women; and groans and curses farther up the street. None of the poor
terror-stricken old people were hurt, thank God! but three of the
drivers had been hit and two mules killed outright. The men were
quickly lifted into the shelter of the nearest house, and the civilian
refugees took cover in a doorway just before the second shell tore a
great rent in the village green on the other side of the bridge. Five
shells fell in all, and an officer afterwards tried to persuade the
old women to take a lift in a G.S. waggon that was about to start. But
they refused to leave their men, who would not abandon the
wheel-barrows. When I walked away the five were again beginning their
slow hazardous pilgrimage to the next village.
11 P.M.: That night I lay rolled up in a blanket at the foot of a tree.
The H.Q. waggon line was duly settled for the night when I
arrived--horses "hayed-up" and most of the men asleep on the ground.
The cook insisted on producing the boiled rabbit, and I ate it, sitting
on the shaft of the mess cart. I arranged with the N.C.O. of the piquet
to change every two hours the orderly posted at the spot we had left so
hurriedly--it was only ten minutes' ride on a cycle--and kept another
sentry on the watch for messengers who might come searching for us. It
was again a beautiful clear night, with a resplendent moon; a few
long-range shells whizzed over, but none near enough to worry us; a
pioneer party worked right through the night, putting up a stout line
of barbed wire that went within thirty yards of where I lay; retreating
baggage-waggons, French and British, passed along the road; restless
flashes along the eastern skyline showed our guns in active defence.
I cannot say that I slept. The ground was hard, and it got very cold
about 2 A.M. I could hear the sergeant-major snoring comfortably on the
straw palliasse he had managed to "commandeer" for himself. At about 3
A.M. my ear caught the "chug-chug" of a motor-cycle. It came nearer and
then stopped, and I heard the rider and our sentry talking. I got up
and found it was the Divisional Artillery signalling-officer.
"Rather important," he said, without preamble. "The General says it is
essential to get all transport vehicles over the canal to-night.
There's bound to be a hell of a crush in the morning. Headquarters R.A.
will be at Varesnes by to-morrow morning, so I should move as far that
way as you can. I've just come over the canal, and there are two ways
of crossing from here. I think you'll find the Appilly route the least
crowded. The great thing is to hurry. I'm going to look for the colonel
now. I'll tell him you are moving."
We bade each other "Good-night." While the horses were being hooked in,
I scribbled an order explaining the situation, and instructing all
battery waggon lines to move towards Varesnes at once. I knew that in
view of the 6.30 A.M. relief by the --rd Brigade, horses would be sent
up for the officers and men at the guns, and it was possible that the
guns would now be brought back from the Caillouel ridge before that
time. The Boche was clearly coming on once more.
Cycle orderlies sped away with the notes, and I was sending a signaller
on a cycle to tell the sentry posted at Grandru to rejoin us, when I
discovered that the brigade clerk had not yet turned up. I told the
signaller to send him along as well.
Two of the orderlies returned and reported that B and D Batteries had
received my instructions and had started. With the return of the next
orderly I explained where we were to go to the sergeant-major, and told
him to move off. I would come along behind with the others.
To my astonishment the signaller and the sentry came back without the
brigade clerk. "Can't find him anywhere, sir," said the signaller.
"Didn't you see him while you were there?" I asked the orderly who had
been doing sentry. "No, sir. I saw no lights in that house where the
office was, and there's no one there now."
This was something unexpected, not to say perturbing. I turned to one
of the cycle orderlies who stood by. "Go back and make a thorough
search for Briercliffe. Don't come back until you are satisfied he's
not in the village. I'll wait here. You others, except one cyclist, go
on and catch up the column."
A quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, half an hour! The orderly
returned alone. "I can't find Briercliffe, sir. I've been into every
house in Grandru. He's not there."
I couldn't understand it. The amazingly conscientious, thoroughly
correct, highly efficient Briercliffe to be missing. "I can't wait any
longer," I said, mounting my horse. "He's quite wide awake and should
be all right. We'll get on."
