THE POST OF HONOUR

NURSE CAVELL WITH HER FAVOURITE DOGS.

THE
POST OF HONOUR

STORIES OF DARING DEEDS
DONE BY MEN OF THE BRITISH
EMPIRE IN THE GREAT WAR

TOLD BY
RICHARD WILSON

1917
LONDON & TORONTO
J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.

CONTENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The author has used a large number of sources—newspapers, official reports, private letters and diaries, as well as books—in gathering the facts for these simple stories. Acknowledgments have been made wherever it was possible to trace the source, and indulgence is asked if through inadvertence or inability to find the original report any requisite acknowledgment has been omitted. Very meagre particulars of most of these brave deeds are at present available, for the British V.C. does not talk of his exploits. But such facts as are actually known ought surely to be given the widest possible publicity, especially in the schools of the Empire.

“If I should die, think only this of me,
That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England.”

Rupert Brooke.

“Will you at least try, if I am killed, not to let the things I have loved cause you pain, but rather to get increased enjoyment from the Sussex Downs, or from Janie singing folk-songs, because I have found such joy in them, and in that way the joy I have found can continue to live.”

Letter to his Mother, from a young British
officer who was killed in action.

“O ye who fell, mistake not our warm tears,
We would not wish you back lest we should see
Your souls defiled by undistinguished years.”

Charles Vincent.

INTRODUCTION

It is often said that “the post of danger is the post of honour.” The post of danger is given to the bravest, and the knowledge that much depends upon him often nerves him to the doing of dauntless deeds.

The record of valour which the Great War gave to history is the finest in the memory of mankind. The knowledge of science which men had won made fighting much more terrible than it had ever been before; but still the post of danger was eagerly sought by those men who could echo the words of King Harry of England:

“If it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.”

Many brave deeds were also done in that great struggle by men who had no idea that they were heroes. They just did their duty as it came along without any thought of honour or fame. They were like Jack Cornwell, the boy hero of the Battle of Jutland. They were “just carrying on.”

These deeds of daring were done by men, and even by women, in the armies of all the fighters—and among the Germans too. Each army had its ever-increasing band of heroes, until the numbers seemed to pass beyond counting. It was a sad world during that war time, but it was a brave world as well.

Among the bravest were the soldiers of Britain. This does not mean only the soldiers of the British Isles. It means the soldiers of the British Empire. It includes men from England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and the islands of the sea. It also includes natives of India, for many brave deeds were done by the men from that far-off land, who came so willingly to help their Emperor who was also our King.

What is a brave deed? Was it brave of Robert Clive to climb to the top of Market Drayton steeple in his boyhood? We smile at the story, but somehow we feel that the act was not what we should call brave.

It was daring, fearless, and a fine test of steady nerve. But it was not brave or heroic. Why? What was wanting to make it a matter for praise? The call of duty, I think, and I imagine that you will agree with me.

The deed was not done in the course of duty or to help some one in peril. If the boy’s daring had saved the life of a child we should hail him as a hero. A brave deed is a deed done in forgetfulness of self and at the call of duty.

In the Great War thousands of such deeds were done which were never reported. Only now and again a heroic action was brought to the notice of those whose business it was to set it down and to ask the King for a reward. No story of the Great War, however long, will ever tell of all the heroes.

The stories which are collected in this little book are only isolated instances. They are types or examples. But I have tried to tell of those which have some special lesson to teach us. Each of the heroes whose story is told here had a message for all those who were to follow them. It will be well to ask at the end of each story what this lesson was.

One word more, before we begin our stories. It is not true that a brave man feels no fear. Some of the bravest deeds on record have been done in secret fear and trembling.

A story is told of a great leader who always inwardly felt great fear when he was going into action. One day when this dread came upon him, he said to himself, “Ah, you are trembling, are you? But you would tremble more if you knew where I was going to take you to-day.”

Such a man is the bravest of the brave; for he must conquer himself as well as the enemy.

THE VICTORIA CROSS

That man is proud indeed, with the proper kind of pride, who has the right to use the letters V.C. after his name and to wear the medal known as the Victoria Cross. For this is the highest honour that can be won by any man in the British fighting services.

The Victoria Cross is made of bronze, and the picture shows you the exact shape of the medal. It is that of a “Maltese” cross, so called because it was the badge of the company of Christian warriors known as the Knights of Malta.

Hundreds of years ago, in the time of the Crusades, these knights fought against the Turks who held the Holy Places in Palestine and tried to drive them out. You see, then, that the chief medal of our Army and Navy reminds us that we belong to a Christian country, and one which ought always to fight on the side of justice and right.

It was the good Queen Victoria who gave orders for the first Victoria Crosses to be made, as the name of the medal will always remind us. She saw that there was no decoration that could be given to her soldiers and sailors who had done very brave deeds. There were many of these brave men who had fought for her and for their country in the Crimean War which was fought about sixty years before the Great War broke out.

The Queen, therefore, gave careful instructions for the designing and awarding of the new medal. It was to be made from the metal of cannon captured in the Crimean War. In the centre of the bronze cross was to be the figure of a lion standing on guard above the royal crown; and under the crown there was to be a scroll bearing the simple inscription, “For Valour.”

The ribbon attached to the medal was to be blue for the Navy and red for the Army. On the clasp there were to be two branches of laurel, which were to signify that the wearer had been a victor in the fight; for the laurel branch has been for long ages the sign of victory in the arts of peace as well as of war. The Cross was to hang from the clasp on a support made in the shape of a very broad capital letter V.

The first Victoria Crosses were presented by Queen Victoria herself at a review in Hyde Park in London. Not long afterwards the Cross was won in the Indian Mutiny by a young officer who was afterwards to become famous all over the world and to be known as Lord Roberts.

Lord Roberts died in France during the early part of the Great War, though he was too old to be in command of our troops. But his winning of the V.C. has always acted as an example to brave soldiers, and the simple story of what he did may well be told here once more.

He was a lieutenant when he won the Cross, and was fighting in the Indian Mutiny which broke out in 1857. The rebels had gathered together in a certain Indian village; and General Grant received orders from his commander-in-chief, Sir Colin Campbell, to drive them out. He took Roberts with him in the force which was to carry out this piece of work; and although the rebels had several guns and fought with great bravery, they were at last driven out of the village.

While this stern work was going on, Roberts saw two sepoys running away with a British flag. This was a sight to fire the blood of any British officer, and the young lieutenant did not pause to consider what he should do. He rode swiftly down upon the two men, drawing his sword as he came near to them. The men turned and faced him, each with a musket in his hands. Roberts reined in his horse and raised his sword. At that moment the barrel of a musket was pushed close to his face.

There was a sharp click—but no discharge. The cap had missed fire and at the same moment the sepoy carrying the standard was struck to the ground with a blow from Roberts’ sword. As the man fell, the young officer deftly snatched the flag from his dying grasp. The other man dropped his musket and made off at full speed.

