SOLDIERS’ STORIES
OF THE WAR
[Illustration:
[_Frontispiece._
L BATTERY’S HEROIC STAND.
“Another battery of horse-gunners was dashing to the rescue” (p. 130).]
SOLDIERS’ STORIES
OF THE WAR
EDITED BY
WALTER WOOD
AUTHOR OF
“MEN OF THE NORTH SEA,” “SURVIVORS’ TALES OF GREAT EVENTS,”
“NORTH SEA FISHERS AND FIGHTERS,” ETC.
_WITH TWENTY FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY A. C. MICHAEL_
LONDON
CHAPMAN AND HALL, LTD.
1915
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E.,
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
INTRODUCTION
All the stories in this volume are told by men who were seen personally,
and who, with one or two exceptions--cases of soldiers who had returned
to the front--read the typescripts of their narratives, so that accuracy
should be secured. The narrators spoke while the impressions of fighting
and hardships and things seen were still strong and clear; in several
cases full notes had been made or diaries kept, and reference to these
records was of great value in preparing the stories. When seeing an
informant I specially asked that a true tale should be told, and I
believe that no unreliable details were knowingly given.
I have been fortunate in getting a good deal of exclusive matter--the
full record of the noble achievement of L Battery, Royal Horse
Artillery, for example, has not been given anywhere in such detail as is
presented here, and the same remark applies to the story of the three
torpedoed cruisers.
During the earlier periods of the war British soldiers told me tales of
barbarities and outrages committed by German troops which were so
terrible that it was impossible to believe them, and I omitted many of
these details from the finished stories; but I know now, from reading
the Report of the Committee on Alleged German Outrages, presided over by
Viscount Bryce, formerly British Ambassador at Washington, that even
the most dreadful of the statements did not do more than touch the
fringe of the appalling truth.
Though much has been already published in the form of tales and letters
from our soldiers at the front, yet I hope that this collection of
stories will be accepted as a contribution from the British fighting man
to the general history of the earlier stages of the war--those memorable
preliminary operations which have made a deep and indelible impression
on the British race throughout the world.
WALTER WOOD.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
MONS AND THE GREAT RETREAT 1
PRIVATE J. PARKINSON, 1st Battalion Gordon Highlanders.
CHAPTER II
GERMAN ATROCITIES 17
DRIVER G. BLOW, Royal Field Artillery.
CHAPTER III
“GREENJACKETS” IN THE FIRING LINE 29
RIFLEMAN R. BRICE, King’s Royal Rifle Corps.
CHAPTER IV
THE STRUGGLE ON THE AISNE 41
PRIVATE HERBERT PAGE, Coldstream Guards.
CHAPTER V
“THE MOST CRITICAL DAY OF ALL” 54
CORPORAL F. W. HOLMES, V.C., M.M., 2nd Battalion
King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.
CHAPTER VI
BRITISH FIGHTERS IN FRENCH FORTS 70
PRIVATE J. BOYERS, Durham Light Infantry.
CHAPTER VII
GERMAN TREACHERY AND HATRED 82
CORPORAL W. BRATBY, Middlesex Regiment.
CHAPTER VIII
LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 94
PRIVATE G. TOWNSEND, 2nd Battalion East Lancashire
Regiment.
CHAPTER IX
SAPPING AND MINING: THE “LUCKY COMPANY” 108
SAPPER WILLIAM BELL, Royal Engineers.
CHAPTER X
L BATTERY’S HEROIC STAND 118
GUNNER H. DARBYSHIRE, Royal Horse Artillery.
CHAPTER XI
SIXTEEN WEEKS OF FIGHTING 135
PRIVATE B. MONTGOMERY, Royal West Kent Regiment.
CHAPTER XII
A DAISY-CHAIN OF BANDOLIERS 146
PRIVATE W. H. COOPERWAITE, Durham Light Infantry.
CHAPTER XIII
DESPATCH-RIDING 158
CORPORAL HEDLEY G. BROWNE, Royal Engineers.