X. THE SCRAMBLE AT VARESNES
4 A.M.: For the best part of a mile my groom and I had the moonlit road
to ourselves. We passed at the walk through the stone-flagged streets
of Baboeuf, our horses' hoofs making clattering echoes in what might
have been a dead city. Along the whole length of the tortuous main
street were only two indications that there was life behind the closed
doors and fastened shutters. Two French soldiers, leaning against a
wall and talking, moved away as we rode up; then a door banged, and all
was quiet. Once, too, a cat ran stealthily across and startled my
horse: I remember that distinctly, because it was the first cat I had
seen since coming back to the fighting area.
At the junction, where the way from Baboeuf joined the main road that
ran parallel with the canal, stood a single British lorry. A
grey-headed lieutenant, who was lighting a cigarette, came up when I
hailed him, and told me our waggons had passed. He had pointed out the
way, and they had gone to the left. "The first turning on the right
after that will bring you to the bridge," he ended.
Our column was now moving along one of France's wonderful main
roads--perfectly straight, tree-bordered, half its width laid with
pave. On either side good-sized villas, well-kept front gardens,
"highly desirable residences"--comfortable happy homes a week before,
now shattered, silent, deserted. The road as we followed it led direct
to the battle-front.
We had gone a mile past the railway station, and were in open country,
and had still to reach the first turning to the right. I asked the
sergeant-major to trot ahead and let me know how much farther we had to
go. "Over a mile yet, sir," was his report.
At last, however, a sign-post loomed up, and we struck right along a
track that led over dreary waste lands. Before long we were forging
through a damp clinging mist, that obviously came from the canal.
Somewhere near the point towards which we were making, shells from a
Boche big gun were exploding with dull heavy boomings. I sent the
sergeant-major forward again, and he came back with the bewildering
report, "We're on the wrong road, sir!"
"Wrong road!" I repeated. "What do you mean?"
"There are some French lorries in front, sir, and the sentry won't open
the bridge gates to let them cross."
I felt puzzled and angered, and rode forward to question the French
sentry. Half a dozen protesting lorry-drivers stood round him.
The bridge did lead to Varesnes, he admitted, but it was only a light
bridge, and he had orders to allow no military traffic over it. I
became almost eloquent in describing the extreme lightness of my
vehicles; but a _sous-officier_ stepped out of a little hut and said he
was sorry, the orders were very strict, and he could not open the
gates. The bridge we wanted was approached by the next turning to the
right, off the main road. He assured me that it was a much better way,
and, in any case, he couldn't open the gates.
There was nothing else for it: we made the long tedious journey back,
out of the fog and into it again, and so got on the right track.
Weariness through lack of sleep and the dampness of the air made one
feel chilly, and I got off my horse and walked. The horses stepped out
mechanically; the men had lost their chirpiness. There was a half-hour
or so when I felt melancholy and depressed: the feeling of helplessness
against the triumphant efficiency of the Boche got on one's nerves.
Wasn't this talk of luring him on a myth? Why was he allowed to sweep
forward at this overpowering pace, day after day, when each of our big
advances had been limited to one hard, costly attack--and then stop? I
quickened my step, and walked forward to where A Battery moved along
the same road.
"Hullo, Dumble," I said. "You and C are running as separate batteries
again, aren't you? How did you leave the cider-cellar?"
"We came back from there at about 5 P.M." There was a big discussion as
to whether we should come farther back. The colonel wanted to stay, and
the --rd's B Battery were in action there until four this morning. It
was a Divisional decision that there should be a retirement to the next
ridge. The poor old infantry were fed to the teeth. They'd sweated
blood digging trenches all day on the Caillouel ridge, and then in the
evening had to fall back and start digging again.
"Have you seen the colonel?" I asked.
"He was still there with General ---- when we came away. The --rd
relieved us last night, instead of first thing this morning; and we got
down to Grandru, and had three hours' sleep before your note arrived."
"Battery's pretty done, I suppose?"
"Well, it was just about time we came out of action. Men and horses
would have been all-in in another day."
