The Merryway Attack

The events that follow are necessarily somewhat confused, both from their own nature and from the fact that I was not able to set them down until some ten days after they occurred. They fell out somewhat as follows:—

The Merryway had once been a decent road, but after the fighting in June there was little left but a shattered track running at right angles to the main lines of trenches. The Huns had pushed out a very considerable salient on both sides of this track, and as their ground was rather higher than ours they were able to make life very unpleasant for every one around them.

With the threat of more German attacks still hanging over us and the men quite worn out, the Staff decided that we must keep up our morale by trying to lower that of the Huns. An attack on the MerrywaySalient was decided upon as the best way of doing this.

Accordingly one Infantry Brigade and one Field Coy. R.E. went over on the night of August 8th, and under cover of a terrific bombardment surprised the Germans and gained practically all their objectives. All was quiet for two days, the Field Coy. put up quantities of barbed wire and the Staff went to sleep to dream of medals.

The morning of the 11th was cold and misty, and to our great consternation the Huns delivered a very heavy counter-attack. This was quite successful, and we were all driven back with the exception of one post which held out on the Merryway. Here about 30 Huns got held up against our wire and all surrendered, although most of the men wanted to shoot, because we were too weak to find an escort. However we sent them back with two men, butseeing that our flanks were gone and how weak the escort was, they strangled the two men and joined the fight. Everything was now completely mixed up, the gray-coated figures were all around, and odd groups of men were fighting detached battles for their own skins against heavy odds. Our telephone wire was cut, and rockets were useless because of the mist; the casualties were heavy, and it looked as if the line would go. Then I saw Bradley, a fearsome sight, with a piece of his scalp hanging over his ear and his face covered with blood, trying to collect some men. I joined him, and we got a few together and went forward again. In technical language I suppose we led a charge or counter-attack, but it never struck me in that way at all, and I’m sure we had no clear idea what we intended to do.

Bradley was mad, and we went at the first group of Huns we saw. There was a tussle, we killed two and the rest surrendered.Bradley collared one of these himself, a poor miserable kid not more than twenty, and I remember the sight of him put heart into us all.

In all we got forward about two hundred yards and got in touch with the Merryway post, although, of course, we were still a long way behind our original line.

This restored the line a little, and instead of pushing through the gaps on either side of us the Huns hesitated a little and finally dug in about 50 yards away. All the infantry officers were killed and every one was out of touch, so that the Huns were not followed up. During the day reliefs came up, and at night Brigade reported that we held a line of posts in touch with one another about half-way between our first and second positions.

I went up with a few men and some material to try to consolidate the position, but when I got to Merryway post everything was inabsolute chaos and there was only a sergeant and six men in the post and absolutely at their last gasp. Apparently they had been attacked again during the day, and had only just kept off the Huns after suffering heavy casualties from trench mortars. It was obvious the Huns thought a lot of this post, and I felt sure they would try to take us during the night. I put all my men on and tried to strengthen the place with sandbags, and made it a little deeper by lifting some bodies out of the bottom. I had 19 men with 150 rounds each and 1 Lewis gun with several thousand rounds—this I placed at the end of the trench to fire up the track.

About 11.30 we were shelled heavily without sustaining casualties, and immediately afterwards a crowd of infantry—about 100 I think—made a dash at us, chiefly down the old track. The Lewis gun opened at once, and I was terrified tofind that the Huns had a gun on our flank which was shooting straight at our gun and right into the trench. The gunner was killed at once and Cox wounded, so that the gun was silent. Then the infantry sergeant took it and was shot dead immediately. I shouted to the men to keep shooting at the infantry in front and I took the Lewis gun myself and turned it round at the German gun. I waited for him to shoot, and then fired at the flash and silenced him. I noticed that the men’s firing had died down, and on looking to the front I was relieved to see that the first attack was beaten off—we must have killed a lot, as they were right against the skyline—and there were a lot of them moaning about in front. I felt certain we could hold them if we could keep their gun quiet, so for the next twenty minutes we worked like fiends to raise some protection across the open end of the trench. Then theycame again in a sudden rush, but I must have damaged their gun, and without that to help them we could turn our gun right into them and easily held them off. A small party sneaked close up to us on the left away from the gun and threw some bombs right into us, blowing an infantryman to bits and wounding a sapper. Then they shelled us steadily for half an hour and got one of the look-out men in the shoulder—another rifle useless. At this point we had our one piece of luck—found a rum jar with just enough in it to give each man a mouthful—it put new heart into us and helped us more than twenty reinforcements. Everything went quiet for a time, and in thinking things over I had an awful job to keep myself under control. The men were wonderful, but there were only 13 of us left and fully 200 Huns all round. During the lull Cox died in my arms—he was very game, but just before the end hesobbed like a child: “My wife and kiddie, oh God! sir, what’s going to happen to them?—poor kid, poor kid.” And so he died.

Shortly afterwards they came at us again, and thank God none of us realised how many there were. On the right where the gun was we held them off again, but we were hopelessly outnumbered, and a German officer and a small party actually got into our trench at the other end. I heard the row and, leaving the gun with Willis, was just in time to see a man kill the officer with his bayonet and the others cleared off again. They were very close all round us now, and as we could see nothing I told the men to keep their ammunition and then split them up, some to shoot forward and some to shoot back. I was frightened that we should be bombed, and surely enough they started, but the throwing was rotten.

And then once more they tried us. Abomb came right in the trench and laid out two more men, splashing me with blood. We shot like fiends and the gun was nearly red-hot, but they were too many. About eight men got into the trench and then we all went mad. It would be impossible for me to give an accurate description because there was just one fierce wild tussle, they trying to get at Willis and that blessed gun and we trying to keep them off. We were too mixed to shoot; they used a sort of life-preserver and we used our bayonets taken off the rifles. A German about my own size slipped into the trench behind me and I just turned in time to duck under a swing from his preserver. What I was doing I shall never know, but by instinct I got my left hand on his throat, and before I knew what had happened I had got the bayonet dagger-wise a good six inches into his chest. He went down without a groan. There was no one in front of me and I turned tofind a big Hun with his back to me and a life-preserver raised to hit McDonald, who had his back to the Hun, over the head. If I had had sense I would have stuck the bayonet into his back, but I was absolutely wild and dropped it. Before the Hun could strike I got my hands on his throat and we fell down together. I fell underneath but got on top and pressed until I thought my fingers would break. He was terribly strong and once scratched a great piece out of my left cheek. Gradually he weakened, and I kept my fingers on his throat until he died.