CHAPTER XIV
THE THREE TORPEDOED CRUISERS 169
ABLE-SEAMAN C. C. NURSE.
CHAPTER XV
THE RUNAWAY RAIDERS 182
SAPPER W. HALL, Royal Engineers.
CHAPTER XVI
CAMPAIGNING WITH THE HIGHLANDERS 191
PRIVATE A. VENESS, 2nd Battalion Seaforth Highlanders.
CHAPTER XVII
TRANSPORT-DRIVING 203
PRIVATE JAMES ROACHE, Army Service Corps.
CHAPTER XVIII
BRITISH GUNNERS AS CAVE-DWELLERS 213
CORPORAL E. H. BEAN, Royal Field Artillery.
CHAPTER XIX
WITH THE “FIGHTING FIFTH” 225
PRIVATE W. G. LONG, 1st Battalion East Surrey Regiment.
CHAPTER XX
THE VICTORY OF THE MARNE 236
CORPORAL G. GILLIAM, Coldstream Guards.
CHAPTER XXI
AN ARMOURED CAR IN AMBUSH 256
TROOPER STANLEY DODDS, Northumberland Hussars.
CHAPTER XXII
EXPLOITS OF THE LONDON SCOTTISH 264
PRIVATE J. E. CARR, 14th (County of London) Battalion
London Regiment (London Scottish).
CHAPTER XXIII
THE ROUT OF THE PRUSSIAN GUARD AT YPRES 277
PRIVATE H. J. POLLEY, 2nd Battalion Bedfordshire
Regiment.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BRITISH VICTORY AT NEUVE CHAPELLE 291
SERGEANT GILLIAM, Coldstream Guards.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face page_
L Battery’s heroic stand: “Another battery of horse-gunners
was dashing to the rescue” _Frontispiece_
“We were helped by the Germans throwing searchlights on us” 2
“Some of our cavalry caught him” 16
“The Germans came on and hurled themselves against us” 38
“From behind trees we kept up a destructive fire on the enemy” 50
“I hoisted the trumpeter into the saddle” 62
“We found a fair lot of Germans in houses and farms” 80
“We were so near the Germans that they could hurl bombs at us” 102
“We had a very warm time of it” 112
“Planted a maxim on his knees and rattled into the Germans” 128
“The men were told to lay hands on anything that would float” 168
“Good swimmers were helping those who could not swim” 180
“The _Hogue_ began to turn turtle; the four immense funnels
broke away” 188
“A bullet struck him in the back and killed him” 202
“We were in a real hell of bursting shrapnel” 222
“I took him up and began to carry him” 234
“Before they knew what was happening the car was in the river” 244
“Cavalry and Guards got in amongst the Germans and fairly
scattered them” 254
“I made a lunge at him, but just missed, and I saw his own
long, ugly blade driven out” 286
“The infantry dashed on with the bayonet” 302
SOLDIERS’ STORIES OF
THE WAR
CHAPTER I
MONS AND THE GREAT RETREAT
[History does not give a more splendid story of courage and
endurance than that which is afforded by the battle of Mons and the
subsequent retreat. The British Expeditionary Force, straight from
home, with no time for preparation, and only two days after a
concentration by rail, was confronted by at least four times its
number of the finest troops of Germany, and, after a four days’
furious battle, remained unconquered and undismayed. What might
have been annihilation of the British forces had become a throwing
off of the weight of the enemy’s pursuit, allowing a preparation
for the driving back of the German hordes. At Mons the 1st
Battalion Gordon Highlanders lost most of their officers,
non-commissioned officers and men in killed, wounded and missing.
This story is told by Private J. Parkinson, of the Gordons, who was
invalided home at the finish of the Great Retreat.]
To be rushed from the routine of a soldier’s life at home in time of
peace into the thick of a fearful fight on the Continent is a strange
and wonderful experience; yet it happened to me, and it was only one of
many amazing experiences I went through between leaving Southampton in a
transport and coming to a London hospital.
