THE BRITISH TROOPS RETIRE INTO FRANCE—THE ADVENTURES OF A
CHAPLAIN TO A FIELD AMBULANCE—THE ROYAL FIELD ARTILLERY—A
WOUNDED GUNNER—LOSING HIS REGIMENT—A GORDON HIGHLANDER’S
EXPERIENCES—OPERATIONS OF THE FRENCH TROOPS—BRITISH
_versus_ GERMAN CAVALRY—SIR JOHN FRENCH’S ACCOUNT OF THE
EVENTS OF AUGUST 25—THE BATTLE OF CAMBRAI—THE REV. OWEN S.
WATKINS’ ADVENTURES—MR. ASQUITH ANNOUNCES A WONDERFUL FEAT OF
ARMS.
We now return to Sir John French’s despatch and quote that portion
in which he describes the causes that forced him to retire to the
Bavai—Maubeuge line on Monday, August 24:—
In view of the possibility of my being driven from the Mons
position, I had previously ordered a position in rear to be
reconnoitred. This position rested on the fortress of Maubeuge on
the right and extended west to Jenlain, south-east of Valenciennes,
on the left. The position was reported difficult to hold, because
standing crops and buildings made the sighting of trenches very
difficult and limited the field of fire in many important
localities. It nevertheless afforded a few good artillery positions.
When the news of the retirement of the French and the heavy German
threatening on my front reached me, I endeavoured to confirm it by
aeroplane reconnaissance; and as a result of this I determined to
effect a retirement to the Maubeuge position at daybreak on the
24th.
A certain amount of fighting continued along the whole line
throughout the night, and at daybreak on the 24th the 2nd Division
from the neighbourhood of Harmignies made a powerful demonstration
as if to retake Binche. This was supported by the artillery of
both the 1st and 2nd Divisions, whilst the 1st Division took up
a supporting position in the neighbourhood of Peissant. Under
cover of this demonstration the Second Corps retired on the line
Dour—Quarouble—Frameries. The 3rd Division on the right of the
Corps suffered considerable loss in this operation from the enemy,
who had retaken Mons.
The Second Corps halted on this line, where they partially
entrenched themselves, enabling Sir Douglas Haig with the First
Corps gradually to withdraw to the new position; and he effected
this without much further loss, reaching the line Bavai—Maubeuge
about 7 p.m. Towards midday the enemy appeared to be directing his
principal effort against our left.
I had previously ordered General Allenby with the Cavalry to act
vigorously in advance of my left front and endeavour to take the
pressure off.
About 7.30 a.m. General Allenby received a message from Sir George
Fergusson, commanding 5th Division, saying that he was very hard
pressed and in urgent need of support. On receipt of this message
General Allenby drew in the Cavalry and endeavoured to bring direct
support to the 5th Division.
During the course of this operation General De Lisle, of the 2nd
Cavalry Brigade, thought he saw a good opportunity to paralyse the
further advance of the enemy’s infantry by making a mounted attack
on his flank. He formed up and advanced for this purpose, but was
held up by wire about 500 yards from his objective, and the 9th
Lancers and 18th Hussars suffered severely in the retirement of the
Brigade.
The 19th Infantry Brigade, which had been guarding the Line of
Communications, was brought up by rail to Valenciennes on the 22nd
and 23rd. On the morning of the 24th they were moved out to a
position south of Quarouble to support the left flank of the Second
Corps.
With the assistance of the Cavalry Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien was
enabled to effect his retreat to a new position; although, having
two corps of the enemy on his front and one threatening his flank,
he suffered great losses in doing so.
At nightfall the position was occupied by the Second Corps to
the west of Bavai, the First Corps to the right. The right was
protected by the Fortress of Maubeuge, the left by the 19th Brigade
in position between Jenlain and Bry, and the Cavalry on the outer
flank.
General French crossed the Belgian frontier into France when he retired
to the position, already reconnoitred, resting on Maubeuge. This town
is situated on both banks of the river Sambre, and is protected by a
fortress of the first class. From the statement of a refugee, it would
seem Maubeuge can show evidence that the German attack on France had
long been premeditated. All the German heavy artillery, he says, was
placed on platforms of concrete built on sites carefully selected by
private individuals some years ago as the foundation of factories which
were never completed.
Fighting, as Sir John tells us, continued on Saturday night, the 22nd,
and early on Sunday morning along the whole of the British lines, which
were unsupported by the French troops. Mons fell into the hands of the
enemy, who were piercing our extreme left, but a cavalry attack on
their flank under the direction of General de Lisle checked the further
advance of the Germans, and by a tactical feat of great skill, but not
without severe losses, Sir John French effected a successful retirement
by Sunday night, August 23.
Of the achievements of the three regiments of General de Lisle’s
command, most is known of the doings of the 9th Lancers, but both the
4th Royal Irish Dragoon Guards and the 18th (Queen Mary’s Own) Hussars
covered themselves with glory.
The brigade commenced operations in Belgian territory towards Namur, in
its own allotted zone. A carefully organised and extensive system of
reconnoitring detachments was instituted. Officers’ patrols were pushed
forward, supported by contact troops. The patrols were also assisted by
motor scouts. There was also a concentrated group of squadrons, with
two batteries of Royal Horse Artillery, which moved out to meet the
enemy at break of day.
Information came to hand of the artillery positions of the Germans,
and of preparations being made by them for a general advance. The
cavalry field guns were early engaged in operations against the enemy’s
cavalry, followed later by a _mêlée_, in which the German dragoons got
much the worst of it. Fighting took place practically every day, as the
British troops were compelled to fall back. The German cavalry were
sought for and engaged, in the hope that the enemy’s artillery might
be captured. There was a fixed desire on the part of our men to get
hold of the guns which have played such havoc with shrapnel. A wounded
cavalryman says that they have “knocked the stuffing out of the German
cavalry.”
