The British soldier

THE
BRITISH SOLDIER

His Courage and Humour

BY

Rev. E.J. HARDY, M.A.

Chaplain to the Forces (Retired)

Author of "How to be Happy though Married,"
"Mr. Thomas Atkins," etc. etc.

"Nous entendons dire de tous côtés que vos pauvres Tommies se battent comme des lions et que chaque jour ils font des exploits magnifiques. Ils sont bons garçons et tres drôles."—(Extract from a French lady's letter.)

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN

1 ADELPHI TERRACE W.C.

First published in 1915

(All rights reserved.)

TO

THOSE WHO HAVE GIVEN THEIR LIVES

OR THEIR HEALTH

TO

SAVE CIVILISATION FROM BARBARISM

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

CONTENTS

PREFACE

I did not need a war of nations to learn about the courage and humour of the British soldier. As a book I wrote called "Mr. Thomas Atkins" shows, I had studied and appreciated him during the thirty-one years in which I served as Chaplain to the Forces. Still, it was pleasant to read despatches and letters from the seat of war highly praising my old friend. This book is based upon the strong, clear letters of Mr. Thomas Atkins (I am never guilty of the impertinence of calling him "Tommy") which were written amidst the stress and strain of war, often even in the pauses of battle. I have done little more than select and classify the letters of that best of war correspondents—the British soldier. The letters are a credit to his head and his heart, and throw a searchlight on the war. The soldier wrote of the things he knew about, and the result is that we can see his pen pictures.

I would like to express my indebtedness to the newspapers in which the letters were printed, but find it difficult to do so as the letters were all over the Press, so to speak, and many of them quoted without mention of the paper from which they were taken. I know, however, that The Times, The Daily Mail, The Daily Telegraph, The Daily Chronicle, The Evening News, The Star, The Standard, Reynolds' Newsletter, and News of the World are amongst the papers from which I have taken extracts.

What effect has war upon those engaged in it? A reflective soldier thus answers: "If war brings out the brutal instincts, it reveals the God-like also, for I have come across scores of instances of sacrifice even unto death among men who in times of peace are looked upon as almost worthless characters."

May we not trust that:

"Those who live on amid our homes to dwell
Have grasped the higher lessons that endure?"

In reference to Mr. Thomas Atkins, the British public is wont to blow hot and cold. When he is engaged in a popular war they are inclined to make a popular fool of him, talking as if it were rather wonderful, and not a matter of course, that he should bear hardships uncomplainingly and not skulk in battle. When peace comes there are in some places of public resort as many snubs for him as before there had been sweets, pairs of socks, and other "comforts."

The following lines were cut by a soldier in a stone sentry-box at Gibraltar:

"God and the soldier all men adore
In time of trouble, and no more;
For when war is over,
And all things righted,
God is neglected;
And the old soldier slighted."

Let us hope that when this war is over God will not be neglected nor the soldier slighted.

The Author's profits from this book will be given for the benefit of soldiers.

CHAPTER I

Up to Sample

A manufacturer is glad when he can supply goods up to sample, and we ought to be thankful that the old mixture of English, Scotch, Irish and Welsh sent to the war against Germany was as good as it ever was.

Lord Roberts said, "Our men have done wonderfully at the front, and I am proud of the British Army." Another old soldier, Lord Sydenham, told an audience that British troops had never shown finer qualities.

"Ah, Monsieur," said a French Staff Officer to an English friend, "without your Army we should have been lost. It proved that one volunteer is worth ten conscripts."

In the retreat from the Belgian frontier it was the small British Army that kept back at fearful loss the huge army of Germany, and by doing so enabled the French forces to fall back in safety.

One who was associated with the British at the beginning of this strategic retirement wrote: "I have seen a crack cavalry regiment almost annihilated in a desperate charge against the German artillery. I have seen the heroic Scots mown down. Yet the British have already forgotten those tragic days when they alone bore the weight of the German onslaught. When in my presence those British soldiers were told of the disasters to their best regiments they never flinched. 'Never mind. We'll have the best of it one day,' was the invariable answer after a moment's silence."

Writing of the long resistance of our men against overwhelming odds in the region of Ypres, Sir John French said in his dispatches, "No more arduous task has ever been assigned to British soldiers, and in all their splendid history there is no instance of their having answered so magnificently to the desperate calls which of necessity were made upon them."

The accuracy of British artillery and infantry shooting surprised both our allies and the enemy. A French officer attached to one of our contingents was astonished at the coolness and ingenuity of our soldiers when under fire. He noted their good food and the celerity with which they made tea, cooked, washed and shaved when the enemy's fire slackened. He said that our aviators had mastered the technique of the new arm.

General Zurlinden wrote thus in The Gaulois: "The British Army, which grows from day to day, has done miracles under Field-Marshal French. It shows in all engagements its incontestable superiority over the German infantry and artillery; as well as over the German cavalry."

There is a large body of German prisoners in the old fortress of Blaye, on the Gironde, and the French doctor told a friend that the first set of prisoners hastened to inform later arrivals that the English were fighting with the French against Germany. "This, however," they added, "is of no consequence whatever. The English soldiers are not worth taking into account." By-and-by other prisoners arrived, and the same story was repeated to them. They immediately protested. "You make a grievous mistake," they said, "if you believe that. The English soldiers are terrible fellows."

The following is a translation of a letter that was found on a dead German officer: "The English soldier is the best trained soldier in the world. The English soldier's fire is ten thousand times worse than hell. If we could only beat the English it would be well for us, but I am afraid we shall never be able to beat these English devils. They are very brave and fight to the last."

