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 SECTION
Answer Key to Workbook
V
Appendix E: Mock
Certified Professional
Coder (CPC) Certification
Examination

Copyright © 2016 Cengage Learning®. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
382    Section V   Answer Key to Workbook Appendix E

1. a 39. d   77. c 115. b

2. b 40. c   78. b 116. c
3. c 41. c   79. b 117. c
4. a 42. b   80. b 118. a
5. d 43. a   81. b 119. a
6. d 44. a   82. a 120. c
7. c 45. d   83. d 121. b
8. a 46. b   84. c 122. b
9. d 47. b   85. c 123. a
10. c 48. c   86. a 124. c
11. d 49. c   87. d 125. b
12. d 50. d   88. a 126. d
13. d 51. c   89. a 127. a
14. b 52. d   90. c 128. b
15. a 53. d   91. c 129. d
16. a 54. c   92. d 130. c
17. b 55. a   93. a 131. b
18. b 56. a   94. a 132. a
19. c 57. c   95. b 133. b
20. d 58. a   96. d 134. a
21. d 59. c   97. c 135. d
22. b 60. c   98. d 136. c
23. d 61. b   99. b 137. b
24. c 62. c 100. b 138. a
25. b 63. a 101. c 139. b
26. b 64. b 102. a 140. b
27. b 65. b 103. a 141. b
28. c 66. c 104. d 142. b
29. d 67. a 105. c 143. b
30. c 68. d 106. b 144. a
31. a 69. d 107. a 145. b
32. b 70. c 108. a 146. a
33. c 71. c 109. b 147. a
34. b 72. a 110. d 148. b
35. b 73. b 111. c 149. b
36. c 74. c 112. b 150. c
37. a, b 75. a 113. c
38. a 76. c 114. b

Copyright © 2016 Cengage Learning®. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
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 VI. BATTLES IN BEING

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,

Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,—alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass....

Byron’s: “Childe Harold.”

For the Colonel rides before,

The Major’s on the flank,
The Captains and the Adjutant
Are in the foremost rank.
But when it’s “Action front!”
And fighting’s to be done,
Come one, come all, you stand or fall
By the man who holds the gun.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

I got a biscuit from Tibby Tennant, and was eating it when I got
shot. M‘Phail was beside me, and dressed my wounds as well as he
could: Pte. Clark, Highland Light Infantry.

Unexpected
I will tell you of a cute trick of our gunners. They got a lot of empty
wagons and put them in a wood. The Germans, seeing them,
thought they were our guns put out of action. They rushed out for
them, and our artillery did not half scatter them, killing about four
hundred: Pte. Brown, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment.

Turpinite
I saw some of the effects of turpinite, the wonderful French
explosive, used in this war for the first time. I saw a trench full of
dead Germans killed by it. They were standing right up in the
trenches looking as though they were still alive: Pte. Thompson, 2nd
Dragoon Guards.

Took Off the Roof!

I was standing within 50 yards of a house one day when a shell
came and took the roof clean off; you could see the cups on the
table quite plain; a clean sweep. I counted about thirty shells drop
around us the same day in half an hour; we had only two horses and
a man shot: Tpr. C. McCarthy, 4th Hussars.

Lancashire!
Fellows were being knocked out all round, and wounded were crying
for help. Frequently one would say to his neighbour, “Bill, how’s ta
gettin’ on?” but Bill, who had been as cheery as a cricket just before,
was found to be picked off. Our ranks were so thinned that by the
time we got within charging distance of the enemy’s trenches we
had not sufficient men left for the charge: Pte. Harvey, North
Lancashire Regiment.

Up Aloft!
All our troops blamed the German aeroplanes for the heavy loss
which we sustained. It did not matter where we went to try and get
an hour’s sleep, there would be an aeroplane over us. The Germans
dropped a little disc—a sort of long tape—from their aeroplanes,
about twenty yards in front of our trenches, and shortly after the
Germans would start shelling us. I think it is mostly the aeroplanes
which enable them to get our range so accurately as they do: A
Private of the Manchester Regiment.

