A Rifleman Went to War Read online

  A Rifleman

  Went to War

  By

  Herbert W. McBride

  Captain

  Twenty-first Battalion

  Canadian Expeditionary Force

  and

  United States Army

  Being a narrative of the author's experiences and observations while with the Canadian Corps in France and Belgium, September 1915–April 1917. With particular emphasis upon the use of the military rifle in sniping, its place in modern armament, and the work of the individual soldier.

  Originally published by Small-Arms Technical Publishing Company, 1935

  This edition copyright © 2012 Tales End Press

  ISBN 978-1-62358-029-2

  eBook Notes

  This ebook uses the spelling from the original printed edition, except where typographical errors have been corrected. The cover design also reflects that of the original.

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  An Appreciation

  Ottawa, Canada,

  November 9,1935.

  The author of this book – the late Herbert W. McBride – served in my Battalion as private, non-commissioned officer and officer. He was one of the best fighting men I knew and was promoted and decorated on my recommendations.

  He was considered one of the best “Machine Gunners” in the Allied Army. Also one of the best shots with a rifle.

  Herbert W. McBride was outstanding as a fighting man, fearless, untiring, a genius for invention, and always seeking authority to be given the opportunity of damaging the enemy. I had the greatest admiration for Captain McBride as a soldier, and with an army of such men it would be an easy matter to win against any troops. It was such fighting ability that enabled my 21st Battalion to come home with the record of never having been given a black eye in over four years of active participation in the war. They never went after anything they did not take, and they never gave up anything they captured. Of the original 1058, less than 150 are now alive, most of them buried in Flanders’ Fields and in the Somme.

  W. S. Hughes,

  Brigd. General.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all those members of the original Twenty-first Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Force, who served in the Machine Gun Section during the time I had the honor to belong to that unit.

  The following list, made from memory and such meager records as I possess, may, possibly, omit some of them. If so, I tender my most sincere apologies. I would not, intentionally, slight any member of that gallant Section.

  *Allen

  Baldson

  Booker

  *Bouchard

  *Brooks

  *Castleman

  *Charles

  *Clark

  +Currie

  *Deegan

  *DeLisle

  *Dupuis

  Endersby

  Esdon

  Flannigan

  *Freeman

  Gillette

  *Gordon

  *Gray

  Hart

  Harvey

  Jackson

  *Jendon

  +Johnstone

  Laidlaw

  *Lanning

  Lee, Cecil

  Lee, Jack

  Lynch

  +McBride

  McFarlin

  McGinness

  McNab

  Mangan

  Meeks

  +*Norton-Taylor

  Parker

  Paudash

  *Peverelle

  Red path

  Rothwell

  *Russell

  Shangrow

  Shepard

  Smith

  Southgate

  *Stillman

  *Tinkess

  *Toms

  *Wendt

  +Williams

  *Wilson

  Those marked with an asterisk were killed in action.

  All the others were wounded.

  Those marked with a “+” were commissioned.

  Herbert W. McBride.

  An Explanation and an Introduction

  It fell to the lot of the author of this narrative to serve as a member of the British Army in some of the battles it fought during the not-so-recent Great War. Ever since my return to the United States I have been asked countless questions by hundreds, yes thousand, of friends and acquaintances relative to my personal experiences in that conflict. The great majority of these questioners happened to be riflemen or soldiers of our own U.S. Army who did not have the “luck” (as they expressed it) to serve in battle, or to have ever used their military rifles for the purpose for which they were designed. Yet – like myself at the beginning of that great conflict – they felt fully qualified and were eager to face the common enemy and do their bit. Moreover, like any qualified workman, they had the true craftsman’s intense interest in any and all questions of work, tools or technique relating to even the most minute phase of their chosen profession – riflecraft.

  It is for the edification of individuals such as these that I have been persuaded to write these pages. In doing so, I have purposely avoided the fields of strategy, applied tactics, military movements and, yes, even history; because, strange to say, nobody asked me anything about these general subjects of war; not, I take it, because they have been treated in so many other accounts, but because they are academic, theoretical – meaningless until they have been made to “tick”, have been taken off paper and shown on the battlefield; and here it is soon discovered that what makes them go is MEN. And this is just what my inquirers have been asking about. Their questions have been of seemingly insignificant things, which, when they are all answered, give one some sort of a picture of MEN at WAR.

  Hence – and as the proper preparations for the defense of my Country are yet a vital matter with myself – I have tried to the best of my humble ability to give, in the chapters which follow, the honest answer to many of these questions regarding such small and human matters – the most important of all matters however, because they relate directly and particularly to the individual man, with whom battles are always won.

  In describing these incidents and experiences and in making the observations given, I have carefully tried to stick to the straight and narrow path of truth, and tell the story as things really happened – with fictitious “sob stuff” and dramatics left out. Hence, if you do not find enough material about rifle shooting, or about scouting, or some other phase of warfare upon which you particularly wanted information, please be lenient with the old man and remember that I did not make the war. I did only my own little bit in it and must tell of the things which actually did happen and just how they happened. This I have done and this only.

