THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT
It was from this point that the great "Retreat from Mons" really began.
The road in front of the Battalion was hit by one or two shells.
Apparently it was being "searched," and so the Battalion was hastily
moved into the open fields, assuming what is known as "Artillery
Formation," i.e. small collections of troops, moving on the same
objective, with "irregular distances and depths." By this means many
lives must have been saved. After about a mile of very hurried marching,
through turnip fields and stubble, the road was again reached, and the
Battalion was apparently out of the enemy's range.
The heat was beginning to be intense. The men had marched for the last
three days almost incessantly, and without sufficient sleep. Sunday
night in the firing-line had been full of excitement of battle, and all
Monday morning had been spent at digging trenches. Imagine the state of
the men! Dirty from digging, with a four days' growth of beard, bathed
in sweat, eyes half closed with want of sleep, "packs" missing, lurching
with the drunken torpor of fatigue, their own mothers would not have
known them! There was no time to rest and sleep, when rest and sleep
were the most desirable things on earth. Those men assuredly knew all
the agonies of a temptation to sell for a few moments' sleep their
liberty and lives.
During a halt the Subaltern threw himself so heavily in a cabbage patch,
that his revolver became unhitched from his belt, and when the halt was
over he lurched to his feet and on, without noticing its loss. Careless?
Perhaps, but one of his men lost his rifle and never noticed it, because
he was carrying a spade!
There was, however, one consolation. The Germans had for the time been
shaken off; although the noise of battle could still be heard
uncomfortably near on the left. But if one waits long enough, the
hottest sun must go to rest, and drag its horrible day with it. About
six o'clock the Battalion at last came up with its "Cookers" and
transport. Glory of glories, rest had at last been achieved! Never had
bacon been so welcome, never tea so desirable, so stimulating, so
wonderful.
The Quartermaster-Sergeant had some terrifying tales for the Company
Mess about disasters on less fortunate parts of the line; but there was
no time to go into the matter, for the Battalion was ordered to parade
immediately. This was the last straw! The men had been looking forward
to, and longing for a good sleep that night. Every aching limb of their
bodies cried out for rest, and here they were going to be put on outpost
duty for yet another night. Imagine their state of mind! Is there a
word to cope with the situation? Assuredly not, though great efforts
were made! Darkness fell so swiftly that the Officers had scarcely time
to "site" the position of their trenches. Then the weary business of
entrenching began again. Have you ever heard the tinkering, tapping,
thudding sounds made by entrenching implements or spades? None of the
men who heard it that night will ever forget it. It will give them a
memory of energy, promoted by the desire for safety, clogged by heat and
fatigue.
At about eleven or twelve at night a fair cover had been made, and the
long-sought rest became possible at last--not, however, the sleep that
the Subaltern had been longing for all day, not complete oblivion to
body and mind, for the fear of surprise was upon him even in his sleep,
and he knew that if his precautions should prove insufficient, he would
have to answer for sixty good lives. In addition there was the cold of
the cloudless night, and the clinging wetness of the dew. These things
would not have allowed him to sleep, even if he could.
A fresh day began very similar to the last. There were no signs of the
enemy to the immediate front, so the work of entrenching continued. A
"fatigue party" went to draw rations, which were distributed at about
seven o'clock. This was their first introduction to "bully" beef and
hard biscuits. Also, wonder of wonders, a "mail" was distributed.
He was lying in the corn just beginning to eat a biscuit and read a
letter, when the voice of the Senior Subaltern called him from somewhere
up the line. Thinking that he had got another letter, or something of
that sort, he did not wait to put letters and rations in his haversack,
but went straight to his Senior. "A party of Uhlans, about 100 strong,
have broken through the line further up. We have got to prevent them
from taking us by surprise on this flank. So you had better take a
couple of sections to keep them off." Commands on the battlefield must
never be didactic and narrow. Tell a man what to do, give him his
mission, and how he will carry it out, the methods he will employ, are
for himself to determine.
He hurriedly collected his men and took up a position astride a road
that ran behind, parallel to the lines. In peace-time manoeuvres one
had generally been told the direction from which to expect the enemy,
hours before he actually came; now, when the great game was being played
in real earnest, he found that he had to guess. The Uhlans might have
come unsuspecting along the road, in which case the game would be his;
or they might come blundering along from somewhere in the rear and
enfilade him, in which case the game would most assuredly be theirs.
Fortunately, the Uhlans did not come at all.
Meanwhile a very rare and lucky circumstance was beginning to be
apparent. The enemy were actually attacking from the direction they
were expected! But this was only to be a rear-guard action, so he never
saw his rations or letters again, after all.
The Senior Subaltern was left to "hold out" in a small cottage in the
firing-line until the rest had "got away." With characteristic
forethought and presence of mind he not only got his men away without
loss, but seized all luxuries in the place!
As on the day before, in getting clear away from the enemy, the Company
had to pass a large stretch of ground which was being literally peppered
with shrapnel. The noise was louder than it had seemed on the previous
day. Thunder seemed muffled beside it. Moreover, thunder rolled--seemed
to spread itself into space--but not so with bursting shells. The clap
of sound caused by one is more confined, more localised, more intense.
The earth seems to quiver under it. It suggests splitting, a terrible
splitting. Only the nerves of the young and healthy can stand it. It
would not be so bad if one could see the thing whistling through the
air, or even when it bursts; but one cannot. After the crash a man may
scream or moan, totter and fall, but for all one can see he might have
been struck down by the wrath of God.
The road safely reached, the retreat was continued, but under very
trying circumstances for the Company. The Brigadier in charge of the
rear-guard action, not having sufficient cavalry at his disposal,
ordered the Company to take up the rôle of flank-guard to the retreating
column. The Company, extended over a long front, had to move across
rough country, intersected with all sorts of obstacles, at the same rate
as the infantry on the road, "which," as Euclid says, "is impossible."
In war, however, the logically "impossible" is not impossible really,
only very fatiguing.
Things grew from bad to worse. The men could no longer keep their places
in the ranks. If one had seen them and not known the spirit of the
British Army, one would have thought that they were a dispirited,
defeated rabble. Yet, in their own minds, the Officers and men had no
doubts about what was going to happen: they were going to fight even
though they might not sleep; and their determination was shaken not one
whit.
There was a very welcome halt for an hour in the town, for the men to
fill their water-bottles and rest.
The men's feet were beginning to suffer terribly, for the road along
which they were marching had been cobbled--cobbles, not as we know them
in England, but rounded on the surface--cobbles that turned one's
ankles, cobbles that the nails of one's boots slipped on, that were
metallic, that "gave" not the fraction of a millimetre. The hob-nails in
the Subaltern's boots began to press through the soles. To put his feet
to the ground was an agony, and they swelled with the pain and heat. The
bones of them ached with bearing his weight. They longed for air, to be
dangling in some cool, babbling stream. The mental strain of the
morning's action was as nothing compared to the physical pain of the
afternoon. The Colonel, seeing his plight, offered to lend him his
horse, but he thanked him and declined, as there is a sort of grim pride
in "sticking it." The men, too, took an unreasonable objection to seeing
their Officers avail themselves of these lifts. Then the heavens were
kind, and it rained; they turned faces to the clouds and let the drops
fall on their features, unshaven, glazed with the sun, and clammy with
sweat. They took off their hats and extended the palms of their hands.
It was refreshing, invigorating, a tonic.
Somebody had heard the General say that they should have a rest, a real
rest, that night. High hopes filled weary hearts. It got about that they
were to be billeted in that suburb of Landrécies through which they had
passed, Maroilles.