We landed at Boulogne, and went a long journey by train. At the end of
it we found ourselves, on Saturday, August 22nd, billeted in a
gentleman’s big house and we looked forward to a comfortable night,
little dreaming that so soon after leaving England we should be in the
thick of a tremendous fight.
It was strange to be in a foreign country, but there was no time to
dwell on that, and the British soldier soon makes himself at home,
wherever he is. Those of us who were not on duty went to sleep; but we
had not been resting very long when we were called to arms. That was
about half-past three o’clock on the Sunday morning, August 23rd.
There was no bugle sound, no fuss, no noise; we were just quietly roused
up by the pickets, and as quietly we marched out of the château and went
along a big, sunken road--the main road to Paris, I think. We started at
once to make trenches alongside the road, using the entrenching-tool
which every soldier carries; and we went on steadily with that work for
several hours on that August Sunday morning--a perfect Sabbath, with a
wonderful air of peace about it. The country looked beautiful and
prosperous--how soon it was to be turned into a blazing, ruined
landscape, with thousands of dead and wounded men lying on it!
It would be about nine o’clock when we heard heavy firing in a wood near
us--there is plenty of wooded country about Mons--and we were told that
the engineers were blowing up obstacles; so we went on entrenching, for
although we knew that the Germans were not far away, we had no idea they
were as close as they soon proved to be.
I am a first-class scout, and, with a corporal and three men, I was sent
on picket some time before noon.
Just on the right of us was a farm, and the people who came out gave us
some beer and eggs. We drank
[Illustration:
[_To face p. 2._
“WE WERE HELPED BY THE GERMANS THROWING SEARCHLIGHTS ON US” (p. 10).]
the beer and sucked the eggs, and uncommonly good they were, too, on
that blazing hot August Sunday, when everything looked so pleasant and
peaceful. You had it hot at home, I know; but I dare say we had it
hotter, and we were in khaki, with a heavy kit to carry.
There was a big tree near us, and I made for it and climbed up, so that
I could see better over the countryside. I was hanging on to a branch,
and looking around, when all at once a bullet or two came, and we knew
that the Germans had spotted us. I got down from that tree a vast deal
quicker than I had got up into it, and we made ready to rush back to the
trenches; but before scuttling we told the civilians to clear out at
once, and they began to do so. The poor souls were taken aback,
naturally, but they lost no time in obeying the warning, leaving all
their worldly treasures--belongings which they were never to see again,
for the German barbarians were soon to destroy them shamefully and
mercilessly, and, worse than that, were to take the lives of innocent
and inoffensive people who had not done them the slightest wrong in any
way.
As soon as we had raised the alarm a whole section of Germans opened
fire on the four of us, and as we could not do anything against them,
being heavily outnumbered, we ran for it back to the trenches. Yes, we
did run indeed, there is no mistake about that. Luckily for us we knew
the way back; but if the Germans had been able to shoot for nuts with
their rifles, not one of us would have been spared. We laughed as we
ran, and one of the scouts, named Anderson, laughed so much that he
could scarcely run, though there was nothing special to laugh at; but,
as you know, there are some odd chaps amongst Highlanders. They don’t
care a rap for anything.
It was soon reported that there were in front of us about 15,000
Germans, including some of the finest of the Kaiser’s troops, amongst
them the Imperial Guard, who have worked military miracles--at peace
manœuvres. And to oppose that great body of men we had only the 8th
Brigade, consisting of the Royal Scots, the Royal Irish, the
Middlesex--the old “Die-Hards”--and the Gordon Highlanders, of which I
was in B Company.
The Royal Scots were on our right, and the Royal Irish and the Middlesex
on our left. We had Royal Field Artillery, too, and never did British
gunners do more splendid work and cover themselves with greater glory
than in the battle of Mons.
The Royal Irish were getting their dinners when the Germans opened fire
on them with their machine-guns, doing some dreadful damage straight
off, for they seemed to have the range, and there was no time for the
Royal Irish to get under cover.
That, I think, was really the beginning of the battle; but I had better
try and give you an idea of the battlefield, so that you can understand
what actually took place.