Much the same thing had happened to all the other men except one, who got badly mauled about the head and died shortly afterwards. For a moment I felt we could fight the whole German army, especially when I saw McDonald smash in a German head with the rum jar. Now the survivors were shouting for help, but that blessed Willis(ex jail-bird) was sitting with the gun out in the open, regardless of everything, swearing like hell, and none of the Huns seemed anxious to accept the invitation. We were all clean crazy, and I even had a job to keep the men in the trench. McDonald said something about Cox’s missus, and wanted to kill ten of the “bloody bastards.”

During the whole of that bloody night my hardest job was to restrain the men in that moment of semi-victory; for it was still two hours until dawn. Nine out of the nineteen of us were either dead or dying, and all the rest of us were damaged in some way. Throughout the whole night I had never thought of anything but death. Relief, I knew, was impossible—if we surrendered they would kill us, and I never dreamed that we could really hold them off till dawn. Writing now, it would be easy to imagine impressions which I never really experienced, but I can safely say that throughoutthe whole night I calmly regarded myself as a dead man. It seemed quite natural that I should be, and I can’t remember that I had the slightest regret. It even seems now that in some queer way I was distinctly happier and more tranquil than I had ever been in my life before. I felt nobler, mightier, than any human being on earth, and death seemed welcome as the only fitting end. Recalling some of my previous entries on the subject of war, I cannot understand my feelings on this occasion and can only repeat that it was so—perhaps something of

“The stern joy which warriors feelIn foemen worthy of their steel.”

“The stern joy which warriors feel

In foemen worthy of their steel.”

It was therefore almost with a feeling of annoyance, of having been cheated of something, that I saw the first streaks of gray beyond Kemmel. I thought they would still make a last effort and waited, but weshivered in vain. In the semi-light we managed to get an odd shot at some of them who had been behind us as they went round to the front—we shot two or three more this way. Then I left my sergeant in charge and went back for a crawl to see what I could find. It was almost light now, and after about half an hour I came across a picket. They firmly believed we were all dead, and said so, and once more that odd feeling of annoyance returned. I remembered that during the night I had visualised the Brigade report on the whole business: “Their Lewis gun was heard firing until early in the morning but it was impossible to reach them.”

However, I went back, left some fresh men in the post and brought my fellows out, leaving orders for the dead to be brought down during the day if possible. As we went back past Brigade I dropped in to report. The General had apparently beenup all night and looked very worried. He insisted on seeing the men. They were lying in the mud outside, bleeding and swearing—an awful but a sublime picture. He was deeply moved, and several times under his breath I heard him say, “Marvellous, marvellous, wonderful.” Afterwards, I was told that there were tears in his eyes when he went back into the dug-out. He has had an awful time, poor beggar.

Aug. 12.Had my face dressed and slept like a baby during the day. At night Brigade reported once more that we held a line of connected posts, and again we went out to try to strengthen them. My party started to wire the Merryway post and barricade the road, and Day went forward with a party on the right. When he got forward to where our wire should have been he found a German party well dug-in—fully 100 yards more forward than they were expected to be. They turned a gunon Day’s party and threw about a dozen bombs at them but he got all his fellows back with only two casualties, and these were brought in later. On my side the covering party were so nervous as to be absolutely useless, so I sent them back, and after that my own revolver was the only cover which the men had.

I was crawling about some 50 yards in front of the party when a light went up and I spotted three Huns crouching in a shell-hole with a machine-gun. I had no bombs, so I went back and told the infantry officer, but he wouldn’t do anything. We ceased work about 25 yards away from them.

We found the mutilated body of an infantry officer who was killed on the 11th and brought it in.

On calling at H.Q. on the way back we were informed, as we now knew to our cost, that our posts were all much fartherback than was at first thought, and in some places the Huns were even on the near side of our wire. But for our great good luck in getting bombed we should probably have gone out and wired between the German outposts and their main line.

I have seldom known the line to be in a more chaotic state, and I think one more attack would just about put us beyond the count. Every one is nervous, and no one knows where anybody else is.

Aug. 13.Went out after dusk with an infantry subaltern to try to get in touch with a post reported to be on the left of the Merryway post. We groped about without success and eventually saw about 20 figures moving about in one of the camps behind us. They were not more than 30 yards away, so we took them for men from the post we were in search of and did not challenge. Presently they began to moveaway down the hedge towards the German lines, and my companion remarked that they were going a long way forward, as a German post was known to exist at the corner. Almost immediately afterwards they began to run and disappeared into a trench about 50 yards away. Soon after this we found our own post, and they reported having no men out and having seen no one! There was only one possible conclusion—we had been in close touch with a strong German patrol which had been moving about with the greatest audacity at least 50 yards behind our lines. Very unpleasant to think about.

Then we took a few of the better men and went out on a hunt, but found nothing. It was impossible to wire because of very frequent lights and heavy machine-gun fire. On the right of the track we could find neither Huns nor our own people, and it appears that Brigade H.Q. don’t reallyknow anything about the situation at all. Itisin a mess. About 3 a.m. the Huns put down a heavy barrage but didn’t come over.

Aug. 14.Had a night in bed—the third in six weeks. Heard that my infantry friend was killed, just after I left, by our own shrapnel bursting short.

Hear also that I have been recommended for a D.S.O. for the scrap the other night. This is the second time, and it is now some comfort to be definitely sure that they will never give it me.

I would like to get something just for my father’s sake, but for myself—I should almost hate it.

We are here to do a job, not to earn medals for the sake of being gushed over by silly, simpering women who could never understand.

It is a hard creed and difficult to stand by at times—vanity is very strong.

The following shows roughly some of the main points in the Merryway fighting.

Aug. 15.Started to wire from the barricade towards the right in order to join up with Day, who was working from the other end. Got to our first post but could get no farther, as there was a strong German post across our line. Day bumped into this from the other side, and was driven off with two casualties. I was lying down listening when the Huns fired into Day and was surprised to find I was not ten yards away from them. They sent up a light, and I could see about ten of them as plainly as daylight, all looking along their rifles. I dropped a bomb into them and departed, but if we had known they were there we could have collared the whole lot.

Aug. 16.Was relieved at Merryway and spent the night wiring in the right sector—quite a rest cure.

Aug. 17.Wiring again in front ofCounty Camp. Shelled off the job three times and had two casualties, so decided to work the wood instead—shelled again.

Aug. 18.Quiet night in the wood. Slowly and surely I am breaking up, and now I am so far gone that it is too much trouble to go sick. I am just carrying on like an automaton, mechanically putting up wire and digging ditches while I wait, wait, wait for something to happen—relief, death, wounds, anything, anything in earth or hell to put an end to this, but preferably death. I am becoming hypnotised with the idea of Nirvana—sweet, eternal nothingness. My body crawls with lice, my rags are saturated with blood, and we all “stink like the essence of putrefaction rotting for the third time.”

