Connaught Rangers, and tells how they saved six guns which had been
taken by the enemy. The sight of British guns in German hands was too
much for the temper of the Connaughts, who came on with an irresistible
charge, compelling the guns to be abandoned, and enabling the Royal
Field Artillery to dash in and drag them out of danger. Another soldier
relates that the Connaughts were trapped by a German abuse of the white
flag and suffered badly when, all unsuspecting, they went to take over
their prisoners; but they left their mark on the enemy on that occasion,
and "when the Connaught blood is up," as one of the Rangers expresses
it, "it's a nasty job to be up agin it."
Stories of Irish daring might be multiplied, but these are sufficient to
show that the old regiments are still full of the fighting spirit. "Now
boys," one of their non-commissioned officers is reported to have said,
"no surrender for us! Ye've got yer rifles, and yer baynits, and yer
butts, and after that, ye divils, there's yer fists." A drummer of the
Irish Fusiliers who had lost his regiment, met another soldier on the
road and begged for the loan of his rifle "just to get a last pop at the
divils." Sir John French is himself of Irish parentage--Roscommon and
Galway claim him--and there is no more ardent or cheerful fighter in the
British army.
"It beats Banagher," says a jocular private in the Royal Irish, "how
these Germans always disturb us at meal times. I suppose it's just the
smell of the bacon that they're after, and Rafferty says we can't be too
careful where we stow the mercies." From all accounts the Germans taken
prisoner are about as ill-fed as they are ill-informed. Private Harkness
of the same regiment, says the captives' first need is food and then
information. One of them asked him why the Irish weren't fighting in
their own civil war. "Faith," said he, "this is the only war we know
about for the time being, and there's mighty little that's _civil_ about
it with the way you're behaving yourselves." The German looked gloomy,
and, added Harkness, "I don't think he liked a plain Irishman's way of
putting things."
VIII
"A FIRST-CLASS FIGHTING MAN"
"If ever I come back, and anybody at home talks to me about the glory of
war, I shall be d----d rude to him." That is an extract from the letter
of an officer who has seen too much of the grim and ugly side of the
campaign to find any romance in it. Yet out of all the horror there
emerge incidents of conspicuous bravery that strike across the
imagination like sunbeams, and cast a glow even in the darkest corners
of the stricken field.
Valor is neither a philosophy nor a calculation. The soldier does not
say to himself, "Look here, Atkins,
'One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.'"
He goes into the business of war determined to get it over as quickly as
possible,[E] and when he does something stupendous, as he does nearly
ever day, it is just because the thing has to be done, and he is there
to do it. Tommy Atkins doesn't stop to think whether he is doing a brave
thing, nor does he wait for orders to do it; he just sets about it as
part of the day's work, and looks very much abashed if anybody applauds
him for it.
For instance, there is a man in the Buffs (the story is told by a driver
of the Royal Marine Artillery), who picked up a wounded comrade and
carried him for more than a mile under a vicious German fire that was
exterminating nearly everything. It was a fine act of heroism. "Yet if
anybody were to suggest the V.C. he'd break his jaw," says the writer,
"and as he's a man with a 4.7 punch the men of his regiment keep very
quiet about it."
Some fine exploits are recorded of the Artillery. When the Munster
Fusiliers were surrounded in one extended engagement a driver of the
R.F.A. named Pledge, who was shut up with them, was asked to "cut
through" and get the assistance of the Artillery. Lance-Corporal John
McMillan, Black Watch, thus describes what happened: "Pledge mounted a
horse and dashed through the German lines. His horse was brought to the
ground, and, as we afterwards discovered, he sustained severe injuries
to his legs. Nothing daunted, he got his horse on its feet, and again
set off at a great pace. To get to the artillery he had to pass down a
narrow road, which was lined with German riflemen. He did not stop,
however, but dashed through without being hit by a single bullet. He
conveyed the message to the artillery, which tore off to the assistance
of the Munsters, and saved the situation."