Mons itself is a fair-sized manufacturing town, with plenty of
coal-mines about, and we were in a pleasant village near it, the main
road to Paris cutting through the village. From our trenches we could
see across the country, towards the mines and other villages, and we had
a clear rifle-range of well over a mile, because a lot of obstruction in
the shape of hedges, foliage and corn had been cut away.
To our rear, on each side of us, was a forest, and between the two
forests were our splendid gunners, who were to do such awful mischief in
the German hosts. The “Die-Hards” were in a sort of garden, and I saw
only too clearly what happened to them when the fight was in full swing.
It was just before noon when the most fearful part of the battle
started, and that was the artillery duel. Our own guns were making a
terrible commotion near us; but the din was a very comforting sound,
because it meant something very bad for the German gunners, who were
making havoc in our brigade.
I saw the awful effects of the German shrapnel amongst the men of the
Middlesex in that fair Belgian garden on what should have been a
peaceful Sunday afternoon. The Middlesex were practically blown to
pieces, and the fearful way in which they suffered was shown later, when
the casualty lists were published, and it was seen that most of them
were either killed, wounded or missing.
Then the Gordons’ turn came. The Germans had got our position, and they
opened fire on us; but we were lucky--perhaps the German batteries were
too far away to be really effective. At any rate, they did not harm us
much.
The battle had opened swiftly, and it continued with amazing speed and
fury, for both sides soon settled into their stride--and you know, of
course, that the Germans were on the promenade to Paris and were going
to mop the British Army up. It took a lot of mopping!
Our own field-gunners were doing magnificently, and the Germans were
first-rate hands at the deadly game. If they had been anything like as
accurate with the rifle as they were with the artillery I think that
very few British soldiers would have been left to tell the tale of
Mons. But with the rifle they were no good.
The Germans came out of their trenches in big heaps in close formation,
because their game was to rush us by sheer weight of numbers; but we
just shot them down. Yet as soon as we shot them down others came out,
literally like bees. No wonder the poor chaps are called by their
officers “cannon-fodder”! British officers don’t talk of their men in
that brutal way; and the British officer always leads--shows the way;
but the German officer seems to follow his men, and to shove and shoot
them along.
It was marvellous to watch the Germans come on in their legions, and
melt away under our artillery and rifle fire. We simply took deliberate
aim at the masses of figures, grey clad, with their helmets covered with
grey cloth; but it seemed as if not even our absolutely destructive fire
would stop them. On they came, still on, the living actually sheltering
behind the dead. But it was no use. We kept them off, and they kept
themselves off, too, for it was perfectly clear that they had a horror
of the bayonet, and would not come near it.
The nearest the Germans got to us, as far as I can tell--that is, to the
Gordons--was about 300 yards; but that was near enough, seeing that they
outnumbered us by four to one, and were amongst the finest troops of
Germany. Some of the enemy’s cavalry--I suppose the much-talked-of
Uhlans--came into the sunken road in front of us, hoping to do business;
but our machine-guns got on them, and we had a go at them with our
rifles, with the result that the Uhlans made a cut for it and most of
them got away. Even so, there were plenty of riderless horses galloping
madly about.
Our officers had told us to carry on--and carry on we did, then and
later.
What was I feeling like? Well, of course, at the start I was in a bit of
a funk and it wasn’t pleasant; but I can honestly say that the feeling
soon vanished, as I’m certain it did from all of us, and we settled down
to good hard pounding, all the time seeing who could pound the hardest
and last longest. And I can assure you that, in spite of everything, men
kept laughing, and they kept their spirits up.
You see, we had such splendid officers, and there is always such a fine
feeling between officers and men in Highland regiments. Our colonel, a
Gordon by name and commanding the Gordons, was a real gallant Gordon,
who won his Victoria Cross in the South African War--a regular warrior
and a veteran; amongst other things he was in at the storming of Dargai,
and he had more experience of actual fighting, I should think, than all
the Germans in front of us put together.
