Most of the townsfolk had begun their flight late on the previous evening, but a good many still remained. Had they only known the fate in store for them, the invaders would have found an empty town. But, at least in this case, vengeance was swift, as you shall hear.
The Brigade, then, took up its new position, and the men were able to make themselves fairly snug before the enemy had finished with the town. Fortunately, too, many of our wounded were got away from the hospital, for the Germans had begun to shell that some time before. But it was a very trying business, as there were not enough ambulances for the very large number of casualties, and many had to be carried on the already overloaded regimental transport.
Now, it must be remembered that General Smith-Dorrien had absolutely no reserves on which to draw if any part of his line began to bend back. The usual plan is, of course, to keep certain fresh regiments concentrated at given spots to move up in support as and when required. But now, if the Inniskillings were getting badly cut up and a gap was being made, the G.O.C. could only call upon the Cheshires, say, a mile off, who were not being so strongly attacked, to send a company or so to the help of their comrades.
Another thing. I have hinted in a previous chapter that the threads of communication with the ammunition supply were badly stretched to breaking-point, owing to the astonishing speed at which the British had to retire. Normally, the ammunition parks (motor transport) draw the ammunition supplies from railhead, and carry it up to the divisional ammunition columns. These, in turn, distribute to brigade columns, and the actual units draw upon the last named. Thus there are several links between railhead and the firing-line, and the motor-lorries should not come within about eight miles of the line.
But on this Wednesday and the two or three following days all this arrangement literally went to pieces. How could it be otherwise? And that is how the A.S.C. drivers came to do their bit with all the rest. Speed was vital, and the lorries could cover the distance in a third of the time taken by the horse transport. In fact, the horse transport was ignored or forgotten, although there were exceptions. One saw the divisional columns aimlessly trekking about the country, at one moment under orders to go to a certain village, only to find on arrival that the enemy were just a mile off; back they would come again as hard as the tired horses could do it.
Time and again an urgent message would go back from a battery for more 18-pr. or howitzer, and the dispatch-rider would have instructions to get the stuff wherever he could lay hands on it. He generally managed to find a few lorries of a "park," and so off the bus drivers would start with their three-ton vehicles, little dreaming that they were going under fire.
"Gor blimey, sir," said one of them next day to his officer, "I tell yer it wos a fair beano! We'd gone abaht a couple o' miles, when the sergeant wot wos along o' me on the box 'e sez: 'Stevens,' sez 'e, 'can yer knock anything more aht of 'er? 'Cos they're firing acrost the road.' Lor lumme, I nearly put 'er in the ditch at the turn 'e giv me! Yer see, sir, I didn't enlist to get knocked aht by no b—— German. I'm a peaceable man, I am, wot likes my grub and pint o' bitter reg'lar like, and the missus the same. But, as I wos a-sayin', I turned to the sergeant an' I sez: 'Yer don't fink there's no danger, do yer?' An' the sergeant, 'e sez, sarkastic-like: 'Ho no, they're only bustin' the shells on the road, an' we've got a few tons of fireworks be'ind wot's bahnd to bust too if we gits 'it!' S'welp me pink, sir, I turned that cold you could 'ave 'eard my teeth going louder nor the enjin.
"'E 'adn't 'ardly spoke when there was the 'ell of a bang somewheres just be'ind, and—well, you can bet your life, sir, we did a guy for all we wos worth. Lord, 'ow we 'opped it dahn that road! I tell yer, sir, we knocked forty-five miles an hour aht o' that ole bus, and she come up to it like as we wos knockin' spots orf of a pirit bus dahn Piccadilly.
"The sergeant, 'e jammed 'is 'eel dahn on the accelerator, an' I just 'eld on to the wheel wiv bofe 'ands. It wos a fair old Brock's benifit we wos in. But we got frew orl right, and wen we got to the place where we wos to drop the stuff, there weren't no guns wot wanted it. An', as old G. R. Sims sez, 'hit wos the unkindest cut of orl.' Well, I wasn't coming back agin frew that pyrriteknikle show not for the ole bus full o' suvrins, an' so we come 'ome rahnd by a place I forgit the name of, and that's 'ow we're late; but it was worf the hextra thirty miles rahnd, an' I 'ope, sir, yer won't mind this time."
There was another occasion on this day when three of these lorries went forward under the charge of an officer. He was quite unaware that the village whence the call for howitzer shell had come had been captured by the Germans half an hour after the message had been sent. On the way he picked up another officer who was lost.
Rounding a corner by a wood, about a mile from the village, they came straight upon a small German cavalry outpost. The Germans sprang to their feet at the rumble of the approaching lorries, and a sergeant stood in the road to bar the way.
There was not a moment for thought, and the second officer whipped his pistol out and took a snap shot. Luckily, he killed the sergeant outright. The officer in charge jumped down into the road as the lorry pulled up, with his own revolver in hand, and levelled it at the group by the roadside. One of them got his carbine off from the hip, and the shot just missed the first lorry driver on his seat. The officer promptly sent a bullet through the man's chest. Over his shoulder he shouted to the drivers to reverse the lorries, while he and the other officer held up the Germans.
Now, reversing three big lorries in not too wide a road needs some doing; but they all backed and advanced and sidled and backed until it was done. Then one officer jumped up behind the last one, the second officer followed, and off the lorries went.
There was nothing remarkable about the little experience, and it is only recorded to show the difficulties in ammunition supply at this time and also how the A.S.C. drivers were doing their job.
You must imagine that while we have been at the rear with the A.S.C., the fighting all along the British line has been growing in intensity. A big flank attack, with the idea of rolling up the whole line like a ball of string, is always a favourite move of the Germans, and this time they were trying to crush the British left.
But although the left was the main objective, the enemy still had a big superiority in numbers for frontal attacks, and these they kept up without ceasing. It was just like the crashing of many mighty hammers from one end to the other.
Following up the policy of making counterattacks whenever possible, a bold offensive was made against the little town from which we had just been driven. The enemy had now been in possession for two or three hours. So word was passed to the batteries, some of the indefatigable cavalry was concentrated, and the infantry, with the two reinforcing battalions, received the cheering news that they were to advance.
How they all went at it! Under the heaviest fire our guns could pour in, the infantry rushed the outlying houses, the main street, and the town itself, the cavalry sweeping up on the flank. The gunners, after raising the range to put a curtain before the infantry, limbered up, and had the satisfaction of marching back through the town which they had just been forced to evacuate.
Then it was that our men first saw a little of the hideous work of the invaders upon the civilian population. And if anything more were needed to brace them up to fight to the last man, they had it in that brief hour in the recaptured town.
The hospital was burning fiercely, just as that at Mons had done. Such a building, with its Red Cross flag, was always a convenient ranging point for the enemy. In it there had been some 400 wounded and other casualties. A large number of these had been got away, but a number had, perforce, to be left. Their end must have been too cruel to dwell upon.
