CHAPTER LXXIX
THE BATTLE OF AMIENS
It was a wonderful sight that met the eye as George and I left Boves that evening and turned our steps towards the battle-ground. The artillery had assembled, and on all sides were great guns in cuttings of embankments or hidden in woods, or camouflaged in the open. At times the roads were blocked with the heavy lines of traffic, but as we drew nearer the line the movement was not so great; yet coming through fields and woods were the huge, clanking tanks. There must have been at least one hundred of them careening along up hill and down dale. Nothing seemed to be able to stop their unwieldly bulk. I learned afterwards that great bombing planes had swooped low over Fritz’s trenches, making a great noise so as to deaden the sounds of the assembling tanks.
I did not sleep at all that night. Indeed, very few slept, for during the night the troops were taking their place for the assault and it was not till 2:10 a. m. that the assembly was complete.
At 4:10 a. m., August 8th, a terrific crash of heavy and light guns broke the silence of the dawn on a twenty-mile front. I had never before been in a great battle and was not prepared for action on such a stupendous scale. The earth seemed to be rocking. The full-leaved tree-tops of Gentelles Wood behind us twisted and broke, as shells from our back areas shrieked their way towards Fritz’s line.
I stood for awhile waiting for Fritz’s “come back,” but the Germans had been so completely surprised by the unexpected bombardment that their artillery gave but a very faint-hearted reply. On seeing this we felt that victory was assured. I did not have long to watch the tide of battle, for presently a long line of stretcher-bearers, their burdens raised shoulder high, told me my work was to begin.
All day long I walked up and down among the wounded, hearing confessions, giving Holy Communion, anointing those mortally wounded, and taking messages for dear ones at home. Among the dying were many Germans, and a number of these were Catholics. I knew only one sentence in German: “Sind sie Katholisch?” “Are you a Catholic?” but it was sufficient, for I understood when the reply was “Yes,” or “No.” When a German would say he was a Catholic, I would put on my stole, open my little ciborium, hold up the Sacred Host, and then I would look at him. Always his two hands would fold, and I would wait kneeling by his side till he had finished his act of contrition; then I would give him Holy Communion. It was a beautiful sight to see the tears of gratitude come into the eyes of those dying Germans after they had received their Lord; and after I had anointed them, invariably they reached out and gripped my hand before passing out. Many lads were ushered up to the gates of heaven that day.
The following morning George and I went up to Caix. My own brigade was now out of the fight for a while, but I was following with the Second Field Ambulance. For a long time we waited on the side of the road, as the place we intended to hold for an advanced dressing station had not yet been taken. About 1:10 p. m. I stood on a hill and watched the men of the First Brigade come up into action. An Irish chaplain whom I had once met at St. Michael’s Club was riding behind them. He told me that he had just given them a general absolution.
All that afternoon, and late into the evening, I worked with the Second Field Ambulance. A great number of wounded passed through. Once some enemy airplanes swooped low and dropped bombs amongst us, but they failed to kill any one. We were now in open warfare, and for the first time I saw the cavalry in action. They came cantering across an open field, their spears, held at their sides, pointing heavenwards, ribbons fluttered from the long handles, and the burnished points flashed in the sunlight.
That evening I was relieved by Father Locharay and I found a small dugout where I got a few hours of sleep.