Another brave officer was Major Simpson, my company officer, a Companion
of the Distinguished Service Order, which is the next best thing to the
V.C. Major Simpson and a private went to fetch some ammunition. To do
that they had to leave shelter and rush along in a literal hail of
fire--shrapnel and bullets. It seemed as if no living thing could exist,
and they were watched with intense anxiety. Shells were bursting all
around us--some in the air and others on the ground, though there were
German shells that did not burst at all.
Suddenly, with a fearful shattering sound, a shell burst just beside the
major and the private, and for the moment it looked as if they had been
destroyed. Some Gordons rushed towards them, and picked them up and put
them on a horse. It was seen that they were badly hurt, but even so,
and at a time like that, the major actually laughed, and I am sure he
did it to keep our spirits up. He was taken away to hospital, and was
laughing still when he said--
“It’s all right, lads! There’s nothing much the matter with me! Carry
on!”
Oh, yes! There were some fine cool things done on that great Sunday when
the Germans were like bees in front of us in the turnip-fields at Mons,
and we were settling down into our stride.
And the N.C.O.’s were splendid, too.
Our section sergeant, Spence, when the firing was fiercest, popped up to
take a shot, which is always a risky thing to do, because a bullet is so
much swifter than a man’s movements. The sergeant fired, and the instant
he had done so he fell back into the trench, saying, “I believe they’ve
got me now!” But they hadn’t. He was taken to hospital, and it was found
that a bullet had come and so cleanly grazed his head--on the left side,
like this--that the hair was cut away in a little path, just like a big
parting, as if it had been shaved. It was touch and go with death, the
closest thing you could possibly see; but, luckily, the sergeant was all
right, and he made no commotion about his narrow shave.
There was a gallant young officer and brave gentleman of the
Gordons--Lieutenant Richmond--who had been doing his duty nobly
throughout that Sunday afternoon.
Dusk was falling, and Lieutenant Richmond made his way out of the trench
and over the open ground, crawling, to try and learn something about the
Germans. He was crawling back--that is the only way in such a merciless
fire--and was only about three yards from the trench when he rose up
and was going to make a final dash for it. Just as he rose, a bullet
struck him in the back and came out through his heart--and killed him
straight away. He was in my trench, and I saw this happen quite clearly.
It was such sights as that which made the Gordons all the more resolved
to carry on and mow the Germans down as hard as they could--the Germans
who seemed to be for ever rushing at us from the turnip-fields in front
and never getting any nearer than their own barriers of dead.
I never thought it possible that such a hell of fire could be known as
that which we endured and made at Mons. There was the ceaseless crackle
of the rifles on both sides, with the everlasting explosions of the guns
and the frightful bursting of the shells. They were particularly
horrible when they burst on the cobbled road close by--as hundreds
did--so near to us that it seemed as if we were certain to be shattered
to pieces by the fragments of shrapnel which did so much mischief and
killed so many men and horses, to say nothing of the gaping wounds they
inflicted on the troops and the poor dumb beasts.
But you can best understand what the German artillery fire was like when
I tell you that all the telegraph-poles were shattered, the very wires
were torn away, and trees were smashed and blown to pieces. It seemed
miraculous that any human being could live in such a storm of metal
fragments and bullets.
From before noon until dusk, and that was a good eight hours, the battle
of Mons had been truly awful; but we had held our own, and as the
evening came I realised what a fearful thing a modern battle
is--especially such a fight as this, brought on in a peaceful and
beautiful country whose people had done no wrong.
All the villages in front of us were burning, either set on fire
deliberately by the Germans, or by shells; but there was no halting in
the fight, and when we could no longer see the enemy because it was dark
we blazed away at the flashes of their rifles--thousands of spurts of
flame; and the field-gunners crashed at the straight lines of fire which
could be seen when the German artillerymen discharged their guns. We
were helped, too, in a way that many of us never expected to be, and
that was by the Germans throwing searchlights on us. These long, ghastly
beams shone on us and gave a weird and terrible appearance to the
fighters in the trenches, and more so to the outstretched forms of
soldiers who had fought for the last time.
