which made it impossible for any foe to break through undetected. The
scrutiny did not end with a mere examination at the point mentioned.
After being released our boat was followed by a couple of torpedo
destroyers until we reached our destination. In this way we were not
only convoyed, but the warships made absolutely certain that we were
British trawlers. The experience, being novel to us, was very inspiring.
The other skipper’s story was even more interesting. He is in charge of
a North Sea boat, and anchored each night near the shore.
We were laid under the land, he said, when about two in the morning
a cruiser suddenly appeared alongside of us. All his lights were
extinguished, and the quiet way in which he came up and the clever
tactics he showed in getting alongside without doing any damage was
astonishing.
Talk about cats seeing in the dark, these naval officers are wonderful.
When the cruiser reached us all we could see was a huge black object
hemming us in. A voice shouted out, “Who are you?” and I answered back,
“A British trawler.” “What is your name?” he asked, and I replied.
“When did you leave?” he next asked. I told him. “What were your orders
when you left?” he next asked. I told him and in a flash the commander
of the cruiser shouted back, “All right.”
It was a fine piece of work, believe me, but there was something even
more astonishing. Directly the commander had finished talking to me
another voice from the stern of our vessel sung out, “The name is quite
correct, sir.” A submarine had crept up behind to verify our name and
number, and although all the crew had come on deck to see what was
happening, not one of the men aft had seen the submarine appear. The
whole episode only occupied a few minutes, and the cruiser, after
wishing us good morning and plenty of fishing, disappeared in the
darkness. I have seen the British Navy in times of peace, but to see
it in war time makes you feel proud of it. No swank, simply good old
Nelson’s motto all the time.
V
FROM MONS TO THE WALLS OF PARIS
“_The Lilies of France and our own Red Rose
Are twined in a coronal now:
At War’s bloody bridal it glitters and glows
On Liberty’s beautiful brow._”
GERALD MASSEY.
In his despatch to Lord Kitchener, dated September 7th, Sir John French
tells of the four-days’ battle at Mons, and traces his masterly,
triumphant retreat, in the face of irresistible odds, to Maubeuge, to
Cambrai, to Le Cateau, to Landrecies, and so almost to within sight
of the walls of Paris. He pays a glowing tribute to the magnificent
fighting spirit of the officers and men who carried out these
stupendous movements with such complete success, but at present it is
to the men themselves you must turn again for detailed information of
the horrors and heroisms, the grim and glorious hours that darkened
and lightened through those tumultuous days. “What we did in that
three weeks English people at home will never know,” writes Private J.
Harris, of the Worcestershire Regiment: “We were marching and fighting
day and night for three weeks without a break.”
_Letter 41.--From Private Smiley, of the Gordon Highlanders, to his
brother, Mr. G. A. Smiley, of Chepstow:_
On Sunday, 23rd, at Mons, we rose at four a.m. and marched out 1,100
strong. We took up ground on the extreme flank of the British force.
Immediately we started to entrench ourselves, and to the good trench
work we did we put down our freedom from casualty. 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 is wonderful.
The first shot generally found us, and to me it looked as if the ranges
had been carefully taken beforehand. However, our own 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.
* * * * *
_Letter 42.--From Corporal W. Leonard, of the Army Service Corps (a
South African War reservist) to his mother at Huddersfield:_
I know that you will all excuse me for not receiving a letter from me
this long time, but I hope that you will excuse me. Don’t, whatever
you do at home, don’t worry about me. If I just thought that you won’t
worry at home I shall be all right. You know, mother, I know more about
war this time than I did last, and the conditions also. It’s all right
when you know the ropes, and my African experiences are serving me in
good stead here, so I hope and trust that you at home are not worrying
about me; time enough to worry when there is cause. Well, I hope and
trust all are well at home, as it is hell out here. Up to this affair
I thought that the Germans were a civilised race of people, but they
are nothing but savages; niggers would not do what they do. Just fancy
mounting maxim guns on ambulance wagons bearing the Red Cross, cutting
the right hand off prisoners and turning them loose afterwards minus a
hand. By jingo, mother, the boys (our boys) are absolutely all in. We
did give the Boers a chance now and again, but these devils we don’t
give them a cat in hell chance; we’re playing the game to the finish. I
would not care to write so much, as I had better tell you when I come
home. The Boer War was a tame affair. We are moving off again to-night.