“At first,” he says “they came for us, and we put case shot into
them at 500 yards, and then dismounted squadrons, and stopped their
advance with the rifle, throwing them into confusion. We then
mounted and rode straight at them. They opened out and let us ride
through them, and it was then we emptied their saddles. They don’t
appear to like personal encounter. Some were dragged from their
seats and pegged with the lance. They don’t come for us now, and
directly we see them we make for them. We have galloped for a mile
to get at them. Once they drew us on to the fire of their infantry.
We were only 200 yards away when they fired on us, but we were
going too fast for them to hit us.
“Our echelons came up into line at the time, and we spread out as
we met them hand to hand. Many surrendered without fighting, and
those that made off came under the fire of our guns. The German
cavalry have excellent mounts, and the horses are well trained.
Somehow the men haven’t got the same grit as our chaps. When they
hear our yell and see our swords they turn pale, and want to be
off. If it wasn’t for their officers I believe they’d never face
us.”
The Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins, who was one of the chaplains attached
to a Field Ambulance of the British Expeditionary Forces, contributed
to the _Methodist Recorder_ a story of the retreat with the army from
Mons to Paris in care of the wounded. We have ventured to quote from
Mr. Watkins’s article a few passages:—He left Dublin on August 16 and
embarked on the transport _City of Benares_, which carried, besides
himself, three Anglican and one Roman Catholic chaplain. During a
voyage of forty-eight hours, they were “convoyed” from Ireland to
Land’s End by British men-of-war, and through the English Channel by
French warships. At Land’s End the British ship that had been watching
over them passed within hailing distance, and the “blue-jackets”
crowded to the ship’s side shouting their good wishes, to which the men
on the outgoing boat responded with ringing cheers.
After a train journey from Havre of twenty hours, they reached
Valenciennes on Sunday morning, August 23. “With as little delay as
possible,” said Mr. Watkins, “we detrained, for we were told the
great fight at Mons had already started, and we were urgently needed
in the fighting line. Then followed a twenty miles’ march, almost
without a halt, through villages where the population received us
with enthusiasm—showered flowers upon us as we passed, pressed gifts
of fruit, wine, cider, tea, and coffee upon the troops, whilst our
men, to show their gratitude, shouted ‘Vive la France,’ chanted the
Marseillaise, and cheered until they were hoarse. Then the dark and
sleeping villages were suddenly awakened by the tramp of men. The
troops were now marching doggedly and silently, the monotonous tramp,
tramp almost sent me to sleep in the saddle, and would have done
so but for the aching of bones and muscles which for long had been
unaccustomed to so many hours on horseback.
“Towards the morning of August 24 we halted in the little town of
Bavai, and bivouacked in the main square. Here we found a Red Cross
Hospital in charge of a priest and a few sisters, and in it were
already some of our men; one, a man of the Dorset Regiment, was
apparently dying of pneumonia; another, a Royal Engineer, smashed in
a motor accident, had just died, and, at the request of the Sisters,
Mr. Winnifrith, the Church of England Chaplain, held a little service,
where he lay in the mortuary. Then, fully dressed, we threw ourselves
down on vacant beds in one of the wards and snatched a couple of hours’
sleep.
“We wakened just after dawn on August 25 to the sound of heavy firing,
and without waiting even for breakfast we at once moved off. Early in
our march we learned from a Staff Officer, who passed us at the gallop,
that the British had fallen back, and were now holding the line of the
Mons Canal, and that the odds against them were simply overwhelming.
He urged us to push on, as there was a shortage of ambulances, and the
casualty list was already very heavy. Shortly after we crossed the
Belgian frontier, and there were met by the transport of our Division
(the 5th) returning into France. As we urged forward our weary men
and horses, our progress was constantly impeded by pathetic crowds of
terror-stricken refugees—women, children, old men—coming along the
road in droves, carrying their few valuables on their backs, weeping
piteously, some dropping exhausted by the roadside, and all telling
heart-rending stories of homes in flames, and some of outrages which
made the blood run cold, and caused men to set their lips tight and
talk in undertones of the revenge they hoped to take. I cannot describe
it; it will not bear thinking about; but it has left a mark on our
hearts and memories which nothing can efface.”
The desperate character of the fighting at Mons is admitted by every
survivor of that fierce struggle. Those who had also served in the Boer
War say there never was any fighting in South Africa to compare with
it. A sergeant gunner of the Royal Field Artillery, wounded in the jaw
at Tournai, stated that he was on a flank with his gun and fired about
sixty rounds in forty minutes. “We wanted support,” he said, “and could
not get it. It was about 500 English trying to save a flank attack,
against, honestly I should say, 10,000. As fast as you shot them down,
more came. But for their aeroplanes they would be useless. I was firing
for one hour at from 1,500 yards down to 700 yards.”
Driver W. Moore, also of the Royal Field Artillery, wrote:—
It was Sunday night, August 23, when we saw the enemy. We were
ready for action, but were lying down to have a rest, when orders
came to stand at our posts. It was about four a.m. on Monday when
we started to fire; we were at it all day till six p.m., when
we started to advance. Then the bugle sounded the charge, and
the cavalry and infantry charged like madmen at the enemy; then
the enemy fell back about forty miles, so we held at bay till
Wednesday, when the enemy was reinforced. Then they came on to
Mons, and by that time we had every man, woman, and child out of
the town.... We were situated on a hill in a cornfield and we could
see all over the country. It was about three p.m., and we started
to let them have a welcome by blowing up two of their batteries in
about five minutes; then the infantry let go, and then the battle
was in full swing.