His Own Back

We were only 300 yards from a battery of German “death
screechers,” which naturally opened fire into us, doing great
damage. We soon silenced them, though. Worked round their flank
and picked off the gunners. Please don’t think I am boasting, but I
picked off eight. I had a splendid position. I was firing three hours
before they hit me seriously. When I was hit I didn’t care; my rifle
was smashed to atoms by a shell, but I was gloriously happy, having
got my own back before being put out of action: A Private of the
Sussex Regiment.

Sleep Through Anything

The Germans keep firing away by night as well as day, and that
gives them a big pull over us, because the men in our lines find it
hard to sleep with the continual shelling. Firing from your own lines
doesn’t affect you in the same way, so that it doesn’t keep the
Germans awake unless we bombard them. Men without sleep are
not nearly so fit for fighting the next day. Not all of our chaps are
kept awake. There are some who could sleep through anything:
Gunner Dyson, Royal Artillery.

“Lucky, Considering”
My company was advancing on a wood from which the Germans
were picking off our men. We were lying down firing, when from the
wood was shouted, “Stop it, you are firing on your own men.”
Someone said, “Cease fire,” and we did. Then a very hot fire came at
us from the wood. My left-hand man was shot through the stomach,
and then my right-hand man was shot through the head. It was a
German who had shouted to us. Then a shell, a 96-pounder, burst
over us, and a piece of it took away from me a large piece of my left
side. I am lucky, considering: Pte. J. Sullivan, South Lancashires.

Nothing Wasted
We killed a tremendous number of them, and owing to their massed
formation they were practically standing up dead in front of us. It
just suited us to be plugging at them. They came on as if they
thought they had nothing to do but take the lot of us, but they were
surprised to find that they could not do so. The Germans shoot
promiscuously, believing that their shots must hit someone. They
had not the same chance of hitting us, and rarely attempted to pick
out their man before they shot. I should think that in three days I
fired between five hundred and six hundred rounds of ammunition,
and we did not waste any; every shot was meant for someone:
Private P. Case.

Those Uhlans
We were attacked by a brigade of German cavalry—Uhlans. We got
out of the trenches and prepared to receive their attack. I caught
the first horse with my bayonet, causing it to swerve so suddenly to
the right that the Uhlan was pitched on his head, breaking his neck,
I fancy, but not before I heard a sword whizz past my head. I did
not feel at all comfortable. I also caught the second horse, but he
got his hoof on my left foot, and I felt something on my chest
throwing me on to the ground. What happened afterwards I don’t
know, as I was unconscious for the next thirty-six hours: Sergt.
Gibson, Sussex Regiment.
 Stonewalling!
The fighting was hard at times, but only really terrible when you
were groping about in the dark exposed to heavy rifle or artillery fire
without the least suspicion of where it was coming from at the
moment or likely to come from next. Later, when we had settled
down to the work and could see what we were up against, it was
child’s play, so to speak, and all you had to do was to lie in the
trenches and pick the Germans off as you saw them coming on to
the attack. And to pick them off is just like taking shots at a stone-
finished wall. You can’t help hitting something, and every time you
hit you are taking chips off the wall: A Private of the Loyal North
Lancashire Regiment.

The Way of It
The shrapnel shells of the Germans were bursting over the trenches
where we were lying, and I was struck in the foot with a piece of
shell, which took the sole of my boot clean off. Five minutes later,
when I was trying to help a fellow near me who had been hit in the
shoulder, I was struck in the right thigh by a pellet from a shrapnel
shell. I fired one more shot after that. I aimed for the driver of a
German machine gun and hit him. This was my first experience of
actual fighting, and I can tell you it is a funny sensation at first to
see the shells bursting near and around you, to hear the bullets
whistling by you, but you soon get used to it all. It tries your nerves
a bit at first, but you soon get in the way of it: Private C. D. Moore.

Like an Exodus
We of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders took up a position
facing a wood where the Germans were in strong force. As they
emerged our boys met them with a raking rifle fire, which mowed
them down. On they came again, and again with the same
devastating result. Their bullets came whistling round us, but we
were indifferent, the marksmanship being very poor. The German
infantry carry their rifles under their arms, the butts resting on their
hips, and they fire as they march. As the enemy poured out en
masse into the open it was like the exodus from the Celtic and
Rangers Scottish Cup final! Man, if they were only three to one we
could go through them easily, but when it comes to ten to one,
strategy as well as bravery has to be considered: An Argyll and
Sutherland Highlander.

