A Dangerous Reconnaissance
“To make matters more wretched, we could not make sure of our direction, and were afraid of running into a German patrol, or even a German trench, for such accidents are by no means uncommon in this region. However, we managed to find our way back and report that up to such and such a point on the map (approximately) there was no one on our left. The Captain was not content with this, so I went out again, this time with another officer. Having a compass on this second occasion, I felt far more self-confidence, and to our mutual satisfaction we discovered that the unit on our left was the right flank of an English division. Captain —— was very bucked when we brought back this information. As the mist continued for some time afterward, we were able to light fires and make breakfast.
“Now, I have forgotten to tell you that we were in reserve. The front line was some five or six hundred yards higher up the slope nearer Ginchy. We knew that a big attack was coming off that day, but did not think we should be called upon to take part. Accordingly, we settled down for the day, and most of the men slept. I felt quite at home, as I sat in the bottom of the deep trench, reading the papers I had received the previous day from England.
“OVER THE TOP”
“It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon when we first learned that we should have to take part in the attack on Ginchy. Now, you probably expect me to say at this point in my narrative that my heart leaped with joy at the news and that the men gave three rousing cheers, for that’s the sort of thing you read in the papers. Well, I had been over the top once already that week, and knew what it was to see men dropping dead all around me, to see men blown to bits, to see men writhing in pain, to see men running round and round, gibbering, raving mad. Can you wonder, therefore, that I felt a sort of sickening dread of the horrors which I knew we should all have to go through? How the others felt I don’t exactly know, but I don’t think I am far wrong when I say that their emotions were not far different from mine.
“You read no end of twaddle in the papers at home about the spirit in which men go into action. You might almost think they reveled in the horror and the agony of it all. I saw one account of the battle of Ginchy in which the correspondent spoke of the men of a certain regiment in reserve as ‘almost crying with rage’ because they couldn’t take part in the show. All I can say is that I should like to see such superhuman beings. It is rubbish like this which makes thousands of people in England think that war is great sport. As a famous Yankee General said, ‘War is hell,’ and you have only got to be in the Somme one single day to know it. The man who says he loves being in a charge is a liar, and an adjective liar at that.
“But to get on with the story. We were ordered to move up into the front line to reinforce the Royal Irish Rifles. None of us knew for a certainty whether we were going over the top or not, but everything seemed to point that way. Guides were sent down by the Rifles to lead us up. We wended our way up slowly, keeping as much as possible to the trenches, which were so shallow that the deepest part of them did not conceal more than our waists, but they were something to duck into if we heard a shell coming. The bombardment was now intense. Our shells bursting in the village of Ginchy made it belch forth smoke like a volcano. The German shells were bursting on the slope in front of us. The noise was deafening. I turned to my servant O’Brien, who has always been a cheery, optimistic soul, and said, ‘Well, O’Brien, how do you think we’ll fare?’ and his answer was for once not encouraging. ‘We’ll never come out alive, Sir!’ was his reply. Happily, we both came out alive, but I never thought we should at the time.