IN FLANDERS FIELDS

 

I remind you that landscape is history, and as proof I offer the green “ponder lands” 30 miles south of the North Sea coast, and 10 miles north of Lilli, France. Politically this is Belgium, but morally it is a haunted landscape, described by a 21^st century writer as “...bleakness...dismal (where) winds howl across flat fields and whip through villages, wrapping around church steeples and belfries” 

To the English of a certain generation this will always be “Wipers”, a poor pronunciation of the French “Ypres” (Ipres).  

Here over four horrible years in the second decade of the 20^th century, hundreds of thousands of mostly young men from Germany and the British Empire endured the unendurable, day after miserable day engaged in static trench warfare and the clumsy, expensive and stupid attempts to break it.

So many are buried here in marked and unmarked graves that their bones make up no small portion of the soil. And many were buried alive.

A trench in the Great War meant survival, protection from artillery shells and machine gun fire. But here in the “le plat plays”, the 'flat country' in the local Flemish dialect, any digging or shelling uncovered a clinging, grasping yellowish brown clay, perpetually dripping with water. It coated everything it touched. It added pounds to boots, and subtracted warmth from soaked wool uniforms.

At the slightest shower, trenches and “dugouts” flooded. Those who existed here fought rats grown fat on the corpses that littered no-man's-land between the trenches, suffered from fungus inspired trench foot, trench mouth, and dysentery, cholera and typhus. The Germans had it marginally better, because they were ensconced on the 'high ground' of the Messines-Ypress Ridge, all of thirty feet above the worst of it. Unable to dig too deep, the Germans built concrete pill boxes above the ground. The British soldiers, without benefit of such amenities, endured not only the constant damp and the clay, but having German snipers and artillery observers overlooking their every move.

So it was the British who were were forced to explore the terrain below ground. Test drills discovered the yellow clay was waterlogged because about 70 feet further down was an impervious layer of hard brown clay, which trapped the ground water above it. But 30 dry feet below that was a soft blue clay, just damp enough to be perfect for tunneling. Early in 1915 recruiters went out to the mining districts of Britain, Canada and Australia, looking for volunteers.

One company of 600 miners signed up on a Thursday morning in Yorkshire, and were doing preliminary digging the following Wednesday afternoon in Flanders. In all, 33 companies were formed from three continents, but the procedures were the same at all 21 tunnels begun west and south of the Messines ridge. First, about a quarter- mile behind the front, a large steel conduit (above) was driven straight down for fifty feet. Using this as a shield against the oozing yellow muck, the miners then dug straight down to the blue clay. A gallery was then cleared at the bottom of the shaft and a winch lift installed to the surface. Then, divided into four to eight man teams, each company of royal engineers would begin to tunnel toward the German trenches.

The “Kicker” would lay on his back, supported at an angle by a heavy board or sand bags. Using his feet and legs, he would thrust a spade into the clay, slicing away about 9 inches with each push. A “Bagger” would shove the clumps into burlap sacks and pile them atop a rubber wheeled trolley, which a pair of “Tammers” would then push down rails toward the entrance.  Seventy bags were required for every foot of tunnel dug. At the gallery the bags would be winched to the surface, where every night regular army work teams removed the clay for careful disposal. German aircraft kept watch for dry clay on the surface, as this was proof of tunneling.

The trolley returned with pre-cut wooden bracing in 9 inch sections. To avoid the sounds hammering, the bracing was designed to be held in place by the tendency of the blue clay to swell on exposure to the air. Each crew worked a 6 to 12 hour shift at the face, with 8 hours off. The crews then rotated to operating and repairing the air and water pumps and the winches. Bunk rooms were carved off the tunnel shafts. Underground the miners were reasonably safe from all but the heaviest German shells, but the tension and claustrophobia insured that every four days the entire company had to be rotated behind the lines, one hour of Rest and Recovery for every sixteen hours spent in the tunnels.

The tunnels were dark, cold and often flooded with ice cold water. Over one six week period one mining company had 12 men killed by methane and carbon dioxide gas, with 28 sent to hospital and another 60 treated in the unit. Besides the constant threat of cave-ins, the exhausted men suffered all of the usual infections of trench warfare plus those caused by breathing stale air. A surface soldier, artilleryman Charles Brett, with the 47^th London Division, observed that “When the tunnellers emerged above ground they could easily be distinguished by their poor pallid faces. We who lived, or died,...daily subject to bombing, shelling or sniping, pitied them from the bottom of our hearts”

One tunnel was abandoned after it collapsed under a German counter-mine, and it was decided three others would not be used because of various problems. But after two years of digging, by May of 1917, over a million pounds of high explosives were packed into 17 tunnels – – about 40,000 pounds in each – directly under the German trenches atop the Messenes Ridge.