And there are ladies at home who still call us heroes and talk of the Glory of War—Christ!

Collins’ Geographical Establishment, Glasgow.

“If the lice were in their hair,And the scabs were on their tongue,And the rats were smiling therePadding softly through the dung.Would they still adjust their pince-nezIn the same old urbane wayIn the gallery where the ladies go?”

“If the lice were in their hair,

And the scabs were on their tongue,

And the rats were smiling there

Padding softly through the dung.

Would they still adjust their pince-nez

In the same old urbane way

In the gallery where the ladies go?”

Last night something went wrong in my head. A machine-gun was turned on us, and instead of ducking I remember standing up and being quite interested in watching the bullets kick sparks off the wire—Day pulled me down into a hole and has been watching me ever since.

If ever again I hear any one say anything against a man for incapacitating himself in any way to get out of this I will kill that man. Not even Almighty God can understand the effort required to force oneself back into the trenches at night—I would shoot myself if it were not for thethought of my father—O God! why won’t you kill me?

“To these from birth is Belief forbidden.From these till Death is Relief afar.”

“To these from birth is Belief forbidden.

From these till Death is Relief afar.”

And the pity of it all is this—that nobody will ever understand! It is hell to be able to see these things, but in two years I know it will all be forgotten. “It is over,” they will say, “we must forget it, it was so terrible.” The world will go back into the old grooves, without honour, without heroism, without ideals, and these dear, darling fellows of mine will be “factory men” once more.

Even now Hardy’s sister is selling matches in Ancoats, and my sister would refer to her as “that woman”—yet Hardy and I have saved each other’s lives. And if I live they will say “Poor old beggar, he isn’t much use now, he had rather a bad time in the war,” and they will pity me—once a monthwhen I am ill. Or, worst of all, if my vitality should come back to a certain extent I will appear quite normal and they will call me a slacker if I don’t take part in games—I, who once captained one of the best Rugby teams in the north! Perhaps they will even be so good as to make allowances for me!

And they will call me dull and morose and cynical—and even priggish when I keep myself aloof from them.

And the ladies for whom I gave my strength and more will leave me for the healthy, bouncing beggars who stayed at home—even as nationally the Neutrals get the good things now. And there are thousands worse than I—may we all die together in one final bloody holocaust and before the Peace Bells usher in the realisation of our fears.

And then, on howling winter evenings, our spirits might ride the cloud-wrack overthese blood-soaked hills, shrieking and moaning with the wind, to drown the music of their dancing, so that they huddle together in terror, the empty-headed women and the weak-kneed, worn-out men as we laugh at their petty, soulless lives.

Within a week I shall be dead or mad.

Aug. 19.Very hot to-day—feeling feverish and weak—what futile words!

Aug. 20.Division on our right attacked and captured objectives. Three lines in theDaily Mailto-morrow—three hundred corpses grinning at the stars to-night—in three years oblivion—War!

Aug. 21.Working on Ferret Farm. On way up Fritz got six shells bang into the middle of the parties in the sunken road—one sapper and several P.B.I. hit and Day badly damaged in the face with a stone.

The limber horses behaved wonderfully, and one team didn’t move an inch althougha shell burst right under their tail board. Very lucky not to have had lots more casualties. On the track we were shelled again and had to pass through heavy gas in the region of the stream. Almost immediately after starting work Bosche put down a heavy barrage and we lay on our faces for three-quarters of an hour. Heavy shelling continued all night with a lot of machine-gun fire and gas. Was busy with casualties all night and feel like a corpse myself now.

Aug. 22.Beastly hot day and was tortured to death in the evening by mosquitoes—during this warm weather one usually knocks about in the day-time in one’s shirt which becomes saturated with sweat, and then dries off again in the cool of the evening—the mosquitoes love the stink and after dusk they feed on us in millions—there is no respite, you grow tired of killing them and dawn finds you on the edge of insanity, swollen like a long-deadmule. It is these things which constitute the horror of war—death is nothing.

Wrote a cheerful letter home saying that I am very well and happy.

Aug. 23.Was riding up last night through a strafe with Day when a gas shell exploded just in front of our bicycles—we jumped off at once but before we could get our bags on we swallowed rather a large dose—didn’t worry very much and carried on with the night’s work.

Aug. 24.In the morning bust up completely and spent the day in bed—pulled myself together and managed to get up the line again at night.

Aug. 25.Riding home this morning we encountered a sudden whizz-bang strafe on the road, and Day took a small fragment clean through his handle-bars—rained hard all night and practically stopped work.

Aug. 26.Still raining heavily, and we notice the first signs of the return of themud era—surely theymustrelieve us now if there is a man to spare in France or England—otherwise, I am afraid a week of heavy rain would clear the road to Calais. For myself, I am too far gone to pick the lice out of my shirt—I have ceased to be a man—even my simian ancestors used to remove their parasites.

Aug. 27.Still raining hard, but news comes through that we are going to be relieved—as I am the only officer that really knows the forward work I am to stay and hand over—only three more nights!

Aug. 28.Very busy day handing over all rear work to relieving company—the attached infantry parties returned to their units to-day.

Aug. 29.Company transport left at 10 a.m. for Rest Area—the Sappers marched off at 1.30 p.m. To-night is to be my last night in the line, I hope, for a fortnight at least.

Aug. 30.Oddly enough, my last night was one of the most eventful spent in the sector. It was a misty night, and I was crawling about with the relieving officer to show him Day’s front line Coy. H.Q., when we were shelled fairly heavily—to avoid the disturbance I made a detour of about 100 yards and got completely lost. Eventually we heard muffled voices behind us, and to my surprise, when I crawled back to investigate, I found a Hun machine-gun post with about six men in it.

We avoided this and eventually struck our own line about a quarter of a mile out of our course—they handled us rather roughly in the trench as they believed us to be Bosche, particularly as my friend knew nothing about the line. After sitting for twenty minutes with two bayonets in my ribs, Miller of the Fusiliers came up and fortunately he knew me. Just managed to complete handing over before dawn andgot back for breakfast with our reliefs. Left billets on horseback with Dausay as groom at 11.45. Passed through reserve billets and had an afternoon halt to water the horses in a charming meadow just beyond Cassel. We reached the company about 6 p.m. at a small village outside St. Omer—a very pleasant but a tiring ride.

