IRONIES OF BATTLEFIELDS.

New Zealand Illustrated Sporting & Dramatic Review, Issue 1302, 8 April 1915, Page 41

IRONIES OF BATTLEFIELDS.

STRANGE ARE THE TRICKS OF BULLETS, WHICH PROVE FATAL TO ONE MAN AND RIDDLE HIS COMRADE, WHO SURVIVES THEM.

It is one of the ironies of battle that while one man may be killed by the first bullet that conies his way his fellow may be hit a score of times and

yet survive to fight again and to die peacefully in his bed. Already the story of the present war has furnished several illustrations of this strange diversity of luck, notably that of Kruitchkoff, the Valliant Cossack, w’hose brother was the first man slain in his first action, while he, after receiving 16 wounds and killing 11 Germans singlehanded, is reported to be on the highway to recovery. Even more amazing was the experience of Lieutenant J. Evans, of the Inniskilling Fusiliers, in the last South African war. In the first attack on Pieter’s Hill, Lieutenant Evans fell, shot through the right shoulder by a Mauser bullet. For two entire days he lay on the hillside exposed to the fire of the enemy. When at last he was discovered, it was found that he had received no fewer than 16 wounds. Such, however, was the lieutenant’s vitality, that within a few months he was a hale man and fighting as valiantly as ever. Few men have borne a more charm ed life than Lieutenant Congreve when, in company with his fellow aides-de-camp, Schofield and Roberts, he rushed over the bullet-swept veldt at Colenso to the rescue of the guns. Roberts fell a dead man before he had gone many yards: Congreve raced on through the tornado of lead.

“ My first bullet,” he says, “ went through my left sleeve and made the joint of my elbow bleed; next a clod of earth caught me smack on the right arm; then my horse got one; then my right leg one; then my horse another, and that settled us.” But desperate as his plight was, the bullets raining as thick as hail, the gallant fellow managed to crawl to safety. How fearful the leadstorm was at Colenso may be gathered from the fact that one gunner was found with 64 wounds on his body. Among th© men who survived to describe the inferno of Spion Kop, every square foot of it swept by the blizzard of Boer bullets and shells, none had a more miraculous escape than Murray, of the Scottish Rifles, who was struck by bullet after bullet. Dripping from half a dozen wounds, his uniform hanging around him in shreds, lie staggered among his men, cheering them as gaily as when the fight began. In the sanguinary battle of Atbara, G. W. Steevens says: “One piper had seven bullets in his body; a corporal in another regiment received seven in his clothing, one switchbacking in and out of the front of his tunic, and not one pierced the skin. Another man picked up a bras box inside the zareba and put it in his breast pocket. The next instant a bullet hit it and glanced away.”

It was in this battle that a colour sergeant was discovered with 15 wounds—a veritable “ lead mine,” as a surgeon declared; but so amazing was his vitality that' within two months he was as sound as ever again.

Many a man carried a charmed life through that terrible fight on the banks of the Alma in the Crimean war; but none mor© miraculously than Colour-Sergeant Luke O’Connor, the brave Irishman known to-day as Major-General O’Connor, V.C. When Ensign Anstruther fell at the very moment of reaching the parapet of a Russian redoubt, O’Connor, severely wounded as he was in the breast, took the colours from" the lifeless hand and proudly planted them on the redoubt Through the whole of that day of carnage he cari’ied them, refusing po.nt blank to go to the rear, although scarcely able to stand for loss of blood. Through what perils he carlied his flag and his life may be imagined from the fact that the banner he so bravely bore was found to have been hit in 75 places. Another of the many heroes of the Alma was Lieutenant Lindsay, of the Scots Fusilier Guards, who carried ‘the colours of his regiment through the entire battle. Waving- his flag aloft, the gallant young lieutenant raced up the heights through the tempest of shot, and shell although men were falling like au’ tumn leaves around him and the flag he carried was riddled with 23 bullet holes. The heights reached, the regiment was advancing on the enemy’s battery when the order to ret re rang out. s Lindsay, however, refused to budge Supported only by the colour escort he held his ground, and, fighting back to back with a fellow ofiicer7'kept the Russians at bay until the Fusiliers, re-forming, rushed back to his rescue; and, sweeping all before them, saved both the colours and their gallant defender. In the battle of Inkerman, where the British soldier reached his highest flight of heroism and daring, there was no braver or more fortunate man than Sergeant-Major Henry, who, in company with Gunner Taylor, ’ defended a battery so magnificently against an overwhelming force of the enemy. With his sword in his right hand and bayonet in his left, Henry fought like an “ inspired demon,” heaping th© dead Russians at his feet with sweep and thrust, and refusing to yield an inch of his ground. Hemmed in by the enemy, who assailed him at each side and the back, he fought with the strength and courage of ten, until, pierced by a dozen ghastly wounds, he sank to earth unconscious, and was left to all appearances a dead man.

A no less gallant bearer of a charmed life was Captain John Wood, of the 20th Bombay Native Infantry, who covered himself with blood and glory in England’s war with Russia nearly 60 years ago. Told off to lead the assault on a strongly-defended Russian fort, Captain Wood*, who was well'in advance of his men, rushed to the attack in the face of a hurricane of bullets. Again and again he was struck, but he never paused until, with a waving sword and shout of triumph, he charged over the parapet and ran the Russian leader through the body.