Once again Roberts put spurs to his horse to take a further share in the pursuit of the rebels. Some distance away he met with two more sepoys standing at bay, each armed with a musket to which a bayonet was fixed. Not only Roberts but the flag was once more in danger, for it was two against one and the native soldiers were very skilful with their weapons.

Roberts set his teeth and rode straight forward, sword in hand. His attack was so direct and furious that the two men were thrown off their guard. In a moment one of them lay stretched upon the ground and the other had joined once more in the quick retreat.

CAPTAIN GRENFELL AND THE CHARGE OF THE LANCERS

It was at Mons in Belgium that the British soldiers first met the Germans. They were outnumbered by three to one; and they were therefore forced to fall back till fresh troops could be brought up to their assistance.

But they put up a glorious fight as they fell slowly back to a better position for making an advance; and the story of Mons and afterwards is so full of accounts of brave deeds that it is not easy to choose from among them.

The name of Captain Grenfell, however, stands out boldly on the roll of honour; and the story of his winning of the Victoria Cross is one of the finest in the history of the British Army.

At half-past ten one morning, the Second British Cavalry Brigade received a welcome order. They were to “charge for the guns” as the Light Brigade had been ordered to do at Balaklava in the Crimean War. The order was received with the greatest glee, for the troopers had waited for three days listening to the roar of the guns but taking no part in the great fight.

The men were the 9th Lancers, 18th Hussars, and 4th Dragoons. On they rode, singing, shouting, cheering; but they had not ridden far before some of the riders dropped from their saddles while their horses galloped away. The rest set their teeth, gripped their lances more tightly and urged on their horses until the thunder of the iron-shod hoofs seemed to drown that of the German guns.

All at once, a merciless fire broke out from a number of machine-guns which had been cleverly hidden on their flank, about 150 yards away. The withering fire swept their close-set ranks and men and horses fell in scores; but there was no faltering among the rest. Onward they rode, careless of the ceaseless hail of bullets and of the shells which now burst round them from the heavy guns ahead.

At last they reached the German battery, and what happened there is thus described by a German soldier:—

“We were outside Mons in open country,” he said, “with a clump of hills before us, when a troop of howling, yelling men with lances came racing round a hill and then straight for us. Your artillery and your infantry, yes, they are like ourselves and we can fight them, but these lancers;—ach!

“We were four to one of them, but in a flash they were on us and through us! And there were not more than fifty of them. Every one of them speared a man—I got this in the shoulder—and some of our horses went over. Before we could re-form or get ready, they came dashing back, yelling like furies, and they went through us again. This time they stayed with us longer.... I will never meet them again, please you!”

The stern work was over, but the British cavalry had paid a heavy price to silence the German guns. The men who were left now looked about for cover, and soon found it behind a railway embankment; but they also found in this place a company of men of the Royal Field Artillery whose guns had been knocked out of action.

Captain Grenfell was among the surviving officers of the 9th Lancers, but he had been wounded in the thigh as well as in one hand. Weary and hurt as he was, the news that British guns were in danger of capture roused him to further efforts. Without a moment’s delay, he rode off into the fire zone to make observations.

Having satisfied himself that the guns could be drawn off he came back—at a slow pace, in order to give courage to his men. Then he asked for volunteers for the job, and got them too, for British soldiers always answer to the call to “save the guns.” “It’s all right,” he said simply, “they can’t hit us. Come along!”

The men loosed their horses and followed the captain on foot. In a few minutes they set off at the double heedless of the flying bullets and bursting shells, and came at last to the first guns which they quickly hauled out of danger. They went back again and again until all the precious guns were safe.

It was for his bravery on this day that Captain Grenfell was awarded the Victoria Cross—one of the first to be awarded in the Great War. At a later period of the war he was killed in action.

BRITISH SAILORS WHO KNEW HOW TO DIE

The British Navy suffered several heavy losses during the early stages of the war. Off the Isle of May in the Firth of Forth the Pathfinder was cruising about when an enemy submarine came along, a torpedo was launched, and the cruiser was struck and sank with great loss of life. The men who were afterwards picked up had then been in the water for more than an hour. About a week later, however, the British submarine E9 gave blow for blow by sinking a German cruiser about six miles from Heligoland.

When the Pathfinder was struck the order was given, “Every man for himself.” In a few moments the water was full of struggling swimmers. One petty officer was a very strong swimmer and did all he could to help others who were not so strong as himself.

As soon as he found himself in the water he swam about among his mates helping them to lay hold of spars and pieces of wreckage. In time he got together a group of eleven men and kept cheering them up and making them as secure as he could. Some of them had only their heads and shoulders above the water; and four of them sank while trying to raise themselves to get a better hold.

Meanwhile several boats were racing across the water to pick up the exhausted men. When they came up, the poor fellows had to be dragged on board; and even the hardy and heroic petty officer was too much spent to help himself.

Only a few days passed and our Navy suffered a still heavier loss. The three cruisers Aboukir, Hogue, and Cressy were on patrol work in the North Sea and were steaming along three miles apart, through a choppy sea. All at once the first cruiser was seen to reel and then settle down sideways. She had been struck by a torpedo.

The Cressy and the Hogue immediately closed in to save life while the men on the sinking ship tried to lower one of their boats. But they were not able to do so, and they ran or slid over the hull of the vessel into the water.

Just as the Aboukir was heeling over, the Hogue was struck in two places. The great ship reared up in the water like a charger upon its hind legs, and quivered all over. Then she settled down, and sank in a few minutes, leaving the greater part of her crew in the water. But, strangely enough, as she went down, she righted herself, and two of her boats becoming detached, floated from her. The boats were soon filled and were the means of saving many lives.

It was now the turn of the Cressy, which had come up and was standing by for rescue work. She was struck by two torpedoes and sank almost at once. Two Dutch ships and a British trawler picked up as many men as they could crowd on board and made for the English coast. The total loss on the ships was 1500 men.

Even in this terrible disaster, the men of the British Navy were “ready, aye ready” when all that was now asked of them was that they should die like heroes.

SOME OF THE FIRST V.C.’S

When the Great War broke out in August 1914 the Victoria Cross had not been conferred for ten years. But it was not long before the newspapers began to report one deed after another of “signal valour and devotion performed in the presence of the enemy.”

The heroic spirit of the British Army and Navy was as strong as ever; and, of course, the greatness of the struggle gave our men more chances of performing deeds of heroism than they had ever had before.

During the first five months of the war, twenty-eight Crosses were awarded; this was a large number, for the Cross is never given without a great deal of careful consideration. One hundred were awarded during the first eighteen months. Let us see how some of these first Crosses were won, and how the earlier fighters set the example to all the rest.

In a military retreat or “withdrawal” it is important to place as many obstacles as possible in the path of the foe; and as soon as bridges have been safely crossed they must be destroyed.

It will readily be seen that the engineers who carry out this work of destruction have a very dangerous task to perform. They are the last men to leave the scene of action, and their destructive work holds up the pursuit.

In an advance the engineers go first, in a retreat they stay last; so that, on the whole, this “arm” of the forces is always in the post of danger, which is the post of honour.

