camp-bed put up there," he said promptly, indicating an airy cart-shed,
and he refused altogether to look at the empty cottage. So Bushman and
I had beds made up in the tent, and then the three of us sat down to a
welcome and memorable _al fresco_ supper opposite our horse lines. Our
table was a door balanced on a tree stump, and Meddings provided a
wonderful Lincolnshire pork-pie. He also managed hot potatoes as an
extra surprise, and as it was our first set meal since 5.30 A.M.
breakfast, there was a period of steady, quiet, happy munching. One
cigarette, then the colonel tucked himself up in his valise, and in
three minutes was deep in his first sleep for three successive nights.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said to Bushman when we got in
our tent. "I'm going to take my clothes off and put on pyjamas. You
never know these days when you'll get another chance."
I had pulled off my jacket, when I heard a jingling sound outside and
French voices. Looking out, I saw a couple of troops of French cavalry
picketing their tall leggy horses on the village green. I just had time
to rush out and prevent two troopers stabling their officers' chargers
in the cart-shed where the colonel was resting. They seemed startled
when I whispered that it was "mon colonel" who lay there, but they
apologised with the politeness of their race, and I pointed out a much
better stable higher up the street.
About 3 A.M. the piquet woke me to introduce an artillery officer with
a Caledonian accent, who asked if I could tell him where a brigade I
knew nothing at all about were quartered in the village. The next thing
I remember was the colonel's servant telling me the colonel was up and
wanted me immediately.
VIII. A LAST FIFTY ROUNDS
5.30 A.M.: "No orders have reached me from Division yet," said the
colonel, shaving as he talked, his pocket mirror precariously poised on
a six-inch nail stuck in one of the props that held up the roof of his
cart-shed boudoir. "And I'm still waiting for reports from A and D that
they've arrived at the positions I gave them on the orders sent out
last night. I want you to go off and find the batteries. I will wait
here for orders from Division. Have your breakfast first. You'll find
the batteries somewhere along that contour," pointing with the little
finger of the hand that held the safety razor to a 1/100,000th map on
his bed.
Again I realised as I set out, followed by my groom, that the Boche had
moved forward during the night. The village we had occupied at 11 P.M.
was now within range of his guns. Two 5.9's dropped even at that moment
within 200 yards of our horses. Moreover, I hadn't ridden far along the
main street before I met some of our divisional infantry. A company
commander told me that the French had come through and relieved them.
His brigadier had arrived at Commenchon at 4 A.M., and was lying
down--in the white house at the corner. "The Boche gave us no rest at
all last night," he went on. "He'd got two fresh divisions opposite us,
and shoved up thousands of men after ten o'clock. We killed hundreds
of 'em, but there was no stopping them. And aren't they hot with the
machine-gun? They must have been specially trained for this sort of
warfare. They snipe you at 700 yards as if the machine-gun were a
rifle, and their infantry hasn't needed a barrage to prepare the way.
There's so many of 'em."
I trotted on, and at the top of the street leading out of the village
recognised a mounted orderly of the battery I had belonged to before
coming to Brigade Headquarters. He was riding hard, but pulled up when
he saw me and handed me a note, saying, "Major Bartlett sent me with
this to Brigade Headquarters, sir."
I recognised the brigade-major's handwriting on an ordinary Army
message form. It was a note stating that we were to remain in support
of the French after our own divisional infantry had fallen back, but
that the French Divisional General hoped to relieve our artillery by 9
A.M. We were to fire on certain points until that hour, and then
withdraw to a village still farther south-west, and again co-operate
with our own infantry.
"Do you know if Major Bartlett read this?" I asked.
"Yes, sir; I saw him read it."
"Is the battery in action?"
"Yes, sir; they were firing when I came away."
Good! I knew then that Major Bartlett, on his own initiative, was
acting on the instructions contained in the brigade-major's note, and
that the other batteries would not be delayed in getting into action if
I sent the note direct to the colonel.
I took the orderly another quarter of a mile along the road, so that
he could point out the nearest way to Major Bartlett's battery; and
then told my groom to take him direct to the colonel, after which the
pair of them would rejoin me.