Day and I are living in a large white château—steeped in romance from its turrets to its, no doubt, well-stocked cellars. Outside my bedroom window there is a balcony where I can sit in the evenings and watch the sun set beyond St. Omer—if only I had my books I might recapture myself in a fortnight here.

Sept. 1.Quiet day, with the usual inspections and cleaning parades. In the evening Major and I rode over to take dinner with the C.R.E.—information had just come through that our outposts are on the top of Kemmel Hill. Apparently the Huns haveretreated, but it makes me damn wild to think that we should hold that blood-soaked line and wear down his resistance for other people to follow him up—I would have sold my soul to see the old Division go over Kemmel, and if any one had the right it was we.

Sept. 2.Went into St. Omer with Day and had tea at the club—succeeded in obtaining some butter at 15 francs per kilo—verily the French are a hospitable people! Returned to the mess to find the rumour about Kemmel is confirmed—apparently the Bosche are evacuating forward positions with a view to consolidating their line for the winter. This is all very cheerful and no doubt makes good reading in the clubs at home, but unfortunately it necessitates our return to the line to-morrow—our rest has therefore been a deal of extra trouble for nothing—two days out of the line do one more harm than good. Transport and pontoons started on their return journey to-night.

Sept. 3.Entrained at 8.15 a.m. and detrained at rail-head about 12 noon. Marched forward past our old billets and eventually took over very comfortable billets from a company of American Engineers. The line seems to have gone far forward, all the old gun positions are empty and the sausages are well in front of us now.

After all, I think that the ability to park our transport in the open in full view of Kemmel will do us more good than the “rest” could ever have done. The shadow of that ghastly hill has been over us for so long that our relief at having regained it is out of all proportion to its practical value. The effect on the men has been little short of miraculous, and already they are joking about the possibilities of Christmas at home—or at the worst in Berlin! Once more we look forward to the possibilities of a semi-victory, and the dog-like fatalism whichupheld us through the weary summer is gradually changing to something like Hope and Confidence in the Future.

But we can never again go forward with the same fiery ardour and implicit faith in the Justice of our Cause, which drove us onwards in the early days. We have seen brave Germans die with faith as great as ours, and, knowing their intelligence to be not less, we must at least doubt the validity of our first conclusions. Now we are infinitely wiser men, growing sadder as the cold light of reason destroys our early phantoms of enthusiasm. Already “the bones about the way” are far too numerous to justify the best of possible results and—there will be more before the end.

But these reflections are morbid and unbecoming in a soldier—to-morrow I must inspect rifles with enthusiasm.

Sept. 4.Day and I working all day on our dug-out and in making a place wherewe can have a bath—I shudder when I try to recall my last one.

Sept. 5.Up at 2 a.m. and working until 10 with the whole company endeavouring to construct a road across a semi-dry lake. It is obviously a staff project and would have been condemned by a first year civil-engineering student—we cast our brick upon the waters in the vain hope that it will return after many days.

Meanwhile the advance creeps forward across the swamps in front and shows signs of being bogged as the resistance stiffens.

Yesterday our two line brigades had 500 casualties, and after gaining the summit of Messines Ridge they had to fall back owing to lack of support. Thus it seems that we shall play the German game once more by following them into the worst of the mud for the winter—God help us if we do, the 19–year olds would die like flies in a hard winter.

Had my bath and feel like a new man.

Sept. 6.Dumped a few more tons of brick into the lake—at least it is a peaceful job and keeps the men out of mischief. Played Badminton and wrote letters—the war seems to have fallen into abeyance.

Sept. 7.Heavy gas-shelling on the lake this morning robbed us of our constitutional and forced an early return.

After dinner we turned out with torches and heavy sticks to hunt rats round the dug-outs. There were no casualties among the rats, but Day sprained an ankle.

Sept. 8.Still brick dumping, although no progress is apparent as yet. During the morning I walked across the dyke to talk to the company working in the morass on the far side and sincerely wished I hadn’t. They had been finding bodies all morning, not more than a month dead and just coming to the worst stages. Whilst I was there,they picked up two kilted officers—glorious big men they must have been but looking so childishly pathetic as they lay there. Unconsciously we all fell silent, and I saw a D.C.M. Sergeant-Major with tears in his eyes. Hurriedly I turned away and, walking back to the men, thanked God that people at home can never even imagine the deaths their men are called upon to die.

We are going into the war again to-morrow. The rains are with us.

Sept. 9.Two sections moved into forward billets at Negro Farm—an appalling place consisting of two stinking dug-outs under the ruins of the former homestead—it beggars description but closely resembles that famous Bairnsfather drawing, “We are staying at a farm.” It has poured all day, and when we arrived about eleven this morning there wasn’t shelter for a quarter of the men and none for the horses. I explored two or three ruins in the neighbourhood, butthey were all worse than our own midden, so we had to make the best of it. Fortunately the cheerfulness of the men seems to increase with their misfortunes and they are now all under cover of some sort—even the horses are more or less protected from the worst of the weather.

My home consists of three battered sheets of corrugated iron, a wagon cover, and the back of a hen shed, reared miraculously against a bank of earth which is the mainstay of the edifice. Light from a candle in a port bottle, no H. and C. or modern conveniences of any sort. It is cold, damp, miserable, and the headquarters of two sections, Royal Engineers. Yet you wouldn’t offer it to a tramp at home and a pig would scorn it—great are the blessings of civilisation!

I decided to keep one section in reserve, so took No. 3 up the line for night work.

SKETCH MAP SHOWING ADVANCE FROM COURTRAI TO SCHELDT

Arrived very late as all the tracks were knee-deep in slush and it was dark, dark as the inside of an infidel.

We floundered around for several hours, but it was quite impossible to do anything in the nature of serious work—the line was new to us, and the difficulty of finding the posts was increased by persistent machine-gun fire and the most devilish weather imaginable. The ground was in an awful state, and it often took us twenty minutes to move a hundred yards—the men swore sublimely and their humour was the only dryness in the night.

On the return journey we struck some unpleasant shell-fire, and mud wallowed with enthusiasm. Browning anticipated the Great War when he wrote—

“Will sprawl—Flat on his belly in the pit’s much mire,With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin,And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush,And feels about his spine small eft-things course,Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh.”

“Will sprawl—

Flat on his belly in the pit’s much mire,

With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin,

And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush,

And feels about his spine small eft-things course,

Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh.”

Twice we got lost in the woods and finally I had to give up all hope of finding the lake track. We returned the long way, but even so the tracks were knee-deep and I could feel the water trickling in over the tops of my field boots. Sometimes it would be such a relief if only one could cry!