Even the Kaiser has found out that French's "Contemptible little Army" is like what the nervous lady said of a mouse— "small, but a horrible nuisance."

The deeds of daring that were done in former British wars were repeated over and over in the present one. There were cavalry charges which can compare with that of the Light Brigade at Balaclava, only that nobody blundered. Almost every day a small number of our men kept multitudes of Germans at bay and got out of the tight corner at last. Guns were saved or taken with up-to-sample bravery. Wounded men were rescued by self-forgetting comrades who were often themselves wounded.

Here is an extract from a sergeant's letter printed in The Evening News: "When on the Monday morning we were compelled, reluctantly, to retire it was just as though we stood on parade at Woolwich. The line was as straight and steady as ever it was. I could not help thinking that here was an answer to the blatant ranters who are for ever prating about the degeneracy of our race."

Nor were our men afraid of the greater amount of work which up-to-date war entails. An officer mentioned having had during five days of a retreat, two hours of sleep and nineteen to twenty hours marching a day. "It was awful to see men with bad feet fall by the roadside; but I am glad our troops are still the British soldier of history, taking everything that comes in a most philosophical and courageous manner. Lying in rain-soaked trenches for three days under a murderous and hellish fire, wet, hungry, merely provokes him to song and laughter."

A corporal of the 16th Lancers wrote: "We are in the saddle from 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. to 10 p.m. and 11 p.m.; then off again at three next morning—not exactly playing billiards at the club."

A sergeant-major was so worn out with marching that at the battle of Le Cateau he fell asleep and did not awake until his regiment, which had been in reserve, was ordered to engage. Some men with rifles still hot in their hands and their heads resting on the barrels slept "the brave sleep of wearied men."

In a letter from the front there was this passage: "Our fellows have signed the pledge because Kitchener wants them to. But they all say, 'God help the Germans, when we get hold of them, for making us teetotal.' You can get plenty of beer, but I would not disgrace myself with that, especially on active service."

The French expected our soldiers to be fond of drink, but they found that they preferred tea to the free drinks of wine they offered.

The girls and women hung on the arms of the British and said that their only hope was in them. The children played with them and the old people were cheered up by their songs and laughter as they marched through the villages. Mr. Thomas Atkins was as brave in resisting the temptations of this popularity as he was when he came, as he soon did, to his first battles.

The brave are always tender-hearted, and our soldiers were as humane and considerate to those whom they conquered as they were strong and courageous in conquering. After the battle the men with whom they had been fighting were no longer enemies. They were, if wounded, poor fellows to be pitied and helped.

And our men were generous in their appreciation. One man wrote: "In spite of all we say about the Teuton he is taking his punishment well, and we've got a big job on our hands. Getting to Berlin isn't going to be a cheap excursion."

CHAPTER II

Courage

What is courage or fortitude? There are many kinds of it, but Locke's definition covers most cases. "It is the quiet possession of a man's self, and an undisturbed doing of his duty, whatever evil beset him, or danger lie in his way."

There are those who have courage to fight, but not to wait. Where duty says, "Go forward," to halt or to go in any other direction is cowardice; where duty says, "Stand still," to go forward is cowardice. Our soldiers have shown themselves capable of both kinds of courage. At the battle of Mons they were brave enough to retreat when ordered, though they were driving the Germans before them at the point of the bayonet. They said that they could not understand why the order to retreat was given, but they trusted their leaders.

"Tommy Atkins, you're a fighter.
An' your work is clean and sweet—
When you've got a job before you,
Why you goes an' does it neat;
Tommy Atkins, you're a hero,
With your 'masterly retreat!'

"Tommy Atkins, you're a Saxon,
An' you're bloomin' hard to beat,
And you've borne the brunt o' fightin'
And you've kept upon your feet—
An' you've learned the precious lesson
Of a 'masterly retreat!'

"Tommy Atkins, you're a soldier,
An' your work is clean and sweet,
An' you've won a dozen battles
By a nicely-timed defeat—
Tommy Atkins, you're a hero,
With your 'masterly retreat'!"

"Ah," said a French officer, "we lose so heavily, we French. We haven't the patience of the English. They are fine and can wait: we must rush."

But indeed the very constancy of the courage of our soldiers may sometimes hide it. We take it for granted. We become so accustomed to read of the coolness of Mr. Thomas Atkins amidst a hail of bullets, that we begin to fancy that with a good umbrella we would be equally indifferent to the shower. Is courage then natural, and are all men brave? Quite the contrary. What is natural is an instinctive desire to save life and limb, and those who overcome this from a sense of duty ought to get credit for doing so.

How courage creates courage is told by a Connaught Ranger. Writing of a man who had carried him away through a storm of bullets when wounded he said, "He is a grand lad and afraid of nothing. He gave all who were near him courage by his brave conduct."

There are many kinds and degrees of courage. There is that which is calm, deliberate and with little or no hope of reward.

A magnificent manifestation of this courage was given by twelve Royal Engineers. A bridge on the British line of retreat had to be destroyed. A party of sappers laid a charge; but before they could light the fuse they were killed. Then one of the Engineers made a rush, alone, towards the fuse. He was killed before he had got half-way, but immediately he was down another man dashed up and ran on until he, too, fell dead, almost over the body of his comrade. A third, a fourth, a fifth attempted to run the gauntlet of the German rifle fire, and all of them met their deaths in the same way. Others dashed out after them, one by one, until the death toll numbered eleven. Then, for an instant, the German rifle fire slackened, and in that instant the bridge was blown up, for the twelfth man, racing across the space where the dead bodies of his comrades lay, lit the fuse and sent the bridge up with a roar as a German rifleman brought him down dead.

