Later the Germans could not have burned down our wire, even had they tried, as a week of heavy rains came on, and, on such trifles do the fates of nations hang, these had a most serious effect on the "Autumn Push"--it was already September--as our offensive around Hulluch and Loos was called.

We were in reserve during the first two days of the attack, and received with clock-like regularity the _communiques_ telling of our successful advances.

Our gunners were co-operating by the process known as "engaging the enemy's artillery," but we did not doubt that the Toronto Battalion, then occupying our trenches, were having rather a warm time of it, as the Hun, instead of being a sportsman and sh.e.l.ling our batteries, used to retaliate on our trenches.

We set off the following day for the trenches. It had started to rain about 4 o'clock, so that by 7, when we reached the head of Mud Lane, we had no reason to doubt the origin of this homely name.

In pleasing contrast to our growlings and grumblings as we took their places, the Toronto men filed out prophesying all sorts of cheerful things in store for us. All we could see ahead of us was plenty of work, for the sh.e.l.ling they had received had smashed down our bulwarks and annihilated the officers' kitchen--rather an elaborate structure, of which we were justly fond--and they, in the sure and certain knowledge of a relief, had only cleared away enough of the _debris_ to make the trench pa.s.sable.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR TRENCHES, PLUGSTREET WOOD.]

Meanwhile our listening posts, soothed with a wee drappie o' rum, went over the parapet laden down with waterproof sheets fully determined to make the best of a bad job, our sentries were posted, and the welcome order to "Stand down" came along the trench. Those of us not otherwise occupied turned into our dug-outs and were soon asleep. After a certain stage one becomes unconscious to even a revolver-b.u.t.t prodding one in the ribs.

It seemed only a few minutes before the sergeant thrust his head into my dug-out with a "Midnight, sir!" I groped around for my pocket lamp and looked at my watch--some way you always hope the sergeant is wrong, but he never is--and tumbled out to relieve poor Lyte, who had spent a miserable four hours.

A rift in the clouds showed our friends of the midnight watch--the Great Bear and Ca.s.siopeia--twinkling merrily as though it had never rained for a fortnight.

I sloshed my way down to the far end of the trench. Pools of water lay ankle deep here and there along its length. Already one or two men, who had just come off sentry, had started to drain these into little catch-pools. From here it was baled by means of the ever-useful Maconachie tin into an equally useful biscuit tin, which was afterwards dumped on the enemy's side of the parapet.

In other places the men had turned in and were already asleep, so they were promptly stirred up and told to "Get busy," and, for the night, the blosh of the baling tin took the place of the smack of a shovel on a freshly-placed sandbag.

At frequent intervals it was necessary to crawl out and visit the listening posts, who lay in the rank gra.s.s just beyond our own wire.

On returning, not only were one's feet wet, but knees and elbows as well. Then it was up and down the trench again for another hour or so.

A fine drizzle set in and the stars again disappeared, the drizzle turning to a steady shower.

I retired to company headquarters, only emerging when necessary to visit the sentries and listening posts again. There, by the aid of a sputtering candle, I sought diversion in the shape of a sevenpenny novel that some kindly soul had forgotten in his haste to be relieved.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR TRENCHES AT PLUGSTREET.]

Just as I reached the stage where I could sort the various characters into their ultimate _roles_ of hero, villain, and heroine the sergeant again intruded with the news that one of the listening posts reported an enemy patrol approaching. A few flares were fired up, but revealed nothing except a white glare of gra.s.s field, the bean patch, and the inky black of a few willows with our listening posts huddled at their bases. These men were, of course, invisible to the enemy, as the flare had fallen between their line and the willows. A flare must fall behind the object aimed at to reveal anything with accuracy.

Even a couple of parachute lights fired from "Little Archibald," as we called the special gun used for these larger flares, revealed nothing, so I gave up in disgust, woke the only two men who had not been disturbed all night, tied a couple of sandbags around each knee, and once again disappeared over the parapet.

An hour later, on returning, the signaller warned me it was time for the "situation" report. I scrawled out the usual formula, "Situation unchanged; enemy quiet; wind northerly," and handed him the form.

It was ten minutes late, and though the adjutant would not read it till morning I knew I was in for a wigging. Wet and disgusted I turned to my dug-out.

