HOW THE BRITISH ARMY WAS CARRIED OVERSEAS.
On the morning of 18th August, when the fate of Brussels was hanging in
the balance, our newspapers contained a brief paragraph which was read
by Britons all over the world with great satisfaction--our army had been
landed on French soil without the loss of a single man. It was a great
feat, and we were rightly proud of it. To many of us the news came as a
great surprise. We British are not good at keeping secrets; but on this
occasion, like Brer Rabbit, we lay low and said "nuffin." Thousands of
people knew what was going on, but they did not talk about it, and in
the newspapers there was scarcely a hint of what was happening. For once
we kept a secret; and we were rewarded, for our transports crossed the
narrow seas without the slightest attempt on the part of the enemy to
molest them.
But for our navy this feat could never have been performed. A naval
writer once said: "I consider that I have command of the sea when I am
able to tell my Government that they can move an expedition to any point
without fear of interference from an enemy's fleet." This is exactly
what Admiral Jellicoe was able to tell his Government. He had "bottled
up" the German navy in its ports, and the Channel and the Strait of
Dover were as safe as ever they had been. From the first we had the
great advantage of the command of the sea.
Let me tell you how our army of about 110,000 men, with guns, horses,
and stores, was carried in safety to France. You know that the army was
mobilized on 3rd August, and in a day or two most of the regiments were
ready to depart with everything necessary for the grim work of war.
Outside the barracks, in the early mornings, wives and mothers might
have been seen bidding farewell to their husbands or sons; but there
were few other signs that a great movement of troops was in progress.
The Government had taken over the railways, and as soon as each unit was
ready it was hurried off by train towards the south coast. Never were
the railways so busy as at that time, and never did they work more
smoothly; yet all was done with the utmost secrecy. Even the drivers of
the engines were not told beforehand the name of the place to which they
were bound. You can form some idea of the great strain upon the railways
when I tell you that the London and South-Western dispatched three
hundred and fifty trains each of thirty-five cars to Southampton in
forty-five hours. During the first three weeks of the war seventy-three
such trains arrived at the quays every fourteen hours. Every ten
minutes, day and night, they steamed in, all up to time. We ought not to
forget the splendid part which our railwaymen played at this time.
The men stationed in the Irish camp at Curragh sailed from Dublin; the
men in the camp on Salisbury Plain boarded the transports at Avonmouth;
while those at Aldershot found ships awaiting them at Southampton. Other
bodies of men were embarked at Plymouth, Newhaven, Folkestone, Dover,
and London. The busiest port of all was Southampton, which was entirely
handed over to the army. On the outskirts of the town a rest camp had
been formed, and in it the men who had travelled long distances were
allowed some time to recover. Many of the trains were run directly to
the quayside; in other cases the soldiers marched through the streets.
Night and day for more than a week the streets of Southampton echoed to
the tramp of khaki-clad men, the rattle of baggage-wagons, and the
rumbling of guns.
All sorts of passenger ships were pressed into service--the
Holyhead-North Wall steamers, the Fishguard boats, the Channel packets,
vessels plying between Harwich and the Hook of Holland, Antwerp, and
Hamburg, and many others. One Atlantic liner carried three thousand men
on a single trip. When the soldiers were on board, the transports
steamed off, and not even the captains knew the port to which they were
to sail until they were ten miles out at sea. Then they opened sealed
envelopes, and for the first time knew their destination. Think of the
foresight and arrangement needed to engage all these ships and send them
to their proper stations at the right time and in the right order
without confusion and delay.
But this was not all. Arrangements had to be made for the troops to be
landed at the various French ports, and to be encamped until they could
be carried by rail to the front. Some of our officers were sent across
to France before the troops arrived to prepare for their coming; and
French officers came to England to arrange matters on this side.
Everything was done according to a carefully-thought-out plan, and it
worked as smoothly as a well-oiled machine. Long before the troops
landed, enormous quantities of stores had been shipped to the French
ports, so that depôts for the supply of the army might be established.