A few British soldiers held at bay a large number of Germans who were trying to rush a bridge. A Sergeant of the Royal Engineers perceived that if they did this our men would be cut off. He destroyed the bridge with dynamite, the British troops were saved, but a shell took off the Sergeant's head.

With the modesty of a real hero Lance-Corporal Jarvis, R.E., said to a newspaper reporter: "Yes, I am proud to have gained the Cross, but all the fellows at the front deserve it." Jarvis got the Victoria Cross for gallantry shown at Genappes on August 23rd in working for one and a half hours under heavy fire, in full view of the enemy, and in successfully firing charges for the demolition of a bridge. "The work on the bridge was done under fire from three sides. Near the bridge I found Captain Theodore Wright, V.C., wounded in the head. I wished to bandage him, but he said, 'Go back to the bridge; it must be done'—and so I went. The British infantry were posted behind barricades, and I had to make quite a detour to get round where I had to start operations."

"Good-bye, you fellows." Thirty gunners of a British field battery had just been killed and wounded. Thirty others had been ordered to take their places. Knowing they were going to their death, this was the last greeting to their comrades in the reserve line. Two minutes afterwards every man had been put out of action, and another thirty went to the front, with the same farewell greeting, smoking cigarettes as they went to almost certain death.

A pathetic picture was presented when a British Red Cross shelter was being shelled, and the less wounded men carried the more wounded to a place of comparative safety.

Some almost mad things were done by men in the trenches, in the intervals of coolly playing games.

A man stole forth on a dark night to carry off a German maxim. He wriggled on his stomach to within a few yards of his object. He surprised the guard of five Prussians, slew them, and returned in triumph to his trench with the maxim slung like a sheep across his shoulders. Rendered brazen by his success he sallied forth again to collect the ammunition and belt which he had left behind on his first journey.

One day the Gloucesters were lying under shell fire, and a shell dropped right in the middle of a party having some food. It did not explode at once, so one of the men dropped his biscuit, got up and threw the shell out of the trenches.

A sergeant of the Royal Horse Artillery who had come back from the war for a rest, was asked if there were many men getting the Victoria Cross. He replied: "Of course there are, but every fellow who has fought has in some way or other earned it. Why, our little trumpeter, had he been saving a wounded man under the same conditions as he collared a chicken for his comrades' dinner, would have certainly obtained the coveted Cross. We were being shelled and fired on fiercely when a chicken suddenly ran into a very inferno of fire. 'There goes our dinner!' cried the trumpeter, and without another word he chased the bird for at least five minutes, never worrying a little bit about the shells and bullets. Finally he came back with a bullet in his leg, but as proud as the Kaiser himself, with the chicken in his arms."

Compare with this the following, written by Sergeant George Freshwater, of the Highland Light Infantry: "The other day one of our fellows shot a pig that came wandering towards our trench. The difficulty was, however, to get him. The pig lay about 30 yards from us, and was right in the line of the German fire. Some of the Germans also shot at him, but it was our chaps who killed him. We drew lots who would go out and fetch the 'bacon' in. The chap who was stuck for the job went out at once, though some of us wanted him to wait until it got dark, but he wouldn't. He got the pig in safely, though he got two shots through his sleeve and one through his cap. The pig got six shots in him. We skinned and roasted the pig in the trench that night, and had a real good breakfast off him the next morning."

A man crept up to a German trench and took away from a sleeping warrior a helmet, knapsack, a pair of patent-leather boots (evidently looted), and forty-five rounds of ammunition.

A soldier wrote: "There was a big, awkward, gawky lad of the Camerons who took a fancy to a Scotch collie that had followed us about a lot, and one day the dog got left behind when we were falling back. The big lad was terribly upset and went back to look for it. He found it, and was trudging along with it in his arms, making forced marches to overtake us, when he fell in with a party of Uhlans on the prowl. He and his dog fought their best, but they hadn't a dog's chance between them, and both were killed."

"A man of the 'Glosters' noticed a horse that had been struck with a shell and was in great pain, and was neighing piteously for water. There was none about, and with the Germans rapidly closing in it was as much as any man's life was worth to stay another minute. The brave chap knew that as well as anyone, but he wanted to make the poor animal comfortable before he cleared off, so he hunted around until he found water. We had to clear out, and didn't know what had happened to him until next day when we retook the position, and found the Gloucester lad and horse both dead."

The highest courage comes from forgetting self and caring for the welfare of others.

This was told by a corporal of an Irish regiment. "We were in a place near Rheims and a Britisher dashed out from a farmhouse on the right and ran towards us. The Germans fired and he fell dead. We learned that he had been captured the previous day by a party of German cavalry, and had been held a prisoner at the farm, where the Germans were in ambush for us. He saw their game, and, though he knew that if he made the slightest sound they would kill him, he decided to make a dash to warn us of what was in store."

It was not enough for our men to show courage on land and sea; they now do so also in the air. At one time it was thought that the Germans excelled in this new kind of warfare, and that their Kaiser was "the Prince of the power of the air." Now the French and British have successfully disputed this ascendancy.

The men of the Royal Flying Corps are not "afraid of that which is high." "Fired at constantly both by friend and foe," Sir John French writes, "and not hesitating to fly in every kind of weather, they have remained undaunted throughout."

John Baker, Royal Flying Corps, told the following in a letter home: "While flying over Boulogne at a height of 3,000 feet something went wrong with the machine, and the engine stopped. The officer said, 'Baker, our time has come. Be brave, and die like a man. Good-bye,' and shook hands with me. The next I remembered was that I was in a barn."