A Long, Long Day

I rolled a cigarette, thinking the engagement finished for the time,
and was making my way up the ridge ahead of my company to see
how far the Germans had retired. I had gone some considerable
distance when thousands of Germans reappeared on the sky-line,
and of course I had to dash back to my company. Every second I
expected a bullet through my back, but I was lucky and was bowled
over by one which fractured my right elbow, and I broke my forearm
as I fell. The Germans advanced right over me, but after taking all
my grub out of my haversack they left me to my fate. I lay there
until dark and it was the longest day I remember. The bullets and
shells flew over my head incessantly, some only falling a few yards
away from where I lay. As soon as darkness fell and the firing
ceased the stretcher-bearers came out and got me away. Once or
twice I sat up to see what chance I had of getting away, but the
dirty devils kept on sniping at me, and I had to lie down again. I
could see, however, that the ground was covered with dead
Germans: Pte. Priest, Coldstream Guards.

Every House a Fort

We were standing close to an orchard, and some of us were killing
time and quenching thirst by picking apples from the overhanging
trees, when the enemy opened fire with their guns and their rifles.
We were quickly formed into positions allotted to us, and advanced
to the attack supported by the Irish Rifles, who were moving slowly,
as their job was to cover our rushes with rifle fire. Our own artillery
opened out, adding to the frightful din, and making us think we had
been transported to the infernal regions. Soon we reached the
village and found the Germans occupying the houses in strong force.
Every house was a little fort, and the infantry were firing from the
windows furiously, picking us off as we came along. In some houses
they had machine guns mounted at the windows with which to
sweep our line of advance. On another house a big gun was placed
in position, and some of our sharpshooters were told off to pick off
the men working it. This they did in a short time, and it was
silenced. Seeing that, the Germans attempted to send up a new
gun’s crew, but they had to pass under fire when they came out on
the roof, so that our men lay there picking them off as fast as they
showed their heads. That went on for over an hour, but they didn’t
get their gun manned, for every man who tried it was shot down.
After that they gave it up: A Wounded Corporal.

A Gallant Sky Pilot

We had no trenches, all that was available being head “cover,” and in
some parts there was very little of that. The noise was terrible, while
all the time the shells were bursting around. Occasionally when they
exploded near us the shrapnel even tore our clothes. The shells,
however, which did the most damage were those which burst in the
air. While the action was going on we could see quite a number of
the German aeroplanes operating above us. Their object was to
discover our position, and when they had accomplished this they
dropped some kind of powder which burst into flames as it
descended and showed their artillery at what places to direct their
shell fire. There was a most exciting and peculiar incident in the
course of the engagement. An aeroplane hovered above our lines
and then darted towards the Germans. Our artillery fired at it, and
when the enemy saw it their artillery also attempted to bring it
down. The machine came back in our direction, still under a heavy
fire, and you can imagine our surprise when it descended amongst
us and a young Frenchman stepped out of it. He had been sent to
discover the position of the Germans. The frame of the aeroplane
was riddled with bullets, but in spite of that fact he made several
visits in the course of the evening towards the German lines: Pte. R.
Stobbie, Highland Light Infantry.

The Unexpected
We were in a field when the Germans dropped on us all of a sudden
as though from the sky. The first hint we had of their presence was
when a battery of guns on our right sang out, dropping shells into a
mob of us who were waiting for our turn at the washtub—the river.
We all ran to our posts in response to bugles, and by the time we all
stood to arms the German cavalry came into view in great strength
all along the left front. As soon as they came within range we
poured a deadly volley into them, emptying saddles right and left,
and they scattered in all directions. Meanwhile their artillery kept
working up closer on the front and the right, and a dark cloud of
infantry showed out against the sky-line on our front, advancing in
formation rather loose for the Germans. We opened on them, and
they made a fine target for our rifle fire, which was very well
supported by our artillery. The fire from our guns was very effective,
the range being found with ease, and we could see the shells
dropping right into the enemy’s ranks. Here and there their lines
began to waver and give way, and finally they disappeared: A
Wounded Guardsman.