The men had a drop of rum when we got back, and it was about 4 a.m. when I crawled into my flea bag. A family of beetles played, “Come and sit on my chair” across my toes, and an old brown rat wanted to keep me company. I turned him out three times, but the poor devil was so persistent and so pathetic that finally I let him stop.Immediately I fell asleep he came and stroked my hair in gratitude and I, misunderstanding his intentions, turned him out for good and all. But have you ever tried to sleep in your soaking wet clothes, with your head two feet under a sheet of corrugated iron on which it is raining hard? I tried, but the rain and the beetles were against me. I got up, and the morning and the evening were the first day.

Sept. 10.Still raining; and we spent another awful night in the outpost line. Our own 18–pounders were shooting so short that some of the shells were actually falling behind us and once we had to lie on the Bosche side of the parapet to get cover from them. The weather is our most dangerous foe now, and all wiring etc. is stopped until we can make some sort of protection for the line troops. They are going down like flies, there isn’t a dug-outworth the name in the whole sector, and the water, already a foot deep in the best posts, is increasing hourly.

Sept. 11.Another terrible night—it is still raining and we have been soaked through now for four days and nights. Most of the companies are down to half strength and trench-foot is very prevalent—it is as much as most of the men can do to carry two sheets of iron per night for their own protection. Our own billets are flooded now and we are knee-deep in mud everywhere—the horses feel it more than we do and I have had to send them back.

We had to shift their position every three or four hours to prevent them sinking, and it has been so bitterly cold—there is no protection from this biting wind as it howls and shrieks across the swamps and mud fields.

But one thinks of the line, for it is always the line, poor devils, who get it worst—they could tell Dante many things.

There are men up there who have not been under a shelter of any description during a week of almost continuous rain—they have forgotten what it is to feel dry, and their minds are dull and stupid with the cold and misery of it all—they have slept fitfully, wakening under the necessity of shifting their position to avoid the mud or when an unusually fierce downpour has stung their faces—and during the whole of this time no warm food or drink has passed their lips. Small wonder that they die—with gratitude.

Sept. 12.It is two feet deep on our best main road, and we had a wild fight last night to get the necessary material up for the shelters—an unlucky shell killed two men, wounded three, and knocked out two mules. In spite of this we did a good night’s work and erected fourteen shelters. The men seem to realise how much depends on them, and I have seldom seen them work so well.

Sept. 13.Heavy shelling on roads and tracks disorganised all parties and interfered with work. I was hit in the middle of the back with a large fragment which bruised me badly.

If I stumbled and fell once last night I fell twenty times—we use three-quarters of our strength in fighting through the mud and the remaining quarter in actual work. We were so tired last night that I tried the short way back again through the woods. Once we stumbled on a colony of rats, feeding on the sodden corpse of a Frenchman. I shuddered involuntarily as they scattered away, screaming, and then turned to watch us with beady, malevolent eyes. The last time I was home on leave I remember my mother asked me why the trench rats were so big. I nearly told her, but then it occurred to me that I might be “missing” myself and the thought would have driven her mad—so I said it wasbecause of the food we used to throw over the top. God help the mothers who really know these things.

Derry crocked up again yesterday and went to hospital.

Sept. 14.It is still raining and we are still mud-slinging—would that I had the time to describe it all.

My back was very sore to-day and I could hardly raise my right arm on account of the smack I received last night.

The morale of the men is very low again, but fortunately the weather prevents the Huns from doing anything but shell us.

Sept. 15.Signs of the weather improving at last, but mud is very plentiful and we experience great difficulty in getting about. Artillery and machine-guns were very active on both sides last night, and, as we had unusually large parties out, I had a very worrying time. At one time there were150 men bunched together on the road for nearly an hour on account of Brigade giving wrong orders. It was a great relief when we were able to move them and no damage had been done—but a mistake like that frequently costs twenty lives and no one is shot for it.

About 2 a.m. I went out in front to reconnoitre a line for wire when I came across three dead Bosche in a shell-hole. One was an enormously fat man, and as I was turning him over to cut off his shoulder numbers he grunted fiercely like a man awakening from a heavy sleep. For a moment I was horrified and put my hand on my revolver and waited, for perhaps half a minute, undecided what to do. Then I saw the truth. The noise which had startled me was due to the gases of decomposition being forced through his mouth when I turned him over—another of the glories of war!

Sept. 16.A really fine day at last and our spirits rise accordingly—our hopes are drowning and we have to clutch at the flimsiest of straws.

Last night was very quiet and a lot of good work was done. The men went back about 4 a.m. and I turned into Battalion H.Q. for a pow-wow with the Colonel. As I was walking home about half an hour afterwards the Hun put down a very heavy gas-shell bombardment, particularly around the track. I lay in a hole for half an hour with my mask on and was frightened to death lest I should be splashed with some of the infernal liquid. The shells were not more than 18–pounders, but some of them were unpleasantly close. This morning Division reports that some 3000 shells came over in the half-hour.

A new officer joined us to-day. He is about thirty, wears gold-rimmed glasses, and has never seen the war before. He looksaround with the wonderment of a little child and will be an infernal nuisance to us. Still, I suppose there are no real men left now.

Sept. 17.Spent the night by myself crawling around in front and noting the places most in need of wire. I came across a German post with four men in it and a light machine-gun. They were well forward, quite isolated and obviously nervous. I told the nearest company, but they wouldn’t do anything, and even looked frightened to think that there were real live Germans so near them.

A sod splashed down in the trench outside, and I noticed the orderly at the door, a lad about eighteen, jump and nearly drop his rifle. It all makes one very sad if you look back upon the days when there would have been a clamour to go and snaffle that post. And this is the Division which captured and lost one village seven timeson one bloody day, and finally held it against all attacks with a fifth of its effectives on their feet.

Sept. 18.The men went back into reserve billets to-day, but I stayed on with the relieving sections. The ground is beginning to dry again and life becomes more pleasant.

There is great aerial activity and the Hun shoots very much on our roads and back areas—surely we are not preparing a stunt?

Sept. 19.Received orders to return to reserve billets as we are going out of the line. Spent a busy day handing over work and packing up, as the whole company moves to-morrow.

Sept. 20.Trekked to our new billets in reserve, which are almost out of the war—even the 60–pounders are well in front of us. Spent a quiet day making cover for the men, rigging up horse-lines, and generallysettling down. There is more billeting accommodation than we have seen for months and, greatest joy of all, we can sleep in our pyjamas.

Sept. 21.Apparently there is some kind of a stunt coming off, because we have instructions to rest the men as much as possible and give them an easy time. Accordingly we do a little drill, paint our transport, clean rifles and ammunition, overhaul explosives, etc., etc.