We crossed the fine broad canal, watched by the French soldiers
guarding the bridge. Dumble was silent for some seconds, and then
muttered, "You know, I hate to be coming back like this with the French
looking on."
"Yes, I know," I replied,--"but they are good soldiers, and they
understand."
"Yes--when I think of poor old Harville, and the fight he put up----"
he broke off; and we trudged along.
"Do you know Harville always kept that speech of Beatty's in his
pocket-book, that speech where he said England would have to be
chastened and turn to a new way of life before we finished the war?"
said Dumble later.
"Yes, he was like that--old Harville," I said quietly.
Over another bridge; and I still walked with Dumble at the head of his
battery. There was a long wait while a line of French waggons moved out
of our way. Some of the men were yawning with the sleepiness that comes
from being cold as well as tired. We were now on the outskirts of a
village that lay four miles from Varesnes.
"What do you say if we stop at this place and go on after a rest?" said
Dumble. I agreed.
I put Headquarter waggons and horses into an orchard, and found a
straw-loft where the men could lie down.
It was six in the morning, and I told the sergeant-major to have
breakfast up at 7.30. There was a cottage opposite the orchard; some
French soldiers were inside breakfasting. As I looked through the
window I felt I would give anything for a sleep. The old housewife, a
woman with a rosy Punch-like face, waited on the men. I asked her if
she would let me have a room. She demurred a while, said everything
was dirty and in disorder: the French _sous-officier_ was not gone yet.
Then I think she noticed how fagged I was. In two minutes my servant
had brought my valise in. "I'm going to take my clothes off," I said,
"but don't let me sleep after 7.30."
7.30 A.M.: I woke to find the sun streaming through the window. The
booming of guns sounded nearer than before. I got off the bed and
looked out. The fifty Headquarter men were breakfasting or smoking.
Something prompted me: I had the feeling that we ought to leave the
village at once. I shouted through the window for the sergeant-major.
The column could be ready to move in a quarter of an hour, he answered.
My servant brought me a change of boots and leggings, and I shaved.
"Won't you wait and have breakfast, sir?" asked the sergeant-major.
"No. Pack up everything; we'll get to Varesnes as soon as you are
ready."
I went round to see Dumble before we started, but he said he wasn't
going to hurry. "I'll let the men have a proper clean-up and march off
about eleven," he decided.
The Headquarter column wound away from the village, and set out on a
long smooth road that ran through a wood and edged away from the canal.
Two miles from Varesnes we met the brigade-major. His tired eyes
lighted up when he saw me. "What batteries have actually got over the
canal?" he questioned. I told him that A were in the village I had just
left. "C and B are coming round by the Noyon bridge," he informed me.
"I expect we shall send Headquarters and B on to Thiescourt to get you
out of the way--and give you some rest." And he nodded and rode on.
It looked as if the German rush was not expected to go much farther,
for Varesnes was the first little town fully occupied by civilians
that we had come to. Most of them were preparing to leave, and roomy
French farm carts, piled high with curious medleys of mattresses,
chairs and tables, clothing, carpets, kitchen utensils, clocks and
pictures, kept moving off. But children played about the streets; girls
stood and talked to French and British soldiers; and M. le Maire
continued to function.
The colonel, neat and unruffled, but pale with fatigue, stood waiting
in the main thoroughfare as we came in. I informed him at once where I
had left A Battery and what the brigade-major had mentioned. He told me
he had remained with the Infantry brigadier until 6.30 A.M., the hour
at which Colonel ---- of the --rd had formally to relieve him; and he
had only just crossed the canal. The infantry were still falling back.
"I've lost Laneridge and my two horses," he added, shaking his head.
"Laneridge missed me in the fog when I sent for him, and I'm half
afraid he went towards the Hun lines. It was very puzzling to get your
bearings up there this morning. I walked part of the way here and got a
lift in a lorry."