Up the main street everywhere was horrible evidence that they had been at work. Mingled with dead or wounded combatants were bodies of women and children, many terribly mutilated, while other women knelt beside them, with stone-set faces or gasping through hysterical weeping. From behind shutters or half-closed doors others looked out, blinded with terror.
But there was one thing which, for the men who saw it, dwarfed all else. Hanging up in the open window of a shop, strung from a hook in the cross-beam, like a joint in a butcher's shop, was the body of a little girl, five years old, perhaps. Its poor little hands had been hacked off, and through the slender body were vicious bayonet stabs.
Yes, close your eyes in horror, but it is right that our people should hear and know these things. There must be no false, vapid sentiment in refusing to think about them. There should not be a home in the British Empire where the facts of German atrocities are not known, and where, in realising them, hearts are not nerved to yield their last drop of blood in stamping out from the world of men the hideous Thing which has done them.
After that the Brigade "saw red." There was no more talk of taking prisoners, and if there was another ounce they could put into their work they did it. The sight of those poor distracted women kneeling down in the road before our men, or hanging round their knees praying to be taken away, would have melted the stoniest hearts. The situation was serious enough, for another German attack in force was bound to follow, and the Brigade had little hope of getting away safely themselves. But they could not possibly leave the women behind again—nor did they. Somehow or other they escorted, on guns, limbers and vehicles, all they could find safely on to the southward road, sullenly retiring once more before the new counter-attack.
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work;
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, ...
They shall be fam'd.
By midday the tide of battle had begun to roll southwards, though only by a very little. The British lines were forced back, a mile here, half a mile there, but they still held on with superhuman energy and determination. And not only did they hold on, but, wherever there was the least chance, a regiment or cavalry squadron would launch a counter-attack. But it all seemed so hopeless, just as one might throw pebbles into the waves of the sea as they break upon a beach.
Some day it is to be hoped that an adequate record will be published of the remarkable work which the cavalry performed during the Retreat. Sir John French, perhaps because he was himself a cavalry leader, hardly mentions them in his first dispatch. Wherever they were most wanted, there they were in the thick of the fighting. How the horses "carried on" and where and how fresh animals were obtained remains a mystery, in view of the muddle in which everything was.
But where every unit and every man worked as they did, it seems almost invidious to single out for mention any particular regiment or episode. Take a single half-hour of the fighting on the left, and you have an example of what was repeated fifty times that day across the whole British front.
A blue-grey mass of enemy infantry appears advancing with steady, swinging pace. At 500 yards or a trifle more one of our regiments opens rapid fire upon them. You can actually see the lanes in the German ranks ploughed through by the British rifle-fire. Still they advance, for the gaps are filled almost immediately. Nearer and nearer, until that regiment which began the advance has almost ceased to exist. The remnant breaks and scatters in confusion, and as they break away another new regiment is disclosed behind them. Such is the method of the German massed attack, overwhelming by sheer numbers.
But rarely did they get near enough to the British lines for a hand-to-hand fight. Regiment after regiment would be held at bay by the murderous rifle-fire of the little handful of British; regiment after regiment would appear to fill the gap. Now and again the weight of the attack would tell, and the Germans would get close enough for a final rush on the British trench. Then, at the critical moment, a British company, slightly forward on the flank, pours in a withering enfilade fire, and while the German infantry stagger under this unexpected attack the British cavalry charge through our own lines straight on the front and flank of the enemy. There are a few minutes of mad cut and thrust, and the Germans, who always dread the cold steel as a Chinese dreads rain, break and run as though all the fiends of hell were after them.
Just about this time General Smith-Dorrien and a couple of his Staff officers were following the fortunes of the battle from some rising ground not far from the centre of the line. A sudden outburst of heavy and incessant firing was heard from the direction of Cambrai, where, it will be remembered, the enemy were trying to outflank us.
"Good heavens," cried the General, "the Germans have got round our left!" And, jumping on to his horse, he galloped off towards the firing.
To his astonishment and delight he found, as he drew near the flank, that the firing came not from victorious Germans, but from some of our French comrades.
Never was help more opportune; seldom can it have come in more dramatic fashion. By all accounts General Sordêt with his cavalry should have been sitting by the roadside, forty miles away on the British right, tending his worn-out horses. Yet, at the call for help, by sheer grit and determination he and his Corps had carried through that long forced march (Heaven knows how the horses did it!), and swept up on our left with his squadrons and horse artillery. Everyone knows what splendid work the French gunners can do, and—well, this was one of their best days.
It was a thrilling episode, and why, in common justice to our gallant Allies, the details have not been published I do not know. You will find General Smith-Dorrien's record and appreciation of the invaluable help thus given by General Sordêt in the second Appendix at the end of the book.
While such were the conditions about midday up with the front line, the situation immediately in the rear was fast becoming indescribable in its confusion and complexity. Looking back at it now, after the lapse of so many months, it seemed very much like a theatrical performance where a "front cloth" has been lowered to conceal from the audience a strike of stage hands and the despair of the actors at setting the stage and getting on with the play. Before the front cloth a special "turn" is performing to gain time and appease the growing impatience of the audience.
There was, for instance, a particular centre of cross-roads, nearly a mile beyond where German shells were bursting. It was just outside a large village, and the inhabitants were streaming out with their belongings, yet uncertain whether there was actual danger or no.
At the cross-roads were gradually arriving ammunition columns, remnants of battered regiments, motor-lorries, and odd cavalry patrols; and no one had the vaguest idea as to why they were there nor where they were to go next. A Staff officer standing there was as much at sea as the rest. Every moment more and more transport would roll up, and more and more stragglers, while hanging on to the outskirts of the crowd were increasing numbers of frightened women and children. An old curé alone seemed calm and collected. Over another village a little way back down the road the German shells come bursting ever nearer. It must be remembered that even the Staff had but a hazy idea of the trend of events, and that outside the Staff not a soul had any notion of what was really happening to the Force. It was just a matter of doing your own special bit.
Right into this confused mass came running some R..A.M.C. orderlies. "The Germans are just behind!" they shouted. There might have been a bad panic with all those civilians about, but there was only rather more confusion. The Staff officer gave a general order to retire on St. Quentin (a large town about seven miles to the south); and then there was one mad rush.
Motor-lorries blocked the whole road, trying to reverse, while wounded and stragglers made a dash for the nearest vehicles. Ammunition columns struck off the road on to the open down-land. The refugees streamed straight across country. Down the road the heavy lorries went pounding, and soon outdistanced everyone else. At one corner there were two R.F.A. drivers in charge of five heavy draught horses. "Germans be'ind us," yelled a lorry driver; "better move!" And they did move. The sight of those old "hairies" clopping down the road at a hand gallop after the disappearing lorries was too ludicrous for words.
By 3 P.M. the weight of the enemy's attack had begun to tell, and, to quote the Commander-in-Chief's dispatch, "it became apparent that, if complete annihilation was to be avoided, a retirement must be attempted; and the order was given to commence it about 3.30 P.M."