Near the end of the first month of the war, Lance-Corporal Jarvis of the Royal Engineers won the V.C. for a piece of work which was carried out under a persistent and steady fire. He went out alone in a boat on the River Jemmapes, and worked steadily for an hour and a half in fixing and firing charges for the destruction of a bridge.

The bullets whistled about his ears, and the shells burst all round him on the bridge and below it; but the brave fellow worked coolly on until his task was finished—and properly finished too—and then got away unharmed. His devotion to duty had been of great value to his own side in a way which does not need further explanation.

The L Battery of the Royal Horse Artillery is now known all over the world for its gallant stand at the beginning of September 1914.

Field-guns and machine-guns were pounding away at this battery at a range of no more than 600 yards. All the officers fell, dead or wounded, and the men looked round for directions. Then Sergeant-Major Dorrell took charge of one gun and continued to serve it steadily until all the ammunition was used up.

Sergeant Nelson took command of another, and although severely wounded, kept grimly to his task until the shells had all been fired, when the shattered battery was relieved. Its steadiness had been of the greatest use in the engagement; and the two men who had thus proved their right to lead were not only given the V.C. but were made commissioned officers.

About a fortnight later, Bombardier Horlock of the Royal Field Artillery won the Cross by a wonderful display of fortitude, persistence, and a kind of disobedience a little akin to that of Lord Nelson at Copenhagen. His battery had not been long in action when a shell burst under his gun and he was wounded in the right thigh. He was told to go to the hospital, but went first to a dressing-station where he was bandaged and sent on to the rear. But he went back to the battery and five minutes later was hit again.

For a second time he came before the doctor, was given first-aid, and was then placed in charge of an orderly who was told to take him to the field-hospital farther back. On the way Horlock told his companion that there were many poor fellows who needed help much more than he did, and that he could find his way alone with perfect ease.

The orderly fell into the trap, and no sooner had he gone out of sight than Horlock limped back again to his battery and went on serving his gun. A little later, he was wounded in the arm, but, brave as he was, did not dare to face the doctor for the third time. He stayed with his comrades until the end of the day, and was at last picked up and taken to hospital.

Drummer Bent of the East Lancashires was the kind of soldier who is “good at need,” ready for any job which comes his way, and the more dangerous the work the better worth doing. The man who brings up the ammunition to the firing line seems to be merely a kind of porter; but when his work is carefully considered he is easily seen to be very important indeed. And when he does that work in the open under heavy fire without the excitement of taking a hand in the fighting, he is surely among the bravest of the brave. And this was the kind of work which first drew attention to Drummer Bent, who was only twenty-two years of age.

Having learnt that the oft-repeated sentence “every bullet has its billet” is merely a silly saying, Bent was quite ready to face fire on another occasion. Several wounded men were lying in the open and he went out to bring some of them under cover. This heroic action alone was worthy of the highest reward, for it showed that disregard of self which is the root of all true heroism; but Bent was to do still more than this.

One dark night in November, a portion of his regiment was holding a certain position of some importance. The enemy made a fierce attack and the three officers in charge were struck down. Then Bent took command and, under his cool direction, the position was held until relief came. The young soldier had nobly earned the Cross which he afterwards received.

You will remember how Indian troops came to the help of Britain in the Great War and how some of them fought very bravely in Northern France. It is said that there was great rejoicing in India when news reached that country that two of the native soldiers had won the Victoria Cross.

These were Naik (i.e. Corporal) Darwan Sing Negi and Sepoy Khudadad, who were the first soldiers of India to receive the highest military honour that it was in the power of their Emperor to grant.

Naik Darwan Sing Negi was in action one night in late November near Festubert in France. Certain trenches had been taken by the enemy and his regiment was given the task of recapturing them. This was a very difficult piece of work, for it meant hand-to-hand bayonet fighting in narrow passages half filled with water, where a fighter had little elbow-room and, if he went first in an attack, could get very little help from his comrades.

The Garhwal Rifles, to which the Corporal belonged, rushed to the attack with fierce shouts and flashing eyes. Darwan Sing Negi was wounded more than once, but he stuck to his work with grim valour, fighting his way foot by foot along the narrow passages, and striking terror into the hearts of his enemies.

When the stern work had been well done, the company fell in and it was found that the Corporal was very badly wounded; but he received his reward a little later at the hands of King George himself, who first visited the British lines in December 1914.

Sepoy Khudadad was fighting in Belgium and was one of a machine-gun section which was told off to support the 5th Lancers. The place in which he fought was heavily bombarded by the enemy and the machine-gun company suffered greatly. In a short time one of their two guns was put out of action.

The six men who manned the second gun fought with splendid bravery until the Germans rushed the position in great numbers and struck down five of them. Sepoy Khudadad saw his chance to escape, but stayed behind for a time in order to make his gun useless before it fell into the hands of the enemy. Then he slipped away to a place of safety, to the great surprise of the Germans, each of whom probably thought that some one else had secured him! He was, however, very badly wounded; and when King George came over to France the Indian hero was too ill to receive at his hands the Cross which was afterwards given to him in London.

THE SPIRIT OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

The old story of Sir Philip Sidney might well be written in letters of gold upon the wall of every school in the Empire. It will be remembered that he fought at Zutphen in Eastern Holland during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and that he was mortally wounded in the thigh with a musket-ball. The immortal tale is told in the following words by his friend, Fulke Greville:—

“Being thirsty with excess of bleeding, he called for drink which was presently brought him; but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had eaten his last at the same feast, casting up his eyes at the bottle. Which Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his head before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man with these words, ‘Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.’”

Over and over again the brave fighters on the Western Front showed that the spirit of Sir Philip Sidney still lived and that it survived under conditions of horror and misery such as no soldier of Queen Elizabeth ever saw. Discipline and self-denial showed themselves in situations where the most severe judge might well forgive a man for thinking only of himself and his pressing and immediate needs. Here is one incident of the retirement from Mons.

Major Fawcett was in charge of two ambulance wagons and a water-cart, and saw with pity and anxiety that the poor wounded soldiers were suffering untold agonies owing to their long ride over rough and uneven ground. He therefore made up his mind to call a halt in order that the men might be refreshed with some beef-tea. The wagons were drawn up by the wayside, and the Major rode ahead to find some cottage or farm where the water might be boiled.

A few minutes after he disappeared from sight, a company of infantry came along. The men were weary, footsore, thirsty, and indescribably dirty; and as soon as they saw the water-carts drawn up by the side of the road, they crowded round them eager to quench their burning thirst.

Then an officer rode up to them and explained the situation. He said that there was very little water left in the carts and that it was badly needed for the wounded men in the two ambulances.

“I am thirsty myself,” he said, “and I’m awfully sorry for you fellows, but you see how it is; the wounded must come first.”

The reply was worthy of Sir Philip Sidney: “Quite right, sir; we didn’t know it was a hospital water-cart.” Then the thirsty men turned away and went on with their march.