  * * *

  I have often said that a soldier can and does outlie a fisherman and I still say it, but now I have come to the conclusion that he is not entirely to blame in the matter. The truth is that the public – his public – demands it. The average citizen: man, woman or child, has such peculiar notions as to actual modem battle conditions that it is impossible to make them understand anything beyond the fact that it is a fight; and fighting, as they visualize it, means a stand up and knock down, hand-to-hand struggle. They think that, because a man was in the Army, in France, and took part in some of the great battles – the Argonne, for instance – that he must have shot, bayonetted or otherwise killed off innumerable Germans and are inclined to doubt the veracity of any honest-minded soul who tries to tell them a true and straightforward story of events as they really happened. They just cannot understand that, out of the million or so of soldiers who actually did their bit in that great offensive, probably
not ten per cent ever saw a German until he came back through the lines, a prisoner. The soldier, or ex-soldier soon learns this and to relieve himself of the necessity of long and tedious explanations, he simply starts in to invent a lot of bloodcurdling, spectacular tales; whereupon everybody is satisfied. Man believes what he wants to believe and that is the kind of stuff they want to hear. It coincides with their already formed ideas of what a battle ought to be like.

  The same thing applies to the “popular” war stories and pictures. In cases where these stories and pictures are from the pens of men who actually served as soldiers, the authors know full well that they are ridiculously exaggerated and distorted, but they also know that the plain, unvarnished truth would not be accepted by the public or, what is more important to them, by the publishers, so they proceed to manufacture thrills to order. This I have not done.

  Closely akin to this situation is the idea, prevalent among the populace of the United States at large, that the nation is safely and sufficiently protected because, in the event of foreign invasion or aggression, millions of men would immediately “spring to arms,” as the late Mr. Bryan expressed it. Even with the disastrous example of the last war still fresh, they just cannot or will not accept the truth that the ordinary citizen cannot be made into a trained soldier by the simple expedient of placing a weapon in his hands. Soldiers themselves; those who have “gone through the mill,” know all about it, but who pays much attention to a soldier – in time of peace? It’s Kipling’s “Tommy Atkins” all over again:

  “Oh, it’s Tommy this and Tommy that,

  And Tommy go away.

  But it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’

  When the Band begins to play.”

  * * *

  Probably no other single thing in the soldiering game is so little understood as rifle shooting. The general impression seems to be that all that is necessary is to give a man a rifle and some cartridges and that, in some miraculous way, that man immediately becomes a perfectly good and competent rifleman, able to knock over any number of the enemy at most any range.

  WE know: Those of us who have spent years and years trying to learn the game – but how are we going to pound it into the head of “the man in the street”? This writer grew up in a family of shooting men – and good ones too – and kept up his training, all the time, winter and summer, throughout the years, yet he was well past thirty before he really learned much about real, honest-to-goodness military rifle shooting and it took a long period of intensive training, under the best of instructors and in the stiffest of competitions before he felt that he was really entitled to be called a “rifleman.”

  The above is written as a partial answer to numerous queries, received from correspondents all over the country, as to whether I thought all the training and range firing and the annual competitions at Camp Perry were “worth while.” The answer, most emphatically, is yes: not only worth while; they are absolutely essential for the proper training of military riflemen. Without the intimate knowledge of weapons, ammunition and weather conditions which can be gained in no other way, there would be no real riflemen. Every bit of information that may be picked up on the range will prove useful in war. True, it will not always – nor often – be possible to assume the exact, orthodox positions used in competitions and there is the matter of adjusting oneself – mentally and physically – to the stress and strain of battle but, just the same, all those fundamental principles will have an important, even if sub-conscious influence, tending to increase the rifleman’s effectiveness.

  All the “rifle cranks” in this country are helping the cause. Their ceaseless experiments in reloading, devising new cartridges and components and designing new bullets, sights and various other mechanical improvements; their indefatigable industry in trying out everything new, both on the target range and in the hunting field; all are of incalculable value to the military rifle game. And of special value are the great National Rifle Competitions, held annually at Camp Perry, and similar meetings. Without such men, doing these things, and particularly without the continuous efforts of their splendid organization – the National Rifle Association – we would soon find ourselves far behind in the big parade of progressive nations insofar as military preparedness is concerned. And it is for these men that I have really written this narrative.

  Herbert W. McBride,

  Indianapolis, Indiana

  Contents

  Chapter 1. How Come?

  Chapter 2. Canada

  Chapter 3. England

  Chapter 4. Flanders

  Chapter 5. The Trenches

  Chapter 6. Record Scores

  Chapter 7. Scouting and Patrolling

  Chapter 8. Trench Raiding

  Chapter 9. Sighting Shots

  Chapter 10. The Pistol in War

  Chapter 11. The Battle of St. Eloi

  Chapter 12. Duds, Misfires and Stuck Bolts

  Chapter 13. The Somme

  Chapter 14. My Final Score

  Chapter 15. The British Army

  Chapter 16. Notes on Sniping

  Chapter 17. The Rifleman in Battle

  Chapter 18. The Machine Guns

  Chapter 19. The Soldier in Battle

  Retrospective

  Chapter 1. How Come?