Another new opportunity for courage is given by the work of the motor-cycle despatch-rider. There is in it adventure, danger, hardship and every other element of romance. The despatch-rider has to take his machine over rough fields and roads made dangerous by shell holes. He has often experiences as bad as the one which Lance-Corporal Davies, of the Welsh Fusiliers, thus describes: "I had to accompany one of the sergeants in carrying a despatch across the battlefield under fire. We had not gone far before the sergeant was shot dead. I took the despatch from his keeping with all haste and made at top speed for the staff officers for whom it was intended. As I delivered the despatch I dropped into a dead faint from exhaustion, and when I came round I found myself in the field hospital."

The despatch-rider has to pass sentries who shoot at sight, and sometimes he has to go through even the lines of the enemy.

CHAPTER III

Courage and Discipline

Before the last Boer War British Army officers did not take their profession as seriously as did Continental military men. A regiment was a club and many came into it merely to have a good time.

After the lessons of the Boer War all this changed. Zeal and energy took hold of our officers and they began to think that they were bound in honour to make themselves efficient. And they have done so.

The rank and file know this, and respect them for it. One soldier ended a letter with these words: "We are officered by excellent men, and we feel that we are being led. Their coolness when in a tight corner had a great effect upon the men and pulled us through often." In one of his letters at the beginning of the war a sergeant of the Buffs remarked, "It is wonderful, with all they have to do, how helpful and kind the officers are. They know their work to their finger tips. If some of you at home who have spoken sneeringly of British officers could have seen how they handled their men and shirked nothing you would be ashamed of yourselves."

The other day Lord Raglan, Lieutenant-Governor of the Isle of Man, related an incident which shows what a soldier will do for his officer. He said that his son, who is a lieutenant in the Welsh Regiment, was seriously wounded in Belgium, and that a private soldier first bound up the wound, and then said, "They shall not hit you again, sir." He then lay down in front of his wounded officer so that his own body would protect him from the fire of the enemy.

An officer of the Manchester Regiment was equally self-sacrificing for a soldier. Lieutenant W.G. Mansergh was hit in the leg at Le Cateau. Falling near an empty trench he crawled into it and was comparatively safe. Shortly after a soldier of the same regiment crawled up to the same trench. Mansergh pulled him in and got the man underneath him (it was a short "two-man trench" for kneeling). Mansergh was now exposed to shrapnel, though still protected by the trench parapet from rifle fire. A shell burst just in front of the trench low down. Mansergh was killed on the spot.

An officer wrote, "You cannot imagine how one gets to love these soldier chaps. The other day they found an egg which they wanted me to have. Of course I wouldn't, but offered to cut for it (we have got a pack of cards). In the end it was given to a woman we met. They are just like children in the way they look up to one and ask one for advice and counsel on all kinds of subjects, great or small. Although I say it myself, I don't think they could put more confidence in their officers than they do at times like these, and I think most of us appreciate the fact."

Private Walker, of the 1st Cameronians, wrote in a letter to his mother: "I asked an officer for some tobacco, and he gave me some of what he had been smoking, laughingly remarking, 'It's Cavendish.' It was just leaves pulled off the trees, so hard up were we for tobacco."

What a contrast there is between the discipline of the German and the British Army! In the former officers and men are almost in the same relation to each other as warders and convicts. The officers drive their men and do not lead them, and dumb, driven cattle cannot be heroes in the strife. German officers think of their men only as "cannon fodder," ours associate with them in games during peace time, and in war share all their hardships. It was this "moral persuasion" discipline that so often enabled our small army to knock the tail-feathers out of the Kaiser's eagle.

A corporal of the 1st Cameronians wrote: "Thank Heaven our officers are not like German officers. Ours are the best in the world. 'Come on, lads!' is the way they cheer us, and the boys know how to obey."

This war has shown that there never was in our Army more of that best kind of discipline which comes from officers and men being in friendly touch with each other. A man who was lying in a place where shells were exploding, said to his officer, "Sir, may I retire, I have been hit three times?"

The following are some of the testimonies which men returned from the war gave as to the good feeling that exists between our officers and their men.

This is from a corporal's letter: "Our officers are grand and they cheer our men by their laughter and jokes in the trenches. They are gluttons for work, and are always cheerful, cool, and quick to see and seize any chance of delivering a punishing blow at any part of the enemy's lines. The only complaint against them is that they will not take cover, but expose themselves too much. The Boer War lesson they teach to the men, but won't profit by it themselves."

Describing the fighting at Mons, a sergeant of the Royal Berkshire Regiment said: "Captain Shott, D.S.O., of our regiment, was, I think, the bravest man I ever met. On August 23rd, when we were near —— and were lying in our trenches with shell fire constantly around us, he walked out into the open and, with his cheery words, gave us good heart. He was puffing a cigarette and he said, 'Lads, we will smoke.' He was an officer and a gentleman in every sense of the word, and when he was killed two days later it was a great blow to us."

"Captain Berners, of the Irish Guards," wrote one of his men, "was the life and soul of our lot. When shells were bursting over our heads, he would buck us up with his humour about Brock's displays at the Palace. But when we got into close quarters, it was he who was in the thick of it, and didn't he fight! I don't know how he got knocked over, but one of our fellows told me he died a game 'un.' There is not a Tommy who would not have gone under for him."

We read of an officer of the 1st Hampshire Regiment reading "Marmion" aloud in the trenches, under a fierce fire, to keep up the spirits of his men. "He is as cool as a slab of salmon in a fishmonger's shop. He is a top-hole chap and worshipped by his men."