Now came the most critical time of all. At the beginning of the day the enemy must have imagined that a retirement would be made at the earliest opportunity. But as the hours passed, and the British line still held, the impression may have spread that they intended to fight the day to a finish where they stood. Certainly it is impossible to think that had they realised a definite retirement to be in progress, they would not have thrown every man they had upon the rear of the Corps.
Slowly and cautiously, then, regiment after regiment fell back. I have tried to show in an earlier chapter what that means and how much depends upon the guns at such a juncture. Again I can only quote the Commander-in-Chief's words: "The movement was covered with the most devoted intrepidity and determination by the artillery, which had itself suffered severely."
I will just give one instance of what that devotion meant, a devotion which, as has everywhere been agreed, saved the situation.
Close under a ridge a battery had been in action without a moment's rest for the last six hours. One gun after another had been knocked out, the battery commander and every officer save one killed, all the men of the detachments killed or wounded, until there was left just one gun, one subaltern, and one driver. And still they kept the battery in action; still they loaded and fired, as they had been doing all through that ghastly day.
"Got a drink?" said the subaltern; "a cigarette? Good! Thank God for a white man's cigarette again!" And he went on with his job. That was what "covering the movement" meant.
But the battle had been won. General Smith-Dorrien, his officers and men, had accomplished the almost superhuman task thrust upon them. They had not merely held the German attack through all the long hours of that blazing August day; they had broken it. For the remainder of the Retreat it never recovered its sting and energy, and so the Force and Paris were saved.
Events have had time to shape themselves during the months that have lapsed since August, 1914, and it is possible to view them in a certain perspective. It has been urged that we British have exaggerated the importance of the work of the Force in the Retreat; that while we were holding a line of no more than 20 odd miles, the French were extended over a front of 400 miles against an equally strong attack; that, by the prominence given to the work of the Force to the neglect of that of the French, a distorted picture has been given of the operations during August from Alsace to the sea.
To these arguments I would reply that Germany was staking everything upon that rush to Paris. For years past we had known that her intentions were to bring France to her knees within the first month or so, to admit of turning to meet Russia before that country had fully mobilised. And so, with this definite task in view, Germany concentrated her main attack through Belgium and south by Mons. She had not only her greatest strength in the armies of von Kluck and von Buelow, but she included in these masses of troops the flower of the German Army, picked regiments like the Prussian Guard, the "Iron" 3rd Corps of Brandenburg,[1] and others. Add to these facts the sustained violence of the invasion, and the concentrated hate which was levelled against Belgians and British by the invaders when the attack was continually and successfully checked, and I think that there is sufficient evidence to indicate the vital importance of the work of the British Force.
Moreover, the French people themselves had, with fine generosity, recognised that it was the British Force, under God's hand, which had saved Paris: for on Sunday, August 30th, prayers of thanksgiving were offered up in the churches on behalf of our troops.
And now, hopelessly inadequate as this record has so far been, words utterly fail me in attempting to describe the events of the next twelve hours, and how the Retreat was continued. It was one long, ghastly nightmare.
As regiment after regiment received its orders to retire, the survivors staggered to their feet, blinded by the ordeal of the day, and crept back until they reached a point where ranks could be formed. Then they got moving. Their destination no one knew, no one cared.... Keep moving! Men licked their blackened lips with parched tongues. "Any chance of a drink?" "Not here; perhaps we shall pass a village." Keep moving! "Got a fag on you?" "Smoked the last this morning; perhaps get some in the village." "Where the b—— 'ell is your village?" "Gawd knows." ... Keep moving!
Ten minutes later. "Where the 'ell are we going? and why the —— are we retreating? Give 'em socks, didn't we? And where the —— are them —— Frenchies?" "Oh, shut yer 'ed, carn't yer?" ... Keep moving!
There was a tiny village called Estrées in a hollow of the downs about three miles out from St. Quentin. Here at 4 P.M. the confusion was indescribable. Lorries, stragglers, refugees, transport columns, guns—all inextricably mixed up. It was, I believe, supposed to be a bivouac point for the night, but no one knew definitely. In any case, they were all tightly wedged in that hollow, and the Germans were but a very few miles behind. Had an enemy battery come within range, as it might well have done, it would have meant certain death for every soul there. Later in the evening news got to G.H.Q. of the position, and rations were sent up to the starving troops, with definite orders about further retirement.
Staff work simply went to pieces. It was not that men lost their heads or anything like that, but the various H.Q.'s found it impossible to keep pace with events. A regiment would be in a certain position, then it would be completely forgotten (or so it seemed), and no orders would arrive to move. Many C.O.'s retired entirely on their own initiative, and so got clear. Others decided to await instructions, and so got wiped out or captured.
As dusk gathered into darkness the confusion grew worse, while discomfort increased (if possible) with the steady downpour of ram which followed. But there was no moment's rest for the exhausted troops, save when a regiment came up against an obstacle across the road—a broken-down motor-van or gun-wagon. Then, if there were any sappers handy, the vehicle would be blown up and the road cleared.... Anyhow, keep moving!
And the dreadful agonies of the wounded. At St. Quentin there was a big hospital which had been gradually filling during the past twenty-four hours. Now, on this afternoon, G.H.Q. found it advisable to pack up in a hurry and leave for farther south. And the hospital—would it share the same fate as those of Mons and Le Cateau? Once again the movable cases were hastily got into ambulances and other conveyances, and carried off in the wake of G.H.Q. But for hundreds of men there was no chance of getting even so far as St. Quentin for attention. Through the day the R.A.M.C. had worked as hard as the fighters, but it was very little more than first aid which could be given. No chance for deft operation, anti-tetanus serum or the like.
So, mingled with the retreating army were the ghosts of men swathed in bloody bandages, some clinging to vehicles on which they had found a seat, others marching with vague, uncertain pace by the infantry, others, again, just dropping out, to huddle exhausted by the roadside waiting for dawn and a fate which now had no meaning for them.
Keep moving! ... Horse after horse in the slowly trekking columns of batteries or supply transport dropped down and fouled the wheels. Unhook or cut the traces; push the poor beast out of the road. An old pal, was he? Aye, he was a fine "wheeler," that dark bay! Remember the first time we had him in at practice camp? Nothing matters now but keeping on the move. Yes, better shoot him. He deserves a clean end.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds of men got cut adrift from their regiments that day, adrift and hopelessly lost in a strange country. No house, no village was safe as sanctuary, for the tide of invasion lapped at the threshold and would presently overwhelm it. One trivial incident I heard of seems worthy of record as an instance of "individuality" in the training of the British soldier.
A man—-we will call him Headlam—got adrift by himself from the 3rd Division out on the left flank. After many hours' wandering, he came to a little farmhouse on the road. Here the good woman took him in, fed him, and gave him a shakedown. There were also there a couple of French stragglers.
