of this division.

I have a vivid recollection of General H---- when he was Lieutenant Colonel in command of the --th Canadian Battalion.

I had been sent there to relieve the regular Medical Officer who was away on leave in England.

Lieutenant Colonel H---- was also away on leave during my first few days' service with his battalion.

On a certain day when we were being relieved from the front line opposite Bully Grenay I had not yet seen General H----.

On going out with my orderlies we were to pass along Damoisette trench, which was one of the front support trenches, and was an "out" trench that day.

We found it blocked by some other officers of our battalion and a couple of platoons, for this trench was being heavily shelled just ahead of the block.

We joined the others and waited some time, when an officer said: "By G--, I take enough chances without waiting here for the Huns to drop those shells on our heads.

I am going out Caron d'Aix," which was an "in" trench that day for this relief.

But the relief was to have been completed at 10 a. m.

, and it was then 10:15, so we would hardly cause any obstruction.

This fact, combined with the fact that probably everyone, as is often the case, was waiting for someone else to propose going back, made us all turn about and retrace our steps.

We were going along Caron d'Aix trench when I heard an angry voice behind me demanding: "Doctor, what are you doing in this trench?

Don't you know that this is an 'in' trench?"

I turned and saw a thin-lipped, square-jawed Lieutenant Colonel who, I guessed at once, was our returned O. C.

I explained that Damoisette was being shelled heavily, that relief was complete, and that only three of the men ahead were mine.

His face was quite dark and frowning, and I could see that he was debating as to whether he should give me a strafing, or pass it over.

Finally, he said sharply: "All right; carry on."

That night at Bully I did not look forward with any great pleasure to my dinner, for I had heard of his reputation as to temper, and I expected he would say a few things to me, though, as Kelly well put it, "it's none of an officer's business to put his nose against an advancin' German shell."

But I plucked up my courage and entered the H. Q.

mess room, to be greeted in a kindly and friendly manner by Lieutenant Colonel H----.

"How are you, doctor?

I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before," shaking my hand.

"Pardon me, sir, but you met me in a trench today where I had no right to be."

"No. You were quite right to be there.

I

made inquiries, and find you were right.

And anyway, I had no damned right to be there myself."

In the time that I remained with his battalion I found him always to be a courteous gentleman, but with an irascible temper.

One would not be surprised if, since his becoming a Brigadier General, his temper is less touchy.

And the incident of the Pimple shows that he is an efficient officer, well worthy of the land of his forefathers, and a credit to the country of his adoption and of his men.