The pre-assault bombardment began on Tuesday, 8 May, 1917  and continued for two weeks. On Wednesday, 23 May, it became heavier, as the artillery was increased to 2,300 guns.  So heavy was the bombardment - 3.5 million shells a week - that German front line troops were rotated back for relief every other day. Almost 90% of the German artillery behind the Messnes Ridge was destroyed under this bombardment. 

The night before the grand assault, Eton educated General Herbert Plumer (above), told his staff, “Gentlemen, we may not make history tomorrow, but we shall certainly change the geography.”

At 2:50 in the morning, Thursday, 7  June, 1917  the British artillery barrage suddenly ceased. The silence that crashed over the trenches was deafening. German infantry clambered out of their dugouts and raced to their weapons. The British were in luck, as at this precise moment, the positions were being relieved, and the trenches were filled with twice as many defenders as usual. 

At 3:00 A.M. a white star shell exploded above the German positions, illuminating the stark landscape. And then at 3:10 A.M., in the words of one miner, “All hell broke loose”.

The 17 blasts were clearly heard a hundred miles away in London. The tunneler continued, “In the pale light it appeared as if the whole enemy line had begun to dance....

...then, one after another, huge tongues of flame shot hundreds of feet into the air, followed by dense columns of smoke, which flattened out at the top like gigantic mushrooms...The whole scene was majestic in its awfulness.” And it all happened over a period of just 30 seconds.

The largest mine, labeled as “Spanbroekmolen” and planted 88 feet below ground level, left a crater 40 feet deep and 280 feet in diameter. Before the eyes of Second Lieutenant J.W. Naylor, “The earth seemed to tear apart...The whole ground went up and came down again. It was like a huge mushroom.” 

And Private John Rea Laister wrote after the war, “Arms, legs, trees, bricks coming down all over the place....I thought, 'I wonder how many poor buggers, have gone up with that lot'.”

The artillery began an immediate walking barrage, with the advancing infantry right behind.

 By 10:00 that morning all the first day's objectives had been achieved. And for the first (and only) time in World War One, the defense suffered more causalities than the attackers. British casualties were 24,564, killed, wounded and missing.

They captured 7,354 German soldiers, with perhaps another 4-5,000 Germans missing and presumed dead in the blasts, and 23,000 wounded. The British front line advanced three miles and dug into their new positions, in front of yet another line of German trenches, a line which would not be breached until late in 1918. On the Western front in World War One, this “Bite and Hold” at Messenes Ridge was considered a major success.

For all the effort and sacrifice, there were no more large scale “Mining Campaigns” in World War One. No where else did the combination of soil and static positions combine to make it a viable option. And with time, the effort and sacrifice was largely forgotten...

...at least until Friday, 17 June,  1955.  That afternoon a thunderstorm passed over the old battlefield. And when a bolt of lightening struck a telephone pole placed directly above one of the three unused and abandoned mines, it set off the 38 year old explosives.  The resulting blast created a hole 60 feet deep and 120 feet wide (above). Windows in houses for miles around were shattered. Luckily, the only causality was a single cow.

That blast revived interest in the mining operations, and the last unexploded mine was finally located midway though the first decade of the 21^st century, beneath a placid farm with the name of La Basee Cour - The Base Court.  Sixty year old farmer Roger Mahieu, insisted he was not worried about the 22 tons of explosives buried 80 feet under his house. “It's been there all that time, why should it decide to blow up now?”

Except,  the same question is asked before most catastrophes, like World War One.

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VICKSBURG Chapter Eighty

 

It was the afternoon of Friday, 25 June, 1863 - the 38^th day of the siege of Vicksburg - and Sergeant Morris was the last man in the tunnel. He felt the cold brass fittings of the navel fuses (above) in the dark, making certain the squib was nestled deep among the rough grains of black powder - at the bottom bag of 20 bags of black powder. The Ohio Sergeant ran his fingers along the twin wires running from the squib, out of the bag and across the dirt floor of the left forward gallery.  Feeling no break, and bent double, he struggled through the 4 foot high 3 foot wide passage for 15 feet toward the lantern.