9.30 A.M.: The colonel had seen the C.R.A. and received instructions
about continuing the march. We were going on another ten miles to the
place which a week ago was to have become the rest area for Divisional
Headquarters. I had come across a section of the D.A.C. who had arrived
the night before and secured a billet, and they gave the colonel and
myself breakfast. I had discovered B Battery's mess in another cottage,
every officer deep in a regular Rip Van Winkle slumber that told of
long arrears of sleep. And I had been greatly cheered by the sudden
appearance, mounted on a horse, of Briercliffe, the missing brigade
clerk. He explained his absence. When one of the orderlies returned to
Grandru, saying he couldn't find B Battery's waggon lines, the
admirable Briercliffe had retorted that they must be found, and he went
in quest of them himself. Then when he heard the sudden order to cross
the canal he had the common-sense to come along with B Battery.
Neither C Battery nor A Battery had yet arrived. The colonel, having
shaved, felt ready for the fray again, dictated the route-march orders,
and told me to fix 11.30 A.M. as the time of starting. Fortunately his
horses and his groom had turned up. The traffic down the main street,
with its old-fashioned plaster houses, its squat green doors, and the
Mairie with its railed double-stone steps, was getting more congested.
Infantry transport and French heavy guns were quickening their pace as
they came through. The inhabitants were moving out in earnest now, not
hurriedly, but losing no time. A group of hatless women stood
haranguing on the Mairie steps; a good-looking girl, wearing high heels
and bangles, unloaded a barrow-load of household goods into a van the
Maire had provided, and hastened home with the barrow to fill it again;
a sweet-faced old dame, sightless, bent with rheumatism, pathetic in
her helpless resignation, sat on a wicker-chair outside her doorway,
waiting for a farm cart to take her away: by her side, a wide-eyed
solemn-faced little girl, dressed in her Sunday best, and trying
bravely not to cry.
10.15 A.M.: The colonel met me in the street; he had just come from
seeing the C.R.A. again. "Better tell B and D Batteries to move off at
once, B leading. Headquarters can start as well. It will be best to get
out of this place as quickly as possible. The enemy is coming on fast,
and there will be an awkward crush shortly."
11 A.M.: The Boche machine-guns could be heard now as plainly as if
they were fighting along the canal banks. B Battery had marched out
with their waggons, Headquarters behind them. I stood with the colonel
in the square to watch the whole brigade go through. Young Bushman had
ridden off towards the canal to seek news of C Battery.
And now the first enemy shell: a swishing rush of air and a vicious
crack--a 4.2 H.V. It fell two streets from us. Another and another
followed. Shouts from behind! The drivers spurred their horses to a
trot. Clouds of dust rose. Odd civilians alternately cowered against
the wall and ran panting for the open country, making frightened cries
as each shell came over. A butcher's cart and a loaded market cart got
swept into the hurrying military traffic.
"I don't like this," muttered the colonel, frowning. "It would be
stupid to have a panic."
On the Mairie steps I could see M. le Maire ringing a hand-bell and
shouting some sort of proclamation. With a certain dignity, and
certainly with little apparent recognition that shells were falling
close, he descended the steps and strode along the street and through
the square, all the time determinedly shaking his bell. As he passed, I
asked him gravely why he rang the bell. He stared over his glasses with
astonishment, responded simply "Pour partir, m'sieur," and walked on,
still ringing. A bizarre incident, but an instance of duty, highly
conceived and carried out to the end.
A colonel of one of our Pioneer battalions rode by and hailed the
colonel. "We seem to be driving it pretty close," he said. "There's a
lot more artillery to cross yet, and they are shelling the bridge hard.
Which way do you go from here?"
"I've got two batteries to come, and I'm afraid one of 'em's still
over the bridge," responded the colonel. "We go to Thiescourt from
here."
11.30 A.M.: D Battery was passing now, with A not far behind. The
stream of traffic making for beyond the town was continuous as ever,
but the shelling had quietened, and the horses were kept at the walk.
The colonel stood and accepted the salutes of his batteries, and
criticised points of turn-out and horse-mastership as though he were
making an ordinary route-march inspection. And this compelling them to
think of something other than the physical dangers around and behind
them, had its moral effect upon the men. They held themselves more
erect, showed something of pride of regiment and race, and looked men
fit and worthy to fight again.