There is some fascination about this war game, some inexplicable grip which it has over us. In spite of everything we have gone through there is, once more, a thrill of expectation in the air, and the men seem keener, as though looking forward to something.

No one could hate war more than I do, and yet I would be bitterly disappointed if sent on leave to-morrow. And if we, of all men, can still feel moments of exhilaration, can there ever be a League of Nations?

Sept. 22.The usual instruction work and overhauling of equipment. Orders came through to-day that we are to give the men instruction in attack, open warfare, and extended order formations. The men enjoy it and are cheering up tremendously.

There are now several new Divisions in our area, guns are coming forward and more troops arrive every day, all of them apparently from the south. They seem fresher and more confident than our own men, but they have already had the experience of driving Huns before them—we, on the other hand, have been fighting a losing fight with our backs to the wall for over seven months. A lot of kilted troops arrived to-day.

Sept. 23.Had the men out all day practising attack formations. It is hard to believe that these fiercely rushing groups of men are the same troops who were fought to a standstill at Kemmel, and held that blood-soaked line with such dogged fatalismthrough the weary summer. And after two or three days’ rest they are expected to go forward again—a man must feel proud!

Sept. 24.Training hard. In spite of high hopes dashed before, we seem as keen as ever to make another effort. The atmosphere seems charged with electricity, more troops are pouring in, and the broad-gauge railway is up nearly as far as our billets.

Was recommended again for an M.C.—this time due to appear in the King’s Christmas Honours List.

Sept. 25.We are still without orders, but the attack must be near at hand now—expectation and excitement.

Sept. 26.Received preliminary orders that Day and I will take a section each and join the Artillery Brigades to make roads and bridges for them in the advance. Two sections remain in reserve under Cooper. Attack before dawn on the 28th.

Went up to the Brigade to arrange detailsand went to bed on return. Roused after an hour’s sleep to go out with a section to repair two forward bridges near the front line before daybreak.

Got about twenty men and miscellaneous material on to two pontoon wagons and started out in drizzling rain. I sat in the front of the first wagon, and as we lumbered off into the dark I fell into a sort of reverie. I thought lazily of home and of the 28th, and the things it might mean, and in my mind I went again over the characters of the men, the good ones and the doubtful ones, and detailed them off for different jobs—these and a thousand other thoughts wandered idly through my mind, punctuated by the jolting of the wagon and the barking of the 18–pounders. Then the men began to sing, very quietly and sweetly, and the rise and fall of their voices seemed to add some special significance to the night. We made good progress over the bad roads,stopping occasionally to check our way or adjust a girth.

Now they were singing “Annie Laurie,” and I heard Garner say “Damn” under his breath. I asked him what was the matter with them to-night, and he said, “Dunno, sir, but I wish they wouldn’t sing like that.” The rain had developed into a heavy Scotch mist which swallowed up the lead driver and the mounted corporal. I shivered under my coat, and felt unutterably lonely and sad.

At last the wagons stopped and we went forward on foot towards the work. We bridged three trenches and then came to the main job, a 15–foot span across a swollenbeek, and not more than 400 yards from the German lines. For about an hour the work went quietly and well and we got an arch across the stream in the form of an old French steel shelter.

Suddenly there was a short, fierce whine,a crash, and a livid burst of flame right in the party—three more followed almost instantaneously and then for a second an awful silence. Some one said “Christ!” and began to cry gently. Five men were killed, three of them practically missing, and three badly wounded. By a miracle the work was practically undamaged.

We took the casualties to the wagons and returned to the job—how the men worked there again I shall never know, but they did, and the bridge was across an hour before dawn. The suddenness of the shock has knocked my nerves to pieces and even as I write my hand trembles.

Looking back now I can see something unnatural in the whole of that ride in the pontoons—little details were too impressive, and there was an almost unhuman beauty in the way they sang that song. I am sure that some of those men had a vague premonition of what was coming.

Sept. 27.Lay down for a few hours after we got back, but was unable to sleep. At midday I took Nos. 2 and 3 Sections to forward billets at Pig-stye Farm, and at 5 p.m. No. 3 Section moved out again to join their Brigade. The company transport and reserve sections arrived about 9 p.m.

Major and I had a final talk together, and I turned in about 11 p.m. I was nervous and excited, and although very tired, slept but little.

Sept. 28.No. 2 Section breakfasted at 2.15 a.m. and were ready on the road at 3.30. Whilst I was inspecting them the barrage started on our left for the Belgian attack, and the northern sky was bubbling with light.

We reached Brigade H.Q. at the château about 5.15 and at 5.30 our barrage started and the front line troops went over. The scheme was that we were to go forward at once and make a track passable for18–pounders from their present positions up to second jumping-off line. They were expected to be there about noon and would then be in a position to support the further advance of the infantry. Everything depended on getting the field guns forward to support the second attack.

I left the transport at the château under the corporal and led the men forward towards a half-dried-up canal which was the first break in the road. It was raining heavily.

It soon became apparent that the Germans were maintaining a barrage on this side of the canal, and as time was against us we had got to go through it. It looked rough and ugly and the men were looking at each other. For a moment I was tempted—we were absolutely alone and it was up to me—nobody could blame us if we didn’t go through, and in an hour it would probably have stopped. We were perhaps five hundred yards from the canal and shells were burstingheavily—there was no cover and at times the canal banks were obscured by the fumes and smoke from the bursts. Something outside a man takes hold of him at these times and tells him what to do. In half a minute I was calmly saying, “Come on,” and the men were following in single file, about ten paces from man to man. I thought we should never get across—we tried to run but we kept sticking in the mud and bunching together—just like a nightmare. Once or twice I looked round and the men were grand—two fellows were hit and the others dragged them across—then a third went down and was picked up by the two behind—eventually we were under the shelter of the canal bank with one man killed and two wounded. It was great, and after that I felt we could do anything.

By now we were soaked to the skin, but bunches of prisoners were coming back and the worst seemed to be over. We workedsteadily on the roads under fairly continuous shell-fire, and by 10 a.m. the track was completed. After this the German shell-fire weakened as the advance went forward and his guns were either taken or forced to withdraw. The men were worn out and literally covered with mud, so I withdrew to some old dug-outs in the canal bank. A message was sent for the transport to come forward and another one to the company for rum. The men had just lit fires and were beginning to dry themselves when I received a message that the guns had reached their destination but our further help was wanted at once. At 11.30 the section moved forward again, and by 2 p.m. the whole Brigade were standing to for action in their new positions. The Division moved up into line during the afternoon and the advance pushed on—Wytschaete-Messines, and the Warneton line are reported captured.