A few hours later the little son of the farm came running in with the news that a patrol of the dreaded Uhlans was coming down the road. That meant murder for everyone. There was no time to hide, and the French were at their wits' end.
Headlam's first thought was for cover. Out in the yard there was a big rain-tub. Calling the two French soldiers to help, they rolled it out longways on into the road, and one of them, with Headlam, got behind with their rifles. The moment the patrol appeared, Headlam gave the Uhlans an excellent example of rapid fire, and three saddles were empty before they realised where the attack came from. Then they charged. French and British, side by side, ground away with their rifles, and when the Uhlans reached the little fortress there were only three left out of the patrol of nine. The second Frenchman, by the side of the road, accounted for another, and, with three to two, the Uhlans surrendered.
So our three musketeers found themselves with five excellent horses and a couple of prisoners; and I leave you to picture the triumphal procession which passed through the villages on the southward journey. The order of march was: Jacques and a led horse, Pierre and a led horse, two disconsolate Uhlans on foot (and hating it), and Headlam (with female escort), as G.O.C., bringing up the rear....
Keep moving! ... But oh, the inexpressible weariness of it! No torture is more refined than that of preventing a worn-out human being from sleeping; and here it was experienced to the full. The picture of the Force that night might well have created for Dante the vision of one more circle of Hell.
Hunger was long since forgotten, but a red-hot thirst remained. One could appreciate as never before how Dives thirsted when he asked for Lazarus to touch his lips with a moistened finger. On, ever on, for hour after eternal hour, riding or trudging through the inky darkness, never a halt.... Keep moving!
How the troops did it I cannot tell. It was not the triumph of will over the exhausted body, for the sense of volition had fled, and men were mere automata in their movements. The legs jerked forwards as those of a clockwork toy. Had the men halted they could never have got moving again; the clockwork would have run down.
In the saddle it was little better. Every muscle of the body ached with an intolerable dull throbbing; a deadly coma crept through the brain and dragged at the eyelids. Nerveless fingers clutched at the pommel of the saddle, and were pulled away by the drag of the heavy arms.
One knows how a single night of sleeplessness will tell its tale in the face of a man or woman. Here was the fourth night of ceaseless fighting and marching, with only an odd hour of rest now and again.
All through the night and on into the daylight hours sounded the plod-plod of marching men, the grumble—creak—grumble of transport or guns. And in the far rear of the moving columns were more regiments lined out, showing a bold front to the still advancing enemy, ever guarding the backs of their comrades so far as was humanly possible.
One particularly sad disaster befell a regiment in the course of the retirement; it is remarkable that there were not many others of a like nature. The 1st Gordons lost their way after dark, and began to march in a direction across the front of the German advance. About midnight the regiment found itself moving into masses of troops. The first thought was that they were amongst the French, for it was supposed that they had been marching towards French support.
Suddenly fire was opened upon the regiment from all sides, and though the Gordons put up the gallant fight which they have ever done in a tight corner, the odds were too impossible, and ten minutes saw the end.
I think that disaster affected the Force more than anything else in that opening month. Men spoke of it in hushed tones. A magnificent regiment with glorious traditions, and to be crushed out as they were in those few minutes. And yet not crushed out! Though the older generation of the family may die, there is the younger generation which follows, and their sons after them. And well do I remember that younger generation at the Aisne, when the Regiment rose again reincarnate from the ashes of the dead. I see now the stern-set faces of the officers, proud in their determination to avenge their honour; faces shaded and hallowed by the knowledge of what the Regiment had done and suffered, what it must now do and suffer that their dead may rest in peace. As it was, so shall it be,
Rising, roaring, rushing like the tide,
(Gay goes the Gordon to a fight)
They're up through the fire-zone, not to be denied;
(Bayonets! and charge! by the right!)
Thirty bullets straight where the rest went wide,
And thirty lads are lying on the bare hillside;
But they passed in the hour of the Gordons' pride,
To the skirl of the pipers' playing.
[1] This Corps is always regarded in Germany as the finest in the German Army.
We are but warriors for the working-day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
*****
And time hath worn us into slovenry;
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim.
The following days saw no rest for the exhausted troops, and they were compelled to plod on ever farther and farther south. If the rapidity of the German advance was so astonishing, even more so was the speed at which the British retired before them. For it is a hundred times more easy to do the advancing than the retiring. In the former case there is the confidence of success, with the feeling that at any moment the coveted prize may be snapped up. In the latter there is the inevitable feeling that things are going wrong, that the army is suffering defeat, and the constant dread that the troops may not stand the tremendous strain upon their powers of endurance.
So it was that every encouragement was given to the rumour which ran through the Force that this was but a strategical retirement, part of the plan decided on years before between the French and British Headquarters Staffs. And the idea of the Retreat was that the British were to draw the Germans ever southward, while the Belgian forces were gradually closing in behind the invaders on the west, and the French doing the same on the east. Then at the psychological moment the signal would be flashed round, the British would suddenly turn and present a dead wall, the strings of the net would be pulled tight, and—hey presto! we should all be home by Christmas.
There was only one part of the scheme which everyone regretted, and that was that we should be out of the entry into Berlin. It is all very well to keep up your wicket while the other fellow makes the runs, but then the other fellow gets all the credit. You see, everybody knew for a fact that the Russians were only a couple of days from the German capital, and that heartened the Force almost more than anything else. However, one consoled the men by telling them that regiments were sure to be picked by ballot to represent the British in the march through; and as for the newspaper prizes to the first man or regiment in—well, that regiment would surely be sporting and share the prize.
How many times one must have explained this wonderful piece of strategy to the good French folk I should not like to guess. On passing through a little village, generally at dusk, one of the things one always had to do, after dispelling the fears of the ancient policeman who tried to hold up the battery with an antiquated fowling-piece, was to draw maps on the sanded floor of the café for the edification of the local magnates.
"Why do we thus retire, madame? But it is so simple. It is a piece of strategy of the most clever. The Allemands"—here the audience spit profusely—"come thus, the Belgians are here, etc. etc. At any moment we turn to attack, etc. How many English, madame? Ah, madame, it is not permitted to tell; but for your ear, madame (and I would tell no one else), they say that the second quarter of a million disembarked yesterday."
Perhaps our kindly hosts will by now have forgiven us, but at least much of it we believed ourselves at the time. It all helped to keep the men going and prevent sudden panic with the countryfolk. It is difficult to say whether we did wrong.
By 8 A.M. on the Thursday the retiring columns were well on their way beyond St. Quentin. The First Corps, during the eventful Wednesday, had also been steadily retiring, and had had comparatively little fighting to do. The condition of the troops will be remembered.
About half an hour later the rear-guard reached St. Quentin. The batteries marched in, watered their horses in the square, and marched out again immediately, the infantry covering them outside the town.