In the middle of the battle a driver got wounded and asked to see
the colours before he died, and he was told by an officer that
the guns were his colours. He replied, “Tell the drivers to keep
their eyes on their guns, because if we lose our guns we lose our
colours.”
Just then the infantry had to retire, and the gunners had to leave
their guns, but the drivers were so proud of their guns that they
went and got them out, and we retired to St. Quentin. We had a
roll-call, and only ten were left out of my battery. This was the
battle in which poor Winchester (an old Cornwall boy) lost his life
in trying to get the guns away.
When the order came to retire it was received by a disappointed force.
Such a one was a private in the Middlesex Regiment, who wrote as
follows:—
It was somewhere in the neighbourhood of Mons, I believe, that we
got our first chance. We had been marching for days with hardly any
sleep. When we took up our position the Germans were nearer than
we thought, because we had only just settled down to get some rest
when there came the blinding glare of the searchlight. This went
away almost as suddenly as it appeared, and it was followed by a
perfect hail of bullets. We lost a good many in the fight, but we
were all bitterly disappointed when we got the order to retire.
I got a couple of bullets through my leg, but I hope it won’t be
long before I get back again. We never got near enough to use our
bayonets. I only wish we had done. Talk about civilised warfare!
Don’t you believe it. The Germans are perfect fiends.
We have already given the experiences of some of the West Kents, who
were in the thick of the fighting from the beginning. The following is
an account by another man in this regiment, who said:—
“We were in a scrubby position just outside Mons from Saturday
afternoon till Monday morning. After four hours of action each of
our six big guns was put out of action. Either the gunners were
killed or wounded, or the guns themselves damaged. For the rest of
the time—that is, until Monday morning, when we retired—we had to
stick the German fire without being able to retaliate. It was bad
enough to stand this incessant banging away, but it made it worse
not to be able to reply.
All day Sunday and all Sunday night the Germans continued to
shrapnel us. At night it was just hellish. We had constructed some
entrenchment, but it didn’t afford much cover, and our losses were
very heavy. On Monday we received the order to retire to the south
of the town, and some hours later, when the roll-call was called,
it was found that we had 300 dead alone, including four officers.
Then an extraordinary thing happened. Me and some of my pals began
to dance. We were just dancing for joy at having escaped with our
skins, and to forget the things we’d seen a bit, when bang! and
there came a shell from the blue, which burst and got, I should
think, quite twenty of us.
That’s how some of us got wounded, as we thought we had escaped.
Then another half-dozen of us got wounded this way. Some of our
boys went down a street near by, and found a basin and some water,
and were washing their hands and faces when another shell burst
above them and laid most of them out.
What happened to us happened to the Gloucesters. Their guns,
too, were put out of action, and, like us, they had to stand the
shell-fire for hours and hours before they were told to retire.
What we would have done without our second in command I don’t know.
During the Sunday firing he got hit in the head. He had two wounds
through the cap in the front and one or two behind, and lost a
lot of blood. Two of our fellows helped to bind up his head, and
offered to carry him back, but he said, ‘It isn’t so bad. I’ll be
all right soon.’ Despite his wounds and loss of blood, he carried
on until we retired on Monday. Then, I think, they took him off to
hospital.”
Some further battle stories from wounded men relate to the fighting
round Mons. One of the Cheshires said:—“Our chaps were also badly
cut up. Apart from the wounded, several men got concussion of the
brain by the mere explosions. It was awful! Under the cover of
their murderous artillery fire, the German infantry advanced to
within three and five hundred yards of our position. With that we
were given the order to fix bayonets, and stood up for the charge.
That did it for the German infantry! They turned tail and ran for
their lives.
Our captain cried out, ‘Now you’ve got ’em, men!’ But we hadn’t.
Their artillery begins with that to fire more hellish than ever,
and before you could almost think what to do, fresh lots of the
‘sausages’ came along, and we had to beat a retreat.
During the retreat one of our sergeants was wounded and fell. With
that our captain runs back and tries to lift him. As he was doing
so he was struck in the foot, and fell over. We thought he was
done for, but he scrambles up and drags the sergeant along until a
couple of us chaps goes out to help ’em in.”
How a number of British troops made a dash in the night to save some
women and children from the Germans was told by Lance-corporal Tanner,
of the 2nd Oxfordshire and Bucks Light Infantry. “On Sunday week,” he
said, “the regiment arrived at Mons.”
“We took up our position in the trenches,” he said, “and fought for
some time. In the evening the order came to retire, and we marched
back to Condé, with the intention of billeting for the night, and
having a rest. Suddenly, about midnight, we were ordered out, and
set off to march to the village of Douai, some miles away, as news
had reached us that the Germans were slaughtering the natives there.
“It was a thrilling march in the darkness, across the unfamiliar
country. We were liable to be attacked at any moment, of course,
but everyone was keen on saving the women and children, and hurried
on. We kept the sharpest look-out on all sides, but saw nothing of
the enemy.
When we reached Douai a number of the inhabitants rushed out to
meet us. They were overjoyed to see us, and speedily told what the
Germans had done. They had killed a number of women and children.
With fixed bayonets we advanced into the village, and we saw signs
all around us of the cruelty of the enemy.“
Private R. Wills, of the Highland Light Infantry, who also took
part in the march to the village, here continued the story. “We
found that most of the Germans had not waited for our arrival, and
there were only a few left in the place. However, we made sure that
none remained there.
We started a house-to-house search. Our men went into all the
houses, and every now and then they found one or two of the enemy
hiding in a corner or upstairs. Many of them surrendered at once,
others did not.