The man in charge was a 25 year old captain of engineers, Andrew Hickenlooper (above).  And in an organization obsessed with rank and seniority, the Corps of Engineers was the only part where brains and education might preceded either.  Andrew had been born in August of 1837 in the east central Ohio coal town of Harding.  It was also the home to Levi Coffin, unofficial “President of the Underground Railroad”, which after the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 secretly shepherded desperate people north to Canada.

At the apex of “Y” junction, the sergeant turned into the dark again. In the pitch black right forward gallery he repeated his squib and fuse check on it's 500 pounds of black powder. Then backing slowly to the junction, he made certain the squib and fuses for the 700 pounds of powder stacked here were secure. And only then did he pick up the lantern and retreat, moving faster now that the roof was 5 feet high, running the 6 wires loosely through his palm until, 45 feet later, he stumbled into daylight.

In Dutch-German Hickenlooper meant a hedge-hopper or runner and carried the vague connotation of a thief.  Andrew's father was honest and hard working but blessed with a lack of ambition. Looking for a more interesting job he moved his family to Cincinnati, where Andrew attended the Woodward Grammar School and Xavier College.   The Jesuits who ran both instilled more than enough ambition in young Hickenlooper. At 19 he went to work for the city surveyor, and 3 years later was elected to the job himself. He married and quickly had two children

Exiting the tunnel in a trench labeled “Logan's Approach” (above), Sergeant Morris was greeted by Lieutenant Thomas Russel, from Missouri. He took the loose bundle of wires,  all 6 cut to equal length, from Morris.  A work gang under the sergeant immediately began refilling the tunnel – leaving a crevice for the fuse wires to pass through cleanly.  As they did, the Missouri lieutenant carefully laid the wires along a wooden plank, and staked them firmly. Then the ends of the wires were stripped, and a musket cap placed upon the bare end of each wire. Lastly, a stick was tied down over all the caps.

On Sunday morning, 6 April, 1862, the 5^th Ohio light artillery, a 6 gun battery recruited and commanded by Lieutenant Andrew Hickenlooper, was surprised and almost overrun while in camp northwest of the Quaker “Shiloh Meeting House”.  The lieutenant managed to save all but 2 of his 6 pounders, and rushed them to support Union soldiers in what became known as “The Hornet's Nest” (above). “Then came the long triple lines of bristling steel,” Andrew wrote later, “whose stern face bearers...came pressing on, until our cannon's loud acceptance of their challenge...caused the assailants to hesitate, break in confusion and hastily retire". Over 8 hours Andrew and his 4 remaining cannon repelled as many as 8 attacks, until ordered to withdraw about 4:30 that afternoon.

Because of his courage and skill at Shiloh, Hickenlooper was promoted and made Chief Engineer for the XVII Corps.  Under Grant's Special Order Number 140, issued on 25 May,  Andrew was responsible for prosecuting the siege of Vicksburg to his front. 

He described the topography and his plans this way. “The highest point between the (Louisiana redan) and the (Shirley) House (above) was selected...to locate a battery (named Battery Hickenlooper)..."

"....covering the extensions of the sap beyond that point. Two 8-inch naval guns located in battery(Archer) south-east of this point...(silenced) the guns of the Confederate fort; thus leaving the Union soldiers exposed only to the ever vigilant sharp-shooters of the enemy...."

"A favorite amusement of the soldiers was to place a cap on the end of a ramrod and to raise it just above the head-logs betting on the number of bullets which would pass through it within a given time.”

Then, on Monday, 21 June, Captain Hickenlooper put out a call for men experienced in mining. From those volunteers he picked 36 men, who he divided into a day and a night shift, with each shift broken into 3 “reliefs”.   Andrew later explained, “ On the night of the 22d these men, properly equipped with drills, short-handled picks, shovels...(began) driving a gallery...” Lieutenant Russel pushed the first shift 12 feet into the hill beneath the Louisiana redan. “  

Each relief worked an hour at a time, two picking, two shoveling, and two handing back the grain sacks filled with earth...The soil...(showed ) remarkable tenacity, (and was) easily cut and requiring but little bracing.” 

During Thursday, 24 June, the miners pushed the tunnel another 40 feet under the Confederate position.