No Love Lost
It’s very little love indeed there is lost between us and the Germans,
and when they get to grips with Irish soldiers they don’t get much
chance of saving their skins. The things the Germans do in Belgium
are ten times worse than anything you ever heard tell of in ’98, and
there’s few Irishmen can stand what they’ve done without wanting
to tear them to bits in good, honest fighting. We saw the Irish
Guards give the Germans a fine basting at Compiègne, and we were
proud of the way they behaved. When they came back to our lines
after it was over they had a grand cheer from all of us, and the
French troops, who were nearer to the fight and saw it better than
us, weren’t behindhand in giving our boys a good pat on the back. It
would have done your heart good to see the Frenchmen standing up
in their trenches and shouting like mad as the Guards passed by.
The poor chaps got shy and sick of all the fuss that was made over
them. They didn’t like the idea that it was their first time on active
service and that they were only babies at fighting, and there was
many a row in the camp that night over men saying fine things
about the Guards, and reminding them of the fact that they never
had had any battle honours before that day: Private P. Heffernan.

“Up, Guards,” and at ’Em?

Shrapnel began to burst around us, and the Guards had to prepare
to engage the cavalry now creeping closer. Suddenly the cavalry
remounted their horses, and came crashing down on our chaps.
“Now, Guards!” was all the officer in command said, but his men
knew what he meant, and they braced themselves for the tussle.
They lined up in the good old British square that has proved a terror
to European armies before, and the front ranks waited with the
bayonet, while the men inside kept blazing away at the advancing
horsemen. They came closer and closer, and the earth seemed to
shake and quiver beneath their rush. “Steady!” was all the
commander of the Guards said, and he said it in a dull way, as
though he were giving a piece of advice to some noisy youngsters
who had been making a row. The men answered not a word, but
they set their teeth. Then the crash came. Steel met steel, and
sparks shot out as sword crossed bayonet. The game of the
Germans was to ride down our ranks, but they didn’t know that that
trick won’t work with British troops, and the Guardsmen kept their
ground, in spite of the weight of men and horses. The Germans
came to a dead stop, and just then they got a volley from the centre
of the square. They broke and scattered, and then they got another
volley: A British Guardsman.

Clearing Them Out

The Germans held a position on the hills in front of us, and their
infantry had trenches just below them. Their shells started to drop
on us. We rushed along. We were getting mowed down, but we had
to shift them, as the officer said they were there long enough. How
they missed me I do not know. We got to about 100 yards of their
trenches, when the general passed the word up that the brigade
would fix bayonets and charge, taking the time to “go” from the
bugle. It was an anxious time waiting for the moment. I said to
myself, and a lot more the same, “This is my last rush, but I will
fight for my life to the last.” The bugle sounded at last, and we made
a dash for it. The men were falling each side of me. I was doubled
up. We made a bit of a cheer, but it was more like a groan. There
was only about half of us got there. When I got to their trenches I
made a sort of a dive at it with my bayonet leading, and it stuck in
one of them, in the chest. We killed and wounded the lot, but we
found that they had a trench running backward, and a lot escaped
by that way. We stopped in the trenches a while to get our wind,
and we shook each other by the hand, and I said, “I will never be hit
after that,” and was confident of it. And I thanked God from my
heart for being alive: Pte. Grace, Northumberland Fusiliers.

Steady, Boys, Steady!

Lyddite, shrapnel, common siege, and other sorts of shells were
bursting all around us. The fumes from the terrible lyddite were
sickening—we were spitting up yellow stuff three days afterwards.
Some of the shrapnel bullets hit our chaps pretty badly, but some
were harmless. One fell red-hot across my fingers, but its force was
expended. Shortly afterwards a big lump of shell plunged into the
earth a few inches from my face. Then every other shell that came
seemed to strike the earth a few inches above my head, knocking
lumps of earth and stones all over me. I gave up all hope of ever
seeing England again, and so did everyone, so I said just a wee
fervent prayer, and keeping low down I managed to scribble what I
really thought would be the last line to my sister in my pocketbook.
Then I remembered that I still possessed half a cigarette, so I
managed to strike a match and finish that just as my look-out man
saw the German infantry advancing on us about 800 yards away. I
can tell you we gave them a warm reception. The German artillery
were busy just then trying to drop shells into our artillery, and we
gave the German infantry the very best of our attention. Our men
simply mowed them down with rifles and machine guns. Still the
Germans came on like great waves. My men acted admirably, taking
steady aim every time until the fields in front of us were covered
with lines and heaps of German dead and wounded: Sergt. J.
Williams, Highland Light Infantry.