I found the major in good fettle, and, as I had guessed, blazing off at
the targets given by the B.M. As also he had passed on the orders to B
Battery, who were three hundred yards away, we at any rate had two
batteries in action. He explained to me that the Division
despatch-rider had somehow failed to find Brigade Headquarters, but had
come across him. He had got his battery into position at about two
o'clock, and they had dossed down beside the guns.
The major didn't know the whereabouts of D and A Batteries, so I got on
my horse again and searched a village that was farther south, but on
the same map-contour. Judge of my relief when I encountered Fentiman,
who told me that D and A would be along in ten minutes. I emphasised
the need for despatch, and he told me that the previous night his
battery's waggon lines had been taken back farther than they should
have been; the horses being thoroughly done, they had had a proper halt
at midnight. "We'll be firing in twenty minutes," he added
optimistically. "I'll dash along and work out the targets with Major
Bartlett."
A couple of Horse Artillery batteries had come into action a quarter of
a mile behind ours, and shells began to fly in the direction of the
enemy in business-like fashion. From the ridge we looked into a village
that sloped up again to a thick belt of trees three thousand yards in
front of us and to blue distances away on the right. Down the slopes
tiny blue figures could be seen feverishly throwing up earth; parties
of twenty and thirty men, khaki-clad, every now and then emerged from
the wood, and in single file dipped down to the valley and came towards
the village I had just left. The problem would undoubtedly be how far
the retirement would proceed before French reinforcements made the line
massive enough for a proper stand. The colonel was now with the
batteries, checking their lines of fire, and encouraging battery
commanders to do their damnedest until the French artillery came along.
My groom told me that the colonel had had a very narrow escape as he
passed through Commenchon. A shell dropped thirty yards from him, and a
splinter had wounded his mare.
8.30 A.M.: The eternal machine-guns were spluttering devilishly in the
wood opposite. Our infantry were coming back in larger numbers now, and
I thought glumly of what the brigade-major had said the previous
evening, "We are going to fight for this line." The colonel had
conferred with the colonel of the Horse Artillery, who said that his
orders were to pull out at 9.15, come what may. "The Corps are
particularly anxious that no more guns should be lost." The veterinary
sergeant of a Horse Artillery battery had dressed the colonel's mare,
although she was too excited for him to get the splinter out. "I think
she deserves to have a wound stripe up," smiled the colonel, who was
exceedingly fond of her.
9 A.M.: No signs yet of the French artillery. There seemed to be a
curious lull in the fighting. Only the Boche long-range guns were
firing, and their shells were going well over our heads. And no more
French infantry were coming up.
9.20 A.M.: The two Horse Artillery batteries were away. Our teams and
limbers had come up, all except one team of C Battery. We waited for
the colonel to give the word.
Suddenly the "chug-chug-chug" of a motor-cycle: a despatch-rider from
Division! The colonel tore open the envelope. "A Battery ... Limber-up
and retire," he ordered; "B and D will follow."
"The French artillery has been stopped," he explained shortly. "We are
going to make the stand at Bethancourt, three miles farther back."
An officer of C Battery ran across to say that through the binoculars
grey forms could be seen in the belt of trees opposite.
The colonel's eyes gleamed. "Got any ammunition left after filling up
the limbers?" he asked quickly.
"Yes, sir--about fifty rounds."
"Right; give it 'em, and then pull out at once."
The officer saluted and hurried off. The colonel lighted a cigarette
and stood under a tree. "One of the most difficult things to decide
upon in war," he soliloquised, "is to know the exact moment at which to
retire."
The sharp crack of C's 18-pdrs. firing fifty rounds as fast as the guns
could be loaded. Then silence. Still no sign of the missing team of
horses. A corporal went by at the gallop to find out what had happened.
The colonel was now on the ridge searching the trees opposite with his
glasses. Three guns had been limbered up. Every other battery had gone.
The battery commander looked puzzled and annoyed. "The guns that are
ready can move off," said the colonel calmly. "An officer is to wait
here until the team arrives to take away the other gun."
Even as the three guns took the road the missing team and limber came
out of the village.
"The off-leader had cast a shoe, and they had to send back for the
farrier, sir," reported the corporal.
"Good," observed the colonel, "but some of you fellows will have to
remember that there's a war on, and put more 'nip' into your work."