There was the same Sidney spirit in Lieutenant Wynn of the Yorkshire Light Infantry, of whom one of his men wrote after the officer had died: “He was a gentleman and a soldier. The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the trenches, and we asked him if he would have a drink. He said, ‘No, drink it yourselves: you are in want of it,’ And then with a smile, he added simply, ‘We are to hold these trenches to-day,’” Self-denial and pride in duty! These were the marks of British officers and men in that time of fiery trial.

THE MESSENGERS

Some of the bravest and most daring of our men were those who carried the messages or dispatches; and many thrilling stories can be told of their adventures. One of the most exciting is that of four men of the Royal Irish Fusiliers.

A certain section of ground of about a quarter of a mile in width was swept by a fierce and continuous German fire. On either side of this open space were British troops, one section of which was in great danger of being surrounded by the enemy. The British officers on the other side saw the danger and wished to warn the company and instruct them to make a certain movement which would prevent disaster.

The buglers were ordered to give calls of warning, but these were either unheard in the din or were not properly understood. There was no way open but across that fire-swept space, and when other methods of sending warning had been tried and had failed, it was decided to send a dispatch carrier.

A call was made for volunteers for the dangerous task, and every single man in the company expressed his willingness to go. This was more than was wanted so coins were quickly produced, spun in the air, and by this boyish method the volunteers were thinned down to the number required. Then the men who had won the honour stepped forward.

The first in the line was given the message and made a desperate dash through the hail of bullets. He ran for a short distance, then tumbled over, and lay still. Two others advanced and commenced the race with death. One of them stopped to lift his wounded comrade, and the other ran on, only to fall in a few moments—dead.

A fourth man rushed out and raced across the zone of death. The bullets flew round him and his comrades watched him with tense anxiety as he seemed to dodge them until he came to a point at a short distance from the British trenches. Then he fell and lay still.

But the men in the trench had seen him and guessed that he had some message for them; otherwise he surely would not have set out on that desperate race with death. A number of them sprang forward as one man, eager to go to his help. They leapt “over the top” and commenced their own gallant race. In a few moments every man of the little party was wounded. But by this time the messenger was on his hands and knees crawling slowly and painfully towards the British cover.

Then a second rescue party came out, in spite of the bullets which seemed to fall thicker than ever, and in a short time they came up with him and were able to draw him into safety. The battalion was saved, for the required movement was instantly made which rendered the German efforts of no avail.

Dispatch carriers on motor bicycles had many great adventures during those stirring days, and many narrow escapes from death, while numbers of them made the last great sacrifice in the performance of their dangerous duty. One of these men was the means of saving a whole French regiment which was in close touch with a British force.

It was necessary to carry a warning to the French not to venture along a certain road where there was a German ambush. Signals were tried by men who paid for their daring in going out into the open by meeting their death from the bullets of German marksmen. The British were hidden in a wood, and when the signallers had failed to carry the necessary warning, a motor-cyclist sped out from the cover and raced at breathless speed along the road. He had not gone far before he was hit and tumbled over with his machine on top of him. A second messenger followed, but in a short time he too went down. A third man came out and began the race which he won after marvellous escapes. The message was safely delivered to the French officer, and the company of our Allies was saved.

The machine and clothes of the last messenger were riddled with bullets but he himself was quite unhurt!

THE STORY OF CORPORAL HOLMES

All true hearts go out to the man who risks his life to save a comrade. There were numberless instances of this supreme act of unselfish courage in the Great War; and one of the best of the earlier stories is that of Corporal Holmes.

He belonged to the 2nd Battalion of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, and he won the Cross for rescue work under heavy fire. He was only twenty-three years of age when his great chance came. Let him tell his own story[1]:—

[1] As reported in the Daily Graphic, with acknowledgments.

“We were at Le Cateau and the order had been passed to reinforce us at 11 a.m.; but the men were delayed, and we were still on the spot at 4.30 in the afternoon. Then the order to retire was given, but this did not reach my own particular detachment. We went on for another half-hour, and then one of our officers said that we must get back if there were to be any more of us left, for the Germans were very close to us and in much greater force.

“Just as I was jumping out, I saw a wounded man on the top of the trenches, and noticed that he was a comrade. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Freddie, save me if you can!’ he said. I looked at him and my heart stood still; for at that moment I had little hope of saving myself, let alone anybody else.

“Then I thought I must have a try, somehow. So I picked him up. But my equipment hurt him, for he was badly wounded. So I slung it off as fast as I could, gave him the fireman’s hold, and somehow carried him about 200 yards, with shrapnel spraying round us all the time. I thought over and over again that I was done, but I had to go on.

“After a bit we came to a few houses, and at the door of one of them a young woman was standing. When she saw my burden she said, ‘Put him in here,’ and I did so. I rested a few minutes and then went back towards the firing line. At first I saw nobody, but very soon I made out the Germans coming on in extended order. All the time shells were coming from their batteries behind. I reached the crest of a hill and saw a gun with its horses isolated.

“All around the gunners were lying—dead as far as I could see. But another man, a trumpeter, was not dead; so I took him up and stuck him on the limber. Then I started to drive off the gun.

“By this time the Germans had seen me and were advancing, shooting at me as they came. I struck at the horses with my bayonet, and off we went, and I never slackened until the sound of the German guns had died down. Then the horses dropped from exhaustion, and I found that the trumpeter was gone. I have never heard of him again.

“At the moment a few artillerymen came up, and I handed over the gun; and they took charge of me too. And that’s all there is to it. Lots of others deserve the V.C. as much as ever I did, and a good deal more.”

The reader must not take this modest hero at his own value.

THE MEN OF THE FIRST LINE

It was the pick of the British Army which was selected for the work of the firing line. Among these men there were deeds done daily and at times almost hourly which were deserving of the highest reward. And only a small number of these deeds of daring and devotion were ever reported to those whose duty it was to recommend the granting of medals. Apart from the actual fighting it was a severe trial of strength, nerve, and endurance to stay for any length of time in the front system of trenches at all.

Let us never forget the heroism of endurance in paying our tribute to the heroism of “the crowded hour of glorious life.”

During the first winter months of the war the life in the trenches which were made across open country was almost unbearable; and it was only made possible by continual use of the pumps. Within and without the ditch men sank to the knees and sometimes to the waist in water and slime. A few shelters of corrugated iron were set up here and there which gave a little protection and made possible the lighting of a fire.

One of the civilian visitors to the Western Front thus described the trench system:—

“The trenches are immense labyrinths, miles in extent, branching in every direction, a guide being always required in entering their mazes. Unpleasant surprises crop up at every point. The sniper is a constant danger, and cover from the enemy’s bullets is scanty enough. I myself passed through one of the communication trenches behind a long double wall of sand-bags from 3 to 4 feet high.

“This trench runs in serpentine fashion for miles through fields, roads, villages, houses, bedrooms, the latter mostly in ruins though much of the furniture is still there. The height of the sand-bag wall renders it advisable to proceed in a stooping fashion, bent almost double.

“Many of the passages cannot be safely used by day. I saw in one place the body of a horse which had lain in the same position for a long time; and yet it could not be taken away, for it was certain death for any one to attempt to move it.