Our troops were landed on the Continent at the French ports of Havre,
Dieppe, Boulogne, Calais, and Dunkirk. All day long, and all night too,
streams of transports crossed and recrossed the Channel. The weather was
perfect, and the men were packed on board the ships like Bank Holiday
trippers. They suffered no discomfort, for the passage did not in any
case occupy more than about fifteen hours. Many of the men were
surprised to find that no armed vessels accompanied them as an escort.
British warships, however, were keeping their Watch on the Brine, though
the soldiers could not see them. A squadron of cruisers patrolled the
narrow seas between the North Foreland and the French coast, and thus
closed the North Sea entrance to the Channel. Aeroplanes and a naval
airship hovered above the same waters, keeping a bright lookout for
enemy craft. It is said that the crew of one seaplane engaged in this
work did a most daring deed in mid-air. Something went wrong with the
propeller, and it had to be changed. The pilot thought he would be
obliged to descend for the purpose, but two of the crew offered to do
the work in the air. They climbed out on to the bracket carrying the
propeller, and actually changed the blade while soaring two thousand
feet above the sea!
[Illustration: A daring feat in mid-air.
(_From the picture by Cyrus Cuneo._)]
On former occasions, when our soldiers have been sent abroad to fight
for their country, we have gathered in crowds to give them a hearty
"send off." They have departed to the noise of ringing cheers, the blare
of bands, the waving of banners, the flutter of handkerchiefs. But those
were days when we did not fear the secret menace of mines, submarines,
and aeroplanes. On this occasion there were no public farewells. The
men, however, were not allowed to depart without a fervent "God speed"
from him who speaks in the name of us all. Before embarking, each
soldier was presented with two printed messages--one from the King, the
other from Lord Kitchener.
Here is the King's message. You will notice how quietly confident it is,
and how full of dignity. It is just the message which we should expect a
British king to send to British soldiers.
"You are leaving home to fight for the safety and honour of my
Empire. Belgium, which country we are pledged to defend, has
been attacked, and France is about to be invaded by the same
powerful foe. I have implicit confidence in you, my soldiers.
Duty is your watchword, and I know your duty will be nobly done.
I shall follow your every movement with deepest interest, and
mark with eager satisfaction your daily progress. Indeed, your
welfare will never be absent from my thoughts. I pray God to
bless you and guard you, and bring you back victorious.
"George, R. et I."[270]
The men also received a little printed letter of counsel and guidance
from Lord Kitchener. It has been rightly called the noblest message ever
sent to fighting men. Read the following three paragraphs very
carefully, and try to remember them. Never before has so fine an ideal
been set before the British soldier.
"Remember that the honour of the British Empire depends on your
individual conduct, and you can do your country no better
service than in showing yourself in France and Belgium in the
true character of a British soldier.
"Be invariably courteous, considerate, and kind. Always look
upon looting as a disgraceful act. You are sure to meet with a
welcome, and to be trusted; your conduct must justify that
welcome and that trust.
"Do your duty bravely. Fear God. Honour the King.
"Kitchener, Field-Marshal."
* * * * *
More of our soldiers were landed at Boulogne than at any other French
port. Boulogne has a special interest for us: it was the port at which
Napoleon made his preparations, between June 1803 and September 1805,
for the invasion of England. He marched a hundred thousand men--a very
large army in those days--to Boulogne, and every road by which his
soldiers passed bore the sign-post, "To England." A huge flotilla of
flat-bottomed boats was collected, and the men were exercised in
embarking and disembarking within sight of the white cliffs of Dover.
"The Channel," said Napoleon, "is but a ditch, and anyone can cross it
who has but the courage to try." You know that he never tried to cross
it. He could not win that command of the narrow seas on which the
success of his invasion depended. His fleet lured Nelson to the West
Indies, and then sailed rapidly back; but it was met off Ferrol, and was
so crippled that Napoleon was forced to give up his project in disgust.
He broke up the camp at Boulogne, and marched his army against the
Austrians and Russians instead.
Many of our soldiers at Boulogne rested almost in the shadow of a tall
column, 172 feet high, which stands about two miles from the port on the
road to Calais. It was erected in 1804 to commemorate the invasion which
never came off, and was left unfinished until 1841. On the summit is a
statue of the emperor. Our men must also have been much interested in
the crumbling forts which were built by Napoleon to protect his
flat-bottomed boats from attack.