IX. FASTER AND FASTER
11 A.M.: It needed cool counsels and a high and steadfast faith during
the next twenty-four hours. The sunken track along which our own and
other British Artillery brigades were retreating was full of ruts and
choked with dust, and we thanked our stars that the weather had held.
That road churned into the mud-slime to which a few hours' rain could
change it, would have become impassable for wheeled traffic. But the
chief trouble was that the French "75's" coming up to relieve us had
had to turn and go back the same way as ourselves. For the best part of
a mile both sides of the narrow roads were occupied, and only patience,
forbearance, and steady command eased the block. The Boche could not be
far behind, and there was just a possibility that we might be trapped
with little chance of putting up a fight. It was a lovely day again,
baking hot, and the birds were singing their gayest; but most of us
felt savagely doleful. "I hope it is a strategic retreat," said
Fentiman viciously, "but we've had no letters and no papers for days,
and we know Blink All of what's going on. A strategic retreat is all
right, but if the fellow behind follows you close enough to keep on
kicking your tail hard all the time, you may retreat farther than you
intend. When the Boche retreated last year we never got close enough to
kick his tail--damn him."
Two welcome diversions! The road at the point we had now reached rose
to the level of the stubble-fields, and three batteries of "75's," with
much "_Hue_-ing" of the horses, pulled off the track and made across
the fields to another roadway. At the same time the "heavies" woke up,
and the sound of the big shells grunting through the air above our
heads and on towards the enemy who pursued us was _tres agreable_.
When we reached the village of Bethancourt we found two brigades of our
divisional infantry already there. Trenches were being dug, and our B
Battery had pulled their six guns behind the mile-long ridge that ran
southward from the village. The colonel joined our brigadier, who was
conferring with the two Infantry brigadiers and the G.S.O. I., and as a
result of this war council, D Battery was ordered to continue the march
and take up a reserve position on the next ridge, two miles farther
back, south of the village of Caillouel. A and C, the composite
battery, would come into action alongside B.
Telephone lines were run out from the two batteries to look-out posts
on the top of the ridge 700 yards away, and the colonel ordered firing
at the rate of one round a minute. Half a dozen "75" batteries were
being loosed off with what always looks like gay abandon on the part of
the French gunners. Young Bushman was whisked off to inform the staff
captain, now at Caillouel, of the batteries' new positions, so that
ammunition supply should be kept up. We then awaited developments.
The view westwards from the Bethancourt ridge that day provided one of
the most picturesque panoramas of the retreat. The centre of
Bethancourt, ridded the night before of its civilian inhabitants, was
chock-a-block with troops and military traffic; and the straight road
that led down into the valley, across the stream, and up again to
Caillouel, was a two-mile ribbon of blue and khaki, and waggons and
lorries, and camp kitchens--sometimes moving, oh, so slowly! once at a
standstill for over an hour. A long way to the right high rocks and
thick masses of dark trees rose, aloof; below them, thousands of horses
and hundreds of supply and ammunition waggons, some halted in lines,
some making slowly across the valley towards Caillouel. Directly in
front of us more horses, more waggons. A road at the foot of the valley
wound away to the left and then round behind the Caillouel ridge. The
valley would have served admirably for a field-day in home training.
The colonel called Major Bullivant and pointed out that the stream at
the bottom was crossed by only one bridge, that over which the main
road ran. "If you are relying on that bridge for a withdrawal you will
certainly be cut off. You'd better cut down some trees and make a
bridge directly behind your battery. Of course, there's the road round
by the left, but it will be best to have another way."
1 P.M.: A cavalry officer, hot and dusty, came up and said he had
hurried back because some of our artillery fire was dropping
dangerously near the French infantry. The colonel and he made a joint
inspection of maps, and the cavalry officer pointed out certain spots
which we still held.
"That's all right," replied the colonel. "My batteries are not firing
on that part, but I will pass word round." And he sent me to some
neighbouring batteries to explain and to warn.
An infantry runner came to ask the colonel if he would go across to see
the Infantry brigadier. "More moving," said the colonel when he
returned. "We are to fall back on Caillouel now. Will you get back and
see that telephone wire is brought up? You know where D Battery have
gone; the other batteries will come into line with them. You can keep
H.Q. waggon line just behind Caillouel."