At 4 p.m. the section returned to thecanal, awaiting further orders. The Brigade commander personally thanked me for the day’s work. At 4.30 I received news that the transport was stuck somewhere behind us, but they were trying to get the limber forward with six horses in it instead of the normal two—the tool-cart had been abandoned. Eventually the limber arrived and then I sent four horses back for the tool-cart which arrived about 6.30viaYpres—the roads are in a terrible state and will do more than the Huns to hold us up.

At 7 the men had a meal—the first since 2 a.m. this morning—and after that turned in to a more than well-earned rest. I went over to see the Colonel and learnt that they are pushing on over the hills and Comines is to be captured to-morrow. Every one is delighted, the show has been a great success and casualties are light in comparison with the results—the only trouble is the mud,with which we are literally covered from head to foot.

Sept. 29.Our rations arrived about 5 a.m., but no forage for the horses, and we were unable to move forward in consequence—my biggest trouble is going to be to keep in touch with supplies and water during this nomadic life. Roads were reported passable as far as the front, so I left the section standing to under the sergeant and rode off to find the company. I hunted about all morning and found them at last at the old place but just ready to move off. Arranged to draw rations direct from the company each day with my own limber. I took two nose-bags of corn back with me on my mare, gave the limber horses a feed when I reached the section, and then sent them back for rations. Somehow or other the company has heard some very highly-coloured accounts of our passage through the barrage on the 28th.

At 2 p.m. I rode forward with an orderly and visited the Brigade and all batteries. Heavy rain set in again, and as every one seemed fairly comfortable and there was no accommodation forward I decided to spend another night at the canal. The road is blocked with traffic from morning till night, and I am afraid it will break up badly if the rain continues—the whole show depends on that one, blessed road, and apparently it is going to be my job for two or three days more until the Corps troops can get up. The Brigade was in action when I reached them and a stiff fight was going on around the last ridges—the Huns are sticking a bit and a fierce counter-attack had just been driven back—rifle and machine-gun fire was very intense. I saw a lot of Hun dead about the roads and a few of our fellows. The Huns have left a lot of guns behind and should be fairly hard hit.

It was dark when I got back, and the horsescould hardly crawl along. Rations and forage came up shortly afterwards, so we turned in and had a good night’s rest.

Sept. 30.Heavy rain all last night. At 8 a.m. I sent two orderlies up to Brigade and my groom back to the company to change my mare—she was completely exhausted. Pending receipt of orders we rigged up a shelter for the horses, as they were shivering badly and I began to be frightened for them—the poor beasts are caked with mud, and even their eyes are hardly free from it.

At noon received orders to go forward as early as possible, so I sent half the limber back for rations and moved up with the section. After a really terrific struggle we got as far as the batteries and managed to find a bit of cover in some old German concrete dug-outs. Worked till dark on the road and then started to fix things up for the night. The dug-outs were in themiddle of a swamp about 500 yards from the road, and in the dark it took us three-quarters of an hour to reach them. I had to give up all idea of getting the horses across, and finally found a place where they could stand about a mile from the dug-outs. The drivers were quite worn out, so we had to mount a stable-guard of sappers, with instructions to move the horses every hour to prevent them sinking in the mud. It is still raining, bitterly cold, and I can’t understand how the poor beasts live. The wagons are nearly axle deep. Shortly after midnight I had every one settled and then crawled, literally, into my own shack. It is an old Bosche concrete place and stinks like Hell—there are two wooden bunks in it, but it is dry. My man lit a fire on the floor and we warmed up some old tea in my shaving mug. I was chilled to the bone and there was nothing to eat, but I shall always believe that that tea saved my life. There was no roomfor officer and servant there—just two very weary men, we sat on either side the fire drying our socks and the smell mingled with the fetid odours of the dug-out. Our eyes grew red and tearful with the smoke, which eventually drove us to the uninviting boards, where we slept like the Babes in the Wood. Several times during the night I woke up shivering with cold and the clammy clothes sticking to my skin, but—we were over the hills and I would not have missed that night for all the gold in Africa.

Oct. 1.Up at 5.30 and immensely cheered to see a blue sky, although I didn’t begin to feel normally warm until about noon. Bully and biscuit for breakfast as a change from the biscuit and bully of the preceding days. Received an official note of thanks from the Brigade for our work, and orders from the C.R.E. to rejoin the company. Apparently the advance is held up for a few days until heavy guns and supplies can getforward again. I sent No. 2 Section forward to work on the new plank avoiding road and returned to meet the Major at 8 a.m. He returned to the company and sent up Nos. 1 and 4 Sections to me from reserve billets. No. 3 Section also rejoined, so I fixed the lot in billets as well as possible and then took out Nos. 1, 3, 4 to work on the road with No. 2. We have now got all our limbers and tool-carts as far as the batteries, and I am commanding all the sections—Cooper remains with the heavy transport on the other side of the mud. Rode round the work during the afternoon and met the C.R.E., who was full of congratulations. Withdrew to billets at 5 p.m. to give the men a chance to dry their clothes and have a warm meal—the first they have had since the 27th.

We are without definite news, but apparently the whole show has been a great success, and the Army is only waiting until we canget the roads through. I can never forget the great change which seemed to spread like wildfire over the spirit of the Army on the evening of the 28th–29th.

We were in the midst of the worst of the mud area, miles of transport wagons were bogged along our single road, it was raining hard, and few of us had eaten anything for twenty-four hours. Nobody was looking forward to the dawn. But from somewhere behind us a rumour came through that Bulgaria had asked for Peace. There was no cheering, no demonstration of any sort, but the news seemed to put new spirit into the tired troops. The weary mud-caked horses were lashed and spurred again, men put their aching shoulders to the wheels, and once more the limbers lumbered forward. All night long the wagons toiled painfully up those fateful ridges where scores of thousands of our finest infantry had died, and in the drizzling dawn they saw their reward atlast—behind them lay the dull, dead plain, with its memories of misery and mud—before them, they looked down upon a new, unbroken country, and the spire of Tenbrielen church, untouched of shot or shell, beckoned like a winning post against the eastern sky.

Oct. 2.Heavy rain again last night, but it hasn’t damped our spirits. We could meet almost any call again now.

At 5.30 a.m. an orderly came in with orders from the C.R.E. saying that we are to work from six to nine on the Divisional main road. By dashing off without any breakfast we were able to start at 7.30, and returned for a meal at noon—our first since yesterday evening. In the afternoon Day worked the sections on the road while the Major and I brought up the heavy transport.