  AS THIS is the story of an alleged rifleman, I suppose it is fitting that I offer some evidence to support the allegation.

  My experience in this line really began some fifty-odd years ago when, as a little boy, I used to sit and watch my father get his outfit ready for the annual deer hunt. We lived up in the Northeastern corner of Indiana and the hunting ground, at that time, was just a few miles out of Saginaw, Michigan. Father had two boxes, which he had made himself. One of them contained the cooking outfit – everything from reflector oven to knives, forks and spoons – all especially made to nest and fit in the chest. The other, smaller than the first, carried his guns and all the accessories. In those days you “loaded your own” so, besides the usual cleaning tools, oils and so on, there were plentiful supplies of powder, both rifle and shotgun, shot, bullet moulds, cartridge cases, both for the rifle and shotgun and all of brass (that was before the advent of the paper shotgun cartridge case), primers and a goodly supply of lead. Of course, at the start, he had a plentiful supply of loaded cartridges for both guns. At first, his deer rifle was a single shot Remington, .44 calibre, rimfire. He later had it bored out to take the .45-70 U.S. Government cartridge.

  For weeks before the time of departure for the hunting grounds, the crowd would get together every few days and pull off a shooting match, each one trying some new idea he had worked out since the last expedition. It was nothing unusual for half the merchants of the little town to shut up shop in the middle of the afternoon and, together with the lawyers, doctors and, yes, the preachers, to repair to some vacant lot and shoot impromptu matches with everything from old “pepper-boxes” to the latest rifles at that time available. At that time and in that place, practically all of the “men” were veterans of the Civil War and this shooting business was part of their gospel. Naturally, as a young boy, I became infected, and my father, believing in the idea of preparedness, gave me ample opportunities to learn the game; even to letting me shoot his heavy guns when he knew very well they would kick the stuffing out of me. He was a good and kindly man but he had no use for mollycoddles.

  From time to time he bought me rifles, beginning with the little old Flobert; then a Quackenbush. Well, anyway, I remember that last one, with its heavy, round, nickel-plated barrel. When I was about twelve he had the local gunsmith make me up a real rifle: a muzzle loading Kentucky squirrel rifle with the barrel cut down to thirty inches and the stock likewise trimmed down to what we would nowadays call “sporter” proportions. I still have that rifle and while it looks like – well – not very much, when I was using it, it certainly delivered the goods. A hawk on a snag anywhere within one hundred yards or a woodpecker on the highest limb was certainly out of luck and the
squirrel that was foolish enough to stick his head over the limb was just as good as in the pot.

  I made my own powder-hom and bullet-pouch and, of course made my own bullets. The caps – “Elys” – I had to buy, as I did the powder and lead, with what money I could earn by odd jobs, one of which was the catching of rats around our premises. Father gave me five cents apiece for every rat.

  Well, there you have it. Any youngster brought up in such an atmosphere is bound to develop into a rifleman. As the years rolled ’round I graduated through the different grades. My father was Captain of a company of the old Indiana Legion, as it was known before the adoption of the designation of National Guard, and I was one of the privileged boys who ’tended target for them on the range which they had improvised at the edge of town. In those days the Militia companies were self-supporting. Even after I became a full fledged “soldier” we not only bought our own uniforms, but paid armory rent and all expenses.

  On some occasions, we boys were actually allowed to shoot, the older men taking our places in the pits. How those old Springfields did kick. They were wicked. I have seen many of the old timers with black-and-blue shoulders after a day’s shooting and, curiously enough, I remember that most of the officers had their shoulder straps bent. That was before the idea entered anyone’s head to lie at the now commonly accepted “forty-five degree” angle. They lay straight toward the target and took the whole kick right on the top of the shoulder when firing from the prone position. The back positions, which were commonly used then, were not at all bad. Either the Texas Grip or the Stevens were easy, even for us kids, but when it came to the “belly-whooping” position, well, we did it, but every shot would set us back a foot or more.

  At the age of fifteen I enlisted in and for several years remained a member of the Third Regiment. During that time, my father rose to the rank of Colonel commanding, and I became a sergeant. Then I went to work in Chicago and immediately affiliated with the First Illinois Infantry – Company I – Captain Chenoweth commanding. During the summer of 1893, having been informed by a wise medico that I had T.B., I put in my time ranging around in Colorado and New Mexico, part of the time as a cow-puncher and the rest working for a coal-mining company. (That is, I was supposed to be working for them, but, as a matter of fact, I was using them simply as a meal ticket, as I spent every minute of my idle time in scouting around looking for something to shoot at.) I met and got acquainted with a lot of the real old timers: men famous during the hectic days of Abilene, Dodge and Hays City and, of course, those who had been mixed up in the various ructions incident to the clearing up of the famous Maxwell Land Grant, upon part of which this mine was located.