When we had cleared the village, some of us lay down on the
pavements, and snatched an hour’s sleep. At 3.30 we marched away
again, having rid the place of the enemy, and, getting back to
camp, were glad to turn in.”
A gunner of the Lancashire Fusiliers, who was injured by the
overturning of his gun, gave his experiences of fighting for
seventy-three hours in the neighbourhood of Mons. He spoke of the
surprise of some Germans who, while they were being shelled, suddenly
received a bayonet charge from a body of men the advance of whom they
had not observed as they had crept up under cover. The enemy quickly
retired, having lost about 250 men. The gunner expressed a poor opinion
of the Germans as shots, who “are frightened of the bayonet, and when
charged run faster than our men can pursue them,” but he praised their
artillery. Speaking of the strength of the Germans, he said there
were nine of them to every Englishman. As fast as they were killed,
others replaced them, but they succeeded in reducing their numbers. The
Fusiliers retired to Donicourt, and on ascending a hill the gunner was
so injured as to be unable to move; he was fortunately picked up by a
Frenchman, who conveyed him to the hospital at St. Quentin. The Germans
have a trick of disabling the wounded from using rifles again by
injuring their wrists, jamming them on the ground by the butts of their
weapons.
It is not an uncommon thing for men to get separated from their
regiments; it is often the fate of those who are reported missing or
lost. At Mons the enemy cut off some of the Somerset Light Infantry,
most of whom hid themselves until dark, and then throwing away their
rifles managed to crawl between the German pickets. They did not,
however, succeed in regaining their regiments, but made their way to
the homes of peasants, who supplied them with civilian clothes. They
had some narrow escapes from being arrested for German spies, as they
could speak no French, but eventually they reached Boulogne, where they
obtained a pass to England and were able to rejoin their depôt.
The following stories also illustrate the perils attending missing
troops and their endeavours to regain the British lines. The first,
from a letter of a non-commissioned officer of Dragoons, tells of the
adventures of himself and a companion who lost their regiment on the
Belgian frontier:—
We struck, after a very sharp and dangerous engagement, a tiny
village, where the priest was absolutely an angel, and gave
us—the four who got there—food, shelter, and clothing, and hid a
corporal and myself in an old belfry, and a couple of infantrymen,
wounded at Mons, in a secret crypt. Since then much has happened.
A veterinary officer and sergeant of Hussars, who had lost their
way and could not speak a word of French, happened to hit the
next village, and an old hawker managed to induce them by signs to
follow him to our lair.
“What was he to do?” asked the officer. “Had the Uhlans gone west
or east? Should they disguise and risk it, or face the certainty
of being made prisoners if caught in uniform?” We settled it by a
compromise, which has so far answered, for no Uhlans have appeared
to molest us on the road, though we saw on the skyline about thirty
trotting in the direction of ————. If they saw us through their
field-glasses we should only appear to them as market gardeners
or agricultural labourers, taking in a heavy load of potatoes,
turnips, and garden produce, and suitably attired.
All our kit and arms had been sent on in advance in a donkey-cart,
driven by an old woman, and in such a broken-down condition that
even a keen-eyed Prussian would not have detected the false bottom
we spent a day in making for the purpose of secreting Government
property. The old curé roared with laughter at the ingenuity of the
veterinary officer who designed the dodge and helped to make it.
The carrier’s wagon, in which we drove two horses, was now flanked
by two pack horses with saddlebags on each horse (we had four
altogether), stuffed with tomatoes and artichokes, on a French
country saddle. I rode one and the officer rode the other.
Peasants we met told us that all along the road ———— small parties
of strangers had been passing whom they thought must be soldiers,
but they were not dressed in uniform. So it seems clear that many
of our men have been cut off from their units and are moving
towards the coast.
Our first night after leaving ———— was at a village where there was
a delicious running stream, and we bathed to our hearts’ content in
a secluded bend away from the public gaze. The people were shy and
seemed alarmed, so the officer showed them a letter from our dear
old friend the priest, which served as an informal passport during
our journey.
The Uhlans had been there and paid for some food, cleared the
chairs away from the church and turned it into a stable, and
although the people had shown them every civility the Germans
threw manure into the holy water stoup, smashed the head of the
blessed Virgin statue, and wilfully disfigured the shrine of St.
Louis de France in whose honour a small chapel had been erected.
There were no houses damaged, and it is a curious fact that in
this particular instance the Uhlans had behaved as religious
maniacs of a peculiarly disgusting type, breaking the glass of the
church windows, tearing the lace altar frontal, breaking every
candlestick upon the altar, and using the vestments of the priest
for horse-rubbers.
The other account, like the first, communicated to the _Daily
Telegraph_, is from Lieutenant F. V. Drake, of the 11th Hussars,
and tells of his escape after the fighting at Mons. Speaking of the
retiring movement, he says:—
After six days I was left with thirty-six men to hold the Germans
back while the others got away; but we were surrounded by a brigade
of German cavalry. First of all we tried to get across country, and
were caught up in barbed wire, and they turned two machine guns on
us. They killed a lot of horses, but not many men. We then fought
our way on to the road which leads into the village of Honcourt.
The village was held by the Germans, and barricaded. We were being
shot at from behind and in front, and there was barbed wire on both
sides of the road.
We charged the barricade. My horse was shot about 200 yards before
I got to the barricade, and I was stunned a bit. When I got up
again I found all the other fellows swarming on the barricade. I
“joined in the hunt,” and eight others and I eventually got out of
the village on foot into a wood, where I divided the men into twos,
and told them the direction in which to go and left them, telling
each pair to hide in different parts of the wood.
