BATTLE PICTURES.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 144671, 4 May 1915, Page 7

BATTLE PICTURES.

THE ROAD TO NEUVE CHAPELLB. OFFICER’S IMPRESSIONS An officer who was wounded during tho British advance on Neuve Chapelle sends the following impressions of the battle; — It was yet night when wo stood to arras —tho inky darkness which precedes' the dawn, and never a hint in tho sky of coming day. Not a sound but the purring effort of a motor-supply wagou which had secured itself in mud by the roadside. Tho meu were heavy with their two hours’ sleep. They stumbled out on to the roadway—heavy too with ammunition and equipment. Tho com-pany-sergeant - major walked briskly down the lino tolling them to “liven themselves up” and “get a move on.” Iheso wore his favourite expressions, tie never seemed to want to sloop himself. Suddenly the order to move had come. Nobody had had breakfast. We left the barn and tho farmyard behind —trudged on in file down tho narrow road, heads bent north-eastwards. Dawn was breaking when wo left the. road — a grey ashen dawn with strips of si’vevy lignr. Now we trudged across sodden fields, a gun boomed miles away. Another answered close behind us.'Already tho business of our day had begun. Now, too, there were bursts of rifle lire and a stray bullet whizzed across. We were scornfully used to that sort in the trenches. But like a shower of rain they increased "whit, whit” von could not tell whether near or far, they were so playful. Wo hurried across the open laud, heads down, for now it was daylight. 1 AN HOUR OF WAITING. At tho end wore cross-roads_ and a mass of troops. They were lining a long high breastwork, which ran parallel to the road. Snug enough there they were, sprawling about, eating their breakfast, and jabbering broad (.ancashire; tho regiment in reserve. But what of ns? We too had to take shelter behind that breastwork, congested as it already was—ami tho biillets spattered like hnil_ outside and snug songs above it. Weil, wo filed in and sat down in the trench three deep, and a pretty mix up it was! Wo rat down and waited. That was tho worst of it. Orders were short and simple. “Tho battalion will advance in Hue of platoons at 7 o’clock.” It was now 6 o’clock. One long hour cl waiting ahead. Still there were preparations to make. One took of! one s equipment and one’s coat. The latter had to bo stowed away in the pack. One swallowed sored chocolate and some sandwiches which had jolted in tho haversack for 3fi hours; one took a long pull at tho old brandy in one’s Hash. . . . The interminable battle had begun again, and the enemy’s shells fell uncomfortably close. They plastered the ruined farm net 50 yards behind: they threw up clouds of earth not 50 yards in from. The splinters and tho bullets caught men walking along the read. A fellow would sit- down with a groan nursing Ills head. Tho noise increased minute by minute. Our bwn shells screamed across in unending procession. The whole atmosphere quivered with siirieks and whist.es which almost drowned the boom and the bang of the splintering crash near at hand. Then word came down the line; the ’a have advanced. For they were tho next regiment in front; 7 o’clock was near at hand. “Platoons, get ready.” “Fix bayonets!” ON THE MOVE. The leading company moved off. A road turned at right angles to the protecting lino of breastworks, once beyond which 'we were exposed to roving bullets. There was a maze of disused trenches on our left, trenches feet deep in water and mud, but ample protection nevertheless. And hero the men could deploy. The. commanding officer and adjutant were here, uttering final words of encouragement and advice. Wo splashed and floundered through the mysterious passages, wondering if there was an end to them. It was like some great section of a rabbit-warren or tho maze at Hampton Court. Once in it there was no incentive to wait. The men swarmed over the parapet and across tho intervening space. Then wo wore in the Gorman trenches. They wore empty —but for tho grey dead. There was blood and iron in plenty—litter of rifles, helmets, and equipment —but tho Germans were elusive, yet not far off. The bullets spat and sang, and now and again found their billet. Many khaki figures rested there and dotted, poor shapeless hoops, the intervening ground. We came to a plare oft. deep in greenish-yellow water. The single plank had broken down. One had to wade for it. Wet to the skin. wo, stumbled up the haul; and raced across tho open field beyond—raced across as far as a man can with his pack on his hack, a full haversack, a rifle aud bayonet, and all the weight of equipment. Vou cannot muster more than a.steady trot like that. Beyond that open field there is a place where yesterday's tornado of shells had done its frightful work. It is a kind of pit where biscuit tins and dead bodies—German bodies—and the refuse of exterminated trenches lie scattered amid the churned-up earth. Strands of barbed wire besot one's path, and an upheaval of stones makes it difficult to surmount the high, steep bank. Beyond that again is a temporary breastwork whore we pause and vest and in front of it another ditch. One is out of breath, but thankful to bo under cover. The crackle of rifle fire is very close now on our left front. Somewhere a machine-gun hammers and hammers. Aud always the shrapnel whistles overhead. Tho prospect of the next rush is not exactly an agreeable one. •WOUNDED. Two hundred and fifty yards under a withering fire. Men fall right and left. It is no use stooping or lying down. Tho ground is dotted with holes and shell pits. One falls repeatedly and scrambles up again and stumbles on. Yet no cover visible ahead—no friendly trench or breastwork, only a little shallow depression in the ground with a thin hedge in front. The enemy cannot be. 300' yards away. Tho bullets spatter and splutter, spit and whistle. Curious what playful little things they seem! And then, leaping tho ditch, just as that temporary goal is l eached—a thump in the leg, unlike any sensation ever felt before, a sharp pain 'through it, and you roll over for all the world like a shot rabbit. Hit! as effectually knocked but as though you had a bullet through the heart. The hours roll by as you ho there. No progress can be made. Tho enemy are strongly entrenched in front. There is the inevitable enfilading machine-gun with its monotonous “clack-clack.” The din is terrific. Regular as clockwork, minute by minute, comes tho wail of shrapnel. “Whiz-bang,” followed by a shower of earth and the “ping-ping” of tho bullets flying around your hea&L.