A few minutes later traces of dawn showed themselves in the east. The rain ceased and a fine mist took its place. The men stumbled out to their rifles in response to the order "Stand to," and I made a final promenade of the trench, dragging out a man here and there who was tardy.

Then I stirred up the officer of the day and handed over my duties.

The mist cleared away, showing the German line, grim and formidable as ever!

Another day had dawned.

It was on such a dawn as this that poor Jack L----, my platoon-sergeant, was killed. The fog had lifted a little, revealing an enemy patrol to our listening post.

He, taking the nearest two men with him, went out in search of them, and a flare falling near the little party showed them up to the enemy snipers. He alone was. .h.i.t.

We buried him in the battalion cemetery the next day, the colonel reading the service over his body, and we thought as we lowered him into his grave what a very good friend he had been.

It was not very many days later that we changed from this brigade area to another, leaving Ploegsteert with its memories, sad and otherwise, behind us.

CHAPTER XIX

IN FRONT OF MESSINES

The Second Canadian Division arrived in France during our stay in Ploegsteert, and after a short rest took over a sector on the right of St. Eloi and in front of Messines.

Here it was that we relieved them about a fortnight later--our third move while in front of this grim hill, the scene of such hard fighting in October of the year before.

The line at this point swung forward in a small salient to within fifty yards of the enemy--the only footing we now held on this famous ridge--and to the Toronto and Eastern Ontario Battalions fell the honour of guarding this point all winter.

Here, too, we were to learn something of grenade and mine warfare such as the other two battalions of our brigade had been waging all summer near Ploegsteert.

And the little graveyard in rear of the line was to receive the bodies of many of our comrades and hold them in common sanct.i.ty with those of other gallant men, British and French, Highlanders and Turcos, who had perished on the slopes of Messines.

For a week we systematically registered our guns on new points in the enemy's second and third lines--the usual preliminary to an offensive--and bombarded them severely.

This was done to prevent the enemy from moving any of his guns from this area to the southern end of the line, where, now that the weather was again favourable, the British were to make another thrust.

For this purpose, too, we were to make a "little demonstration" on our front, using smoke bombs to make the enemy believe we were going to use gas, and, to our great satisfaction, it was announced that in those areas where the real offensive was being made the Germans would be treated to a dose of their own poison. Too long we had waited and allowed the enemy to use this fearful weapon against us, thinking the neutral nations might intervene; but their interest in the cause of humanity was largely a financial one, and we determined to adopt a broader view, perhaps, of what justifiable weapons are, and make use of the advances of science. France was already using the gas, but Britain hesitated at setting her hall-mark on such a usage, necessary as it had become.

The day, October 13th, was ideal for observation, beautifully clear, with a gentle breeze from our trench towards the enemy's. Nothing finer could be desired for our operations to the south.

About 2 o'clock our guns, along the whole British front, started to cut wire as though preparing for an attack.

The Germans in return sprinkled our lines vigorously with shrapnel, the fleecy white puffs of their sh.e.l.ls showing up like clouds on the clear blue sky.

From our trench on the hill top we could see the long line of trenches, hidden here and there by trees, stretching southwards to Armentieres, the tall chimneys of which were clearly discernible.

Anxiously we glanced from this view to our watches while the hands crept slowly around to the appointed moment. In the distance there suddenly appeared faint lines of whitish smoke among the trees; and we lit our smoke bombs and hurled them over the parapet. There was a moment's pause, and then they burst into clouds of yellow smoke, hiding the German trench from view.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE START OF THE SMOKE CLOUDS. The Little Demonstration, October 13th, 1915.]

The tone of their bombardment changed immediately, and crashing salvoes of high explosive fell around us.

Our guns paused for a moment, and the crisp rattle of musketry, the droning of myriads of bees, and the bursts of machine-gun fire were heard alone as they ran through whole belts of cartridges; then all minor sounds were again drowned out by the clashes of our sh.e.l.ls as they burst all along the German front line.

Gradually the smoke cleared away as the bombs burnt themselves out and showed that no attack was being attempted. The bombardment slackened, though the Germans continued to sh.e.l.l us heavily till almost dusk, but with little further effect except that they rendered the evacuation of our wounded more dangerous.

Our casualties had, however, been slight, but it was simply marvellous luck, for our parapets were ruined heaps and the trenches filled with _debris_.