“An officer said to me, ‘If you are tired of life try to move it.’ Through this dreadful lane of death soldiers were constantly passing and re-passing, perspiring, laughing, joking, and teasing one another; but the officers in charge did not joke. They were responsible for the lives of these merry, thoughtless boys, and many a growl was heard as a specially daring private failed to take due care of the life that was too precious to be thrown away to no purpose.”[2]

[2] From the Sphere, with acknowledgments.

Between the front-line trench system of the British and that of the Germans was the open space often spoken of as “No Man’s Land.” Across this space there was incessant firing of rifles and machine-guns, throwing of bombs and hand grenades, and the firing of bombs from trench mortars.

The attacks and counter-attacks on the trenches were of a grim character such as defies description; and the horror of the work was increased by the use of chlorine gas and flame-throwers. The Germans first began to use the dreadful gas round about Ypres, and the brave Canadian troops were some of the first to feel its deadly effects. The use of the gas by the Germans in one of their attacks upon our trenches is thus described:—

“When the gas cylinders were opened, the thick green mist came rolling towards the parapet from the enemy’s empty front trench, several hundreds of yards away. It looked like vapour rising from a marsh, and the wind was strong enough to carry it rapidly towards the parapet.

“The battalion had time to load and fire two rounds through the screen of gas before it came pouring over the sand-bags, penetrating into every crevice of the dug-out, and choking the men who lay there. It was so thick at first that objects three feet away could hardly be seen.”

At a later date the Germans began to make attacks under cover of flame-projectors. The liquid used was a mixture of petrol and kerosene and was thrown towards the trench in such a way that it was fired by an electric spark as it left the tube. Such were some of the horrors of trench life which were borne without complaint day after day by the men who held the post of honour, the long front line facing a clever and determined foe.

It may seem difficult to believe that there was a funny side to this dread business of death, ruin, and hatred. Yet there were many humourous incidents which were not missed by our cheery soldiers. One story tells of a poor private who had toothache very badly and was sitting by the roadside like the old woman who “went to the market her eggs for to sell.” By came—not “a pedlar” but a shell which exploded in the sufferer’s vicinity, but did not hurt him.

In fact it proved of great benefit to him; for he was so much “shocked” that he instantly lost his toothache.

On the first of April 1915 an Allied airman flew over the aerodrome of the French town of Lille which was in German hands. He dropped not a bomb but a football. The Germans ran for cover and watched the “bomb” strike the earth and then bounce to a great height!

They watched carefully to take notes for the Kaiser on the new “postponed” fuse. Only when the ball had rested for some time quite peacefully on the ground did they come out to read the inscription with which it was furnished, namely—“April Fool!”

The flying men on both sides in the fight on the Western Front had a great deal of respect for each other; and in some cases courtesies were exchanged between them which remind us of the olden days of chivalry.

If, for example, a machine was brought down within either of the opposing lines, it was the custom for the captors to drop a weighted letter over the enemy positions giving information as to the fate of the pilot and the observer.

One day, one of these letters fell within the British lines. It told the men of a certain section of the air service that one of their pilots had died the day before. The men at once prepared a wreath which was taken over the German lines on a fast monoplane. The machine was fired at by the Germans as usual; but the British pilot flew low and was able to drop the wreath in a suitable spot, whence it was carried by the Germans to the dead pilot’s grave.

During Christmas time in 1914 a very strange thing happened. At one part of the line on the Western Front the Germans came out of their trenches and met some of the British to wish them the compliments of the season! Small gifts were exchanged and there was some singing and merriment. Then the men went back to their trenches and the cruel war went on.

Stories are told of other instances of friendliness between the men whose business it was to kill each other as quickly as possible. It is said that during a lull in one battle a tin was set up on a branch half-way between the two opposing trenches in order that the men on both sides might try their skill in a sniping match.

There are several instances of football matches being arranged between men on the opposing “international” sides. In one case, the players were ready, but a ball could not be found. In another, all was ready to begin when the British colonel forbade the play, evidently placing no trust in the goodwill of Germans, and being anxious for the safety of his men. In a third instance the match actually came off and the British team was beaten by one goal.

At one point some British soldiers took their enemies some hot cocoa on a bitter wintry day. The shivering men would not drink it until the “Tommies” had first tasted it themselves!

LIEUTENANT LEACH AND SERGEANT HOGAN

These two gallant officers belonged to the Manchester Regiment which fought with special bravery on the Western Front. The former was only twenty when he won the V.C., in company with Sergeant Hogan who had seen service in the South African War.

The Manchesters were stationed at Festubert not far from Ypres and, near the end of October, their trenches were fiercely bombarded by the Germans and then rushed with the utmost violence. One morning, just before day began to break, and at the time when the courage of most men is at its lowest, the enemy made an attack in great numbers.

They climbed over the parapet of the first trench and the British were forced to fall back into the second, where they were quite able to hold their own. By this time the massed attack of the Germans had spent itself, and the Manchesters prepared to drive them out of their front trench as soon as they could.

At about nine o’clock, Lieutenant Leach left the second trench and crept out to discover what the Germans were doing. What followed may be partly gathered from his own very modest account which was afterwards published:—

“I found that they had occupied three out of four of the traverses. At eleven o’clock I went again and found that they had occupied the lot. Later, I called for Sergeant Hogan and for ten volunteers. I took the first ten men, and we crawled along the communication trench, which led into the right of the advance trench.

“Our idea was to push the Germans as far to the left as we could and then wait for them to attempt to get back to their own lines, and shoot them. After some time we managed to push them to the left traverse.

“As we crawled along we had to climb over the bodies of dead or wounded Germans. Gradually we drove the others along until they were in the left traverse as far as they could go. I was surprised then to hear a voice call in English, ‘Don’t shoot, sir!’ and there was one of my own men who had been with me in the morning. He told me that the German officer had sent him to say that they wished to surrender.

“We went round the corner, and there were the officer and about fourteen Germans on their knees with their hands up crying ‘Mercy!’ I told them to take their equipment off, and then run into our main trench. This they did, and I was surprised that their own friends did not snipe them for surrendering. Twenty wounded Germans also joined the others.

“I found that the Germans had captured two of my men in the early morning, and the German officer, who could speak English, had told them that they would have a good time when they were sent to Berlin as prisoners.”

The lieutenant’s story does not make it clear what was the nature of the “push” which was applied to the Germans to bring them in a huddled heap to the end of the left traverse. He really employed a very clever ruse which completely deceived the enemy.

He and his companion left the rest of their party some distance behind them and went forward alone to drive the Germans along the winding trench which they knew had a blind end. When they came to a square corner Leach put his right hand round and fired at the Germans without exposing his body, which a man with a rifle could not do. Meanwhile, Hogan, who was a little way behind him, was watching the parapet to ward off attacks from above.

When the two men had cleared one section in this manner, they took up their stand at the next corner where Leach repeated the treatment; while Hogan raised his cap on the end of his rifle to show his friends how far progress had been made, and prevent the trench being swept by their fire. The whole operation showed remarkable coolness as well as daring and resource.