I don’t know where, and we don’t care either; it’s a do to a finish
this time. I hope you got my postcards from Rouen in France, as there
was some doubt as to whether they would let them through or not. I will
write home as opportunity occurs, and I hope you won’t worry about me,
because you all know at home that I shall always be where I’m wanted,
and my duty every time, so don’t worry. Tell anyone who enquires I am
O.K., lost a bit of weight perhaps, but not the worse so far, and above
all don’t believe all you see in the papers, as they know practically
nothing, as everything is done under sealed orders, which never leak
out. We are not even allowed to say in our letters where we are, as
they are opened and read by the captain before they leave here, so you
can judge for yourselves how things are. And I might say, mother, that
we are very busy.
* * * * *
_Letter 43.--From Corporal Edward Hood, to his father, at Taunton:_
The fighting lately has been hot all round, and the French have
had much harder than us in some places, but they’re sticking at it
manfully, and they deserve to win a victory that will wipe the Germans
off the map. The French make a lot of us in camp, and when we pass each
other in the field, no matter how busy the Frenchman may be, they give
us hearty cheers to encourage us on our way. There’s plenty of friendly
rivalry between us when there’s hard fighting to be done, and when we
do get there before the French they don’t grudge us our luck. They’re
good sports right through to the core, and the British soldier asks
nothing better from allies in the field.
* * * * *
_Letter 44.--From Private William Burgess, of the Royal Field
Artillery, to his parents at Ilfracombe:_
We left our landing place for the front, on the Tuesday, and got there
on Saturday night. The Germans had just reached Liège then, and we got
into action on the Sunday morning. The first thing we did was to blow
up a bridge to stop the Germans from crossing. Then we came into action
behind a lot of houses attached to the main street. We were there about
ten minutes, when the houses started to fall around us. The poor people
were buried alive. I saw poor children getting knocked down by bursting
shells.
The next move was to advance across where there was a Red Cross
Hospital. They dropped shells from airships and fired on it until the
place was burnt down to the ground. Then they got a big plan on to
retire and let the French get behind them. We retired eight miles, but
we had to fight until we were forced to move again. We got as far as Le
Cateau on Tuesday night. We camped there until two o’clock next morning.
Then we all heard there was a big fight coming off, so we all got
together and cleared the field for action.... (The letter mentions
the numbers of men engaged, and states that the Germans were in the
proportion of three to one.) ... We cut them down like rats. We could
see them coming on us in heaps, and dropping like hail. The Colonel
passed along the line, and said, “Stick it, boys.”
I tell you, mother, it was awful to see your own comrades dropping
down--some getting their heads blown off, and others their legs and
arms. I was fighting with my shirt off. A piece of shell went right
through my shirt at the back and never touched me. It stuck into a bag
of earth which we put between the wheels to stop bullets.
We were there all busy fighting when an airship came right over the
line and dropped a bomb, which caused a terrible lot of smoke. Of
course, that gave the Germans our range. Then the shells were dropping
on us thick. We looked across the line and saw the German guns coming
towards us. We turned our two centre guns on them, and sent them yards
in the air. I reckon I saw one German go quite twenty yards in the air.
Just after that a shell burst right over our gun. That one got me out
of action. I had to get off the field the best way I could. The bullets
were going all around me on the way off; you see they got completely
around us, I went about two miles, and met a Red Cross cart. I was
taken to St. Quentin’s Hospital. We were shelled out of there about two
in the morning, and then taken in a train, and taken down to a plain
near Rouen.
Next morning we were put in a ship for dear old England.
