CAMBRAI, LANDRÉCIES, ST. QUENTIN
He, who in concert with an earthly string
Of Britain’s acts would sing,
He with enraptured voice will tell
Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell;
Of One that ’mid the failing never failed—
Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed
Shall represent her labouring with an eye
Of circumspect humanity;
Shall show her clothed with strength and skill
All martial duties to fulfil;
Firm as a rock in stationary fight;
In motion rapid, as the lightning’s gleam;
Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at midnight
To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream—
Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!
Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.
WORDSWORTH.
The first place to which our troops fell back (fighting hard all the
way) was Cambrai, where cambric was first made, and where, in days of
peace, much exquisitely fine linen is still woven. Cambrai and Le Cateau
are practically one, and a very fierce engagement took place there.
Here I must tell you of a brave Englishwoman who had lived for fifteen
years at Le Cateau. She kept a little restaurant, and during these
terrible hours when such hard fighting was going on close to the town
she went on cooking eggs and bacon for her fellow-countrymen. Both her
French friends and the English soldiers begged her to leave the town,
but, as only answer, she observed that she wouldn’t move “for all the
Germans.”
It is to be hoped that her little house was saved, but the English
soldier, who told the story of her pluck, fears that it must have been
destroyed.
At the Battle of Cambrai, the charge of the 12th Lancers and Royal Scots
Greys is said to have been the equal of anything seen at Waterloo.
Indeed finer; for at Waterloo, in one cavalry charge at any rate, the
men, after their first success, got out of hand, went too far, and
suffered grievously in consequence.
An heroic passage of arms, in which the 2nd Battalion Connaught Rangers
were concerned, was splendidly described by a private in a letter home:
“It was understood we were to pass the night at Cambrai, but we got a
report that the Germans were approaching, and were close on us. Every
man was called to stand to arms, and soon the German shells were falling
amongst us. Our colonel was a perfect gentleman, and under his gallant
lead the Rangers set a bold front. In the midst of the bursting of the
German projectiles his clear, stentorian voice rang out: ‘Rangers of
Connaught, all eyes are upon you to-night. While you have fists and a
heart within you, charge them. If you don’t, never face me in this world
nor in the next!’
“Our boys were greatly encouraged by the bravery shown by Colonel
Abercrombie. Bayonets were fixed, but at the sight of the steel the
enemy turned about. We were, however, completely outnumbered, and in a
subsequent attack some of our men, including our brave commander, were
taken prisoners.”
It must have been that same night that a brave deed was done for which
the hero, had he survived, would surely have been awarded the Victoria
Cross.
The British took the offensive against the Germans who were holding a
bridge spanning a canal. It was very dark, and when our men reached an
embankment running sharply down to the river, several failed to secure a
foothold, and fell into the water.
Four of the men, who were unable to swim, were in imminent danger of
drowning, when Corporal Brindall, an excellent swimmer, plunged into the
river and rescued all four in turn. He was clambering up the embankment
himself, when a German shell exploded near him, killing him instantly.
Even in the stir and din of battle funny and curious little incidents
are always taking place.
Take the odd case of Private Joseph Davis, of the Dorset Regiment, a
well-known footballer, who, at Cambrai, received a shrapnel bullet in
the shoulder.
Now, strange to say, Mr. Davis has tattooed on his chest a gorgeous
portrait of Queen Victoria. While he lay wounded on the field of battle,
his one dread was that the Germans would see his chest and want to have
a dig at the Queen! Happily his fears were not realised.
It was at Cambrai also that another amusing and most unexpected little
incident took place.
An English governess who happened to be spending a holiday in a village
on the route of our Army rushed for protection to the British lines
during a skirmish. For four days she remained with the troops, marching,
bivouacking, and sheltering during fights, until she was placed on a
conveyance which ensured her safe passage to a port.
During her enforced visit to our gallant troops, she was continually
exposed to danger, but she maintained an iron indifference to the
inconveniences of her situation, and the soldiers met with such good
luck in those four days that they came to regard the lady as a mascot,
and were genuinely sorry when she departed.
A terrible toll of death was exacted during this awful battle, and as at
the Battle of Mons, so many were the gallant and noble deeds that it is
difficult to make a choice.
To Lieutenant Noel, a young officer killed in action, the following
moving tribute was paid:
“Always cheerful, ever thoughtful for others, the best of companions
with the kindest of hearts, Jack Noel endeared himself to all who knew
him, and those who were privileged to be called his friends were bound
to him by ties far stronger than those of common friendship.”