I rode off, accompanied by Beadle of A Battery, still dressed in
overcoat and pyjamas. The stream of retreating traffic on the road
between Bethancourt and Caillouel was thicker than ever; the centre of
Caillouel was as packed as a Fen village during a hiring fair; the
divisional horse-master, the C.R.E., and the D.A.Q.M.G. were among the
officers trying to sort out the muddle; and in front of the Mairie,
like a policeman on point duty, stood a perspiring staff captain.
"That'll mean the Military Cross at least," grinned Beadle. "Life's
very hard sometimes, isn't it?"
3 P.M.: The batteries were now in position on Caillouel ridge, and one
brigade of the Divisional Infantry had arrived and commenced to dig. "I
must have turned up half France since we started this retreat," growled
one swarthy private, resting on his pick. "And I was a navvy before the
war, and joined up for a change."
I stood by the composite battery and saw four of the waggons come up
with ammunition. They had had to climb a long punishing slope over
meadow-lands and orchards, and the last five hundred yards was across
ploughed fields. The horses were blowing hard. "They've kept their
condition well, considering the work they have had to do this last four
days," remarked Dumble. "I hope the Supply Column won't fail us,
though. The horses want as much corn as they can get now."
"Well, the A.S.C. have had plenty of practice getting up supplies this
last three years. They ought to be able to keep touch with us, however
irregular our movements--and M'Klown is a pretty smart fellow," I
answered.
"Rather amusing just now to recall that 'Truth' a short while ago was
saying there were too many horses in the Field Artillery, isn't it?"
went on Dumble. "They said one team a battery to pull the guns into
position from off the road would be enough, and that motor-traction
could do the rest. Never mind; the old horse has earned his keep these
last few days, hasn't he?"
"Look here," he added, "come along with me and I'll show you a find.
You're thirsty, aren't you?"
"I shall say a grand Amen if you offer me a drink," said I, taking a
deep breath.
"Well, come along--there's a cellar full of cider in this house here.
I've left a man in charge to see there's no hanky-panky. I'm giving my
men some, but under surveillance. No one allowed more than a pint."
It was the coolest, best-tasting cider I have ever drunk, not too
sweet, not too tart. A gunner tipped up the barrel and poured it into a
dilapidated-looking enamelled mug. How good it was! I quaffed half a
pint at a gulp, and said "Rather!" when asked if I would have more.
"Glad you liked it," said Dumble. "I must confess that that was my
third."
The General, suave, keen-eyed, and pleasant-spoken, came up with the
colonel and the brigade-major as we got back to the battery. The
General spoke encouragingly to most of us, and told the subalterns that
gunnery rules were as important in this sort of warfare as on the
drill-ground. "But don't forget that a cool head and common-sense are
as good assets as any," he added.
We were looking now from the Caillouel ridge towards the Bethancourt
ridge, which we had occupied in the forenoon,--another fine landscape
with a vast plain to the right which was being keenly watched for enemy
movement. My signalling-sergeant had run out a telephone line about 600
yards in front of the composite battery, and the General, the colonel,
and the brigade-major went along to the O.P. to see Major Bartlett
register his guns on certain points where the General thought it likely
the enemy would collect.
The report that our Brigade was to be relieved and our guns taken over
by our companion brigade, who had lost practically all their guns on
the 21st, became more than a report when Colonel ---- and his battery
commanders assembled to meet the General. One of the battery
commanders, a new-comer to the Brigade, was a well-known golfer whom I
had last seen fighting a most exciting match in the 1914 amateur
championship at Sandwich. He laughed when he recognised me. "A bit of
leave and a bit of golf would be a nice change now, eh? I'm afraid we
shan't know what leave is for a long time, though. But do you know what
I did the last time I was on leave and had a few rounds over my home
course----?"
But the return of the General prevented my knowing the golf exploit he
was going to tell me. The colonel called me for further instructions.
"The --rd Brigade are taking over our guns to-morrow morning at 6.30,"
he said. "I shall stay here until then with General ---- (the Infantry
brigadier). I'll keep young Bushman with me, and my groom with our
horses. You had better remain at the waggon line and keep in touch with
the battery waggon lines. Will you send up my British warm when you get
back, some sandwiches for Bushman and myself, and my Thermos flask?"