We spent two days and two nights in that wood, with the Germans
absolutely round us: they were so near, in fact, that we could
hear every word they said. Leaving the wood by night, we pushed on
to where we heard the English were: at Cambrai; but when we got
there we found they had left the day before. We then hid in a wine
cellar, and the Germans came and burnt down the house above us. We,
however, escaped through a ventilator. We crawled out through the
kitchen garden and hid in some wheat sheaves for the rest of that
day, and at night we moved south, where we heard firing going on.
We averaged every night about twenty-five kilometres. We always
marched by compass, and always went absolutely plumb straight
across country. Each day we hid in hen-houses, outbuildings, or
wherever we could, and marched by night. We found the inhabitants
extremely nice. Wherever possible they gave us food—if the Germans
had not taken it all.
Later we secured a motor-car, and proceeded towards St. Pol, but
when we had proceeded about half-way we found a German sentry
outside a house. We raced past him, and he fired a shot or two,
but missed us, and we got safely through the village. Boulogne was
eventually reached without further adventure.
One of the most graphic descriptions of the five days’ fighting at
Mons is contained in a letter from a wounded Gordon Highlander. He
relates that on Sunday, August 23, his regiment rose at 4 a.m., and
marching out 1,100 strong took up ground on the extreme left flank of
the British force and made good trenches, which apparently was the
reason that they escaped with comparatively few casualties. “Later
in the day a hellish tornado of shell swept over us, and with this
introduction to war we received our baptism of fire. We were lining the
Mons road, and immediately in our front and to our rear were woods. In
the rear wood was stationed a battery of R.F.A.” The German artillery
he spoke of as wonderful, and most of those do who have had experience
of it. The first shot generally found them, as if the ranges had been
carefully taken beforehand. But the British gunners were better, and
they hammered and battered the Germans all the day long.
They were at least three to our one, and our artillery could not
be in fifty places at once, so we just had to stick it. The German
infantry are bad skirmishers and rotten shots, and they were simply
mowed down in batches by our chaps. They came in companies of, I
should say, 150 men in file five deep, and we simply rained bullets
at them the live-long day. At about five p.m. the Germans in the
left front of us retired, and we saw no more of them.
The Royal Irish Regiment had had an awful smashing earlier on,
as also had the Middlesex, and our company were ordered to go
along the road as reinforcements. The one and a half mile seemed
a thousand. Stormed at all the way, we kept on, and no one was
hit until we came to a white house which stood in a clearing.
Immediately the officer passed the gap hell was let loose on us,
but we got across safely, and I was the only one wounded, and that
was with a ricochet shrapnel bullet in the right knee.
I knew nothing about it until an hour after, when I had it pointed
out to me. I dug it out with a knife. We passed dead civilians,
some women, and a little boy with his thigh shattered by a
bullet. Poor wee fellow. He lay all the time on his face, and
some man of the Irish was looking after him, and trying to make
him comfortable. The devils shelled the hospital and killed the
wounded, despite a huge Red Cross flag flying over it.
When we got to the Royal Irish Regiment’s trenches the scene was
terrible. They were having dinner when the Germans opened on them,
and their dead and wounded were lying all around. Beyond a go
at some German cavalry, the day drew in, and darkness saw us on
the retreat. The regiment lost one officer and one man dead, one
officer and some men severely wounded.
We kept up this sort of game (fighting by day and retiring by
night) until we got to Cambrai, on Tuesday night. I dare not
mention that place and close my eyes. God, it was awful. Avalanche
followed avalanche of fresh German troops, but the boys stuck
to it, and we managed to retire to Ham without any molestation.
Cambrai was the biggest battle fought. Out of all the glorious
regiment of 1,100 men only five officers and 170 of the men
answered the roll-call next day. Thank God, I was one of them.
Of course, there may be a number who got separated from the
battalion through various causes, and some wounded who escaped.
I hope so, because of the heavy hearts at home. I saw the South
Lancs, and they were terribly cut up, only a remnant left of the
regiment.
Operations of the French troops at this date are described by the Paris
correspondent of the _Daily Telegraph_, who stated that:—
Incursions of the German cavalry forces had been made into the
district of Valenciennes, Lille, and Douai, in the North of
France, with the result that they got a bad reception and were cut
up. The raid was carried out by three separate columns, one of
which started in the direction of Lille, the second swept around
Valenciennes, and the third advanced in the direction of Cambrai.
The first column crossed the frontier line and headed for Lille,
but before it got to Lille it had a sharp encounter with the
French. The column fell back, and finally moved on towards Douai.
In its zigzag course it left a number of prisoners.
The second cavalry column, which was more important, crossed the
French frontier on Monday evening, August 24. Faithful to their
cruel practice, they compelled, under threat of instant shooting,
a number of women and children to walk in front of them. Towards
morning a battery of artillery, which had taken position and was
concealed in a wood, opened fire on the enemy and caused great
slaughter.
Eye-witnesses of the action relate that the column was entirely
broken up. The few survivors who escaped fled, but were captured.
The British made a stout resistance in their position against Maubeuge,
while the rest of the forces at Mons fell back. The pressure from the
Germans increased in severity. Not only were their numbers vastly
superior to ours, but they were said to comprise a body of their best
men, animated with a determination to crush our lines. In those places
where the strain was felt to be overpowering, especially on the left,
some further support was given by our cavalry, who did splendid service
in checking the enemy’s advance. When a battery of heavy German guns
was playing havoc with our trenches, and the force of our artillery was
beginning to lose effect, an order was given to the 9th Lancers to put
the enemy’s guns out of action, and under a terrific storm of shell
and shrapnel the order was carried out by a daring cavalry charge. The
French were still retiring, and it was now evident that the position
occupied by our troops was without sufficient advantage to enable them
to make a further stand against the foe with any prospect of success.
