STIRRING STORIES OF ANXIOUS DAYS.
In this chapter I am going to give you a selection of stories which
illustrate the fighting from the fall of Antwerp down to the 20th of
October 1914. Our first story tells how a British lady in her own yacht
carried off many refugees from Ostend while the enemy was actually in
the town.
[Illustration: Miss Jessica Borthwick steering the Grace Darling out of
Ostend Harbour.
(_Photo, Sport and General._)]
"At nine," says a newspaper correspondent, "we interviewed the official
in charge at the burgomaster's office. 'Fly,' he said tersely. 'The
Germans will be here, perhaps, in ten minutes.'... I had already
arranged a retreat. At ten o'clock we went on board the _Grace Darling_,
a schooner yacht which for the past weeks has been working the British
Field Hospital in Belgium. She was chartered and fitted out for the
purpose by Miss Jessica Borthwick at her own expense. As will appear,
the _Grace Darling_ was by three hours the last vessel out of Ostend....
"The Germans were now half a mile away, and we were lying well down in
the almost empty harbour. It became necessary to get our auxiliary
engine going, and make out at least as far as the harbour mouth. At a
quarter-past ten the first Germans appeared--a patrol of
Uhlans--trotting across the bridge that leads into the town from the
Blankenberghe road.
"At this critical moment the fact emerged that the man who had shipped
as a first-class engineer to work our engine for us was not an engineer
at all, but an organ-grinder! The organ-grinder's efforts to start the
engine were deplorable, and we were so placed we could not get a breath
of wind for the sails. The decks of the little yacht were covered with
refugees--Belgian fathers, women, and children. They watched with a
stricken calm a second and a third Uhlan patrol cross the bridge. Two
escaped soldiers in plain clothes who had come on board dropped their
uniforms into the water . . .
"Every moment we were expecting the appearance of the Germans on the
pier. Soon after midday we sailed at a majestic one mile per hour out of
the harbour with the British flag flying. Past the pierhead we found
some wind, actually got the engine started, and ploughed away at a
cheerful ten knots. A mile out we anchored, to await developments.
Through our glasses we saw four Uhlans standing like statues staring out
to sea. From over the horizon came racing a torpedo boat, got the news,
and promptly poked her nose into the harbour to see for herself. After
five minutes she backed out, and went away swiftly. Thereafter Miss
Borthwick and several correspondents, including myself, decided on a
scouting expedition of our own in the launch. We plunged ahead through
the green and lifting waves, raising a fine spray, till we were within a
few hundred yards of the _digue_.[48] There we saw four Germans running
across a little triangle of sandy beach and up on to the pier. We hung
on for a moment, anxious as to what would happen next.
"The Germans ran along the pier, the end of which was only two hundred
yards from us. When we saw them taking cover among the little buildings
at the end of the pier we considered it time to bolt. Promptly the
Germans fired a wide shot, and signalled to us to come in, but we made
for the open sea. Then they opened fire seriously. We lay as flat as we
could--which was not very flat, for we were tightly packed in the tiny
boat--and scooted. Two of the Germans were kneeling down with their
rifles resting on the rail at the end of the pier, and two standing up.
"It was an extremely uncomfortable four minutes before we were out of
range. They fired rapidly, but did not even hit the boat, though they
were very close above and beside us. We regained the _Grace Darling_,
raised anchor, and at once made for sea."
* * * * *
Here is a description of one of the French regiments which fought so
bravely under Maud'huy against the Bavarians round about Arras:--
"They have come a long way down the straight roads between the hills,
and there is dust in their eyes and throats, and they have arrived at
that moment in the march when the pack weighs heaviest, when the
shoulder-straps begin to rub, when the rifle seems to wear a hole in the
shoulder, and when the shoe begins to pinch. The best-hearted man in the
regiment knows that it is the time for a little joke. He begins to speak
about his captain, who is walking a yard away from him. 'Our captain
grows a little fat, I think, my little ones.' 'Yes,' says a comrade,
taking up the joke; 'it is possible that he has been eating too much.'