The almost paralysing block of traffic between Bethancourt and
Caillouel had thinned out now. It was easy enough also to move along
the road from Caillouel to Grandru, whither three hours ago I had
despatched H.Q. waggons to get them out of the way. For two hours,
also, there had been a marked cessation of hostile fire. And as I rode
towards Grandru I thought of those reports of big British successes at
Ypres and at Cambrai. They seemed feasible enough. What if they were
true, and what if the offensive on this front had been checked because
of the happenings North? It was a pleasant thought, and I rather hugged
it.
Later there was grim proof that the lull merely meant that the Hun was
bringing up his guns and putting in fresh divisions to buffet and press
our tired worn men.
5 P.M.: When I reached Grandru and sat down in a hay-field while my
servant brought me a cup of tea and some bread and cheese, I gave my
mind to a five minutes' reconstruction of the incidents and aspects of
the last four days. It had all been so hurried, and each particular
emergency had demanded such complete concentration, that it was more
than difficult to realise that so short a time had elapsed since the
German hordes began their rush. I longed to see a newspaper, to read a
lucid and measured account of the mighty conflict in which our brigade,
the centre of my present workaday world, could only have played such a
tiny part. I longed for a chance to let my friends in England know that
all was well with me. However----
The regimental sergeant-major had established the H.Q. horse lines in a
roadside field just outside the village. I wouldn't let him unload the
waggons, but the brigade clerk, devout adherent of orderliness and
routine, had already opened the brigade office in the first cottage on
the right of the village street, while the cook was in possession next
door. It was the first village we had come to during the retreat,
whence all the civilian inhabitants had not fled, and the cook talked
of fresh eggs for breakfast. I shaved and had a scrub down, put on a
clean collar, and gained a healthier outlook on life generally. I sent
out the four cycle orderlies to scout around and find the battery
waggon lines, which I knew were coming to this vicinity, and the A.S.C.
supply officer rode up and discussed the best place for unloading the
morrow's food and forage for the brigade. That settled, I wrote out the
formal information for the batteries, and then decided to stroll round
the village before dinner. "I've got a rabbit for your dinner to-night,
sir," called the cook from his kitchen door, "a fresh rabbit." So I
promised to be back by 8 o'clock.
When I came back there was an awkward surprise. All our waggons had
been shifted and a French heavy battery were hauling their howitzers up
the incline that led from the road to the field. The senior French
officer was polite but firm. He was sorry to disturb us, but this was
the most suitable spot for his howitzers to fire from.
The sergeant-major asked me whether I would like to shift the horses to
such-and-such a spot in the field, but I said "No" to that. "These guns
will be firing all night, and the horses will be only thirty yards away
from them. They'll have no rest whatever, and they want every minute
they can get. No, the Brigade are coming out of action to-morrow
morning. We'll shift our waggon line right away to the other side of
the village. Saddle-up at once, and get away before it is dark. Move
well away from the village while you are about it, and camp by the
roadside."
The cook looked glum and said my rabbit was cooked to a turn. "Keep it
for me until we get settled down again," I said. I posted a cycle
orderly to wait at the spot we were leaving, so as to re-direct
messengers arriving from Division or from the colonel; the brigade
clerk asked to be allowed to stay behind until the three other
orderlies returned from the batteries--he wouldn't feel justified in
leaving before then, he assured me. It was 8.15 P.M. when our little
procession headed by the sergeant-major passed through the village.
I had sent my horses on, and it was on the point of darkness when I
strode through the village, some way behind the column. A few officers
of the Pioneer battalion that was moving out any moment stood at open
doorways, and a group of drivers waited near the bridge ready to
harness up their mules. Three aged women dressed in faded black, one of
them carrying a bird-cage, had come out of a cottage and walked with
feeble ungainly step towards the bridge. A couple of ancient men,
pushing wheel-barrows piled high with household goods, followed.
Out of the distance came the brooding whine of an approaching howitzer
shell. A mighty rush of air, a blinding flash, and an appalling crash.
An 8-inch had fallen in the middle of the street.