Dangerous as the operation was, Sir John French decided to retire, and
to meet the Germans in what proved to be a most deadly conflict.
Sir John French continues the story of his retirement, and deals with
the events of August 25, in the following section of his despatch:—
The French were still retiring, and I had no support except such
as was afforded by the Fortress of Maubeuge; and the determined
attempts of the enemy to get round my left flank assured me that it
was his intention to hem me against that place and surround me. I
felt that not a moment must be lost in retiring to another position.
I had every reason to believe that the enemy’s forces were somewhat
exhausted, and I knew that they had suffered heavy losses. I hoped
therefore that his pursuit would not be too vigorous to prevent me
effecting my object.
The operation, however, was full of danger and difficulty, not
only owing to the very superior force in my front, but also to the
exhaustion of the troops.
The retirement was recommenced in the early morning of the 25th to
a position in the neighbourhood of Le Cateau, and rearguards were
ordered to be clear of the Maubeuge—Bavai—Eth Road by 5.30 a.m.
Two Cavalry Brigades, with the Divisional Cavalry of the Second
Corps, covered the movement of the Second Corps. The remainder of
the Cavalry Division with the 19th Brigade, the whole under the
command of General Allenby, covered the west flank.
The 4th Division commenced its detrainment at Le Cateau on Sunday,
the 23rd, and by the morning of the 25th eleven battalions and
a Brigade of Artillery with Divisional Staff were available for
service.
I ordered General Snow to move out to take up a position with his
right south of Solesmes, his left resting on the Cambrai—Le Cateau
Road south of La Chaprie. In this position the Division rendered
great help to the effective retirement of the Second and First
Corps to the new position.
Although the troops had been ordered to occupy the Cambrai—Le
Cateau—Landrecies position, and the ground had, during the 25th,
been partially prepared and entrenched, I had grave doubts—owing
to the information I received as to the accumulating strength of
the enemy against me—as to the wisdom of standing there to fight.
Having regard to the continued retirement of the French on my
right, my exposed left flank, the tendency of the enemy’s western
corps (II.) to envelop me, and, more than all, the exhausted
condition of the troops, I determined to make a great effort to
continue the retreat till I could put some substantial obstacle,
such as the Somme or the Oise, between my troops and the enemy,
and afford the former some opportunity of rest and reorganisation.
Orders were, therefore, sent to the Corps Commanders to continue
their retreat as soon as they possibly could towards the general
line Vermand—St. Quentin—Ribemont.
The Cavalry, under General Allenby, were ordered to cover the
retirement.
Throughout the 25th and far into the evening, the First Corps
continued its march on Landrecies, following the road along the
eastern border of the Forêt de Mormal, and arrived at Landrecies
about 10 o’clock. I had intended that the Corps should come further
west so as to fill up the gap between Le Cateau and Landrecies, but
the men were exhausted and could not get further in without rest.
The enemy, however, would not allow them this rest, and about
9.30 p.m. a report was received that the 4th Guards Brigade in
Landrecies was heavily attacked by troops of the 9th German Army
Corps who were coming through the forest on the north of the town.
This brigade fought most gallantly and caused the enemy to suffer
tremendous loss in issuing from the forest into the narrow streets
of the town. This loss has been estimated from reliable sources at
from 700 to 1,000. At the same time information reached me from Sir
Douglas Haig that his 1st Division was also heavily engaged south
and east of Maroilles. I sent urgent messages to the Commander of
the two French Reserve Divisions on my right to come up to the
assistance of the First Corps, which they eventually did. Partly
owing to this assistance, but mainly to the skilful manner in
which Sir Douglas Haig extricated his Corps from an exceptionally
difficult position in the darkness of the night, they were able at
dawn to resume their march south towards Wassigny on Guise.
By about 6 p.m. the Second Corps had got into position with their
right on Le Cateau, their left in the neighbourhood of Caudry,
and the line of defence was continued thence by the 4th Division
towards Seranvillers, the left being thrown back.
A _communiqué_ issued by the French War Office on September 1 explains
the forced retirement of the French from their position near Givet,
and the consequent withdrawal of our troops from Cateau and Cambrai
on August 25. The prompt action of the British troops at this very
critical stage undoubtedly saved the French from disaster:—
The Franco-British forces were originally engaged in the region of
Dinant, Charleroi, and Mons. Some partial checks were suffered, and
the forcing of the Meuse by the Germans near Givet on our flank
obliged our troops to fall back, the Germans all the time trying to
approach by the west.
In these circumstances our British Allies, attacked by superior
numbers in Cateau and Cambrai, had to retire towards the south
when we were operating in the region of Avesnes and Chimay. The
retreating movement continued during the following days, although a
general battle took place during its progress. This engagement was
notable for an important success on our right, where we threw back
the Prussian Guard and the Tenth Corps on to the Oise.
As a set-off to this, and because of the progress of the right
German wing, where our adversaries concentrated the finest army
corps, we had to record a new withdrawing movement.
To sum up, on our right, after partial checks, we had taken the
offensive, and the enemy was retreating before us. In the centre
we had alternative successes and checks, but a general battle was
again in progress. The _moral_ of the Allies’ troops continued to
be extremely good in spite of their losses, which were made good
from the depôts.
We will now quote again from the narrative of the Rev. Owen Spencer
Watkins, whose courage was worthy of the army to which he was attached.
He had a narrow escape of being taken prisoner. After leaving Villars
Sal he learnt from a motor-cyclist who passed them that the Germans had
entered on one side of the village as they went out of the other. At
Villersan they halted.