It was a little curious in St. Quentin—the attitude of the inhabitants. No one seemed to take any interest in the British movements, and certainly no one appeared to bother himself one atom about the German approach. St. Quentin is a big garrison town, with fine open places and streets, excellent shops and stately buildings, and the wealth of the place must be great. Yet there was never a hint of an exodus, and the people accepted the whole situation with astonishing sang-froid. I believe that when the Germans did arrive, a little later in the day, they surrounded the town and marched in from all sides at once, to find their triumphant entry opposed by—one British soldier. This man had got lost or left behind in a house, and now turned out with his rifle to defend the town. The German division had to open fire with a machine-gun upon the gallant lad before he fell, face to the enemy, riddled with bullets. The war can have witnessed few more remarkable episodes.
The fact that the R.F.A. with the rearguard were able to continue their retirement throughout the day without having to fire a round will show how well the Second Corps had smashed the German attack.
It should also be recorded that on this Thursday and Friday the Force had further help from the French. General Sordêt's cavalry continued its excellent work in relieving the pressure on the left of the Second Corps.
G.H.Q. had moved from St. Quentin on the Wednesday afternoon, and taken up their abode at Noyon, a cathedral town about 30 miles farther south. Here, again, no one seemed to have the slightest inkling of impending danger, and the business of the town was being carried on as usual. The mayor certainly posted a proclamation imploring the "citoyens" to remain calm and to pay no heed to rumours, and the citoyens obeyed by wondering why M. le maire should have so put himself about as to issue such a notice.
That was on the Thursday. But on the Friday the citoyens received something of a shock. A number of British regiments marched through in broad daylight, and it was now plainly to be seen that something very serious was happening. After the first gasp of astonishment and utter incredulity, the people stood by the road in dead silence with tears of pity running down their cheeks. So long as I live I can never forget that scene, the intense drama of it, the tragedy, and the glory of achievement which shone radiantly forth.
The remnants of three gallant regiments we watched go by, and we could look no longer. There is no need to say which they were, for they were but typical of all the other regiments in the Force that day. Again there were but a poor 200 men left of each 1,000. Officers and men alike in their pitiable destitution. Barefooted, or shifts of bandages round their swollen feet; torn breeches, cut short like football knickers. Great bearded men they were, with the grime and dust of five terrible days' incessant fighting and marching upon them; but in their eyes the unquenchable light of their native pluck and steadfastness. There was no trace of defeat there, only the hungry, dazed look of men who long for a little sleep before they turn once more to crash their way into an enemy's ranks.
It is not such things as these that our people at home are told, and so I set them down. Tales of gallant deeds in the fighting-line they have now in plenty, but the great human side of this bloody war is passed over in discreet silence. England knows nothing of the meaning of modern war; she has not suffered invasion, save from the predatory attacks of aircraft. Her sons are fighting for her, and the knowledge thrills our womenfolk; but of the conditions under which they have fought, and of the appalling sufferings of tortured Belgium and France and Poland and Serbia, they are hopelessly ignorant. If but a tenth part were thoroughly realised there would be one mighty irresistible cry from the heart of the civilised world:
"Stand at nothing to finish this war at once, and it shall be the last!"
There are no such things as neutral nations. If a nation refuses to be enrolled for Civilisation, then it is fighting by the side of the obscene Horror which has plunged Europe into this carnival of blood and misery.
On the Friday afternoon some of us learned from a wounded French lancer that the German centre had been badly smashed and was actually retiring from St. Quentin, owing to a French counter-offensive; also some of our cavalry had been doing specially good work south of that town. The 3rd Cavalry Brigade broke and beat back the Prussian Guard and another cavalry regiment, and the 5th Cavalry Brigade had a similar success with other German cavalry.
In the meantime G.H.Q. had removed still farther south to Compiègne, and occupied Napoleon's magnificent palace, or a wing of it.
It had been intended to give the Force a really good rest when they reached the River Oise on the Friday night. By that time the British line (both Corps) ran along the river from La Fère to Noyon. But it was, after all, little more than five or six hours which could be spared; many of the regiments and batteries did not even get that brief respite. "Keep moving" was still the order of the day.
But for the fortunate it was a glimpse of Paradise. It meant, above all else, a proper all-over wash and a clean shirt, even though you had to wash it yourself. It meant the luxury of a shave, if you could manage to get hold of anything in the shape of a razor. There was a square meal served out, and there were two or three hours of blessed sleep, when you lay with next to nothing on (for your shirt was drying) under a shady tree. It was all little enough, and, truth to tell, most of the men could only turn out of the ranks to fall straight into the sleep of utter exhaustion, a sleep of the clock round had it been allowed.
Tobacco in those days was a luxury, and it was needed most. Now there is a regular weekly ration, and in addition kind friends at home see that the supply of cigarettes does not fail. But in the Retreat the usual substitute was dried tea-leaves rolled in the parchment paper of the emergency ration. Tea-leaves are very nasty to smoke, but I am not sure that they are so nasty as brown paper or the seat of a cane-bottomed chair; and I have tried them all.
The men's equipment, too, was a constant source of trouble. They would throw away their greatcoats and packs, anything to march as lightly as possible. The Germans must have had a fine haul, and there were several occasions when they dressed up their infantry companies in British greatcoats and caps, and got well up to our lines before their identity was discovered.
And that reminds me that in Noyon we caught a German spy wearing no fewer than three different uniforms. First, a French; over it a Belgian; and on top of these a khaki greatcoat with cap. It was a very hot day, and the man's obvious discomfort was the first thing to give him away. It did not take ten minutes to settle that little affair.
By the time the two corps joined up again the refugee problem had become really serious. All the way back the army of unfortunates had been steadily growing larger, and it was but natural that they should hang on to the skirts of the Force for protection. How many of the poor women and little children died of exposure and exhaustion, it is impossible to tell. Our men were themselves badly off for food, but, needless to say, they were always eager to share their emergency rations with those who had nothing at all save what could be garnered in wayside village or cottage.
Rules about commandeering are most rigid; nothing must be taken without payment, or at least a voucher. I remember one C.O. buying a couple of fruit trees for his unit. But it went to the men's hearts to leave behind them tender chickens and toothsome bunnies, even though there was no chance of cooking them, to be snapped up by Germans with no such qualms of conscience.
Yet, to give the Germans credit, they did, in many cases, give written receipts for provisions when it was a question of an odd duck or bale of hay; but when a house was properly ransacked the receipt given more usually bore the signature of that redoubtable warrior, Herr von Koepenick. It was one of the very few occasions when they showed a sense of humour, if one can call it so.
Amongst those fortunate regiments which had been able to snatch the few hours' rest there was a very general, and a very natural, impression that a definite stand was now going to be made. The position was a good one, and it was also confidently expected that more divisions were being hurried out from England as fast as ship and train could bring them.
Perhaps, under other circumstances, the stand might indeed have been made. But what we did not know was that the main French Armies away to the east were being dealt a series of such smashing blows by the Germans that they were retiring almost more quickly than we were.