Writing of the terrible fire of the German artillery at the Marne, a soldier said: "All we could do was to keep on firing. Our officer stood up in the trenches and clapped his hands like as if he was clappin' a star turn at the Empire. 'Good boys!' he yelled. 'Good boys, stick to it!' That was all he said. The next moment a piece of shell crumpled him up. His death was a terrible blow to us. He did not know what fear is, and shared everything from a biscuit to a cigarette with his men."

So, too, a guardsman wrote: "There is not a man in the whole Brigade of Guards but what would readily admit that all the hardships the men have endured have been shared by the officers."

I read the following from a corporal's letter in The Daily Chronicle: "Our Major (Mathieson) was a hero. When we were hard pressed and they charged our weak line, we were almost on the point of retiring, but he stood up in the midst of the fire and shouted, 'Never let it be said that a Cold-streamer retired in front of a German dog.' After that we were all as one man and never flinched."

A subaltern was heard to say in his sleep, "This position must be held at any cost." This showed his zeal and the tension of his overworked nerves.

A battalion, full strength, went into the trenches. They stayed there day after day without relief, resisting overwhelming forces which were trying to drive them out. At last the time for relief came. They came out of the trenches, but only a fourth of those who had gone into them, and they came out under the command of one who had become their senior officer, a boy of nineteen. When they came out he formed up his men. He gave them the order to march, and then he burst into tears, and fell fainting to the ground. While duty required it he had done all that was wanted of him, but when it was over the strain was too much, and he broke down.

An officer said to his men, "Surely British soldiers can keep back any amount of German waiters." The men said that they were "bucked up" by this way of putting it.

In a letter to his wife, Private McKay, of the 2nd Highland Light Infantry, wrote: "The Highland Light Infantry, the Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry, the Worcester Regiment, and the Connaught Rangers have beaten all records for marching by doing 190 miles in eight and a half days, and at the same time fighting rearguard actions day after day. When on the march the men have been so run down that they feel like falling down, but our officers help them on with a few words, such as 'Come on, men! Think of the honour of the regiment.' That does it. They all start singing, 'Hold your hand out, naughty boy!' and feel fit for another 10 or 15 miles."

Another soldier wrote to his parents: "I have often told you what a fine fellow our captain was. He got knocked over with a piece of shell; but kneeling on one knee, he was cheerful, and kept saying, 'My bonnie boys, make sure of your man.' When he was taken away in the ambulance he shouted, 'Keep cool and mark your man.' To his men he was always a gentleman."

Bandsman Imeson, 4th Middlesex Regiment, wrote this about his officer, Lieutenant Williams: "He was a hero. When in the trenches he would expose himself to danger so as to take good aim with his rifle, although we frequently requested him to get under cover. His answer was, 'Look at the bounders, men; don't waste a shot; take careful aim, so that each shot tells.' It was while he was taking aim that he was shot through the stomach, and later died. His last words were, 'Men, give it them.'"

Another soldier in a letter said that he nearly cried when he saw his captain shot. "He has been so good to us."

Big strapping troopers of the Horse Guards are said to have "cried like kids" when their Major fell in action. "If you knew how much we loved that man you would understand."

A soldier thus wrote, who had been asked to tell General A. Wynn about his son's death at Landrecies:

"Sir, these are a few of the instances which made your son liked by all his men. The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the trenches, and we asked him to have a drink. He said, 'No. Drink it yourselves; you are in want of it.' And then with a smile, he added, 'We have to hold the trenches to-day.' Again, at Mons, we had been fighting all day, and someone brought a sack of pears and two loaves of bread. Lieutenant Wynn accepted only one pear and a very little bread. We noticed this. I had a small bottle of pickles in my haversack and asked him to have some. But it was the usual answer: 'You require them yourselves.' Our regiment was holding the first line of trenches, and Lieutenant Wynn was told to hold the right of the company. Word was passed down to see if Lieutenant Wynn was all right, and I was just putting up my head when they hit me, and I heard from a neighbour that Lieutenant Wynn was hit through the eye and died instantly. He died doing his duty, and like the officer and gentleman he was."

Officers and men were always on the watch to help each other. At the battle of Mons an officer stood over the body of a private who had previously saved his life until he had fired his last shot from his revolver, and then fell seriously wounded. A private soldier carried on his back for 800 yards a young subaltern, who afterwards died in hospital.

Trooper O'Brien, of the 3rd Dragoons, told in a letter to his wife how Captain Wright, of his squadron, crept out under a heavy artillery and rifle fire to try and bring in two wounded men. "He brought one back to the trench and bandaged up and placed in safety the other. He is a lovely man, and I and every other man in my squadron would follow him anywhere to the death."

A private wrote: "Officers seem to be mainly concerned about the safety of their men, and indifferent to the risks they take upon themselves. Lieutenant Amos rescued a wounded man under heavy fire. Several of us volunteered to do it, but the lieutenant would not hear of anybody else taking the risk."

Private R. Toomey, Royal Army Medical Corps, told of an officer of the Royal Irish shouting at the top of his voice, "Give them hell, boys, give them hell!" He had been wounded in the back by a lump of shrapnel, but, said Toomey, "It was a treat to hear him shouting."

Because of a foolish affair in Ulster, Ireland, our Army not so long ago was said to be insubordinate. What answer has the war given to this? It has shown that officers and men never worked better together, and that the educated, temperate soldier of the present fights just as well as did his predecessor, whose mind was too uncultivated to realise danger, and who was not unfrequently blinded to it by drink.