Horses and men (he said), transport and guns, an endless procession
they passed, blackened with grime, bearing evident signs of the
past few days of fighting. And behind were the infantry still
fighting a rearguard action. But the men were in good spirits; they
were retreating, but this was not a defeated army.... The town of
Cambrai was now in sight, and we were told that just beyond it, at
a place called Le Cateau, was a position we could hold, and here
we should entrench and make a stand.... Once I passed through a
division of French Cavalry, who greeted me most courteously, and
were very curious to know exactly what my duties with the Army
were. A great contrast they presented to our khaki-clad troops in
their blue and red and gold, but it struck me that such finery was
hardly likely to be so serviceable as our more sombre khaki.
On the morning of Wednesday, August 26, after four hours’ sleep
in the rain, I was awakened by the sound of heavy guns, and rose
from my bed of straw to realise that the battle of Le Cateau had
begun. As I had slept booted and spurred, no time was wasted in
toilet, and I was able at once to ride off to the scene of action,
whilst the ambulance wagons and stretcher-bearers were making ready
to do likewise. I visited the infantry lining their trenches, but
they had not yet come into action. As I talked with them I little
thought how many hundreds of these lads of the 14th Infantry
Brigade (Manchesters, Suffolks, Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry,
and East Surreys) would be lying low before the end of day. Later
I was for a while with the 108th Heavy Battery, whose guns were
masked with corn-sheaves to hide them from the German aeroplane,
and who even, whilst I was with them, did terrible execution. The
great 60-pounder shells were burst with wonderful precision and
deadly effect, and before the day was over this battery alone had
completely exterminated two batteries of German artillery. My next
move was to the 15th Brigade Royal Field Artillery, which had just
come into action. The story of these batteries is one of the most
moving and heroic in the war, and perhaps some day it will be fully
told. The losses amongst both men and horses were appalling, yet
still they worked their guns. In one battery only a junior officer
and one man was left, but between them they still contrived to keep
the gun in action.
Now the battle was in full swing, the noise was deafening; the
whole can only be realised by one who has himself passed through a
similar experience—I cannot describe it.
... The casualties were pouring in upon us now, and the worst
cases still lay in the trenches, from which they could not be
moved until the fire slackened, or darkness came. The injured men
told of brave and dogged fighting in the trenches, of an opposing
host that seemed without number, of casualties so numerous that
they seemed to us an exaggeration, and later of trenches that were
being enfiladed by German shrapnel. Evidently the French, who, we
understood, were on our flank, had been late in arriving, or else
they had retreated, leaving our flank exposed. By this time other
batteries were taking up their positions in our vicinity, and it
soon became evident that the position was becoming impossible for
a dressing station. But how to move? that was the question; for
we had far more wounded than it was possible to carry in our
ambulance wagons. So we sorted out all who were able to hop, or
walk, or be helped along by comrades, and they were told that they
must walk to Busigny as best they could. Meanwhile the operating
tents were being pulled down and packed upon the wagons, and as the
last were being loaded shell was bursting over our camp. To me was
delegated the task of shepherding the wounded who were walking, and
seeing them safe to Busigny railway station, where it was hoped
they would get a train to take them down country. I never want
such a task again. Up and down that road I galloped, urging one
poor fellow to hop faster, expostulating with another who, seated
by the roadside, declared he could go no further, and that to fall
into the hands of the Germans would be no worse than the agony he
endured as he walked. At last I came across a farmer’s cart, and
taking the law into my own hands, commandeered it, and made the man
come back with me and pick up all who could walk no more. Time and
again there would be a burst of shrapnel in the road, but as far as
I could see nobody was injured. Just off the road the cavalry were
at work doing their best to guard our flank as we retreated—for
now I learned we were in full retreat—and amongst them the
casualties were heavy. Such as we could reach we carried with us.
At last, to my infinite relief, Busigny was reached, and I was
relieved of my charge.
At Le Cateau the 5th Division lost probably more heavily than any
other portion of the British Forces. It was entirely due to the
splendid generalship of Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien that we had not to
record a great disaster; ever since then we had been in retreat,
but it was not a beaten or even a seriously discouraged army.
Fighting on this day is described by some who were present at the
battle. The following related to the Royal Dublin Fusiliers:—
Captain Trigona said that on August 26 the main body of the Allies
was in the district of Mons, and in the direction of Cambrai his
battalion formed a portion of the rearguard, and were continually
being harassed by the enemy. An order, which they should have
received to retire, miscarried. This, in his opinion, was due to
despatch riders falling into the hands of the enemy.
The regiment was left unsupported, and an overwhelming body of the
enemy attacking them, they were obliged to retreat. The Germans
moved forward in dark, thick masses, and the British rifle did
terrible havoc among their closely-packed ranks. The enemy’s ranks
in places were blotted out by the withering leaden blast which the
Fusiliers kept up with that dogged determination which has won
for the regiment in past wars many golden laurels. The German loss
was much greater than ours. This is accounted for by the close
formation adopted by the latter.
At one time the regiment had fallen back on a large farmhouse, but
a number of shells from the German artillery quickly reduced the
building to a heap of _débris_, and they were forced to evacuate
the farm. During the succeeding night Captain Trigona and a small
body of men got separated from the other portion of the troops.
When daylight broke they found themselves wandering in a country
swarming with the enemy’s cavalry. They were completely cut off
from the Allies’ forces, but succeeded in reaching a French
village without being molested by the Germans. They were received
with every kindness by the villagers. Food was supplied to the
well-nigh famished men, and welcome rest was obtained in barns and
farmhouses. After eight days’ travelling by night and hiding by day
they reached Boulogne.