Although we are concerned here solely with the fortunes of the British Force, yet it must be remembered that the fighting on the west was only a small part of the general engagement, and that the Force had necessarily to conform with the main strategical idea. The capture of Paris would have been of incalculable moral value to the Germans. They recognised this, and therefore made that special bid for it. But the triumphant entry into Paris would have possessed no real value so long as the French and British Armies were still "in being." Just as, later, the capture of Warsaw was of little real value (save as a strategic centre), because the Russian Armies had escaped.
The position, then, on Saturday morning, the 29th, was:
(a) The Force was retiring, not too severely pressed by the enemy, but with continuous rear-guard actions.
(b) Two new French Armies (the 6th and 7th) were coming into position on our left, by Amiens and Roye.
(c) On our immediate right was the 5th French Army, the one which had suffered so badly after the fall of Namur.
(d) Generally, the French forces on the east were being steadily pushed back by the very strong enemy advance.
On that morning the Commander-in-Chief received a visit from General Joffre, and this is what took place. I quote from Sir John French's second dispatch:
"I strongly represented my position to the French Commander-in-Chief, who was most kind, cordial and sympathetic, as he has always been. He told me that he had directed the 5th French Army on the Oise to move forward and attack the Germans on the Somme with a view to checking pursuit.
"I finally arranged with General Joffre to effect a further short retirement towards the line Compiègne—Soissons, promising him, however, to do my utmost to keep always within a day's march of him."
It may be noted here (although, of course, we did not know it till much later) that, owing to the German advance on the west, Le Havre was evacuated as the British base, and the organisation, stores, hospitals and everything, were rushed at half a day's notice right down to St. Nazaire, at the mouth of the River Loire. It was an amusing episode in the war, and quite a happy little yarn it would make; "but that is another story," as Kipling says.
On the Saturday evening the Force was got on the move again, heartened and not a little refreshed. The country-side now was as lovely as any district in France. Gentle, undulating downs, crowned by the beautiful forest of Ligues, and besprinkled with dainty little villages and stately châteaux. If these lines should chance to be read by the mayor and mayoress of a certain little village hard by Compiègne, I would beg them to believe that the officer whom they so graciously entertained for those brief hours remembers their kindness with the deepest gratitude, and records the day as one of the most perfect he has ever spent. Officers and men made so many good friends even during those crowded hours of life, only to realise with heartfelt sorrow that perhaps half a day later their kindly hosts must have been engulfed by the tide of invasion.
I vividly recall how curious seemed that order to go on retiring when, from all accounts, the German centre had the previous day been so badly beaten. Madame's instincts, when the order came, were only too correct. She guessed the truth; we continued our trek hopelessly blind to the real facts.
KING HENRY. The sum of all our answer is but this:
We would not seek a battle, as we are;
Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it.
*****
We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.
March to the bridge;
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,
And on to-morrow bid them march away.
The destruction of a bridge, especially if it spans a river, always seems to me so pathetic. Bridges are such companionable things; they fall so readily into one's mood, and there are, I imagine, few persons who do not possess pleasant memories of one or another. Whether in town or country, there is always fascination in staying one's journey for a few minutes to lean over the parapet and watch the stream—the basking of a trout amongst the pebbles, the sway of the water-weeds, the trailing of heavy barges, or the twinkling shore-lights.
In Compiègne there is a particularly handsome structure which spans the River Oise. The French people love a noble bridge to ferry their broad highways over the rivers, and I cannot help thinking that it was not alone special reliance upon the workmanship of our sappers which induced the French authorities to resign to them the destruction. For, whenever possible, British sappers were called in for the work. They made such a clean job of it, the French would say. No; it was, I feel sure, their affection and pride for beautiful works of art with tender associations that made them reluctant to lay sacrilegious hands upon them.
It must have been on Sunday, the 30th, that the last of the Force marched through or past Compiègne, and the bridge, besides many another, was blown up. The R.F.A. of the rear-guard passed through the town and halted, guns unlimbered, about 500 yards out the other side, ready to open fire, if necessary, for they were being hard pressed. The fuses were laid and lighted literally in face of the advancing enemy, and two R.E. officers who were doing the work were killed by enemy bullets. With a terrific crash the bridge fell, cut in two, and the retirement was continued while the Germans hurled impotent curses and (at that time) ineffectual shells after the column.
The Second Corps had now reached country which was very difficult; not only for manoeuvre, but especially so for transport. Immediately after you leave Compiègne its glorious forest is entered, and directly that is passed it is a country of very steep ravines, thickly wooded, with little villages clinging limpet-like to the ridges. The heat of the day, too, was most trying.
The First Corps, which had joined up at Noyon, crossed the Aisne, and continued its retirement via Soissons.
The German pursuit, which during the last two or three days had seemed to slacken off, began to get serious again on the afternoon of Monday, the 31st.
About 3 P.M. three field batteries and the Brigade of Guards (First Corps) were out by Villers-Cotterets, and the Germans were pushing on almost as fast as they did during the first days. Their guns came into action at about 1,700 yards, and as our brigade there was far outnumbered, orders were given to go on retiring.
Well, the major of one of the batteries was "fed up" with retiring without getting some of his own back, so he put his telescope (a battery carries a telescope) to his blind eye and said he'd be hanged before he retired (or words to that effect), and "let's give them a dressing down first."
So it was "Halt; action right!" and, after a couple of ranging shots, "Two rounds gun-fire!" And that was all that battery got in. The Germans put a couple of guns out of action, and then turned their attention to the wagon line, where they made a considerable mess-up with the teams.
That settled it. "Signal the teams up and let's get out of it!" said the major; and it was so. The quartermaster-sergeant put the fear of God, not the Germans, into the drivers; up came the teams, "rear limber up," and away they went, damaged guns and all. The Guards meanwhile had gone on.
There was nothing particularly heroic about it all, but it was very excusable, and it certainly helped to buck the men up a little.
The Guards, however, gave further excellent evidence of their fighting qualities in a series of stiff hand-to-hand encounters in the forest glades. While they suffered badly, they succeeded again and again in beating back the enemy's attacks, and so further relieving the pressure on the rear.
Now, despite the continuous fighting and marching, there was no doubt whatever that the men were daily becoming more war-hardened and fit. The worst was over, and with that firm conviction their spirits grew lighter. During the first few days the troops were marching perhaps 25 to 30 miles a day, apart from the fighting. Take, for instance, Wednesday, the 26th. The men had begun that great fight practically tired out. They fought all day, and then at the end of it did a retirement of some 25 miles. Staff officers were simply worn out by the nerve-racking ordeal, and General Smith-Dorrien himself says that he did not average more than two hours' sleep during the first six days.
But the week's campaigning had done more for the troops than ten years' peace work. Their self-reliance, their confidence in and affection for their officers were evidenced in a hundred ways; while officers, for their part, had perfect confidence in their men and knew that, however impossible an order might seem, it would be carried out. The Force was, in short, one big happy family. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, and that meant that everybody helped everybody else. After the Marne it was never quite the same, because the Force began to increase in size. New-comers were immediately recognised, and the old hands could never resist a momentary exhibition of very pardonable pride at having "been out since the beginning."