His death was a singularly heroic one, and in wonderful keeping with
what we know of his life. A wounded corporal of his regiment, who was
near him when he fell, says that “Lieutenant Noel, despite the fact that
he was hit in or near his left eye by a shot that broke the half of his
field-glasses, promptly picked up his glasses again, and, finding the
right half of them still workable, continued to direct the fire of his
platoon with his right eye, until a few minutes later he was killed by a
shot in his left temple.”
Not the British only fought at Cambrai; deeds of unparalleled valour
were done by the French, and also by France’s Arab troops, the Turcos.
It was at Cambrai that the Turcos first saw fire. They were singled out,
five hundred of them, to do a desperate piece of work on which the fate
of thousands of men depended.
Straining as if at a leash, they waited for the order to advance. At
last it came. They swung round and faced the foe. Onward they went,
right up to the guns, and against what seemed to be an impregnable line
of trenches.
Of the five hundred, only twelve survived; of the twelve, only one was
unwounded. But the enemy’s guns were silenced, and the Germans had fled
from their trenches. The men who fell were buried shoulder to shoulder
as they fought.
The French peasant women, as we have seen, are wonderfully brave in the
matter of going under fire. One of these showed herself possessed of a
quieter type of courage, but courage nevertheless, during the retreat.
Hear the tale as told by a British officer:
“After the Battle of Mons we were billeted at a large farmhouse, the
occupants of which did not seem very pleased to see us. We had not
touched any eatables for several hours, and I made the housewife
understand that we wanted some food. She looked at us in a way which was
not altogether an expression of friendliness, and, pointing at the
table, round which a number of workingmen were gathered, to whom she was
serving their meals, she said, ‘Après les ouvriers.’—‘After my
work-people.’
“We waited patiently till the men had finished their meal, and then
asked once more for food. But the woman merely remarked, ‘Après nous.’
‘After us.’ And she and her husband subsequently prepared to eat their
supper. It is rather trying to see somebody making an attack on a hearty
meal while one has not tasted any food for a long time. So I demanded,
in the name of the King, that we should be supplied with foodstuff
immediately, the more so that the woman seemed so unwilling to grant our
wishes. The only answer she made was that, if we were in want of food,
we should have to look for it ourselves and try to prepare it.
“The situation was rather awkward, and I was wondering why these French
peasantry were so extremely unkind towards British soldiers!
“Suddenly it entered my mind that perhaps she thought we were Germans!
At the same time I had something like a happy thought in order to prove
that we were not. One of our men, a tall, heavy chap, who was still
outside the house, was ordered to substitute a German helmet for his own
cap, and to knock at the door. He did, the door was opened, we dashed
forward, and made ‘the German’ a prisoner.
“The whole scene changed all of a sudden. The whole family embraced us,
almost choked us. Food and wine and dainties were supplied at once, and
we had a most glorious time.”
August 26, a Wednesday, saw perhaps the fiercest hand-to-hand fighting
which had yet taken place. All day our gallant men fought at Landrécies
against fearful odds. There two companies of the Coldstream Guards held
3000 Germans at bay for four hours. Lieut. Percy Wyndham (a direct
descendant of the great Irish rebel-hero, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and of
his wife, the lovely Frenchwoman who lives in romance under the name of
Pamela) stood up and fired a hundred rounds from his revolver so that
his men could form up quietly behind him. He then shouted out to them:
“Fall in, and die like Coldstreams!” This gallant young soldier fell in
action a week later at Soissons.
Listen to the heroic end of yet another officer of the Coldstreams.
Lieutenant Allan William George Campbell lost his life through a
successful attempt to rescue a comrade who was in a worse plight than
himself. He had already been wounded, when he noticed Captain Tollemache
fall. Together with Colonel Ponsonby he went out and carried Captain
Tollemache over a mile under fire to a position of safety; but while he
was doing so, he was again terribly wounded, and he only lived a few
days.
We get a touching glimpse of Lieut. G. C. Wynn, killed in action at
Landrécies, in a letter from one of Mr. Wynn’s men, written to the young
officer’s father:
“The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the trenches, and
we asked him to have one. He said, ‘No, drink it yourselves, you are in
want of it’; and then with a smile he added, ‘We have to hold the
trenches to-day.’ At Mons we had been fighting all day, and someone
brought a sack of pears and two loaves of bread. Lieut. Wynn accepted
only one pear and a very little bread. We noticed this. I had a small
bottle of pickles in my haversack and asked him to have some. But it was
the usual answer, ‘You require them yourself!’ He died doing his duty
like the officer and gentleman he was.”