The saving of the guns is always an operation that calls for
intrepidity, and many exploits of that kind are related. Lance-Corporal
Bignell, Royal Berks, tells how he saw two R.F.A. drivers bring a gun
out of action at Mons. Shells had been flying round the position, and
the gunners had been killed, whereupon the two drivers went to rescue
the gun. "It was a good quarter of a mile away," says the witness, "yet
they led their horses calmly through the hail of shell to where the gun
stood. Then one man held the horses while the other limbered up. It
seemed impossible that the men could live through the German fire, and
from the trenches we watched them with great anxiety. But they came
through all right, and we gave them a tremendous cheer as they brought
the gun in."
Sir John French in one of his despatches records that during the action
at Le Cateau on August 26th the whole of the officers and men of one of
the British batteries had been killed or wounded with the exception of
one subaltern and two gunners. These continued to serve one gun, kept up
a sound rate of fire, and came unhurt from the battlefield.
Another daring act is described by W.E. Motley, R.F.A. "Things became
very warm for us," he says, "when the Germans found the range. In fact
it became so hot that an order was passed to abandon the guns
temporarily. This is the time when our men don't obey orders, so they
stuck to their guns. They ceased their fire for a time. The enemy,
thinking our guns were out of action, advanced rapidly. Then was the
time our men proved their worth. They absolutely shattered the Germans
with their shells."
Some gallant stories are told of the Royal Engineers. One especially
thrilling, is given in the words of Darino, a lyrical artist of the
Comédie Française, who joined the Cuirassiers, and was a spectator of
the scene he describes. A bridge had to be blown up, and the whole place
was an inferno of mitrailleuse and rifle fire. "Into this," he relates,
"went your Engineers. A party of them rushed towards the bridge, and,
though dropping one by one, were able to lay the charge before all were
sacrificed. For a moment we waited. Then others came. Down towards the
bridge they crept, seeking what cover they could in their eagerness to
get near enough to light the fuse. Ah! it was then we Frenchmen
witnessed something we shall never forget. One man dashed forward to his
task in the open, only to fall dead. Another, and another, and another
followed him, only to fall like his comrade, and not till the twelfth
man had reached the fuse did the attempt succeed. As the bridge blew up
with a mighty roar, we looked and saw that the brave twelfth man had
also sacrificed his life."
During the long retreat from Mons the Middlesex Regiment got into an
awkward plight, and a bridge--the only one left to the Germans--had to
be destroyed to protect them. This was done by a sergeant of the
Engineers, but immediately afterwards his own head was blown away by a
German shell. "The brave fellow certainly saved the position," writes
one of the Middlesex men, "for if the Germans had got across that night
I'm afraid there would have been very few of us left."
Other daring incidents may be told briefly. One of the liveliest is
that of seven men of the Worcesters, who were told they could "go for a
stroll." While loitering along the road they encountered a party of
Germans, and captured them all without firing a shot. "We just covered
them with our rifles," writes Private Styles; "so simple!" Sir John
French relates a similar exploit of an officer who, while proceeding
along the road in charge of a number of led horses, received information
that there were some of the enemy in the neighborhood. Upon seeing them
he gave the order to charge, whereupon three German officers and 106 men
surrendered! On another occasion a portion of a supply column was cut
off by a detachment of German cavalry and the officer in charge was
summoned to surrender. He refused, and starting his motors off at full
speed dashed safely through.
Hairbreadth escapes are related in hundreds of letters, and they have a
dramatic quality that makes the ineffectual fires of imaginative fiction
burn very low. Sergeant E.W. Turner, West Kents, writes to his
sweetheart: "The bullet that wounded me at Mons went into one breast
pocket and came out of the other, and in its course passed through your
photo." Private G. Ryder vouches for this: "We were having what you
might call a dainty afternoon tea in the trenches under shell fire. The
mugs were passed round with the biscuits and the 'bully' as best they
could by the mess orderlies, but it was hard work messing through
without getting more than we wanted. My next-door neighbor, so to speak,
got a shrapnel bullet in his tin, and another two doors off had his
biscuit shot out of his hand." Lieutenant A.C. Johnstone, the Hants
county cricketer, after escaping other bullets and shells which were
dancing around him, was hit over the heart by a spent bullet, which on
reaching hospital he found in his left-hand breast pocket. Private
Plant, Manchester Regiment, had a cigarette shot out of his mouth, and a
comrade got a bullet into his tin of bully beef. "It saves the trouble
of opening it," was his facetious remark.