The heavy losses in officers and N.C.O.'s had an inevitable effect on discipline, though it might well have been worse had not the sense of discipline amongst the rank and file been so strong. It must be remembered that so soon as the vanguard of the retiring Force passed through a village, practically the whole of the inhabitants would pack up such few of their belongings as they could carry on light carts, perambulators and any available vehicle, and then join the ever-growing stream of refugees. So the next units to pass through would find nothing but empty houses, and the temptation to carry away a few "souvenirs" was very hard to check, especially in the case of food.
One man of an infantry regiment "found" a horse wandering loose in a field. He was very tired, so why, thought he, should he not take what the gods sent him? He did, and rode the horse for a couple of days. Knowing nothing about horses, the poor beast got little enough to eat, and the man thought that the heaven-sent gift was becoming a nuisance. So he talked the matter over with a pal, and swopped his charger for—a packet of Woodbines! And I don't think the pal was a canny Scot either.
I remember particularly the date September 1st, and going through the little town of Crépy-en-Valois, because we then realised for the first time that something was wrong about that "strategical retirement" business. Our maps included Belgium and all N.E. France, but Compiègne was the farthest point south; and when we had retired below that town we knew that retreat so far south was not a part of the original scheme.
Then most of us saw some French troops for the first time, and, ominous sign, they were always engaged in barricading and mining the roads, opening the barricades to let us pass through.
But Tuesday, September 1st, must ever be a red-letter day in the annals of the Royal Regiment, on account of the famous fight of L Battery, R.H.A., at Nery, hard by Compiègne. I always regard that episode as one of the most wonderful incidents in this war. Nor do I think so because it was my own regiment, though naturally one can appreciate it the more from being a Gunner. The story is, of course, well known, but no repetition can mar the effect, however bald the telling of it may be.
L Battery was working with the 1st Cavalry Brigade, which was made up of the 2nd Dragoons (Queen's Bays), the 11th Hussars, and the 5th Dragoons. For the benefit of the uninitiated it may be explained that a horse artillery battery of six guns forms an integral part of a cavalry brigade; wherever the cavalry go, there can go the "Horse Gunners," for the gun is of lighter calibre than that of the field batteries.
About 2 o'clock in the morning word reached Second Corps H.Q. that a strong force of Germans, 90 guns and cavalry, was moving towards the 1st Cavalry Brigade in bivouac at Nery. The Third Army Corps, which was still included in General Smith-Dorrien's command, was also not far away. Our cavalry were actually bivouacked within about 600 yards of the Germans, and I believe that our outposts were, for some reason or other, not sufficiently advanced.
In an earlier chapter, writing of Captain Francis Grenfell, I have remarked that there was one other to whose life might well be applied the phrase: "Sans peur et sans reproche." That other was Captain E. K. Bradbury, of L Battery. All that I have ventured to say of Grenfell I would say also of Bradbury. I doubt whether there ever lived a Gunner officer who was more beloved by his men, or one more worthy to be so beloved. And when that is said, what else remains?
Half-past four in the morning, and the mists have scarcely begun to rise above the beech trees. You picture the guns of L Battery parked in line just on the downward slope of a slight hill and in a little clearing of the woods. The horses of the gun-teams are tethered to the gun and limber-wheels; others are down at a little stream hard by, where some of the men are washing and scrubbing out their shirts. The Queen's Bays are in bivouac in a neighbouring field.
"Some of our scouts out there, aren't they?" remarked a shoeing-smith, pointing to some rising ground about 500 yards to the north; "or is it French cursers?" (cuirassiers).
"Looks more like Germans to me," said one of the gunners. "Let's have a squint through the telescope."
"What's up?" said the sergeant-major, passing at the moment.
"Half a mo!" mumbled the gunner, eye glued to the battery telescope. "Yes, it is—Germans—I can see the spiky helmets."
"Rot," returned the sergeant-major; "can't be!"
"Anyway, I'm off to report to the captain," said the gunner.
Bradbury was talking to the horses by one of the guns when a breathless gunner of the battery staff appeared with the telescope.
"Beg pardon, sir, but there are——"
CRASH! A percussion shell burst clean in the middle of the battery, followed the next instant by a couple more. And in the few moments' breathless pause it was realised that practically every horse and every driver was either killed outright or wounded.
"Action rear!" yelled Bradbury, who found himself in command.
Their leader's voice above the unholy din pulled them together, and the gun detachments, such as were left, leaped to the trails to get the limbers clear. But no more than three guns could they get into action.
Now a tornado of shell and machine-gun bullets from close range burst over and through the devoted remnant—Bradbury, three subalterns (Giffard, Campbell and Mundy), the sergeant-major, a sergeant, a couple of gunners, and a driver. And in action against them were ten German field-guns, and two machine-guns enfilading from the wood.
Of their three guns, they had now to abandon two.
"All hands number 2 gun!" called Bradbury, who, with the sergeant, had already opened fire.
The others rushed the few yards to Bradbury's gun; but even in that short space Giffard was hit five times. Bradbury acted as No. 1 (layer), the sergeant No. 2, while Mundy acted as observing officer. One of the gunners and the driver carried across all the ammunition by hand, through the hail of lead, from the firing battery wagons.
The range was, say, 600 yards, but in such a nerve-racking storm it was difficult for the little detachment to work clearly with no one to observe the burst of the shells. There was only a little chance, but Mundy took it, and stepped calmly out from the shelter of the gun-shield to observe.
Then No. 2 gun began its work in earnest.
"Five minutes more left," said Mundy; "add twenty-five."
Crack went the report. "One out!" said Mundy.
"Ten minutes more right; drop twenty-five."
Crack again! "Short," murmured Mundy; then, "add twenty-five."
"Two out!" he counted.
When three German guns had been counted out, Bradbury called over his shoulder to the sergeant-major:
"Take my place; I'll load for a bit."
He had barely changed places when a bursting shell carried away a leg at the thigh. Yet, by some superhuman will-power, he stuck to his post and went on loading.
Now Mundy was mortally wounded. Then Campbell fell. But still the gun was served, laid, and fired. And as surely were the German guns being counted out, one by one.
Then there burst true another shell. The gallant Bradbury received his death-wound, and his other leg was carried away. The rest of the detachment were all wounded. Still that tiny remnant stuck to it through the storm.
Now only are left the sergeant-major, Sergeant Nelson, the gunner, and the driver. Still they work. Still they watch one enemy gun after another ceasing to fire, until all are counted out but one.
All the ammunition is finished. Nothing left now but to crawl back out of that hell. I Battery coming up? Well, they can finish it. Lend us some "wheelers" to get our guns back.
So were the six guns of L Battery brought out of action. Torn and battered, but safe. Glorious relics of perhaps the most wonderful action a battery of the Regiment has ever fought—and won.