Artillery horse-lines just forward of our own were heavily shelled for about fiveminutes and a lot of horses were knocked out—about 100 of the poor beasts stampeded, and it was a pitiful sight to see some of them dragging their entrails along the ground.

This incident made me realise that if the Germans have any fight left in them at all we are in a very precarious position. Several Divisions are herded together with the River Lys in front of them and an impassable belt of swamp and mud behind. A really energetic counter-attack would give us another Cambrai.

At night many fires were visible again where the enemy is burning villages along his retreat—many of these appear to be very far off, which looks as if they contemplate a big withdrawal—a favourite theory is that they will withdraw as far as the Meuse for the winter.

Oct. 3.Company commenced work on a new plank road to relieve the strain on the main road.

I went forward with three wagons to a dump on the Menin road to get material, but it took us all morning to get there as the roads were blocked with artillery limbers—we want ten times more transport and ten times more labour than we have got if we are to make any reasonable progress. The Field Companies are quite inadequate to cope with any serious road-making in an advance like this.

In the afternoon scouted round with Cooper looking for what had once been a first-class road, clearly marked on our maps.

We couldn’t find a stone, a tree, or any single thing that would indicate where the road had been—we couldn’t even fix it from our maps, as farms, houses, and landmarks of any description had totally disappeared. We had some difficulty in getting back, and once Cooper’s horse went down to her belly in the mud—we nearly lost her, but got her out eventually.

Oct. 4.Took all wagons to the dump and got a lot of material up during the day—made some appreciable progress on the road. Two new officers have joined us, and Day has gone back to H.Q. wagon lines. Was delighted to meet two old friends, Lucas and Mitchell of our left Division, in the afternoon.

Oct. 5.Road is now going forward well, and we had another fine day although very cold. Things seem to be sorting themselves out after the last advance and we should soon be ready to try again.

Oct. 6.Orders from the C.R.E. that we shall probably move again to-morrow and all ranks are to have as much rest as possible. Worked all morning on the road and packed pontoons, etc., during the afternoon.

Oct. 7.Two sections moved at 7 a.m. to work again on the avoiding road, and two sections moved across country towards the Menin road. At 9 a.m. I took the transportacross in front of Ypres and picked up Cooper with the pontoons in the afternoon. We made a horse-lines there, as it was the only patch of dry earth available, but before getting in we had to shift about fifteen dead mules which had been killed the night before by a bomb.

Billeted the sections in an area containing one dug-out, just off the Ypres-Menin road—a piece of ground probably more fiercely fought over than any other during the war. The solitary dug-out was unusable owing to prevalence of dead Bosche—as Mark Twain would say, “Fixed, so that they could outvote us.” We couldn’t find a level piece of ground large enough to take one tent without a lot of digging. The sergeants found a very good place for their tent, but a dead Hun was in possession of the freehold. They decided to bury him, and deepened a shell-hole accordingly; then the problem, how to get him into it? TheSergeant-Major took his boots and the Farrier very gingerly took his sleeves; they lifted, but his arms came out in the Farrier’s hands. They withdrew to windward and talked; it was growing dusk, the tent must go up. Finally the Farrier put his gas mask on and literally buried him in shovelfuls.Pro patria——?

The only way to stop war is to tell these facts in the school history books and cut out the rot about the gallant charges, the victorious returns, and the blushing damsels who scatter roses under the conquering heroes’ feet. Every soldier knows that a re-writing of the history books would stop war more effectively than the most elaborately covenanted league which tired politico-legal minds can conceive.

Oct. 8.Working all day on the roads. It is a dreary job in this blighted, featureless country.

Oct. 9.Received orders to report againat Artillery Brigade H.Q., so there is obviously another stunt in the wind. In the meantime we are still mud-slinging.

Oct. 10.Went forward into the outposts to reconnoitre tracks and ways forward for the guns. We were in absolutely virgin country, and it was a new experience to think of death lurking behind these green hedges and quiet farm buildings.

At night took the section up and did a lot of work—filled in several ditches, cleared a ride through a wood, and chopped down several trees with which we made a small bridge—took the floor out of the farm kitchen to cover it with.

Oct. 11.Out reconnoitring again all morning, and at night took a company of Pioneers up to work on a second track. Had a very unpleasant time on the Menin road, where we were heavily shelled—some artillery transport suffered badly, but we got through without casualties.

The weather continues fine, and everything points to another show about the 15th. The Huns have put up a lot of wire, but the field guns have been shooting this down steadily for three days now, and the heavies are coming into position. This morning when I was up, our shells were falling dead in the belts of wire and cutting broad lanes through it.

Sent in two recommendations for Military Medals for work in the last show:—

Mounted Corporal.—For great gallantry and devotion to duty in bringing up transport and supplies under heavy shell-fire and at great personal risk. His action greatly contributed to the success of the section in its work of helping forward the guns.

A Sapper.—For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty when repairing a bridge under heavy shell-fire for the advance of the artillery. He set a fine example to hiscomrades, and persevered with his work until it was completed, regardless of great personal danger.

It was hard to write the above, knowing that every man equally deserves those medals—the whole institution of awards ought to be abolished; except, perhaps, the V.C.

Oct. 12.Skipper returned from leave. Company still carrying on with roads. No. 2 Section out with me all night widening a bridge. It was a miserable night with heavy rain and howling wind, but the men worked cheerfully and a lot of work was done. So far as we are concerned all is now ready for the next attack.

Oct. 13.The attack is to start early on the morning of the 14th, and will be general along the Army front. The company received orders to move forward to-day, but I had to go on to Brigade before they started or before I knew exactly where they were going. I left Brigade shortlyafter dusk and returned to find two companies of Pioneers who were detailed to work under me to-morrow. I knew they were somewhere in the morass near the Menin road, but I blundered about for two hours before I found them. It required all my will power to keep me going, and when finally I saw their tents I was in the last stages of exhaustion—several times I must have been very near to them, but it was impossible to see more than 20 yards, and I had passed away again, going round and round in circles. I was so weak towards the end that I used to lie still in the mud for several minutes every time I fell, aching in every muscle, and wondering how many more times I could fall without dropping off to sleep.

It was after 1 a.m. when I left the Pioneers and there was a four-mile walk to where I thought the company would be. I wandered from battery to battery asking for newsof them, but no one could tell me where they were. It was absolutely vital that I should find them before dawn, but at last my legs failed completely and I collapsed in the middle of the road. I crawled into a hole in the bank but, tired as I was, couldn’t sleep because of the cold. I was tormented with fears as to what would happen in the morning as I was the only officer who knew the gun tracks and almost everything depended on the clearing of those.

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