How well the officers managed their men when they were sore and disappointed at the order to retreat after the battle of Mons! A General told the South Staffordshire Regiment that they were doing splendidly, but that they must retreat or they would be surrounded. They were all so unwilling to yield ground that one of them, expressing impatience, made a comment he would never have thought of doing in peace time. The General only smiled.

At St. Quentin Sir John French, "smiling all over his face," explained to the troops the meaning of the repeated retirements. Up to this the men had almost to be pulled back by their officers, but after the explanation they fell in cheerfully with that most hated thing—a strategic movement to the rear.

The men were pleased by Sir John and his staff going among them to see their life in the trenches, and whether they were being properly looked after. "He has no 'side,' and is just as ready to smile on the ordinary private as on the highest officer. He stops when he has time to have a chat for the sake of finding out what we think of it all, and whether we are properly looked after."

The spirit which animates our officers, and the men through them, is shown by words written by Captain Norman Leslie a short time before he was killed: "Try and not worry too much about the war units. Individuals cannot count. Remember we are writing a new page of history. Future generations cannot be allowed to read of the decline of the British Empire and attribute it to us. We live our little lives and die, and to some are given the choice of proving themselves men, and to others no chance comes. Whatever our individual faults, virtues, or qualities may be, it matters not; but when we are up against big things let us forget individuals and let us act as one great British unit, united and fearless. Some will live and many will die, but count not the loss. It is better far to go out with honour than survive with shame."

CHAPTER IV

Boys of the Bulldog Breed

A bugler only sixteen years of age was, on returning from the war, being taken to the Royal Herbert Hospital at Woolwich. One of the soldiers said to the people who were looking on, "He is a little hero, and deserves a dozen medals. He did not leave off sounding his bugle until his left arm was blown off with a shell and he had four bullet wounds in him."

Another boy of the bulldog breed, who is a trumpeter, did this heroic deed. A British battery had lost all its horses and all its men except a lieutenant and a trumpeter. By one of the guns lay the sergeant-major, wounded in the leg and shoulder, and the lad decided that he would make an attempt to take him out of the line of fire. His officer tried to dissuade him, declaring that it was sheer madness, in face of the awful shell fire that was pouring like rain all round that spot. The lad, however, was determined, and, getting hold of a spare horse from the rear, galloped off to where the wounded sergeant-major lay, picked him up, placed him across his saddle, and brought him safely to the hospital.

The great complaint our cavalry had against that of the enemy was that they would not stand and have a respectable charge against them.

A party of Royal Marines were going by train from Antwerp to Ostend. At 10 o'clock at night the train was stopped and the Marines were fired at by Germans from all directions. The officer in command was asked to surrender. He replied, "Royal Marines never surrender." The no-surrender boys fought their way through, though they lost many of their number.

Great was the pain that an order to retreat gave to other boys of the bulldog breed. While the British were gaining a series of great successes, the French were being defeated on the right. They were unable to hold the Germans. The British were ordered to fall back in order that they might not be enveloped by the Germans and completely cut off. When the order came, the men became almost rebellious. "Stalwart members of the Scottish and Irish regiments wept."

The men, however, as it proved, got even more opportunity of showing courage in the retreat that they did not, at the time, understand. "My story," says the New York World correspondent, "principally concerns the bulldog-like resistance of the British troops against the constant ferocious attacks by the Germans holding the centre of the far-flung line, while the French troops were engaged in pushing back the right flank of the Germans. Official statements conveyed but an incomplete idea of the tremendous undertaking of the British and French troops."

"If there be truth behind the splendid boast
That freedom makes of every man a host
And multiplies his courage and his might
Above the strength of peoples without right
To liberty; now is the hour to show
The universe how Britain meets the foe."

The following incidents have been mentioned in despatches: During the action at Le Cateau on August 26th the whole of the officers and men of one of the British batteries had been killed or wounded, with the exception of one subaltern and two gunners. These continued to serve one gun, kept up a sound rate of fire, and came unhurt from the battlefield.

On another occasion a portion of a supply column was cut off by a detachment of German cavalry, and the officer in charge was summoned to surrender. He refused, and starting his motors off at full speed dashed safely through, losing only two lorries.

It is no wonder that a French officer said that British soldiers were always "le bulldog. We did not know that they could fight as they do, nor did the Germans. You cannot wear out their spirits: even if you walk them off their legs they will crawl somehow, they will never stop."

Writing about his soldiers after the battle of the Aisne, a British officer used these words: "There is an extraordinary English atmosphere over the whole show. I mean that the men display a dogged, obstinate resistance in the face of any odds and absolutely refuse to consider the possibility of their being beaten. They won't admit at any time that the Germans have got the best of them. Their cheerfulness is extraordinary and nothing is able to depress them."

The following account of part of the same battle illustrates the above remark: "The Engineers built a pontoon bridge across the river. They were under shell fire all the time, but they stuck to the work gamely. Luckily the shells dropped in the river, and did not explode. The order was given to cross the bridge man by man, six yards between each man. It was a race across under fire. I saw men getting ready for their turn, as if it were a hundred yards sprint and the officer giving the word to the next man: 'Go.' It was an exciting time, and lots of men fell in the river and were drowned. I ran the race of my life, but I got over safely. We advanced up a side of a hill, as the river was down a valley, and when we got on top it was all open country, and 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 advanced a bit. We were getting slaughtered. We lay down flat on our stomachs. They were well in the trenches, and we could see they meant to make a stand. We lay there helpless against their artillery. The shells ceased a while, and their infantry tried to rush us, but as soon as they left their trenches our rifle fire played hell with them. They were trying to rush us, but we drove them back time after time. My rifle I could hardly hold, as it was red-hot with the continual firing. It was raining all the time, and we were lying in water. I had to keep dropping my rifle and wet my hands on the ground. We could not move an inch. The shells started again. It was like waiting to be killed. It was miserable lying in wet. We lay there for four days, getting biscuits and bully beef at night, when the supplies used to creep up to us at the risk of their lives."