WILSON, O’LEARY, AND MARTIN-LEAKE

Before the outbreak of the Great War, George Wilson was selling newspapers in the streets of Edinburgh. He had already served as a private in the Highland Light Infantry, and, being in the Reserve, was called out at the beginning of the great struggle. In a very short time he was fighting in France with his old regiment.

In the middle of September 1914, the H.L.I. were hard at work trying to check and drive back the Germans not very far from Paris. During the fighting in one quarter, some of our men were greatly worried by a German machine-gun which was posted in a wood; and Private Wilson made up his mind to do what he could to silence the gun.

Taking another private with him, he set out on his errand. The two men were able to come quite close to the enemy’s position, and then, all at once, Wilson’s comrade fell over with a bullet in his body.

This did not check Wilson in the least, and he went on alone. After a while he was able to find cover behind some trees. Here he was quite hidden, and had a good view of the gun which had worried his mates.

From this position he picked off, one by one, the entire crew of the machine-gun which included an officer and six men. Then he ran forward and took over the gun, together with a supply of ammunition. For this piece of splendid work Wilson received the Victoria Cross, which he well deserved.

His exploit was somewhat like that of Michael O’Leary of the Irish Guards, except that the latter captured two machine-guns single-handed. He was a lance-corporal when the great chance came to him, and the story of how he won the Cross is told by his own quartermaster-sergeant in the following words:—

“My company was ordered from our trench to keep up a hot rifle and machine-gun fire across the German trenches and points of cover. After the rain of bullets and shrapnel had been kept up for twenty minutes, No. 1 Company was let loose on the left. They came out of the trenches with a yell, bayonets fixed, and went for the enemy at the double. They had from 100 to 150 yards to travel, and they went at a tidy pace, but were easily outstripped by O’Leary. He never looked to see if his mates were coming, and he must have done pretty near even time over that patch of ground.

“When he got near the end of one of the German trenches, he dropped, and so did many others a long way behind him. The enemy had discovered what was up. A machine-gun was O’Leary’s mark. Before the Germans could manage to slew it round, and meet the charging men, O’Leary picked off the whole five of the machine-gun crew.

“Then leaving his mates to capture the gun, he dashed forward to the second barricade which the Germans were quitting in a hurry and shot three men. O’Leary came back as cool as if he had been for a walk in the park, and with two prisoners.” The prisoners were taken because O’Leary’s shot was exhausted!

A soldier or sailor cannot win the V.C. a second time; but if a man who holds the medal does another very brave deed he is given an extra clasp. This distinction was awarded to Captain Martin-Leake of the Royal Army Medical Corps for continuous bravery during the early months of the war.

In our very proper admiration for the fighting men, we are a little apt to overlook the work of that branch of the army to which Captain Martin-Leake belonged; and this is somewhat unjust.

No section of the British forces did better, more skilful, or more heroic work than the Medical Corps. After a fight, parties of stretcher-bearers would be quickly on the scene no matter how great was the danger to themselves. Many of these brave men were struck down while engaged in this work of mercy.

The wounded were tenderly lifted, placed upon stretchers and given first-aid. They were then, without the loss of a moment, taken in motor ambulances from a collecting station to the base hospitals far away from the firing line.

Captain Martin-Leake had won his Cross in the South African War for great bravery shown in tending the wounded under fire; and while engaged in this splendid work he had been wounded no less than three times.

He did the same kind of work in the fighting during the Great War. Over and over again, he went out into the open, careless of shell and rifle fire, to bring in the wounded or render first-aid. Some of the men whom he rescued had been shot in storming the enemy’s trenches, and lay quite near to the parapets; but the brave captain brought several of them back from the very grasp of the foe.

THE CANADIAN SCOTTISH

At times during a battle a body of comrades seem to act together as one man. Their spirit and discipline are so good and they each forget themselves so completely in the effort of the fight that the foe cannot stand before them. When a brave effort of this special kind is made, Crosses are not granted, but the name of the battle is worked on the flag or colours of the regiment.

Never was such a distinction better earned than by the Canadians at Ypres.

In the spring of 1915, the Germans were making desperate efforts to get to Calais, as a step on the road to London. They were so eager to get there that they began to use poison gas against our men and their friends, the French and Belgians.

The Canadians were among the first to feel the effects of that horrible, choking, blinding gas. The use of it gave the Germans an advantage at first; and it seemed likely, for a time, that they would be able to make a way through the British lines. It was the Canadians who stepped into the gap and helped to save Calais. The people of Britain and the Empire can never forget that splendid service.

At another time there was a desperate fight in a wood near Ypres from which the Canadian Scottish drove the Germans one moonlight night. The story, as told by an officer, forms another fine page in the history of the British Army. Here it is:—

“It was just a few minutes before midnight when we got to a hollow which was about 300 yards from the wood. The moon came out now and then, but we could have done without her, for farm buildings were blazing all round. The fire from the Germans in the wood had now ceased, and we had a spell of silence that could be felt.

“Whispered orders were given to fix bayonets and were obeyed in a flash. Our coats, packs, and everything were dropped and we advanced in light order. When we reached a low ridge in full view of the wood, a storm of fire was loosed upon us from the undergrowth skirting the wood. At once the word was given to charge, and on we rushed, cheering, yelling, and shouting, straight for the foe.

“At first they fired too high, and our losses were small. Then some of our men began to drop, and the whole front line seemed to melt away, only to be instantly closed up again. Cheering and yelling, we jumped over the bodies of the wounded and tore on. Of the Germans with the machine-guns not one escaped, but those inside the wood stood up to us in fine style.

“The struggle became a dreadful hand-to-hand conflict; we fought in clumps and batches, and the living struggled over the bodies of the dead and dying. At the height of the conflict, while we were steadily driving the Germans before us, the moon burst out. The clashing bayonets flashed like quicksilver, and faces were lit up as if by limelight.

“Sweeping on, we came upon lines of trenches, which had been hastily made and could not be well defended. All who held out were bayoneted; those who gave in were sent to the rear.”

The officer spoke modestly as all British heroes do; but no words could convey a full idea of the desperate character of the fighting on that moonlight night. The Canadians knew perfectly well what depended upon them in that frantic struggle round about the poor battered town of Ypres; and they nobly performed the duty laid upon them.

Remember that these men were not fighting, directly at least, for the safety of their own homes, which were thousands of miles away in peaceful Canada; nor for their wives and children, mothers, or sweethearts, who had sent them out so bravely from their homes in the western land. They might have stayed at home, and no one would have had any right to call them slackers or shirkers.

But they did not stay at home. The “Old Grey Mother” of them all was in danger—the Britain to whom it was their pride to belong. So they came racing across the seas as quick as steam could bring them; and after some months of training in the Old Country, they went out to fight and win and die.

THE CANADIAN SPIRIT

When the Canadian troops arrived at the Western Front Sir John French wrote of them, “The soldierly bearing and the steadiness with which the men stay in the ranks on a bleak, cold, and snowy day are most remarkable.” Other leaders spoke of their high spirits and love of fun; others again of their cleverness in finding out new ways of doing things, and, later, of tricking the enemy.