* * * * *
A friend who was in Boulogne when the transports were expected, tells me
that weather-beaten sailors watched the sea eagerly for days on end, and
at last, when they saw the hulls of our ships on the horizon, broke into
loud cries: "Les Anglais arrivent!"[271] At once the townsfolk flocked
to the quays, and as our men marched down the gangways they received
them like old friends. They were full of admiration for the fine, trim,
well-set-up Britons who had come to their help, and they loudly praised
their arms, clothing, horses, and guns. They flocked around them,
shaking them by the hand and patting them on the shoulder. "So milord
Kitchener has sent you," they said. "He is indeed a fine fellow, a tough
customer."
Many of the soldiers were marched straight from the boat to the train,
which they boarded in their usual business-like fashion. "Those
English," said an admiring townsman, "take their departure as if they
were going for a walk. They are indeed brave soldiers." You can imagine
the bustle and excitement on the quays and in the streets of the town as
infantry, cavalry, artillery, Army Service corps, and nurses came
ashore, and the delight of the people as they saw aeroplanes hovering
overhead like huge dragon flies.
Some of our soldiers were sent to a rest camp on the low hills outside
the town, and before long they won the hearts of the townsfolk by their
cheery good humour and excellent behaviour. All sorts of presents were
exchanged; little French tricolours, bonbons, flowers, and cigarettes
were pressed upon them, in return for which our men parted with their
buttons and badges. "They are English gentlemen--that's what they are,"
said French men and women alike. Many of the French soldiers in the town
could speak English well, and with these our men struck up a close
comradeship at once. "Hallo!" said one "Tommy" to a French corporal,
"does your mother know you're out?" To which came the quick reply in
perfect English, "Well, she ought to, for there are six of us out."
Those early days in France were delightful to our men. The weather was
perfect, their surroundings were novel, they had little to do, and they
were surrounded by hosts of friends. "This isn't like war," said one of
them; "it's just a bit of a holiday, with nothing to pay." All our
soldiers were provided with a sheet of paper containing the French words
and phrases which they were likely to need. As you may imagine, the
attempts of some of the Tommies to speak French with this slender
equipment were amusing in the extreme.
* * * * *
And now, while our army is being rapidly carried by train to the front,
where it is to form the extreme left of the Allied battle-line, let us
learn something of its commander-in-chief, Field-Marshal Sir John
French.[272] The general public knew little of him before the war, but
he has always been most popular in all branches of the service. In 1866
he joined the navy as a cadet, and served as a midshipman for four
years; but he gave up the sea in his twenty-second year, and obtained a
commission in the 8th Hussars, because he wished to see active service,
and there seemed little likelihood of naval warfare for a long time to
come. He soon showed himself a keen cavalry officer, but he had to wait
many years for the chance to draw his sword against an enemy. When
General Gordon[273] was shut up in Khartum, Major French, as he was
then, commanded the single cavalry squadron in the little army which was
sent--alas! too late--to save him. Though the expedition was a failure,
several desperate battles were fought, and Major French came home with a
very good record. In 1885 he was promoted lieutenant-colonel, and later
on was sent to India, where he made a great name as a leader of cavalry.
When he joined the army most officers believed that the work of cavalry
was to wait until the guns had shaken the enemy's infantry, and then to
charge down upon it in a solid mass, and put it to flight. French did
not think that this was the chief part which cavalry had to play in
modern warfare. He believed that it ought to be the "eyes and ears" of
the army, and that it should devote itself largely to scouting and to
"feeling for the enemy." He trained his regiment on these lines, and
though there were some of the "old school" who opposed him, he found a
warm friend and supporter in the Duke of Connaught.
[Illustration: British soldiers making friends with the people of
Boulogne.
_By permission of the Illustrated London News._]
It was during the South African War that General French was able to put
his principles into practice, and by so doing he showed how valuable
they were. He only just escaped being shut up in Ladysmith;[274] he left
it by the last train to take charge of the cavalry division which
relieved Kimberley,[275] stopped the retreat of Cronje at
Paardeburg,[276] and entered Pretoria.[277] His striking success in
South Africa marked him out as the greatest of our cavalry leaders.