'And he has a great thirst, I am told,' says a third man. 'It is
marvellous what a thirst our captain has! Three bottles of red wine are
hardly enough to wet his throat.' 'He gets too old for war;' and so the
joke goes on, every word of which is heard by the captain, who finally
bursts into laughter, and says, 'You are impudent rascals, all of you.'
The bad moment has passed. The weight of the pack is forgotten, and
presently the baritone of the regiment sings the first line of a
marching song. The chorus goes lilting down the long white road between
the poplar sentinels."
* * * * *
Few stories have appeared with reference to the fighting round La
Bassée. A dispatch rider says: "There was one brigade there that had a
past. It had fought at Mons[49] and Le Cateau,[50] and then plugged away
cheerfully through the Retreat and the Advance. What was left of it had
fought stiffly on the Aisne. Some hard marching, a train journey, more
hard marching, and it was thrown into action at La Bassée. There it
fought itself to a standstill. It was attacked and attacked until,
shattered, it was driven back one wild night. It was rallied, and,
turning on the enemy, held them. More hard fighting, a couple of days'
rest, and it staggered into action at Ypres, and somehow--no one knows
how--it held its bit of line. A brigade called by the same name,
consisting of the same regiments, commanded by the same general, but
containing scarce a man of those who had come out in August, marched
very proudly away from Ypres, and went--not to rest, but to hold another
bit of the line.
"And this brigade was not the Guards' Brigade. There were no picked men
in the brigade. It contained just four ordinary regiments of the
line--the Norfolks, the Bedfords, the Cheshires, and the Dorsets. What
the 15th Brigade did other brigades have done."
* * * * *
You have just heard of the splendid endurance of the Dorsets. Here is
another story concerning their doings. It is told by Private Cornelius
O'Leary. "We encountered the Germans when they were making one of their
fiercest attacks in their efforts to get through to Cálais. There were
eight companies of us (1st Dorset Regiment), numbering 120 officers and
men apiece, and the fight took place in a very large turnip field. The
German artillery was in front of us, and the Maxim fire was on the right
and left. It was impossible for us to make trenches, so we had to place
our packs in front of us, and do the best we could. We were often
outnumbered by ten to one, as the Germans were almost continually being
reinforced. But we defeated them with heavy loss."
* * * * *
Armoured motor cars, equipped with machine guns, played an important
part during the fighting of October. "In their employment", says
"Eye-witness," "our gallant allies the Belgians, who are now fighting
with us, and acquitting themselves nobly, have shown themselves to be
experts. They appear to regard Uhlan-hunting as a form of sport. The
crews display the utmost dash and skill in this form of warfare, often
going out several miles ahead of their own advanced troops, and seldom
failing to return loaded with spoils in the shape of Lancer caps,
busbies, helmets, lances, rifles, and other trophies, which they
distribute as souvenirs to crowds in the market places of frontier
towns."
* * * * *
No man fought an armoured motor car more gallantly and successfully than
Commander Sampson, the famous airman. "He is," says a correspondent,
"the will o' the wisp of the British army, and he peppers the Germans
according to his fancy, from aeroplane, armoured motor car, or armoured
train." On one occasion two machine guns continually annoyed our
advanced trenches. Eventually they were discovered; one was in a
windmill, the other in a neighbouring cottage. Commander Sampson took
out an armoured car with a three-pounder quick-firing gun, and one
morning the Germans were surprised to see a low slate-coloured car come
rushing out of the British lines, followed by heavy but rather wild
rifle fire. The Germans naturally thought that the car was one of their
own attempting to escape from the British, so they refrained from firing
on it. Just as the car appeared to be about to enter the German lines it
pulled up. In fifteen seconds the windmill, with its machine gun and
crew, was blown to pieces by the shells from the quick-firer, and before
the astonished Germans could collect themselves the gun had swung round,
and more shells had crashed into the cottage, which was soon destroyed.
Then the car shot back to the British lines, to be received not with
rifle fire, but with a loud burst of cheering. It is said that the
Kaiser was so exasperated at Commander Sampson's successful daring in
this and many other adventures, that he offered a reward of £1,000 to
any German soldier who could kill him.