The men from overseas soon became comrades with the Britons from the Motherland. “The British Tommy,” wrote a young Canadian, “is splendid. He is alive to his fingertips. He is full of devices to deceive the enemy; he knows all kinds of tricks; he hasn’t a mean streak in him, and he’s a first-class fighting man. He uses his brains. It has been a revelation to me to find him as he really is.”

Briton and Canadian, therefore, were prepared to think the best of each other; and the feeling of brotherliness with which they began their stern work carried them shoulder to shoulder through many a terrible day and yet more terrible night.

The Canadians, after their custom, treated their officers in a free-and-easy manner which seemed at first somewhat strange to the ordinary British soldier. But when the time for duty came there was no difference between Canadian and British discipline. But there was always a standing dispute among Canadian officers and men in the heat of action as to who should go first into the stiffest part of the fight.

At one battle a Canadian captain was leading his men in single file through a dangerous place, when a non-commissioned officer stepped forward and said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but bomb-throwers always go first.” Then he ran on ahead before the officer could speak to order him to go back.

There are numberless stories of Canadian pluck and resource. In one engagement, Lieutenant Campbell, leading a small number of men, made his way into the front trench of the Germans, and passed along for some distance until he was held up by a barricade. They were under very heavy fire, and in a short time only two of the party were left, namely, the lieutenant and Private Vincent.

The two men, however, kept on fighting. They had a machine-gun, but it was useless because they had no tripod to stand it on. So Vincent stooped down and the officer strapped the gun upon his back. It was worked with its human tripod for some time, but at last a German bombing party entered the trench and Campbell was wounded to death. Vincent, however, succeeded in dragging the gun away to a place of safety.

Our men were, naturally enough, very anxious to prevent their guns from falling into the enemy’s hands and being used against themselves. A British gun, lost near Ypres, was afterwards recovered in a surprising manner.

One bright morning a German aeroplane was seen circling gracefully over the headquarters of a British division. Soon the shrapnel was bursting round it; but the airman flew too high to be hit, and he and his pilot seemed to the thousands of watchers to be thoroughly enjoying the risks of their morning flight.

Then a British machine appeared at some distance away, and it was not observed by the German airmen until it was close upon them. The enemy turned to escape but the sound of an aerial machine-gun soon told the watchers that the fight had begun. The German made a spirited reply, until his gun went wrong and his pilot was wounded. Then his machine fell rapidly to the ground and came to earth not far from the Montreal Battalion, while the British machine rose again to avoid the attentions of the German gunners.

The German airman was able to get clear of the wreckage of his machine and creeping to the Canadian trench gave himself up, saying that his pilot was dead. Our men were anxious to capture the machine but the German gunners were equally anxious to pound it to pieces. The Canadians, however, were able to gather the fragments of the wreck, and among them found the machine-gun which had been lost near Ypres some six months before.[3]

[3] The story is fully told, with many others of great interest, in Canada in Flanders, Part II., by Lord Beaverbrook. (Hodder and Stoughton.)

It was a French-Canadian officer, Major Roy, who performed one of the bravest deeds of the early part of the war in Flanders. A huge shell from a trench-mortar fell into a trench full of men. The gallant major picked it up to hurl it over the parapet, but his foot slipped and the shell exploded as he held it! There was little doubt that with men like these the Canadian spirit would carry the troops of the Dominion very far, as indeed it did, in the months of terror and glory which were to follow.

A young Canadian, Private Smith, was merrily singing a song during a bombing attack by some of his comrades when a mine exploded near him and he was almost completely buried in the falling earth. When he had dug himself out he found that he had lost his rifle and looked about to find some useful work.

He was soon made aware that the supply of bombs was running short, and the idea struck him that he might crawl round among the dead or wounded bomb-throwers and collect the bombs which they had not used.

Without wasting a moment, he moved carefully round on hands and knees and made his collection, hanging the bombs at various points on his own person. The missiles were duly delivered by the smiling “carrier,” to the great delight of his comrades who cheered him on in his very useful but risky work. He made five collections in all and safely delivered his precious burden to the men who were attacking the German trenches. His clothes and cap were riddled with bullets, but he was not hit, because, as he explained, he kept always “on the move.”

At last he could find no more bombs, and his company was forced to fall back before the terrible German fire. One of the bombing party was seen wounded, standing on the parapet of the German front-line trench. He had thrown every bomb he carried, and then weeping with rage at being unable to do more, he flung earth and stones at the enemy until the end came.

THE ADVENTURES OF THE KENT

The long and glorious history of the British Navy contains many a story of a fight against great odds. We think with pride of the little Revenge which fought fifty-three Spanish ships, and only gave in when its gallant captain Sir Richard Grenville was wounded to the death. And this story of the time of Queen Elizabeth is only one out of many in the records of our Navy.

Now it was a splendid and glorious thing for Sir Richard Grenville to fight so bravely. But it would have been a foolish and cruel thing if Queen Elizabeth had ordered him to fight single-handed against ten, or even five, Spanish ships.

In much the same way, it would be a splendid thing if two of our ships were to fight half a dozen Germans which had caught them unawares. But it would be very foolish of the rulers of our Navy to allow such a thing to happen if it could be helped. They must make as sure as they can that any group of our ships will not be outnumbered, or meet with an equal number of vessels of a newer type and carrying heavier guns.

Both these things happened off the coast of Chile in South America on November 1, 1914. On that day four German cruisers met three British cruisers and a battle took place. The German ships were of a newer type and carried much heavier guns than the British, so that the latter were “outclassed”; and though the British fought with great bravery against the heavy odds, two ships were lost.

A strong British squadron was at once got together and placed under the command of Admiral Doveton Sturdee. It was sent off in secret, and people at home knew nothing about it until news of victory came.

Turn to the map of South America and find out the group of islands known as the Falklands which lie off the south-east coast. These islands are part of the British Empire and at Port Stanley, the chief town, there is an important wireless station.

A message was sent from London to the governor of the Falklands to the effect that a German squadron was cruising near, and might, at any moment, make a raid upon the islands. The German ships, under Admiral von Spee, did indeed come to the Falklands intending to destroy the wireless station and take possession of the islands. But they found Admiral Sturdee awaiting them, and on December 8th the Battle of the Falklands was fought.

THE ENEMY CRUISER WAS ABOUT TO SINK.

Sturdee in the Invincible gave the signal,—“God save the King.” The firing began shortly after noon at a range of about nine miles. When night had fallen four of the five German ships lay at the bottom of the ocean, and two thousand of the enemy had died in doing their duty. The other enemy warship, the Dresden, made her escape. The loss on the British side was only eight men.

In connection with this battle the story of the cruiser Kent is worth preserving, while one of the stokers won the praise and reward of his leaders for a deed of coolness and bravery. The Kent was ordered to chase and engage one of the German cruisers and set out on the trail. But before long she found herself running short of fuel.