And regular as clockwork these shells fall in or about tho .same place. The spot is about 30 yards away, but it is quite close enough, and tho situation is by no means a pleasant one. It is wearing to the nerves, lying out there, face plastered in tho mud, waiting for the next “firework” to come along and wondering where it will land. And now and than there is a real coal-box burst —a pale flash of fire, a thick black smoko, and an earth-shaking crash. The blue sky above is dotted with fleecy puffs of white smoke and sulphur yellow puffs, as well as the inky black ones. To raiso your.head now is to ask for a bullet. Actually after a time you close your eyes and sleep threatens. Even tho monotnuy of a great artillery bombardment brings its reaction. FROM STORM TO CALM. But then comes the ear-splitting crash and the shower of earth. You look round and find your next-door neighbour bleeding freely. Bang and crash and smash. Boom boom boom boom—eight times. There is a heavy battery close at hand firing salvoes every three minutes. Bang—bang—bang—threo times, and further away, to the right, lyddite or high explosive landing amid the ruins of Aubors or Ncuvo Chapelle, And ever the chorus of field guns, the tremendous detonation of a big gun, the crackle of rifle-fire (like newly-kindled Wood), and tho clack-clack of the machine-guns. And ever mercilessly the scream, the shriek, and tho whistle _overhead. Once or twice only m those weary hours was there a minute’s silence. Then ■ somewhere far above you could actually hoar n lark sing. The able-bodied dug themselves in. As tho afternoon wore on there came a lull, and those who could among the wounded dragged themselves painfully to tho rear. Three-quarters of a mile of shell-scarred plough land before one crime to doctors and stretchers. In the shell-pits, true, one could rest, keeping company with a dead or wounded man, or only, perhaps, with a German helmet and a queer-shaped pistol or a riilo. Mud-caked, sore, and weary, it was a relief to got behind a , stout breastwork at last.

Half a mile on r. stretcher, and then a swift run in a Red Cross motor-car to this little French town. Very gradually tho music of battle died away, and there followed" an almost miraculous silence. The evening shadows found us in a cool and quiet place. Washed, wounds dressed, wo lay there. Outside the window the golden sunshine lingered on u rod-brick wall. Not a sound hut an occasional footfall, the rustling of leaves, the whispering of birds. Even those who suffered most wore now at rest.