I Battery opened on the massed columns of the German cavalry now appearing, and rent mighty lanes through their ranks, turned and scattered them. The Queen's Bays, who had been working as infantry, for their horses stampeded when the firing began, collected up, and with I Battery and the Lincolns went over the hill after the retiring enemy.
There they found the German battery out of action and abandoned.
And Bradbury? His last conscious words were an appeal for morphia and to be carried away as quickly as possible that his men might not witness his agony and be unnerved.
So passed that heroic soul away. A life nobly spent, a death nobly encountered.
Nothing is here for tears,
... nothing but well and fair
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.
FRENCH KING. 'Tis certain he hath passed the river Somme.
CONSTABLE OF FRANCE. And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France: let us quit all,
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
The fighting in the neighbourhood of Compiègne developed into something of a general action, an action in which the British more than held their own. There was some doubt whether the 4th Division would be able to shake off the heavy attack which was being made upon them, so another brigade was ordered to their help. The retirement was then easily effected.
The 3rd Brigade was a little north of Crépy-en-Valois, and, without waiting for the enemy, themselves made a spirited advance for a short distance, and did excellent work with their R.F.A. against the German infantry.
Soon after midnight on Wednesday, September 2nd, the Force continued its retirement. There may have been some little grumbling, and it became increasingly difficult to keep up the old fiction—now indeed a fact—about a "strategical retirement"; but, somehow or other, a genuine conviction was stealing through the ranks that at any moment the real end would come. If our men were very, very weary, so also were the enemy, and every day brought fresh evidence of the fact.
Then, too, news came to us that the French (the 7th Army) were really tackling von Buelow's armies, and were doing well against them. That had a very inspiriting effect.
Now the Force, or rather our left, was actually in sight of the outlying forts of Paris, about a dozen miles off. Great was the excitement, for, of course, everyone jumped to the conclusion that we were making for the capital. G.H.Q. was at Lagny-sur-Marne, just 15 miles due east of Paris. They actually got as far south as Melun, on the outskirts of the Forest of Fontainebleau, before the tide turned.
If you look at these places on the picture-map you will see that, after Senlis was passed, the Force, instead of retiring straight on towards Paris, as it had been doing, now swung round, with the right flank of the First Corps as pivot, and marched in a south-easterly direction. Possibly the enemy imagined from this that their chance had come, and that they would now be able to slip in between our left and Paris. But the new French army was coming up from behind Paris, upon our left, to fill the gap and cover the approaches to the city.
That swinging round movement to cross the River Marne was rather a risky business, for it meant marching for a certain distance across the enemy's front. However, it was successfully accomplished, and by the evening of September 3rd the Force was south of the river. That same afternoon our aircraft reported that the Germans had also swung eastwards, and were now apparently making for the large town of Château-Thierry, the point of division between our extreme right and the 5th French Army.
The position in which the Force found themselves that evening was wellnigh hopeless from a defensive point of view. To make matters worse, we were very badly off for entrenching tools, the men having lost the greater part in the hurried retirement after the hard battle at the Wednesday. This question of entrenching tools was further complicated by the removal of our base to St. Nazaire, for that meant a much more serious difficulty in getting up supplies.
I forgot to mention that when orders reached the Second Corps and 4th Division on the Thursday night to keep on the move, instructions were given by G.H.Q. to abandon everything, even the ammunition, which might retard the transport, and so to leave the vehicles free for wounded or the more exhausted of the men. Only one Division carried out the order, and that only partially, before the G.O.C. Second Corps on the spot realised it was unnecessary and countermanded it.
During and after the battle of Le Cateau, as I have said the fight of the Wednesday has come to be spoken of, a rather curious adventure befell one of the motor transport ammunition parks About ten of the lorries, under an A.S.C. subaltern, had been doing some detached work away from the main body. These had got out of rather a tight corner, but the rest of the park (some sixty odd lorries) had become involved in that mix-up at Estrées.
About 3 P M. the A.S.C. captain in charge received an order to go back in the direction of Le Cateau. This was, apparently, straight into the advancing enemy, who were only some three or four miles off. The C.O. obeyed his orders and took his lorries back. From that moment those sixty great lorries vanished into thin air, and not a soul knew what had happened to them. At G.H.Q. the unit was officially reported as "missing," and it so appeared, I believe, in the London Press.
The subaltern invented and spread abroad a delicious yarn. I omit his version of his own adventures, for he got a "mention in dispatches" for it, though this was subsequently quashed.
When the order to go back was received, he said, and annihilation of the park seemed certain, the O.C. called his subalterns together and told them the position. They unanimously decided to obey and charge the advancing enemy with the lorries. The drivers (our old friends the busmen) were instructed to go full speed ahead into the enemy column. But the drivers were not having any. So the officers produced their revolvers and threatened to shoot any man who refused to obey. That decided them. "We will die by German bullets rather than British." So away they went, the lorries bumping along the road straight into the ranks of the astonished Germans. Nothing could stop them, and the column got through (the narrator forgot to mention where to) with the loss of about half the park.
The subaltern carried his arm in a sling for a fortnight afterwards. A shrapnel splinter, he said, when they were rushing the enemy. It had really been caused by the back-fire of a motor-bike. Possibly this is the origin of that glorified picture which appeared in certain of the London illustrated papers.
The park was, however, actually lost for nearly a week. They had vanished as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them. They were eventually heard of by the merest accident, when a sergeant came in to one of the towns on the line of retreat to get provisions. But even then they could not be found, for the sergeant had gone again without leaving his address. So for days Staff officers scoured the country in swift cars, and thus the park was eventually run to earth. No one was more surprised than the C.O. to hear that he had been lost. They had not seen a single German, and they had had such a jolly time, thank you, seeing the pretty country.
But to tell of half the curious or amusing incidents I should need a volume many times the size of this one. Things happened every day any one of which would provide a newspaper with a column of excellent "copy." At the time one thought little about them, for everybody was too busy looking after his job and himself. There was, for instance, the Adventure of the Flat-Nosed Bullet, the Adventure of the Man with the Crooked Ear, the Adventure of the Field Cashier and the Pay Chest, the Adventure of the Blood-stained Putty Knife, the Adventure of the Perishing Cat, and many another.
The great question on the morning of Friday, September 4th, was: "Are we going right back to the Seine, with our left on Paris?" You picture the Force, tired enough but in most excellent fettle, growing hourly more impatient, longing with all their hearts to turn and have a go at the enemy who had caused them all that trouble and discomfort.
"Give a guess," I asked two of my sergeants that day, "how long we have been out here?"
They thought for a few minutes. "Six weeks," they said; "perhaps seven."
And, you see, it was only a fortnight after all. But they would not believe it until a calendar was produced. Unconsciously everyone reckoned each night as another day, for nights and days were alike so far as work was concerned. I think that remark was more telling than pages of descriptive writing.