It was a dreadful yet fascinating sight, and one which I shall never
forget; nor shall I ever forget the extraordinary fact that, in spite of
the annihilating hail of missiles and the deafening din of battle, some
of our fellows in the trenches went to sleep, and seemed to sleep as
peacefully and soundly as if they were in feather beds. They went to
sleep quite cheerfully, too. I should say that half our chaps were
having a doze in this way and taking no notice of the fight and the
screech and roar of shells and guns.
Sunday night--and such a night! The sky red with burning villages, the
air rent with awful noises of guns and rifles, men and horses--a
terrible commotion from the devilish fight that was going on. The
villagers had left; they had fled on getting our warning, but they were
not too far away to see the utter ruin of their homes.
I do not want to say too much about the villagers--it is too sad and
makes one too savage; but I will tell of one incident I saw. An old man
was running away, to try and get out of danger, when he was hit in the
stomach. I saw him fall, and I know that he bled to death. Think of
that--an absolutely innocent and inoffensive old man who had done
nothing whatever to harm the brigands who were over-running Belgium!
Just about midnight we got the order to retire. We joined the survivors
of the 8th Brigade and began a march which lasted nearly all night. We
were weary and worn, but as right in spirit as ever, and didn’t want to
retire. There was no help for it, however, and the Great Retreat began.
Everything that the Red Cross men could do had been done for the
wounded; but there were some who had to be left, as well as the dead.
It was fearfully hot, and we were thankful indeed when we were able to
lie down in a field and get about two hours’ sleep--the sleep that you
might suppose a log has.
When we awoke it was not to music of birds, but of shrapnel; for the
Germans were following us and began to fire on us as soon as we started
to retire again. Hour after hour we went on, feeling pretty bad at
having to retreat; but a bit cheered when, at about two o’clock on the
Monday afternoon, we began to dig trenches again. We had the
field-gunners behind us once more, and joyous music it was to hear their
shells screaming over our heads.
It was about dinner-time on the Monday when we had one of the most
thrilling experiences of the whole fight--one of the extraordinary
incidents that have become part and parcel of a modern battle, although
only a very few years ago they were looked upon as mad fancies or wild
dreams. We were marching along a road when we sighted a German
aeroplane--a bird-like-looking thing in the sky. It was keeping watch on
us, and signalling our position to the main German body. It gave the
position, and the Germans promptly gave us some shells. The thing was
most dangerous and unpleasant; but the German airman was not to have it
all his own way.
Two of our own aeroplanes spotted him and went for him, just like
immense birds--the whole business might have been carried out by living
creatures of the air--and there was as fine a fight in the air as you
could hope to see on land--firing and swift manœuvring with the
object of killing and destroying, and both sides showing amazing pluck
and skill. It was an uncommonly exciting spectacle, and it became all
the more thrilling when we opened fire with our rifles.
I blazed away as hard as I could, but an aeroplane on the wing is not an
easy thing to hit. Whether I struck the machine or not I can’t say, but
it came down in the road just where my company was. As far as I know the
aeroplane was not struck--the chap that was in it planed down. He was
determined not to be caught cheaply, for as soon as he landed he fired
his petrol tank to destroy his machine, and then ran for it. He went off
at a hard lick, but some of our cavalry rushed after him and caught him,
and it was found that he was not hurt.
Just on our right was a railway, with a big cutting, and we were ordered
to retire down into it; so into the cutting we got and along the line we
went, retreating all that day by the railway and the roads, our gunners
giving the Germans socks throughout that hard rearguard action.
On the Tuesday we were still retreating, and a miserable day it was,
with a deluge of rain that soaked us to the skin. We reached a village
and slept in barns, and a good sleep we got, without the trouble of
undressing or drying our clothes or taking our boots off.
Early on the Wednesday morning the pickets quietly roused and warned us
again, and we went out in front of the village and entrenched.
There was a big lot of coal-mines in front of us, about a mile away,
with the refuse-heaps that are common to mines. Behind one of these
great mounds a battery of German artillery had got into position, and
one of the finest things you could have seen was the way in which our
own grand gunners got on the Germans. They seemed to have found the
range of the enemy exactly, and that was a good job for us, because the
German shells were dropping just between us and our own artillery, and
we expected to have them bang on us. But our guns silenced our
opponents, and, what was more, scattered a lot of German infantry, about
1,500 yards away, who were making for us.
