How I Filmed the War Part 21

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ROLL CALL OF THE SEAFORTHS AT "WHITE CITY," BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916]

[Ill.u.s.tration: f.a.gGED OUT IN THE "WHITE CITY" AFTER WE RETIRED TO OUR TRENCHES, JULY 1ST, 1916. SOME OF THE INCOMPARABLE 29TH DIVISION]

CHAPTER XV

ROLL-CALL AFTER THE FIGHT

A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and Answer the Call--I Visit a Stricken Friend in a Dug-out--On the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the Trenches--And Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the German Line--I Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped--But Get Away Safely--And later Commandeer a Couple of German Prisoners to Act as Porters.

The day wore on. The success of the fighting swayed first this way, then that. The casualties mounted higher and higher. Men were coming back into our trenches maimed and broken; they all had different tales to tell. I pa.s.sed along talking to and cheering our wonderful men as much as I could. And the Germans, to add to this ghastly whirlpool of horror, threw sh.e.l.l after sh.e.l.l into the dressing station, killing and wounding afresh the gallant lads who had gone "over the top" that morning. They seemed to know of this place and played upon it with a gloating, fiendish glee worthy only of unspeakable savages.

As I was pa.s.sing one group of wounded, I ran against my doctor friend of the night before.

"Busy day for you?" I said.

"My word, yes," he replied. "They are coming faster than I can attend to them. I am just off to see P----. He's caught it badly."

"Serious?" I asked.

"Yes, rather; in the back. He's in the dug-out."

And the doctor rushed away. I followed him. P---- was lying there on a stretcher looking ghastly. The doctor was bending over him. Poor old chap. Only that morning he had hooked me out to film the sunken road scenes as full of life and hope as anyone could conceive. Now he was on his back, a broken wreck. In the trenches there were hundreds of cases as bad, or even worse, but they did not affect me. There were far too many for the mind to fully grasp their meaning. But down here in this dark dug-out, twenty feet below the earth, the sombre surroundings only illuminated by a guttering candle in a bottle, I was far more affected.

It was natural though, for one always feels things more when some one one knows is concerned.

P---- was the first to speak.

"Hullo, old man," he said in a husky, low voice. "You've pulled through?"

"Yes," I replied. "But 'touchwood'! I'm so sorry. Anyway, you're all right for 'Blighty,'" and to cheer him up I continued in a bantering strain: "You knew how to manage it, eh? Jolly artful, you know." His face lighted up with a wan smile.

"Yes, Malins, rather a long 'Blighty,' I'm afraid."

Two stretcher-bearers came in at that moment to take him away. With difficulty they got him out of the trench, and grasping his hand I bade him good-bye.

"I'm glad you got our boys, Malins. I do so want to see that film," were his last words.

"I'll show it to you when I get back to England," I called after him, and then he disappeared.

The fighting was now beginning to die down. The remnants of four regiments were coming in. Each section was acc.u.mulating in s.p.a.ces on their own. I realised that the roll-call was about to take place. I filmed them as they staggered forward and dropped down utterly worn out, body and soul. By an almost superhuman effort many of them staggered to their feet again, and formed themselves into an irregular line.

In one little s.p.a.ce there were just two thin lines--all that was left of a glorious regiment (barely one hundred men). I filmed the scene as it unfolded itself. The sergeant stood there with note-book resting on the end of his rifle, repeatedly putting his pencil through names that were missing. This picture was one of the most wonderful, the most impressive that can be conceived. It ought to be painted and hung in all the picture galleries of the world, in all the schools and public buildings, and our children should be taught to regard it as the standard of man's self-sacrifice.

I stayed in the trenches until the following day, filming scene after scene of our wounded. I learned that nothing more was to be attempted until later, when fresh divisions were to be brought up. Knowing this I decided to leave this section of the trenches. But the ghastly scenes of which I was witness will always remain a hideous nightmare in my memory, though I thank G.o.d I had been spared to film such tremendous scenes of supreme heroism and sacrifice in the cause of freedom.

I got safely back through the trenches to ----, where Brigade H.Q. told me of an urgent message from G.H.Q. I was to report as soon as possible.

On my way I called on General ----, who was delighted to hear I had successfully filmed the attack, the record of which would show the world how gloriously our men had fought.

Reaching advanced G.H.Q. I reported myself. All were pleased to see me safe and sound, and to hear of my success. I was told that lively things were happening at La Boisselle. I heard also how successful our troops had been in other parts of the line. Fricourt and Mametz and a dozen other villages had fallen to our victorious troops. This news put new life into me. At La Boisselle they said we had pushed through, and fighting was still going on. I decided to leave for that district right away.

Pa.s.sing through Albert, I halted the car at the top of Becourt Wood.

From this point I had to walk. In the distance I could see hundreds of sh.e.l.ls bursting, and guns were thundering out. I gave one camera to my orderly and another had the tripod. Taking the second camera myself, I started off. We threaded our way through the wood and out into the trenches. Sh.e.l.ls were falling close by, but by hugging the parapet we got along fairly well.

The communication trench seemed interminable.

"Where the deuce am I?" I asked an officer in pa.s.sing. "I want to get to our front trenches."

"You want to go the other way. This trench leads back to ----."