In a letter written from hospital after this engagement, a corporal told
of how he had been saved from a lingering death on the field:
“They blazed at us from 350 yards, and as fast as we shot one lot down,
another came up. At last I got a bit of shell in the calf of my leg. We
retired all together. My captain put me on his horse and led it for
miles, until we got to a train.”
St. Quentin, with which will ever be associated the name of a terrible
battle, one of the three rearguard actions in which our army fought with
such splendid bravery and against such fearful odds, is a beautiful old
town. It was part of the dowry of Mary Queen of Scots, and all through
her long, sad captivity, she still received money from the faithful
city.
Long before this great war, St. Quentin saw terrific fighting.
Spaniards, British, Germans and Flemings there defeated the French, who
were led by the brave Coligny and the famous Constable Montmorency. That
old Battle of St. Quentin was fought on St. Lawrence’s Day, and it was
because he believed that God had helped him to win this victory that the
sinister King of Spain, Philip II, built the Escurial, a marvellous
Spanish palace formed in the shape of a gridiron.
The great charge of the Black Watch took place at St. Quentin. The men
had marched close on eighty miles before word ran through the ranks they
were going into action. Unmeasured was their joy! At once they put
themselves in good skirmishing order, and, under cover of the guns, got
closer and closer to the enemy. Not till they were within a hundred
yards of the German lines did they receive the longed for command.
The Black Watch and the Scots Greys charged together. The Scots Greys
galloped forward, the Black Watch hanging to their stirrups. On the
horses flew through a cloud of bullets, but every sound was drowned by
the thunder of the horses’ hoofs as they careered wildly on. Saddles
emptied quickly as the charge closed on the German lines, and man and
horse were on the German gunners before they knew where they were. Down
the enemy went in hundreds, and still the deadly work of the bayonet
continued. Soon the Germans broke and fled “like rabbits before the shot
of a gun.” It is said that there were 2000 British against 20,000
Germans. Close on 4000 prisoners were taken, as well as an immense
number of guns.
Many years ago a famous historian of the Scottish Highlands wrote
concerning the Highlander words which hold as good to-day as they did in
the ’45. “He is taught to consider courage as the most honourable
virtue, cowardice the most disgraceful failing; to venerate and obey his
chief, and to devote himself to his native country and clan; thus
prepared to be a soldier, he is ready to follow wherever honour and duty
call him.”
There is a fine little story concerning the men of the Black Watch on
their first visit to England. The then King had never seen a Highlander
at close quarters, and as he wished to do so, three men who were noted
for their dexterity in the broad-sword exercise and with the lochaber
axe were sent to St. James’s Palace. So pleased was the King with their
performance that he gave them each a guinea, which they in turn gave to
the porter of the gate as they went out. “Doubtless,” they observed,
“the King has mistaken our character and condition in our own country.”
It is interesting to note that it was the gallantry of the Highlanders
in covering the retreat of the Allied Forces at Fontenoy which received
the special praise of the Commander-in-Chief. Fontenoy was their maiden
experience of a foreign foe.
I want you specially to remember what our soldiers in this war have owed
to what is called the Army Service Corps. You will recollect my telling
you that Napoleon said an army marched on its stomach. All that is
necessary for the physical well-being of our men is done quickly,
quietly, and very bravely, by the officers and men of the Army Service
Corps. Their adventures are often as perilous and exciting as those
which befall the fighting soldier. They all have to bear the weight of
considerable responsibility and ever-present anxiety. The enemy always
does his best to harass, intercept, and, if possible, destroy the food
which is on its way to our men. Not food only for the men, but forage
for the horses is under the care of this wonderful Corps.
Never was the triumph of their organisation shown to such advantage as
during the fighting retreat with which we are now concerned.
On one occasion the Germans, who, remember, were close on the heels of
the British motors and waggons, were particularly anxious to get hold of
a train of forty motor lorries stocked with food and ammunition. In
addition to these were also several hundred horsed waggons similarly
loaded.
At last, when close to St. Quentin, which was to be the next great
stand, the men in charge of this huge convoy were informed that the
Uhlans were only a mile away. The colonel in command made certain
inquiries. To his dismay, he learnt that not only his men but their
horses also were so dead tired that they could not go on any more. He,
therefore, made up his mind to stay in the little village where they
found themselves, and if attacked to put up a stout fight.