We got straight into our trenches, and in this respect we were lucky,
because we went into one that the Engineers had made, while most of the
other companies had to dig their own.
Our trench was in a cornfield. The corn had been cut down, and we spread
it and other stuff in front of the trenches, on top of the earth, to
make us invisible. From that queer hiding-place we resumed our blazing
away at the pursuing Germans.
When Wednesday came we were at Cambrai, where hell itself seemed to be
let loose again; for first thing in the morning we heard heavy artillery
fire on all sides of us, and it was clear that a fearful battle was
going on. We were utterly worn and weary, but were cheered by looking
forward to a good dinner. We knew that the food was in the field
cookers, in preparation for serving out to the men. But the dinner never
came, and it was not until next day that we heard the reason why--then
we learned that a German shell had blown the field cookers to
smithereens.
Now all this time, from the moment the battle opened at Mons till we
were blazing away again at the Germans at Cambrai we were waiting for
the French to come--waiting and longing, for we were utterly outnumbered
and completely exhausted; but we never had a glimpse of a Frenchman, and
we know now, of course, that the French themselves were so hard pressed
that they could not spare any help at all for the British.
At about half-past four in the afternoon we resumed the retreat, for a
major of artillery had galloped up and shouted “Retire!” B Company
retired across the level ground behind us. This was a good bit off a
sunken road that we wanted to get back to, because it would give us
comparative safety. Eventually we reached it, and were thankful to find
that we were pretty secure, though shells were still bursting all around
and over us.
From that time we never saw any more of the rest of the regiment, and I
lost sight of our gallant colonel. He became numbered with the
missing.[1] There were only about 175 of my own company and parts of
other companies who had got away and joined us.
A terrible time it was at Cambrai, and one that I sha’n’t forget in a
hurry. The last I clearly remember of the place is that several men were
killed near me; but by that time killing had become a matter of course.
The Red Cross men did noble work, but they could not cover all the
cases. I am sorry to say it, but it is true that the Germans
deliberately fired on the hospitals at Mons and also at Cambrai. It
sounds incredible, but there were many things done in Belgium by the
Germans that you could not have believed unless you had seen them.
Well, from that dreadful carnage at Cambrai we went on retreating, and
we never really rested until the Sunday, seven days after the battle
started, when we reached Senlis, about forty miles from Paris. We had
then marched between 130 and 140 miles, and had made one of the longest,
hardest, swiftest and most successful retreats in history--I say
successful, because Sir John French and his generals had got us out of
what looked like a death-trap. We were cursing all the time we were
retreating--cursing because we had to retire, though we knew that there
was no help for it.
A wonderful change came with the Wednesday, because we did no more
fighting. We forged ahead, blowing up bridges and doing all we could to
stop the Germans.
We had a splendid time going through France, as we had had in going
through Belgium, and when we reached Paris there was nothing the French
people thought too good for us. We were taken across Paris in
char-a-bancs, and flowers, cigarettes and five-franc pieces were thrown
at us. A lot of Americans spoke to us, and were very kind. They were
particularly anxious to know how we were getting on, and what we had
gone through. It was very pleasant to hear our own language, as most of
us did not understand a word of French.
We trained to Rouen, but had not the slightest idea that we were going
to England--we thought we were being sent to hospital at Havre; but at
that port we were put into motors and driven down to the quay and shoved
on board a transport and brought at last to London.
I am not wounded. I was struck on the leg by a bullet, but it did not
really hurt me. I was utterly worn out and exhausted, however, and
rheumatism set in and crippled me, so I was sent to hospital; and here I
am. But I’m almost fit and well now, and all I want to do is to fall in
again before the fighting’s done.
[Illustration:
[_To face p. 16._
“SOME OF OUR CAVALRY CAUGHT HIM” (p. 12).]