“The powder was brought up in barrels and kept in the main sap at a safe distance....and there opened and placed in grain-sacks....” By “...the morning of the 25^th, the miners commenced depositing the powder,...” Captain Hickenlooper explained, “These were taken up on the backs of the miners, who made the run over the exposed ground...nearly one hundred trips with the dangerous loads, all were landed in the mine without a single accident.”

Informed that Hickenlooper expected everything to be ready by 3:00 p.m. that Friday, Grant ordered a powerful attack against the redan, lead by volunteers from the 31^st and 45^th Illinois volunteer regiments. But “follow on” regiments were not prepared. The attack, when it came, was to be of limited scope. However, Grant was there himself to witness the “remarkable” explosion. The entire army was in on the secret, and as 3:00 p.m. approached, the constant boom and snap of Federal artillery and sniper fire faded into an anticipatory silence.

At 3:15 p.m. Captain Hickenlooper gave the command. Lieutenant Russel slammed a hammer down on the board, and all six fuse lines crackled. A foot high plume of white smoke began to walk toward the wall of earth and rock which now blocked the tunnel's entrance. The crackling white smoke danced into the crevice and disappeared into hill side.   And now, other than the anxious stares and nervous body language of 50,000 Yankees outside of Vicksburg, there was no indication of the catastrophe which was about to come.

The lines had been cut to a 15 minute fuse. But 3:25 came and went with the redan still impassively towering over the Yankee saps and trenches. Then 3:26. Whispers began to scurry about the Yankee lines.   At 3:27, the miners began to ponder who was going to “volunteer” to crawl back into the dank tunnel, find the break in the fuses, repair and relight them.  If we are to believe what Andrew Hickenlooper wrote years later, he had no doubts. “Every eye was riveted,” he wrote, “upon that huge redoubt standing high above... 

"At the appointed moment it appeared as though the whole fort and connecting outworks commenced an upward movement, gradually breaking into fragments and growing less bulky in appearance, until it looked like an immense fountain of finely pulverized earth, mingled with flashes of fire and clouds of smoke, through which could occasionally be caught a glimpse of some dark objects,-men, gun-carriages, shelters, etc.”

The breech in the defenses of Vicksburg had been made. Or so it seemed.

- 30 - 

VICKSBURG Chapter Seventy - Nine

 

Because of his experience in newspapers and his age, 26 year old Sergeant William Henry Tunard of company “K” of the Pelican Rifles, was transferred “to the commissary department...” William now helped to feed and arm his 3^rd Louisiana regiment. But his other job was to keep the regimental diary. And in that capacity, on Monday, 8 June, 1863, in the trenches outside of Vicksburg, William noted,

“ The enemy's lines were slowly but surely approaching nearer to our own breastworks, and the struggle was daily becoming more fierce and deadly.” Four days later, the last rations of  meat were officially issued to the troops.

William Tunard (above) had been born in New Jersey in March of 1837, but was raised in Natchitoches Parish, Louisiana, where the Crane and Red rivers came closest to joining. It was a place where slaves outnumbered whites, 9,000 to 6,000. While the Tunards were not slave owners, William noted the regiment had been formed, "...numbering 1,085 men,” who were. “...young men, with the glow of health upon their features and the fire of a patriotic devotion and enthusiasm sparkling in their clear eyes; men who went forth actuated by a firm conviction of right, earnest adherents to principle...” The principle being defending human slavery.

On the 28^th day of the siege, Sunday, 14 June, William noted the weather was clear and warm, and the assault of lead “...continued unabated.” On a positive note, he added, “A courier reached the city with a large supply of percussion caps.” However, “The enemy were daily reinforcing their already tremendous army...” Then he ominously added, “They needed but to wait...” In a more typical event, “...William McGuinness, (of) company A....was shot through the right eye as he was looking...to observe the effect of his shooting....McGuinness recovered but lost his eyesight and a piece of the bone from the side of his face....”