One of the Royal Scots Fusiliers was saved by a cartridge clip. He felt
the shock and thought he had been hit, but the bullet was diverted by
the impact owing to a loose cartridge. Had it been struck higher up all
the cartridges might have exploded. Another letter mentions a case where
a man got two bullets; one struck his cartridge belt, and the other
entered his sleeve and passed through his trousers as far as the knee,
without even scratching him. Drummer E. O'Brien, South Lancashires, had
his bugle and piccolo smashed, his cap carried away by a bullet, and
another bullet through his coat before he was finally struck by a piece
of shrapnel which injured his ankle; and another soldier records thus
his adventures under fire: (1) Shell hit and shattered my rifle; (2) Cap
shot off my head; (3) Bullet in muscle of right arm. "But never mind, my
dear," he comments, "I had a good run for my money." Staff-Sergeant J.W.
Butler, 1st Lincolns, was saved by a paper pad in his pocket book; the
bullet embedded itself there.
Sapper McKenny, Royal Engineers, records the unique experience of a
comrade whose cap was shot off so neatly that the bullet left a groove
in his hair just like a barber's parting! He thinks the German who fired
the shot is probably a London hairdresser.
Private J. Drury, 3rd Coldstream Guards, also had a narrow escape, being
hit by a bullet out of a shell between the left eye and the temple. "It
struck there," he relates, "but one of our men got it out with a safety
pin, and now I've got it in my pocket!"
The amusing escapade of "wee Hecky MacAlister," is told by Private T.
McDougall, of the Highland Light Infantry. Hecky went into a burn for a
swim, and suddenly found the attentions of the Germans were directed to
him. "You know what a fine mark he is with his red head," says the
writer to his correspondent, and so they just hailed bullets at him.
Hecky, however, "dooked and dooked," and emerged from his bath happy but
breathless after his submarine exploit.
But while the men in the trenches applaud all the brilliant exploits of
their fellows, and laugh and jest over the lively escapes of the lucky
ones who, in Atkins's phraseology, "only get their hair parted," there
are other fine deeds done in the quiet corners of hospitals and out of
the glamour of battle that move the strongest to tears. Such is the
incident related by a member of the Royal Army Medical Corps, and it is
a fitting story with which to close this chapter. One soldier, mortally
wounded, was being attended by the doctor when his eye fell on a dying
comrade. "See to him first, doctor," he said faintly, "that poor bloke's
going home; he'll be home before me."
IX
OFFICERS AND GENTLEMEN
"He died doing his duty like the officer and gentleman he was." Could
any man have a finer epitaph? It is an extract from a letter written by
Private J. Fairclough, Yorkshire Light Infantry, to General A. Wynn, and
refers to the death of the General's son, Lieutenant G.O. Wynn, killed
in action at Landrecies. The letter goes on to tell of the affection in
which the young officer was held by his men, and this story of courage
and unselfishness in the field is the simple but faithful tribute of a
devoted soldier.
The war has brought out in a hundred ways the admirable qualities of all
ranks in the British Expeditionary Force; but the relations of officers
and men have never been revealed to us before with such friendly candor
and mutual appreciation. Over and over again in these letters from the
front the soldiers are found extolling the bravery and self-sacrifice
of their officers. "No praise is too great for them," "our officers
always pull us through," "they know their business to the finger-tips,"
"as cool as cucumbers under fire," "magnificent examples," "absolutely
fearless in the tightest corners"--these are some of the phrases in
which the men speak proudly of those in command.
One officer in the 1st Hampshire Regiment read _Marmion_ aloud in the
trenches, under a fierce maxim fire, to keep up the spirits of his men;
and they "play cards and sing popular songs to cheer us up," adds
another genial soldier. Not that the men suffer much from depression. On
the contrary, the commanders agree that their spirits have been
splendid. "Our men are simply wonderful," writes an officer in the
cavalry division; "they will go through anything."
The most surprising thing in the soldiers' letters is that they should
show such an extraordinary sense of the dramatic. They throb with
emotion. Take this account of the death of Captain Berners as written by
Corporal S. Haley, of the Brigade of Guards, in a letter published by
the _Star_:
"Captain Berners, of the Irish, was the life and soul of our lot. When
shells were bursting over our heads he would buck us up with his humor
about Brock's displays at the Palace. But when we got into close
quarters it was he who was in the thick of it. And didn't he fight! I
don't know how he got knocked over, but one of our fellows told me he
died a game 'un. He was one of the best of officers, and there is not a
Tommy who would not have gone under for him."