Scared Gun-Horses
What impressed me most was a battery of artillery under fire. It
dashed up to a point that had been marked by a stake with a
number on it by the officer who was responsible for allocating the
positions. Just as it stopped the Germans, who seemed to have the
position to a hair’s-breadth, sent shells shrieking around the battery.
The horses got frantic and began prancing and kicking out in terror.
The drivers held on like grim death, but the poor animals could not
be pacified, and at last they dashed off in the direction of the
German lines with the guns. The drivers stuck to their posts and did
all they could to restrain the mad horses. Meanwhile a party of new
men with horses were brought out and dashed off in pursuit. They
caught up soon, and rode alongside to get hold of the runaways. It
was no use, however, and now they came within range of more
German guns, and the shells were bursting overhead, making the
poor animals madder than ever. There was nothing for it but to
shoot the mad animals, and this was done after some difficulty. Then
it was necessary to take out the dead team and put the new one in,
while German shells were dropping around. Half of the men were
hit, but they meant to stick to their posts, and not all the Germans in
the field could have driven them away. Just as they were getting the
guns away a party of German infantry came on the scene, but by
that time our battalion had moved out to cover the withdrawal of the
guns, and we gave the Germans as much as they could stand: A
Corporal, Northamptonshire Regiment.

A Cameron Man
We retired into a wood, and it was here that I got put out of action.
I was struck with a piece of shell, and I fell, thinking it was all over
with me. The shell had struck my pack, and I was not injured in the
least, but the strange thing was that I could not find my pack. The
straps on it had been broken. I then got up, and had not gone
twenty yards when I got what seemed like a terrible blow on the left
thigh with a big forehammer. Looking down, I saw that my kilt was
all blood, and I realized I was knocked out. I tried to get up, but my
old leg would not come. I saw my chance and seized it. An
ammunition pony came flying past me, and I made one desperate
jump at it. I did not look for the reins: I got hold of something, and I
was pulled right across an open space between the woods. My God,
it was something terrible coming over that open ground. The enemy
had been waiting for our advance across it all day. This was where
most of our fellows fell. The bullets were dropping like hail, shells
were bursting all around us, and it was worse than hell, if anything
could be. A few got across, but how many I cannot say, for when I
got this length I dropped. I never saw the old pony afterwards: Pte.
Brooks, Cameron Highlanders.

The Cold Steel

We fixed bayonets and clambered out, and somehow got together
some kind of formation and rushed towards the hedge. All we could
see was a few strange uniforms a quarter of a mile away. Away we
went, and one of our officers was bowled over straight away, whilst
many on my right and left dropped out. We shouted out our slogan,
and went at them as fast as we could. At last we arrived with a yell
at the ditch where the German riflemen were concealed, and they
fired at us point-blank, but not one of us went down. Then we went
at them with the steel, and the Germans being six feet below us,
they had no chance. When we had each “done” our man we had to
jump over the ditch and on towards the German guns. We were
running like hell, when all of a sudden machine guns poured into us
from both sides, knocking dozens of us over in heaps. The officers
gave the word to retire, and we came back at a run. When we came
to the trench we had already jumped we found that we had not
killed all the Germans in it, and as we passed over it again we were
shot at, and my pal was nearly bayoneted. We got back, and did not
do much good. We killed a few hundred Germans, it is true, but we
lost one hundred and fifty men! The Germans will do anything to get
away from the cold steel: A Cameron Highlander, at the Aisne.

“Is This Death?”