Naturally we should expect him to be fond of horses. The charger which
carried him through the South African War wore a medal round its neck,
with a record of its services. When this charger died Sir john was much
grieved, and he buried it under a memorial stone at Aldershot.
[Illustration: Sir John French.]
Those who know General French well tell us that he has real genius. When
he has a problem to solve he seems more like a dreamer than a man of
action. Suddenly, however, when he has fully grasped the situation, he
springs to his feet, having fully made up his mind what he is going to
do and how he is going to do it. He sketches out his plan in the fewest
possible words, and frequently astonishes his staff by the daring and
novelty of his plans. "Deeds, not words," is his motto, and he fully
deserves his nickname, "Silent French." He loves his profession, and no
general has ever been so ready to pay such generous tributes to those of
his officers and men who deserve them. Amongst the rank and file he is
known as "Johnny," and all of them know that their welfare is his chief
concern. A chaplain at the front tells us that "no matter how hard he
has worked during the day, he always tries to spend a little time in a
field hospital at night with the wounded."
Our French allies were delighted that Sir John French had been made
commander-in-chief of the British army which was to fight side by side
with them. Most of the leading French officers knew him well, and
admired him greatly. They were specially pleased that his name was
French, and they said that he must be a Frenchman by descent. When they
discovered that he had Irish blood in his veins they found a new reason
for giving him a hearty welcome. Many Irish soldiers, as you know, have
fought bravely and died nobly for France. Before setting out for the
front, he paid a flying visit to Paris, and was greeted with loud cheers
by the Parisians who lined the streets in his honour.
* * * * *
And now, while millions of men are grasping their rifles, ready for the
first clash of arms in this gigantic struggle which will decide the fate
of Europe, the first volume of this book comes to an end. The greatest
story of the world has yet to be told--a story of strife on a scale far
beyond the experiences of mankind, of combats so vast and long enduring
that the battles of history seem in comparison but puny skirmishes, of
slaughter that has horrified the watching world, and of heroisms that
have thrilled it with pride.
"Troops to our Britain true
Faring to Flanders,
God be with all of you
And your commanders.
"Fending a little friend,
Weak but unshaken--
Quick! there's no time to spend,
Or the fort's taken.
"He hath his all at stake;
More can have no man.
Quick, ere the barrier break,
On to the foeman.
"Troops to this Britain true,
And your commanders,
God be with all of you
Fighting in Flanders."
[Footnote 270: _Rex et Imperator_, Latin for "King and Emperor." Our
King is also Emperor of India.]
[Footnote 271: The English come.]
[Footnote 272: Born 1852.]
[Footnote 273: Governor of the Sudan. He defended Khartum, at the
junction of the Blue and White Niles, for several months against the
followers of the Mahdi, and was killed by them two days before the
relieving force came in sight of Khartum (1885).]
[Footnote 274: Town of Natal, on the Klip River; besieged by the Boers
from November 2, 1899, to February 25, 1900.]
[Footnote 275: Diamond-mining centre of British South Africa, 646 miles
by rail north-east of Cape Town. It was besieged by the Boers from
October 15, 1899, to February 16, 1900.]
[Footnote 276: Thirty miles south-east of Kimberley, on the Modder
River. The Boer leader Cronje was here forced to surrender with 4,000
men, February 27, 1900.]
[Footnote 277: Capital of the Transvaal. It surrendered to Lord Roberts
on June 5, 1900.]
End of Volume I.
=Transcriber's Notes:=
original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in
the original
Contents: page number for Chapter 1 changed from 3 to 1
Page 1, "hurried into eternity" changed to "hurried into eternity,"
Page 24, "Photo, Cribb" changed to "Photo, Cribb."
Page 27, "Photo, Ernest Brooks" changed to "Photo, Ernest Brooks."
Page 36, "Photo, Topical Press" changed to "[Photo, Topical Press."
Page 55, "lie bleeding" changed to "lie bleeding?"
Page 107, "guardian of Israel" changed to "guardian of Israel."
Page 135, "his weapon" changed to "His weapon"
Page 292, "large as Wales" changed to "large as Wales."
Page 303, "give M Max" changed to "give M. Max"