Another officer, in the Irish Guards, wrote a vivid account of the
Titanic struggle in the neighbourhood of Cambrai:—
We had a very bad night on Tuesday, August 25, he said, when our
billets were attacked by the Germans, and a situation arose which
at one time looked very serious for our brigade. However, we held
our own, and simply mowed the Germans down. The doctors counted
over 2,000 of their dead outside the town next morning when they
were collecting our wounded.
I must say now none of us expected to get away. I, with about
thirty men, was given a house to defend which commanded two main
streets, and we worked away at it from about 10 p.m. until about
1.30 a.m., when we were called out to join the battalion who were
going out to attack the Germans with the bayonet. But when we got
to the other side of the town we found they had had enough of it,
and gone.
I think I shall never forget that night as long as I live. We all
had wonderful escapes, with shrapnel shell bursting continuously,
high explosive shells, also; houses burning and falling down from
the shell fire; the intermittent rifle fire, with every now and
then furious bursts of fire when the Germans attacked.
Our biggest fight so far took place at Landrecies. The Germans
attacked us in the town furiously. They brought their guns to
within fifty yards of us in the dark on the road, and opened
point-blank fire. Our gunners brought up a gun by hand, as no horse
could have lived, and knocked at least one of the German guns out
first shot. This all at about sixty yards.
Notwithstanding the fury of the engagement, the enemy found
opportunities to outrage the non-combatants for their own ends. A
private in the King’s Own Scottish Borderers related that between
Mons and Cambrai he had his glengarry torn to shreds with shrapnel.
Before he was hit he saw from 600 yards’ range Belgian women tied
to the German guns, and this prevented the Coldstream Guards
returning the German fire as they retreated in the neighbourhood of
Cambrai.
The following is the description of another eye-witness:—
It was on August 26 that we suffered most. Our little lot was
waiting for the Germans in a turnip field. We were lying down,
and on they came. We let fly, and numbers of them went down. They
cracked at us then with their machine guns, and did us a good deal
of damage. We were obliged to retire, but there was an off-and-on
fight for at least twelve hours. We would get cover and have a
smack at ’em, and with their great numbers and our good shooting we
did tumble them over. But, my goodness, the numbers did keep coming
on, and we had to go back. Our fellows were falling here and there,
principally as results of their machine guns, which were doing
nearly all the damage. We did not worry a lot about their rifle
fire, which was faulty; but we got them every time.
It was the time that we were having a great slap at a bunch of
them that we were really tried. We advanced, and pushed them back,
but we were outnumbered again. We fell back, and a crush of us
got separated from the rest. There were about sixteen of us, and
we found ourselves beyond the German lines. In the morning it was
“cut and run for it,” for everywhere there were Germans about. We
got to a village and hid, the French people taking every care of
us. We concealed our arms, and changed our khaki uniforms for any
clothes that we could get. In the day-time we hid in barns, under
haystacks, or in the homes of French villagers, who were most kind
to us.
At Landrecies the Coldstream Guards put up a heroic defence, said a
correspondent to the _Daily Telegraph_, when suddenly attacked by the
Germans.
Dealing with the operations which led up to the skirmish (the Guard
says), owing to the enemy being five or six times our superior in
numbers, and attacking from all quarters fiercely, Sir Douglas Haig
had to keep his men on the march almost night and day. We had a
rough time of it. Our boys were as lively as crickets, but under
fire as cool as you could wish. It was getting dark when we found
out that the Kaiser’s crush were coming through a forest, and we
soon found out their game.
It was to cut off our force, who were retiring on to Le Cateau
covered by our cavalry. We had not long to wait before they swarmed
out of the forest and entered the small town from different
directions. But we got them everywhere and stopped them, not a man
getting through.
About 200 of us drove them down a street, and didn’t the devils
squeal when at close quarters. They fell in their scores, and we
jumped over them to get at the others. At the corner of the street
which led to the principal thoroughfare we came upon a mass of
them. At this point we were reinforced from two directions. We were
pressed for a time, but they soon lost heart, and we actually had
to climb over their dead and wounded, which were heaped up, to get
at the others. Then we had to race away to another point where they
were hurling their masses at us. Those who did not get back to the
forest were knocked over.
It looked at one time as if they would get round us, but they got
a surprise packet, for we cleared the town and drove them back. I
don’t know how many we accounted for, but I saw quite 150 heaped
together in one street.
We had to continue our retreat, and had little rest until we got to
Compiègne on September 1. Here the brigade had a shaking up. It was
the Germans’ last desperate attempt to get through.
What really happened I hardly know. Never before did the Guards
fight as they did that day. We are having reinforcements, and we
shall then have a chance of getting our own back, for when pressed
they will not stand up to us.
On August 29 Mr. Asquith in the House of Commons announced a wonderful
feat of arms by the British army. It was with reference to the
engagement in the neighbourhood of Cambrai—Le Cateau on Wednesday,
August 26, which Sir John French described as “the most critical day
of all.” There must have been at the lowest computation 300,000 German
troops (five German Army Corps, two Cavalry Divisions, and a reserve
corps, with the Guard Cavalry and the 2nd Cavalry Division) opposed
to two British Army Corps and a Division. The total strength of our
forces cannot have exceeded 100,000 men. In other words, the odds were
three to one, and were probably much heavier. Our 2nd Army Corps and
4th Division bore the brunt of the cavalry attack, whilst our 1st Army
Corps was attacked on the right and inflicted very heavy loss on the
enemy. Our casualties were also heavy. General Joffre, in a message
published that morning, had conveyed his congratulations and thanks for
the protection so effectively given by our Army to the French flank.