* * * * *
[Illustration: The Arrows of Death.]
It was during the month of October that we first learnt of the new
weapon served out to our flying corps. It consists of an arrow-shaped
missile of steel like a pointed lead pencil. A mechanical device spreads
these missiles out as they fall from the aeroplane, so that they cover
an area of about 200 square yards when dropped from a height of 500
yards. From this height the arrow of death will pass right through a
man's body.
* * * * *
"Eye-witness" tells us that "an easy capture was effected by an engineer
telegraph linesman. Returning in the dark after repairing some air lines
which had been cut by shell fire, he was passing through a wood, when
his horse shied at some figures crouching in a ditch. He called out,
'Come out of it!' whereupon to his surprise three German cavalrymen
emerged and surrendered. He marched them back to his headquarters."
* * * * *
An action fought near a village less than a mile to the north of
Armentières was brought about by a pig. The British and German trenches
were so near that the soldiers talked with each other, made jokes, and
even learnt the names of their opponents. One day a pig walked on to the
strip of land between the trenches. British and Germans alike shot at
him, and down he fell. Both sides wanted the pig, for roast pig is a
pleasant change from the dull and tasteless round of ordinary rations.
But how was he to be got in? To go out to fetch him meant instant death.
Five daring soldiers lost their lives over that pig, and still he lay
unreclaimed between the trenches.
There was a big fellow in the German trench named Hans Müller. He crept
out of his trench in the night, tied a rope to the pig's leg, and
crawled back to his trench unhurt. The Germans waited till morning came,
so that the British might see their triumph, and then began hauling in
the pig. It was a bitter moment for the British, and the Germans did not
forget to rejoice loudly in their success. But the British had their
revenge: two nights later they took that German trench with the bayonet.
That is how they made things even.
* * * * *
The dispatch rider already quoted tells us that spies were very busy in
and behind our lines. "I heard a certain story, which I give as an
illustration and not as a fact. There was once an artillery brigade
billeted in a house two miles or so behind the lines. All the
inhabitants of the house had fled, for the village had been heavily
bombarded. Only a girl had had the courage to remain, and to act as
hostess to the British. She was fresh and charming, clever at cooking,
and modest in manner. Now, it was noticed that our guns could not be
moved without the Germans knowing their new position. No transports or
ammunition limbers were safe from their guns. The girl was told of the
trouble; she was angry and sympathetic, and swore that through her the
spy would be discovered. She spoke the truth."
One night a man, who had his suspicions, saw the girl go into a cellar
as if to bring up coal. He followed her, and, groping about in the dark,
touched a wire. Quickly running his hand along it, he came to a
telephone. The truth was now out. The Germans were receiving their
information from the girl, who posed as the friend of the British. In a
few hours she suffered the usual fate of spies.
* * * * *
"Battle noises," says the dispatch rider, "are terrific. At the present
moment a howitzer is going strong behind us, and the noise is
tremendous. It is like dropping a traction engine on a huge tin tray. A
shell passing away from you over your head is like the loud crackling of
a newspaper close to your ear. It makes a sort of deep, echoing crackle
in the air, gradually lessening, until there is a dull boom, and a mile
or so away you see a thick little cloud of white smoke in the air, or a
pear-shaped cloud of gray-black smoke on the ground. Coming towards you,
a shell makes a cutting, swishing note, gradually getting higher and
higher, louder and louder. There is a longer note one instant, and then
it ceases. Shrapnel bursting close to you has the worst sound.
"It is almost funny to be in a village that is being shelled. Things
simply disappear. You are standing in an archway a little back from the
road--a shriek of shrapnel. The windows are broken, and the tiles rush
clattering into the street, while little bullets and bits of shell jump
from side to side, until their force is spent. Or, a deeper bang, a
crash, and a whole house tumbles down."
[Footnote 48: Harbour wall.]
[Footnote 49: See Vol. II., pp. 26 ff.]
[Footnote 50: See Vol. II., p. 91.]