This fact was reported to the captain and though it was a very serious matter he was not put out. “Very well then,” he said, “have a go at the boats.” The word was passed along, and some of the men unslung the boats and broke them up with hatchets and crowbars. Then the pieces were thickly smeared with oil and carried below to the stokers whose stock of coal was now almost at an end. Soon the ship’s boats were blazing in the furnaces and the Kent raced along.

But this was not enough. Still more fuel was needed, and officers and men cast their eyes around in search of something more that would burn. Some one pointed to the wooden ladders; and in a few moments they had been taken down and sent below to the stokers.

Other men wrenched off the doors of cabins and ward-rooms. Young officers ran laughing to their cabins, and brought out chairs, tables, chests of drawers, and other pieces of furniture. These were quickly passed below. The stokers worked with a will and by and by a hearty cheer told them that the German was being overhauled.

Then the guns began to speak and after a brisk exchange the enemy cruiser was seen to be on fire and about to sink. She hauled down her colours, whereupon the Kent ceased firing and closed in to save life if possible. But the German ship heeled over and went down like a stone, only twelve men being rescued by the British.

While these exciting things were happening Sergeant Mayes showed coolness and bravery which saved the lives of many of his comrades and probably saved his ship. A shell burst and set fire to some powder charges in the bomb-proof shelter. A flash of flame went down the hoist into the passage leading to the place where the shells were kept. Sergeant Mayes picked up a charge of powder and threw it into the sea.

He then got hold of a fire-hose and flooded the shelter, in this way putting out the fire in some empty shell bags which were burning. These things were done in a few seconds, but they were indeed fateful moments; for the firing of the magazine was the cause of the loss of more than one gallant vessel during the Great War.

THE LANCASHIRE LANDING

Again and again in our fighting history, a regiment acting as one man has performed a “deed of signal valour and devotion in the presence of the enemy,” such as is required for the winning of the Victoria Cross. There is, however, as we have seen, no V.C. for a regiment; but in one case at least during the Great War a regiment selected by vote the names of those men among them who were thought most worthy to wear the Victoria Cross.

The First Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers landed on Beach W in the Gallipoli Peninsula on April 25th, 1915—a day to be marked and remembered by all lovers of heroic deeds. And having won immortal glory by their valour they—or the survivors from among them—selected for the V.C. three of their number, namely Private Keneally, Sergeant Richards, and Captain Willis. The story of the landing, however, concerns the whole regiment.

THE LANDING OF THE LANCASHIRES.

Beach W was in a bay enclosed by hills through which a narrow gully running down to the sea opened out a break in the cliffs. The Turks had expected a landing on this beach, and had made every possible preparation to repel the invaders. There were mines in the sea and mines on the land. At the edge of the water there was a thick fence of barbed wire.

There were trenches and gun positions on the slopes overlooking the beach; and the guns were so cleverly hidden that the gunners on our warships, even when helped by the airmen, could not find them out. Behind each heap of sand and each tuft of brushwood a Turkish sniper was concealed.

“So strong, in fact,” wrote the British general, Sir Ian Hamilton, “were the defences of Beach W that the Turks may well have thought them impregnable. And it is my firm conviction that no finer feat of arms has ever been achieved by the British soldier—or any other soldier—than the storming of those trenches from open boats on the morning of April 25.”

Very early in the morning, the Lancashires under Major Bishop were embarked in boats from the cruiser which had brought them to the scene of action. As soon as they were ready, the British battleships began a terrific bombardment of the Turkish positions. This lasted for an hour, and at six o’clock eight lines of four cutters, each drawn by a small steamboat, made for the beach. When shallow water was reached, the steamboats cast off and the cutters were rowed towards the shore. Meanwhile, the enemy had made no sign.

But as the first boat grounded upon the beach, a furious fire was opened upon it from rifles, machine-guns, and pom-poms. Of the first line of fearless men who advanced upon the barbed-wire hedge along the shore nearly all were swept away. There was a pause, and the watchers on the ships asked each other, “Why are our men resting?” not knowing that most of the brave fellows had found the last great rest of all.

But the pause was only for a few moments. In a very short time the Lancashires were hacking doggedly at the bristling hedge of wire. Meanwhile, others of their comrades had been able to land on some rocks at the end of the bay; and a few had already found out some of the Turkish machine-gun positions and had accounted for the men who held them. Others had got round the ends of the wire hedge and were now steadily replying to the enemy’s fire.

But the struggle on the open beach was still going on. Captain Willis and a few men were able, after desperate efforts, to break a way through the wire and then ran forward to take cover behind a sandbank. When the men looked at their rifles they found the barrels and locks clogged with sand; but they coolly set to work to clean them, while the bullets whistled and sang around them. At last the rifles were ready for use and they did good service while other men of the Lancashires were engaged in landing on the beach.

The newcomers worked their way through or round the ends of the barbed-wire fence, and Captain Willis then led the charge upon the enemy’s trenches. The Turks fought with great gallantry, but the Lancashires drove them from their first line and gradually worked up to higher and higher positions.

All this was done in the face of a withering fire from the Turkish machine-guns and pom-poms; and the enemy also exploded several land mines without checking the steady advance of our brave fellows. Just before ten o’clock that morning more men were landed, and by this time no less than three lines of enemy trenches were in British hands above Beach W.

Sir Ian Hamilton afterwards wrote: “It was to the complete lack of the sense of danger or of fear in this daring battalion that we owed our astonishing success in this quarter.”

But no words can convey in the least degree the fierceness of the struggle which took place that morning, or the dogged character of the effort of the Lancashires to gain a footing on the beach. During the Great War men rose to such a height of heroism that deeds of wonderful daring became matters of daily routine. One unhappy result of this was that people at home took brave deeds for granted, and forgot to do honour to those who had done such great things for their country.

COMMANDER UNWIN AND THE TWO MIDSHIPMEN

On Beach V of the Gallipoli Peninsula another method of landing men was used. A collier named the River Clyde was filled with soldiers and run ashore, after a landing had been tried in the ordinary way and had failed. Wide openings had been made in the sides of the vessel from which gangways were slung on ropes to give the men passage either to the shallow water or to flat boats known as lighters which were to form a kind of bridge to the beach. The River Clyde was in charge of Commander Edward Unwin.

The first landing from small boats upon this beach had been a disastrous affair. The men were shot down as they landed, and very soon the beach was strewn with dead and dying. Many were killed or wounded before they could leave the boats and the fire was so severe that one boat with all its men was blown to pieces. A few of the men who waded ashore were entangled in the barbed wire and were shot down as they struggled to get loose. Not a single boat returned to the ships.

One seaman named Lewis Jacobs of the Lord Nelson showed the utmost bravery in this dread hour. Every other man in his boat had been killed or wounded, but he pulled steadily for the beach and then took out the pole to guide the boat to a suitable landing place. He was last seen standing among the dead and dying, going steadily on with his work, carrying out an invasion on his own account. Then he fell to rise no more.

Meanwhile, the River Clyde had been run upon the beach not far from some rocks, and as soon as she came to a stop a terrific fire was directed upon her from the Turkish trenches.