This was anything but cheering news. I had been walking for about an hour, always seeming to just miss the right turning. Truth to tell I had failed to provide myself with a trench map, and it was my first time in this section. The bursting sh.e.l.ls were filling up the trenches, and I was becoming absolutely fogged. So, in sheer desperation--for the bombardment was getting more intense and I was afraid of losing pictures--I climbed on to the parapet to look round. What a scene of desolation. The first thing I saw was a dead German. That didn't help to cheer me up overmuch. Making a slight detour I stopped to fix the Hun front line if possible. Our own I could see. But no matter where I looked the Bosche line was apparently non-existent. Yet our sh.e.l.ls were smashing into the ground, which seemed to be absolutely empty.

I set up my camera and started to expose. While doing so I happened to glance down, for I must explain that I was on a slight mound. Which was the most surprised--the Bosche or myself--I do not know, for less than a hundred yards away was the German line. I stopped turning. Immediately I did so bullets came singing unpleasantly past my head. I dropped flat on the ground, which luckily for me was slightly protected by a ridge of earth. I dragged the camera down on top of me and, lying flat, the bullets whizzed by overhead. The Bosche must have thought he had got me, for in a few moments fire ceased. I wriggled towards the trench and dropped like a log into the bottom, dragging my camera after me. One of my men had followed, and seeing me drop, did the same. He came tumbling head first into the trench.

"That was a near squeak, sir," he said. "Yes, come on, they will probably start sh.e.l.ling us. Cut through here. I noticed some German prisoners coming this way. I must get them. Where's the other man? Keep him close up."

Reaching a trench through which the German prisoners were being led, I hurriedly fixed my camera and filmed them shambling in, holding their hands up, their nerves completely shattered by the intensity of our terrific bombardment. Some were covered with wounds, others were carrying our wounded Tommies in on stretchers. It was an extraordinary sight. Ten minutes before these men were doing their utmost to kill each other. Now, friend and foe were doing their best to help each other.

Sh.e.l.ls were dropping close by. One fell in the midst of a group of prisoners and, bursting, killed fourteen and wounded eleven. The others were marched on.

Whether I had been spotted or not, I do not know, but German sh.e.l.ls were crumping unpleasantly near. I was just thinking of moving when another burst so close that it made me quickly decide. I looked round for my men. One was there; the other was missing.

"Get into a dug-out," I yelled. "Where is L----?"

"Don't know, sir," he said.

He dived into a dug-out at the first sh.e.l.l which burst near. At that moment another "crump" crashed down and exploded with a crunching roar, throwing a large quant.i.ty of earth all around me. One after another came over in quick succession.

"Where the devil is that fellow?" I said to ----. "He's got my aeroscope. When brother Fritz has smoothed down this little 'strafe' I will try and find him."

"He was in that section, sir, where Bosche crossed."

For over half an hour the crumping continued, then it practically ceased. The Bosche evidently thought he had distributed us to the four winds of heaven. I emerged from my shelter and hurriedly ran along the trench to find my man. He was nowhere to be found. Several dug-outs had been smashed in, and in one place the water in the trench was deep red with blood, and wading through this was anything but pleasant. At that moment a telephone man came up.

"Can you tell me, sir, if there is a machine-gun position hereabouts? I have been sent to run a wire." I was just replying when a crump came hurtling over.

"Duck," I yelled, and duck we did. I tried to cover the whole of my body under my steel helmet, and crouching low on the ground, the crump burst just on the parapet above, showering huge lumps of dirt which clattered upon us.

"You had better get out of this," I said, and suiting the action to the word I attempted to run, when another crump burst, this time in the traverse close behind. Well, which of us ran the fastest for cover I don't know, but I was a good second!

The non-appearance of my other man worried me. He was nowhere to be found. It occurred to me that as he did not find me on emerging from his dug-out, and as it was coming on to rain, he had returned to the car thinking he might find me there. Packing up my camera, therefore, I started off, pa.s.sing more prisoners on the way. I promptly collared two of them to carry my tripod and camera, and as we proceeded I could not restrain a smile at the sight of two German prisoners hurrying along with my outfit, and a grinning Tommy with his inevitable cigarette between his lips, and a bayonet at the ready, coming up behind. It was too funny for words.

When I reached the car my lost man was not there. I enquired of several battle-police and stretcher-bearers if they had seen a man of his description wandering about, and carrying a leather case, but n.o.body had seen him. After having a sandwich, I decided to go again to the front line to find him. I could not leave him there. I must find out something definite. On my way down I made further enquiries, but without result. I searched around those trenches until I was soaked to the skin and f.a.gged out, but not a trace of him could I discover; not even my camera or pieces of it. The only thing that could have happened, I thought, was that he had got into a dug-out, and the entrance had been blown in by heavy sh.e.l.l-fire.

Retracing my steps I examined several smashed dug-outs. It was impossible to even attempt to lift the rubble. With gloomy thoughts I returned again to the car, and on my journey back left instructions with various men to report anything found to the town major at ----. I stayed the night in the vicinity in the hope of receiving news; but not a sc.r.a.p came through. Again next day, and the next, I hunted the trenches, unsuccessfully, and finally I came to the conclusion that he had been killed and decided to post him as missing. I had arrived at this decision whilst resting on the gra.s.s at the top of Becourt Wood and was making a meal of bully and biscuits when, looking up, I saw what I took to be an apparition of my missing man walking along the road and carrying a black case. I could scarcely believe my eyes.

"Where the devil have you been?" I asked. "I was just on my way back to post you as missing. What has happened?"