Another instance of bulldog resistance was thus recorded: "At one place we had a surprise attack. We were just getting ready for some food, when all of a sudden shells started bursting around us. I can tell you, it was a case of being up and doing. Dixies and tea-cans were flung one side, our tea spilt, fires put out, and the order given to stand to our guns and horses; everyone to prepare for action. Still, we were not to be caught napping. Our boys only close one eye when we get a chance of a sleep, so you can tell we were wide awake to the fact that it was a case of do or die. Our gallant boys, the Guards, held them at bay until our death-dealing pea-shooters put them to flight; nevertheless, the Germans made a strong resistance during the night, and it was only after a hard struggle that we managed to be victorious."

How the Coldstream Guards saved a division of British troops is told by one of them: "The Germans were in tremendous numbers, easily sufficient to swamp us. We had chosen the position very carefully, and our flanks were protected by barbed-wire defences. The enemy suffered fearful losses along that narrow strip of road, but they never relaxed their efforts to take the place by storm. So fierce was the fighting that the Germans did manage once to capture one of our machine guns, but they did not keep it long—we soon had it back. Rush after rush came during the night, but our lads held fast. The German big guns were very troublesome. One of them was a particular danger, and the order came to one of the machine gunners to try to scrap it. 'Yes, sir, what range?' 'Four hundred yards,' came the reply. The gunner adapted his machine, and let drive. One shot was sufficient. It got the German gun right in the breech, and it did not bark again that night. The engagement proceeded all night. A huge German force was held up by a comparative handful of British soldiers, while the latter's main body was able to extricate itself from a most precarious position."

A soldier of the 1st Queen's described this case of bulldog resistance: "On September 17th we were supporting the Northamptons, who were hotly engaged with the enemy. The Germans threw up their hands, and the Northants ceased to press home the attack. As they approached, however, instead of surrendering, the Germans opened a withering fire, and the Northants were compelled to retire. Their danger was recognised by Colonel Warren, whose machine-gun section was disabled. He himself served a gun, assisted by his adjutant, and helped to pour in a heavy fire on the Germans, who suffered severely. Both officers paid for their gallantry with their lives. A shrapnel shell from a German gun burst over them, their gun was shattered, and Colonel Warren and Captain Wilson were instantaneously killed."

A soldier related how when unable to sleep one night with the cold of the trenches the regiment wished for some warming work and got it. "We were called out to support an infantry brigade. During the action 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. I tell you that it is so terrible in the trenches at times, that we mutter through our chattering teeth prayers to Almighty God only to give the Germans sufficient grace to make them come out and attack us, just to warm us up and give us the exercise our aching limbs are crying out for."

After relating how his regiment at one place held its ground to the last, a soldier proudly added: "General French has thanked us for the way we behaved, and praise from him is worth a great deal more than from other men. He is not in a hurry to say nice things about us, but when he does speak we know he means every word of it, and maybe more. That's the way to get round the soldiers."

CHAPTER V

Facing Fearful Odds

This is how some twenty-six British soldiers faced 3,500 Germans after the evacuation of Mons. The British forces reluctantly retreated. As they were only giving ground step by step, twenty-six Fusiliers entrenched themselves in a farm overlooking a long, straight road. They were in possession of several machine guns and these they placed inside the doors of the farm house. "Now, boys," shouted one of the twenty-six, "we are going to cinematograph the grey devils when they come along. This is going to be Coronation Day. Let each of us take as many pictures as possible." As soon as the Germans appeared on the road and started attacking a canal bridge the Fusiliers very coolly turned the handle of their guns.

The picture witnessed from the farm on the "living screen" by the canal bridge was one that will not easily be forgotten. The "grey devils" dropped down in hundreds. Again and again they came on only to get more machine murder. At length they thought that it was wiser to continue their march and leave alone the twenty-six who had for a considerable time delayed it.

A well-known Member of Parliament, when visiting a locality in France where there had been much fighting, came to a lonely wood. Around a large tree were significant mounds enclosed by a palisade on which were hanging laurel wreaths. On a part of the tree from which the bark had been stripped was a rude inscription: "Here lie the bodies of twenty English heroes." This was a German tribute to our countrymen, who had fought to the last against overwhelming odds. The enemy admiring their bravery, had buried them and left this record. A company of French soldiers passing through the wood later on saw it. They stayed to erect the palisade to guard the graves, and upon it they hung twenty laurel wreaths.

One of the Lancashire Fusiliers when left behind at Mons continued to fire until his last cartridge was gone. His bayonet was also gone, so he stood up with folded arms until he was shot down.

Here is how the brigade to which the Welsh regiment belonged faced fearful odds.