Wearied though they were, each was sent with a loaded rifle to a place
on the line he was to defend. The waggons were all drawn up in the funny
little narrow winding streets which make a French village not unlike an
old Scottish town.
In a very short time everything was in order to receive the enemy.
I have not yet told you much of the fate of ordinary people during a
great war, but you can fancy for yourselves how the inhabitants of this
village felt when they realised that their home was about to be made
into a battle-ground.
The wise colonel of our forces advised that all the village people
should go into the church, and there the curé arranged to hold a
service. The lady who generally played the organ eagerly gave her
services, and soon the English soldiers guarding the convoys were
heartened by hearing the sweet singing of French and Latin hymns.
Time went on. The horses got very restless, and a stampede was feared.
Had that happened all would have been lost. But it did not happen, and
at last day broke. No attack had been delivered, and it was clear that
the enemy had gone to the right or left of the village, pressing onward
in the belief that the British convoy was ahead.
Yet another exciting incident, which shows the kind of adventures the
Army Service Corps takes as being all part of its day’s work.
A convoy had been drawn up some way from the firing line, and in the
early morning rations were just about to be issued to a brigade of
artillery who were going into action at 3 A.M., when the word went forth
that the convoy was being quietly surrounded by a troop of German
cavalry.
At once it was arranged that if it could not be got away it must be
burnt. But before doing that the officers resolved to make a push for
it.
Lorries and horses started off at top speed till they got to a railway
bridge. There all the transport, with the exception of thirty motor
lorries, passed over in safety. Another determined effort was made, and
out of the thirty, twenty-eight got over safely. Then the bridge was
blown up. A moment later the remaining two lorries were in the hands of
the Germans, together with two officers and eight men, who were, we may
suppose, taken prisoners.
A wonderful stand was also made by our retreating troops at Tournai,
when 700 British soldiers resisted 5000 Uhlans. They stood their ground
to a man, till of the 700 less than half remained. Even then there was
no panic. Calmly, harassing their pursuers with a murderous fire, “all
that was left of them” retreated with the wounded, their convoy intact.
As for the guns, though some were lost, many more were put out of
action. The enemy showed reckless bravery, hurling themselves on to the
very muzzles of the British field guns.
A soldier always admires a brave man, no matter what his uniform is.
Here is a fine tribute paid by a wounded British artilleryman to the
enemy:
“The grandest thing I saw out there was the fight of a handful of good
fighting men in German uniforms. These chaps were the last of a regiment
to cross a stream under fiendish rifle and artillery fire.
“They were hotly pursued by French cavalry and infantry, and when they
saw that it was all up the remnant made for a little hill and gathered
round the regimental flag to fight to the last. The French closed round
them, and called on them to surrender, but not they! They stood there
back to back until the last man went down with the flag in his grasp and
a dozen bullet wounds in his body.
“Then the flag was captured by the French, but there was no shouting
over the victory, and every soldier who passed that way and knew the
story of those brave chaps bared his head to the memory of brave men.”
During the last stage of the great retreat, the British fought
splendidly at Compiègne. It was there that three non-commissioned
officers in the Royal Horse Artillery won the V.C. in recognition of a
deed of extraordinary bravery. Taken by surprise by the enemy, the now
famous “L” battery fought their guns until only one remained, and the
three men who became the V.C. heroes were the sole survivors of the
battery working the gun. The story may be briefly told thus:
The battery was waiting for the order to retire; it was limbered up
ready to move at a moment’s notice. There was a thick mist, and when it
lifted the battery was suddenly subjected to a terrible fire from the
ridge which they had supposed to be occupied by the French, but which
was now occupied by the Germans. The first burst of fire killed nearly
all the horses of the British gun teams, which made it impossible to
retire with the guns, so the men, splendidly directed by their
commanding officer, Captain Bradbury, unlimbered and began to reply to
the German fire. Many of the gunners had been killed during the first
few moments. Those remaining coolly replied with such good effect that
one by one the German guns were put out of action. So terribly
outnumbered were the British gunners that in a short time two out of the
three of their guns in action had been silenced, and only one remained
to defend the position. Officers and men went on serving this one
remaining British gun till all were killed or wounded with the exception
of three. At last they had put all the German guns out of action but
one, and then an exciting duel began, till at last behind the shelter of
their gun the three were found by a strong force of cavalry and infantry
which had come to their rescue.