In August of 1861, Sergeant Tunard had fought at Wilson's Creek, Missouri, and at Pea Ridge, Arkansas in March of 1862 – by which time sickness and causalities had reduced the regiment to 271 officers and men. Then in May came the First Battle of Corinth, Mississippi. That September, the regiment suffered 100 casualties blunting a Yankee attack at Iuka, Mississippi. Then in October the 3^rd  regiment were again thrown against Corinth, in a bloody 2 day offensive which, again, failed. The 3^rd was then pulled back to defend against Grant's moves against the northern approaches to Vicksburg. They ended up guarding the key ground at Snyder's Bluff. It was the 3^rd Louisiana which had been ordered to withdraw on 17 May, allowing the Yankee cavalry to capture the place without a fight

On Monday, 15 June, William noted the day was “...cloudy and threatened rain. The firing was very rapid and shot and shells flew into and over the place in every direction...the close of the day threatened rain...” However, the following morning, Tuesday, 16 June, “Dawned pleasant, light summer clouds...the firing continued all night...The place, as usual, was filled with rumors of succor. The rations furnished the men were...sufficient to keep away actual starvation, but not to satisfy the voracious appetites of the soldiers.”

The 3^rd Louisiana's new position was near the center of the Vicksburg line along the Jackson Road. Under Major David Pierson, they were defending a well constructed triangular redan, which had allowed them to easily reject the Yankee assault on 22 May. 

With their confidence boosted, the following day, each member of the regiment received a brand new weapon – the British made Pattern 1853 Enfield rifle, a 577 caliber muzzle loading rifled musket. They weighed 9 ½ pounds each and were 55 inches long.

And each came with a 20 inch ring bayonet, a weapon confederate soldiers did not always have. Their equally new Ely of Birmingham ammunition used 70 grains of finely ground black powder to send a minnie' ball out the barrel at 900 feet per second. Confederate ammunition was rarely as consistently reliable. And instead of turning in their old muskets, the rebels loaded them with buckshot, for close-in fighting in the redan.

On Wednesday, 17 June William recorded that the morning was cloudy “...but did not indicate rain...The enemy's lines were now so near, that scraps of paper could be thrown by the combatants into each other's ranks. Thus, a Yankee threw a "hard-tack" biscuit among the men of the regiment, having written on it "starvation.....". 

Thursday, 18 June was “Cloudy and warm.” The only notable event, besides the constant sniping and shelling was that “...The Vicksburg Wig published an extra, containing a few items regarding the siege of Port Hudson.” They were mostly wishful rumors. Friday 19 June was “Clear and warm. The firing was comparatively light.” But more important, rations were issued to the men – a quarter pound of flour, a quarter pound of rice, and a quarter pound of the dreaded peas. There was also a small portion of some thing called “rice sugar and salt”, and a quarter pound of “Tobacco and bacon.”.

During those long, boring and dangerous June days and nights, William recorded that a Missourian nicknamed “Shanghai” began conversing with the Yankees a few yards away, and discovered relatives in the enemy camp. Eventually they tendered an invitation to dinner. According to Tunard, “He was cordially welcomed, and all the delicacies...which the Federals possessed in such profusion, were furnished him. After a feast, accompanied with a sociable chat and several drinks, he was permitted to return, very favorably impressed with the generosity of the Yankees.” Come morning they went back to methodically killing each other.

At dawn of the thirty-third day of the siege, Saturday, 20 June, 1863, Sergeant Tunard reported that every Yankee gun “...along the line suddenly opened, keeping up a rapid and continuous fire. All concurred in the opinion that such a tremendous cannonading had never been equaled in their experience, and the volume of sound surpassed anything yet heard. It seemed as if heaven and earth trembled under the heavy concussion.” The purpose of the sudden bombardment seemed unclear, but the soldiers of the 3^rd Louisiana eventually assumed it had been made to mask the tunneling which had just begun beneath their redan.

After weeks of watching the relentless advance of the Yankee zig – zag sap lines crawling toward their secure fort, the boys from Louisiana began hearing the disconcerting muffled thumps of picks and shovels, an indistinct grumbling and grunting percolating up from the ground beneath their feet. It was like hearing the Yankee devils digging rebel graves. Most times the sounds were so faint you could doubt your own senses. But then would come the sharp clink of metal and the panic would seize your soul. Then the sound would fade again. A man could easily imagine the gates of Hades were about to swing open and swallow him whole. It was enough to drain the courage out of brave men. And it did.

Under Major Pierson's direction, the Louisiana boys began strengthening the trenches at the rear of the fort, and moving artillery into that position.  The rebels also tried sinking counter tunnels. But they never seemed to come close to the sounds. Then on Friday morning, 25 June, the muted efforts abruptly ceased. The sudden silence was ominous. And hour later Major Pierson ordered most of the regiment back to the trenches. And those left behind in the fort, dug in as deep as they dared, and waited.

                                   - 30 -