"'The contemptible little Army' were opposed by 300,000 Germans. Our brigade got a position that, had the enemy made a dash at us, we should have been overwhelmed. Had they had the pluck they could have come over a ridge and mowed us down, for we were all in a valley, but our General knew we were safe from any attack in the open. All they did was to keep up a terrible artillery fire. Shrapnel shells were bursting over us, but amid all this we took heed of only one word, 'Advance,' and advance we did. Our regiment had a centre position. On we all went. We neared the crest of the hill behind which was our goal. About twenty yards from the crest we lay down and our company commander, Captain Haggard, advanced to the top, saw the Germans and then shouted, 'Fix bayonets, boys, here they are.' What an officer! What a soldier! He himself used a rifle. We 'fixed' and were prepared to follow him anywhere, but we were checked by a storm of maxim fire. We knew by the sound that we were up against a tremendous force. There was only one game to play now—bluff them into the belief that we were as strong as themselves, so we were ordered 'rapid firing,' which gives an enemy the impression that the firing force is strong. We popped away like this for three hours, never moving an inch from our position, and our officers standing up to locate the enemy every now and again. We lost four officers in about twenty minutes. Men were getting hit, bullets coming at us from our front and both flanks. Still we hung on. Just near me was lying our brave captain mortally wounded. As the shells burst over us he would occasionally open his eyes, so full of pain, and call out—but 'twas very weak—'Stick it, Welsh Regiment, stick it, Welsh.' Many of us wounded managed to crawl up and down the firing line 'dishing out' the ammunition we were unable to use. So our lads stuck at it until our artillery got into action. We won. Out in that field were strewn thousands and thousands of German dead and wounded. They even piled them up and made barricades of their dead. Towards dusk, though we were still exposed to terrible shell fire, and to move was almost courting suicide, several of our lads volunteered to collect and carry away the wounded. Many got hit in doing so, but they cared nothing. We were taken to a little farmhouse to wait for the field ambulance wagons. Officers were telling us yarns, were sending everywhere for milk and resolutely refused to be bandaged until we were seen to."

A wounded private of the Royal Munster Fusiliers told the following story of fighting when the regiment had to bear the brunt of the whole German attack, while the rest of the brigade fell back: "They came at us from all points—horse, foot, artillery, and all, and the air was thick with screaming, shouting men waving swords and blazing away at us like blue murder. Our lads stood up to them without the least taste of fear, and when their cavalry came down on us we received them with fixed bayonets in front, the rear ranks firing away as steadily as you please. All round us we saw them collecting until there was hardly a hole fit for a wee mouse to get through, and then it was that the hardest fight of all took place, for we wouldn't surrender, and tried our hardest to cut through the stone wall of the Germans.

"It was hell's own work, but we never hoisted the white flag. One of our men has been recommended for the Distinguished Service Medal. When the man—who was working the machine gun—was killed he came up and took his place. Then the gun was smashed altogether, and his hand blown off with a shell."

The nickname of the regiment is "Dirty Shirts," and because of their heavy losses on this occasion it was said that the Germans had cleaned up the "Dirty Shirts." "Well," said an indignant Fusilier, "it was a moighty expensive washin' for them, anny way."

One of the Irish Dragoon Guards carried a wounded trooper to a farmhouse under fire. A German patrol called at the house and found them. From behind a barrier the Dragoons kept the Germans at bay. The Germans then brought a machine gun up and threatened to destroy the house. Rather than bring suffering on their hosts or the village the two hunted men made a rush out with some mad idea, perhaps, of taking the gun that had been brought against them. They got no further than the threshold of the door, where they fell dead, their blood bespattering the walls of the house.

The 4th Royal Fusiliers were in a warm corner. They were being fired at by outnumbering artillery and infantry, and they were, as one of them said, "like a lot of schoolboys at a treat" when ordered to fix bayonets and charge. "We had about 200 yards to cover before we got near them, and then we let them have it. It put us in mind of tossing hay, only we had human bodies. I was separated from my neighbours and was on my own when I was attacked by three Germans. I had a lively time and was nearly done when a comrade came to my rescue. I had already made sure of two, but the third would have finished me. I already had about three inches of steel in my side when my chum finished him."

The special correspondent of The Daily Mail told the following. One hundred and fifty Highlanders were detailed to hold a bridge over the river Aisne. The Germans opened fire from the woods around, and another body of them greatly outnumbering the Highlanders rushed towards the bridge. For a time they were kept at bay. Then the maxim gun belonging to the little force ceased its fire, for the whole of its crew had been killed, and the gun stood there on its tripod silent, amid a ring of dead bodies. A Highlander ran forward under the bullet storm, seized the maxim, slung tripod and all on to his back, and carried it at a run across the exposed bridge to the far side facing the German attack. The belt of the gun was still charged, and there, absolutely alone, the soldier sat down in full view of the enemy, and opened a hail of bullets upon the advancing column. Under the tempest of fire the column wavered, and then broke. Almost the moment after the Highlander fell dead beside his gun.

In a night attack upon the Worcester Regiment the Germans used the bayonet, which they seldom did, and it was far from a success for them, though there were great masses of them. "We gave them," said a sergeant of the Worcesters, "one terrible volley, but nothing could have stopped the ferocious impetus of their attack. For one terrible moment our ranks bent under the dead weight, but the Germans, too, wavered, and in that moment we gave them the bayonet, and hurled them back in disorder. The Germans have the numbers; we have the men."

At Ypres our Army had to face and hold in check 250,000 Germans for five days. In addition to the ordinary shell and shrapnel there were shells from heavy siege guns brought from Antwerp. These churned up the earth in the trenches and often buried our men who lay there. Over and over again masses of the enemy's infantry advanced within a few hundred yards. Then they halted and poured in a volley. They had no relish for a bayonet charge. Over and over again men leapt from the trenches and went at them with the bayonet. They fled, firing their rifles over their shoulders as they ran. Many hundreds were captured, and thousands were mown down with shell, with rifle, and machine-gun fire. Still their shell and shrapnel rained upon our trenches. Fresh infantry were brought up. The situation became critical; it seemed as if our men would be over-borne by sheer weight of numbers. Still they held on until the fifth day, when relief came and the position was saved.