Civilians were still hurrying out of the town. A family passed us, the
husband in his best suit of dull black, top-hat, and white tie and all,
pushing a perambulator loaded with clothes, household ornaments, and
cooking requisites, his three children dragging at their mother's
skirts and weeping piteously. A fine-looking _vieillard_, with
clean-cut waxen features and white flowing moustaches, who wore his
brown velvet jacket and sombrero with an air, walked by erect and slow,
taking what he could of his belongings on a wheel-barrow. Even the
conjunction of the wheel-barrow could not prevent him looking dignified
and resolute.
And a terrier and a young retriever, oblivious of the tragedy around
them, gambolled up and down the Mairie steps and chased each other
across the street.
12 noon: Bigger shells had begun to fall, and still C Battery had not
come. The colonel glanced at his watch. One shell came near enough to
send a chimney-pot and some slates clattering to the ground, making a
pair of water-cart horses plunge wildly; a French soldier was killed
farther down the street. An officer cantered by and directed a Horse
Artillery battery that had passed a few minutes before, and had a clear
half-mile of road in front of it, to break into a trot. Voices in rear
could be heard shouting to those in front to go faster. Two riderless,
runaway wheelers, dragging a smashed limber-pole, raced after the Horse
Artillery battery. "I'm afraid we shall have to say Good-bye to C
Battery," said the colonel seriously.
I walked to the end of the square and looked down the road towards the
canal. Dust rose in clouds, and straining horses still came on. Out of
the welter I saw young Bushman's horse on the pathway coming towards
me. "C Battery's all right," he shouted to me, and a minute later I
heard him explaining to the colonel.
"C Battery's over now, sir. It has been touch-and-go. Some Horse
Artillery in front had a waggon hit, and that caused a stoppage; and
there were a lot of other waggons in front as well. They are putting
shells all round the bridge now, sir. C Battery have had two gunners
wounded, but they are over now, sir."
C Battery came through at a trot, but the colonel regarded their
general appearance as soldierly. We remained in the square and saw the
tail-end of their mess cart.
"And now," observed the colonel, lighting a cigarette and noting the
time, "we may as well gather our horses and get along ourselves."
"I feel very relieved about C Battery," he said five minutes later as
we rode along; and he smiled for the first time for quite three hours.
XI. THE G IN GAP
1 P.M.: For some miles after leaving Varesnes it was retreat--rapid,
undisguised, and yet with a plan. Thousands of men, scores of guns and
transport vehicles, hundreds of civilians caught in the last rush, all
struggling to evade the mighty pincers' clutch of the German masses
who, day after day, were crushing our attempts to rally against their
weight and fury. Unless collectedly, in order, and with
intercommunications unbroken, we could pass behind the strong divisions
hurrying to preserve the precious contact between French and British,
we should be trapped. And when I say we, I mean the very large force of
which our Brigade formed one tiny part. Not even the colonel knew much
at this moment of the wider strategy that was being worked out. The
plain and immediate task was to free the Brigade, with its seven
hundred odd men and its horses and waggons, from the welter of general
traffic pouring on to the main roads, and bring it intact to the
village that Division had fixed as our destination. And as we had now
become a non-fighting body, a brigade of Field Artillery without guns,
it was more than ever our business to get out of the way.
Our men found room for some of the aged civilians in motor-lorries and
G.S. waggons; but I shall always remember one silver-haired dame who
refused to be separated from the wheel-barrow heaped up with her
belongings, which she was pushing to a place seven miles away. For some
reason she would not allow a gunner to wheel the barrow for her. Poor
obstinate old soul! I hope she got away; if she didn't, I trust the
Boche was merciful.
The colonel and I rode through a forest in order to catch up the
batteries. As we emerged from the wood we came upon five brigades of
cavalry--three French and two British--fresh as paint, magnificently
mounted, ready and waiting. "The most cheering sight we've seen this
morning," remarked the colonel.