It was a thousand times worse than being in hell. For six days we
were in the same trenches, almost at arm’s reach of the enemy. We
could only steal out under cover of darkness for a drink of water. It
rained all the time; but we had to make the best of it. Every day was
the same as the day before—an advance at daybreak and at night;
but every time we were beaten back by frightful odds. Each time we
were forced back we left hundreds of our men behind, killed and
wounded. Then it was the same old command, “Fall back on the
trenches.” My comrades were constantly falling by my side. Day after
day, and every minute during the day, German shells were falling
around us like rain. We could hear them coming through the air, and
we would lie low in the trenches and say, “That is another one that
has missed us.” But the fatal one came without us hearing it.
Thirteen of us were together, and only one lucky devil escaped.
When the blow came I thought my head was taken off. I fell on my
knees and put one arm up in the air, and said, “Good God, is this
death?” I then put my hand on my face, and I felt the flesh, which
was so badly torn. But I felt no pain. It seemed dead. I crept along
the top of the trenches until I found the doctor who was with my
regiment. He simply put a piece of cotton-wool over my face and laid
me under a tree, as the firing was too heavy to get a proper
dressing on. For five hours I lay bleeding under that tree, and the
German shells were still falling about us like rain: Pte. Kneale,
Liverpool Regiment.

Spoiled Their Appetite

“It’s a fine night for the Germans,” is what we say when it’s so dark
that you could not see your finger before you, and it was just on
such a night that I was nicked while serving my gun. Just about two
in the morning there was a heavy rattle of rifle fire on the hill where
our advance men were posted, and soon the whole camp was alive
with noise and bustle as the men sprang to arms. We always sleep
beside our guns so as to be ready for anything, and in five minutes
we were at our posts waiting for information about the range. That
came later, and then we began plugging away for all we were able.
We caught sight of a mass of Germans swarming up a slope on the
right to take cover in a wood there, and they didn’t know what we
knew. We dropped a few shells into them just to liven things up a
bit, and keep them from thinking too much about the Fatherland,
but we had to be careful because some of our own chaps were
posted in that wood. The Germans kept rushing along gaily, and
there wasn’t the slightest sound from the wood, where our men
were securely posted behind felled trees. Now the German
searchlights began to play all around and the air was lit up with
bursting shells, so we could see the Germans getting nearer and
nearer to that wood. Suddenly the whole side of the wood was one
big sheet of flame as our hidden men sent volley after volley ripping
through the ranks of the advancing Germans. They were fairly
staggered at the suddenness and fierceness of the fire, and before
they had time to collect their wits a big body of our chaps were into
them with the bayonet. Just when this little show was in full blast
the Germans obliged with more limelight, and we saw it clearly. That
spoiled the German appetite for breakfast in that part of the field,
though from what we heard later there was no doubt that this was
the point where they expected to break through, and they cleared
off quickly: A Gunner of the Royal Field Artillery.

“A Jigsaw Puzzle”
The Germans came on at a smart pace with the plan of seizing a hill
on our right. At the same moment our cavalry came into view, and
then the whole Guards Brigade advanced. It was really a race
between the two parties who should reach the hill first; but the
Germans won easily, owing to their being nearer by half a mile. As
soon as their guns and infantry had taken up a position the cavalry
came along in a huge mass with the intention of riding down the
Irish Guards, who were nearest to them. When the shock came it
seemed terrific to us in the distance, for the Irishmen didn’t recoil in
the least, but flung themselves right across the path of the German
horsemen. We could hear the crack of the rifles and see the German
horses impaled on the bayonets of the front rank of the guardsmen,
and then the whole force of infantry and cavalry were mixed up in
one confused heap like so many pieces of a jigsaw puzzle: A
Guardsman, from Compiègne.

“Erin Go Bragh!”
We are British soldiers, and proud of the name and proud to belong
to the great British Empire, but in doing our duty for the glory and
honour of the Empire we have always also in our minds to add, if we
can, more lustre to the fair name of Erin. Our flag of green with the
harp and shamrock and the words “Erin Go Bragh” is now faded and
torn, but still loved and cherished. Talking about that dear old flag, I
shall endeavour to describe how, at ——, when the fate of the day
seemed to waver in the balance, when the ruthless enemy by sheer
weight of numbers was pressing onward at every point of vantage,
that faded flag turned a threatened defeat into decisive victory. On
our left were the Munsters, on our right the Leinsters and
Connaught Rangers. All were hard-pressed and were about to retire,
when suddenly from the firing line one of our comrades rushed out
flourishing the old green flag and shouting “Erin Go Bragh.” With the
blood coursing fast through my veins, I watched with pride and
admiration the marvellous effect produced these simple words. With
a mighty cheer that seemed to rend the heavens, and that rose and
swelled even above the din of battle, those hard-pressed sons of
Erin charged down on the advancing enemy with fixed bayonets.
The Germans were completely staggered by this unexpected turn of
events when victory seemed just within their grasp, but they were
given little time for hesitation, for, to slightly alter the words of a
well-known Irish ballad:

Like lions leaping at a fold,

When mad with hunger’s pang,
Right up against the German lines
Those Irish heroes sprang.