Among those who fell at Cambrai was Captain Clutterbuck, of the King's
Own (Lancaster) Regiment. He was killed while leading a bayonet charge.
"Just like Clutterbuck," wrote a wounded sergeant, describing the
officer's valor, and adding, "Lieutenant Steele-Perkins also died one of
the grandest deaths a British officer could wish for. He was lifted out
of the trenches wounded four times, but protested and crawled back again
till he was mortally wounded."
A sergeant of the Coldstream Guards, in an account given to the _Evening
News_, speaks of the death of Captain Windsor Clive. "We were sorry to
lose Captain Clive, who," he says, "was a real gentleman and a soldier.
He was knocked over by the bursting of a shell, which maddened our
fellows I can tell you." The utmost anger was also aroused in the men of
the Lancaster Regiment by the death of Colonel Dykes. "Good-by, boys,"
he exclaimed as he fell; and "By God, we avenged him," said one of the
"boys" in describing the fight.
Many instances are given of the devotion shown by the soldiers in saving
their officers. Private J. Ferrie, of the Royal Scots Fusiliers, wounded
while defending a bridge at Landrecies, tells in the _Glasgow Herald_
how Sergeant Crop rescued Lieutenant Stephens, who had been badly hit
and must otherwise have fallen into the enemy's hands: "The sergeant
took the wounded lieutenant on his back, but as he could not crawl
across the bridge so encumbered he entered the water, swam the canal,
carried the wounded man out of line of fire, and consigned him to the
care of four men of his own company. Of a platoon of fifty-eight which
was set to guard the bridge only twenty-six afterwards answered to the
roll call."
On the other hand, there are many records of the tremendous risks taken
by officers to rescue wounded men. Private J. Williams, Royal Field
Artillery, had two horses shot under him and was badly injured "when the
major rushed up and saved me." "I was lying wounded when an artillery
major picked me up and took me into camp, or I would never have seen
England again," writes Lance-Corporal J. Preston, Inniskilling
Fusiliers. Lieutenant Sir Alfred Hickman was wounded in the shoulder
while rescuing a wounded sergeant under heavy fire. How another disabled
man was brought in by Lieutenant Amos, is told by Private George
Pringle, King's Own Scottish Borderers. "Several of us volunteered to do
it," he says, "but the lieutenant wouldn't hear of anybody else taking
the risk." Captain McLean, Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, saved one
of his men under similar circumstances. All the letters are full of
praise of the officers who, in the words of Private James Allan, Gordon
Highlanders, "seem to be mainly concerned about the safety of their men,
and indifferent to the risks they take upon themselves."
Every Tommy knows he is being finely led. The officers are a constant
source of inspiration and encouragement. Private Campbell, Irish
Fusiliers, writes:
"Lieutenant O'Donovan led us all the time, and was himself just where
the battle was hottest. I shall never forget his heroism. I can see him
now, revolver in one hand and sword in the other. He certainly accounted
for six Germans on his own, and inspired us to the effort of our lives.
He has only been six months in the service, is little more than a boy,
but the British Army doesn't possess a more courageous officer."
The Scottish Borderers speak proudly of Major Leigh, who was hit during
a bayonet charge, and when some of his men turned to help him, shouted
"Go on, boys; don't mind me." A lieutenant of A Company, 1st Cheshires:
"I only know his nickname," says Private D. Schofield--though wounded in
two places, rushed to help a man in distress, brought him in, and then
went back to pick up his fallen sword. Captain Robert Bruce, heir of
Lord Balfour of Burleigh, distinguished himself in the fighting at Mons.
One of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders relates that, in spite of
wounds, Captain Bruce took command of about thirty Highlanders who had
been cut off, and throwing away his sword, seized a rifle from one of
the killed, and fought side by side with his men.
How the guns were saved at Soissons is told in a letter, published in
_The Times_, from Sergeant C. Meades, of the Berkshire Regiment. "We had
the order to abandon our guns," he writes, "but our young lieutenant
said, 'No, boys; we'll never let the Germans take a British gun,' and
with a cheer we fought on.... The Staffords came up and reinforced us.