The Germans turned and fled in all directions, completely routed and
wholly disorganized. Such was the effect on the Irish Guards of the
sight of their old green flag and the cry of “Erin Go Bragh”: Corpl.
Michael O’Mara, of the Irish Guards.

A Midnight Move
One night when it was unusually wet and miserable and dreary, and
some of us had got all the humps that ever were seen on a camel’s
back, the Assembly sounded, and we were paraded at midnight. We
fell in, glad to have something to take us away from our miserable
surroundings. We didn’t know what the move was when we were
marched out into the darkness, but we didn’t care much so long as it
was warming work. We tramped through weary swamps and soaking
wet fields for nearly five miles, and then we were halted near to a
line of German trenches, while scouts went on ahead and the
remainder of the force was being conducted to its assigned position.
Just when some of us felt like having the creeps all over because of
the uncanny stillness of everything, a rifle shot rang out, followed by
others, and then there was a regular volley. We lay down quickly and
tried to peer into the darkness to see something to aim at. There
was nothing: and then their artillery opened fire all along the line.
Shells kept bursting all over us, and our horses began to get restive.
By now the whole of our attacking force was in position, and our
artillery opened fire at the points where the attack was to be
delivered. The order to advance was given quietly, and we sprang to
our feet with right good will. Some of us went down again jolly quick
under the German fire, but we kept moving on, and by that time the
Germans were losing the range. We were supported by an infantry
brigade that had to clear a line of trenches on the right. The four
battalions opened out in extended order and pressed slowly towards
their goal. Men dropped quickly, dotting the line of advance, but in
less than half an hour our lads were ready for the tiger-spring that
never fails. The Germans met them with a heavy rifle fire as they
climbed the last slope, and when they got to the top they were
assailed by twice their number of infantry armed with the bayonet.
At one point the line broke, and our lads fell back in some confusion.
Reserves were pressed forward to feed the fighting line, and the
advance began again. Once more the Germans were too heavy for
our chaps, and again they were forced back. They halted for a little
to take a rest and then began again. They dashed up the slope like
wild cats and closed with the Germans, who were by this time
getting tired of it. There was no falling back this time, and though it
was very hard work indeed, the whole line of trenches was cleared
and the Germans sent flying: A Trooper of the 15th Hussars.
 A High Ordeal
I was on picket duty, and it was just after midnight when the men
ahead fell back reporting strange sounds all along the front. At the
same moment we heard rustling in the bushes close by, and as there
was no response to the challenge we fired, thus giving the alarm in
the sleeping camp. Out of the bushes the enemy’s advanced guard
rushed, but we held them in check until we deemed it wise to fall
back on the camp with a report of the enemy’s strength and
disposition. We reckoned there was at least a whole German army
corps attacking, supported by endless bodies of cavalry and ten
batteries of guns, besides hundreds of machine guns. When we got
back to camp we found everything was in apple-pie order for the
fight. The men were standing to their arms, and though some of
them were cursing a lot at being roused from their sleep and vowing
what they would do to the chuckle-headed pickets if it turned out to
be a false alarm, they were ready to do their duty like men. They
hadn’t long to wait for the Germans, who were really close on our
heels. On our way back we had heard our artillery open fire and saw
the shells bursting along the German lines. At the same moment the
Germans, who seemed to realize that their surprise was no surprise
at all, opened fire with their artillery right along the front, and their
searchlights were playing all round like so many will-o’-the-wisps.
Their searchlights were useful to us, because they enabled us to see
something of their strength as they advanced. Soon we saw coming
out of the inky darkness a long line of white faces, and in response
to the quick order we fired right into them. The first line wavered for
a moment or two, part of it was blotted out, but the line of reserves
behind filled up the gaps and the front line advanced again, seeming
not to heed the heavy hail of bullets we were pouring into them.
Within about one hundred yards of our trenches the first line of
advancing Germans flung themselves flat on the earth, fixing
bayonets, while the second fired over their heads, and yet a third
line was pushing forward men to fill the gaps of the second line
where our fire tore through. Then the first line rose and the second
fixed bayonets also. Finally, they all came sweeping forward with the
bayonet and threw themselves right on to our trenches. We poured
one terrible volley into them as they came on, but all the devils in
hell would not have stopped them. Our front ranks gave way slightly
before the fierceness of the attack and the weight of men hurled at
them, but the recoil was only temporary. We steadied ourselves, and
while they were standing still for a moment to take breath and dress
their ranks for another rush we went at them with the bayonet and
hurled them over the trenches down the hill again. It was in this
rush that I got run through with a bayonet, but as I lay on the
ground doing my best to forget the pain in the exultation of victory, I
saw our lads chase them across country in fine style, and I knew
from the cheers all along the line that we were beating them back: A
Sergeant of the Worcester Regiment.
 VII. WHAT THE SOLDIER SEES

On came the whirlwind—like the last

But fiercest sweep of tempest blast:
On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke;
The war was waked anew.

Sir Walter Scott’s: “Waterloo.”

With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted far and wide,
And many a childing mother then
And new-born baby died;
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

Southey’s: “The Battle of

Blenheim.”

A daring German spy came into the British lines dressed in the
uniform of a Scots Grey. He inquired the whereabouts of the Scots
Greys; but his speech betrayed him, and on being stripped he was
found to be wearing German underclothing: Pte. A. Prescott, 1st
King’s Liverpool Regiment.

A Good Night
One night when I was out in Belgium it came on to rain, and I went
home with a sergeant in the Belgian Lancers and slept in a lovely
feather bed, and started off again for my destination after having a
good breakfast and a deep drink of rum and coffee: A Bombardier of
the Royal Artillery.

A Far View
We flew at 5000 feet, and saw a sight which I hope it will never be
my lot to see again. The woods and hills were literally cut to ribbons
all along the south of Laon. It was marvellous watching hundreds of
shells bursting below one to right and left for miles, and then to see
the German guns replying: A Member of the Royal Flying Corps.

Brave Women
The French women seemed to think that the best cure for shrapnel
or bullet wound was a bottle of wine and a raw egg. After the
Wednesday fight the women brought hot potatoes and new bread
right into the trenches and firing line. I can assure you they are the
bravest women I have ever met: Rifleman Fisher.

Fatherly
You would be surprised to see the enthusiasm of the people here.
The little kiddies run towards you and put their hands in yours, just
like my little kiddies at home. You can see little boys doing men’s
work. I noticed one chap (he would not be more than ten years old)
with a pair of horses, and he was ploughing all on his own: A Private
of the Royal Field Artillery.

Proud Indeed!
I brought back on my lorry a wounded bombardier, and when the
doctor told him that he would have his right leg and an arm
amputated he did not seem to trouble a bit, but went on chatting
and joking with us as if it were an everyday occurrence. He is only
eighteen years old. As they were taking in the ambulance he said,
“It’s not much to look forward to, but my mother will be proud of
me”: Corpl. Hollyer: Army Service Corps.

Wilted!
With their front files dressed in uniforms taken from the killed and
wounded of an English regiment, a German corps attempted to
surprise an English battalion. As they approached, the English
commander, becoming suspicious, gave the order to fix bayonets,
whereupon the Germans shouted, “Nein, nein! Leedle mistake! Ve
vos not Shermans; ve vos der Vilts.” The British then charged with
bayonets and the Germans “wilted”: A Sergeant-Major, of Colchester.

Enjoying Ourselves
Villages are nearly empty as we come to them, cats, dogs, and a few
fowls being all that are left. Doors are open and the dinner things
left on the tables, and people crying. There is plenty of fruit
everywhere. The people left give one anything, and are very kind to
us in every way. We are really enjoying ourselves very much, and
take a very hopeful view that the Germans will soon realize that they
have bitten off more than they can chew: Private G. Brown.

Held Up!
In a village we passed through the baker was working all night
making bread, and all the time he was working the Germans were
standing over him with revolvers. At a farm we passed the farmer
said they stole thirty of his racehorses. These horses, of course,
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