Then I got hit, and retired.... But the guns were saved. When the last
of the six got through every one cheered like mad." One of the West
Kents also described the daring action of an officer. In the midst of
terrific fire, he walked calmly down the artillery line, putting our
lost guns out of action so that they would be useless to the Germans.
Even into the letters describing these gallant incidents there creep
frequent evidences of Atkins's unconquerable spirit and sense of humor.
Private R. Toomey, Royal Army Medical Corps, tells of an officer of the
Royal Irish shouting at the top of his voice, "Give 'em hell, boys, give
'em hell!" He had been wounded in the back by a lump of shrapnel, but,
says Toomey, "it was a treat to hear him shouting."
Most of these accounts refer to the weary days of the retirement from
Mons to Compiègne, a test of endurance that brought out the splendid
fighting qualities of officers and men alike. That retirement is
certainly one of the most masterly achievements of a war already
glorious for the exploits of British arms. Day after day our men had to
fall back, tired and hungry, exhausted from want of sleep, yet fighting
magnificently, and only impatient to begin the attack. This eagerness
for battle is in marked contrast to the spirit of the German troops, of
whom there is abundant evidence that the men have often to be driven
into action by the threatening swords and revolvers of their officers.
Francis Ryan, Northumberland Fusiliers, tells in the _Scotsman_ how
young lieutenant Smith-Dorrien pleaded to be allowed to remain with his
men in the trenches after a retirement had been ordered. The South
Staffordshires thought they were "getting along splendidly," says one of
the men, "until the General came and told us we must retreat or we would
be surrounded." The officer spoke very encouragingly, and praised his
men; but they were all so unwilling to yield ground that one of them,
expressing impatience, made a comment he would never have thought of
doing in peace time. The General only smiled.
This impatience pervaded all arms of the service. Some of the Highland
regiments began to grow grim and sullen, in spite of their play with the
bayonet; and the Irish corps became "unaisy." It was then that the
officers' fine spirit brought reassurance. This is how the King's Royal
Rifles were cheered up, according to Private Harman: "The officers knew
we were disappointed, because on the fifth day of retirement our
commanding officer came round and spoke to us. 'Stick it, boys, stick
it,' he said; 'To-morrow we shall go the other way and advance--Biff,
biff!' The way he said 'Biff, biff,' delighted the men, and after that
we frequently heard men shouting, 'Biff, biff!'"
General Sir John French, who is a great favorite with all ranks, and
spoken of with affection by every Tommy, makes frequent tours of the
lines and has a cheery word for every regiment. Driver W. Cryer, Royal
Field Artillery, relates in the _Manchester Guardian_ that, at St.
Quentin, Sir John French visited the troops, "smiling all over his
face," and explained the meaning of the repeated retirements. Up to
then, says Cryer, the men had almost to be pulled away by the officers,
but after the General's visit they fell in with the general scheme with
great cheerfulness.
Summing up his impressions of the nerve-strain of these weary rearguard
actions, a famous cavalry officer writing home, says: "We had a hell of
a time.... But the men were splendid. I don't believe any other troops
in the world could have stood it."
X
BROTHERS IN ARMS
There is a fine fraternity between the British and the French soldiers.
They don't understand very much of each other's speech, but they "muddle
through," as Atkins puts it, with "any old lingo." The French call out,
"Bravo, Tommee!" and share cigarettes with him: and Atkins, not very
sure of his new comrades' military Christian name, replies with a cheery
"Right, Oh!" Then turning to his own fellows he shouts, "Are we
downhearted?" and the clamorous "No!" always brings forth a rousing
French cheer.
Having seen each other in action since they first met on the way to
battle they have grown to respect each other more and more. There is not
much interchange of compliments in the letters from the trenches, but
such as there is clearly establishes the belief of Atkins that he is
fighting side by side with a brave and generous ally.
"We always knew," writes one soldier, "that the French were swift and
dangerous in attack, but we know now that they can fight on the
stubbornly defensive." One of the South Lancashires is loud in his
praise of their behavior under fire. "Especially the artillery,"
Sergeant J. Baker adds; "the French seem to like the noise, and aren't
happy unless it's there."