* * * * *
_Letter 45.--From a Corporal in the King’s Royal Rifles, now at
Woolwich Hospital:_
I was in three engagements, Mons, Landrecies, and Cambrai, but the
worst of all was Mons. It was on Sunday, the 23rd of August, and I
shall never forget the date. They were easily twenty-five to one, and
we eventually had to retreat with just over a thousand casualties, but
heavens, they must have had a jolly sight more. At Landrecies, where
we arrived at 7.30, we thought we were going to have a night’s rest,
though we were wet through and no change, but we hadn’t been there long
before they (the Germans) started firing; they seemed to be in every
place we went to. The only thing we heard then was, “turn out at once.”
It was about 10.15 when we turned out, and the Colonel’s orders were
that we had to take a bridge if every man was killed. (I thought that
sounded a wee bit healthy.) I had my last drink out of a dirty glass of
beer. I says, “good health Billy,” and off we went with bayonets fixed.
On our way to the bridge we met the regiment who had tried and failed,
bringing back its wounded and killed in scores. (I thought more
encouragement for the corps.) I was carrying my pal, the rifle, with my
right hand. Well, we got near the bridge and found out from our scouts
that there were 10,000 German troops on each side of the bridge and
we were 1,300 strong. (More encouragement.) So we lined a long hedge
about two yards apart so as to make a long line and harder for them to
hit. We lay here till daybreak just before 4 a.m., and we could hear
them talking all night about 300 yards away. We could see them quite
clearly by this time; so we started to fire and rolled them over by
dozens. It wasn’t long, though, before the bullets were whizzing past
my ears on each side, and I began to get my head lower and lower till
I think I should have buried it in the mud if it had got much lower.
Their superior numbers began to tell and we had to retire as fast as we
could. I couldn’t go fast enough with my pack on (it weighs 84 lbs.),
so I threw it away as did hundreds more, and I finished bridge-taking
with my old pal only (the rifle).
* * * * *
_Letter 46.--From Lieutenant O. P. Edgcumbe, of 1st Battalion
D.C.L.I., to his father, Sir Robert Edgcumbe, Commandant at
Newquay:_
29th August, 1914.
For the last week or ten days we have been fighting hard and are now
for one day resting. Altogether, during five days and five nights, I
got six hours’ sleep, and so am rather weary. However, bullets and a
real enemy are a wonderful stimulant, and I feel as fit as anything. Do
all of you write as often as possible, and send me some newspapers. It
does not matter whether there is any news--the sight of a letter from
home is very cheering.
All our men are somewhat fatigued, but are very keen and full of fight.
My regiment has had a bad time, and I am dreadfully afraid that they
have been badly cut up, although I can as yet get no details. They
were caught in a village by Germans in the houses, who had managed
to get there by wearing our uniforms. Never again shall I respect
the Germans, or any of them I may meet. They have no code of honour,
and there have been several cases of their wearing French and British
uniforms, which is, of course, against the Geneva Convention.
The weather is good, for which we are thankful.
Everything is so peaceful now, and it is such a perfect day that were
it not for the continuous growl of the guns, which never cease, one
would hardly believe one was in the midst of a huge war.
* * * * *
_Letter 47.--From Private D. White:_
German airships we seldom see now, though we used to have them every
day over our heads. They are finding the French more than a match for
them, and they most likely prefer to rely on their ordinary spies, of
whom they have thousands. They are found often among the men engaged
for transport work, but they are such clumsy bunglers that they give
themselves away sooner or later. Some of us who haven’t the heart to
drown a cat never turn a hair when we see these scum shot, for they
richly deserve what they get and a soldier’s death is too good for them.
* * * * *
_Letter 48.--From Private Spain, of the 4th Guards Brigade (late
police-constable at Newry):_
We have had three engagements with the Germans since I arrived, and I
came out quite unhurt. The two first were fought on Sunday and Monday
following. You see I cannot give date or place. Secrecy is our motto
_re_ war and movement of troops for international purposes, etc. Our
third engagement was nearly fatal. We arrived at the town of ----,
very much fatigued, and fully intending to have a good rest. It was
a fine town, about as big as Newry, but more compact, with many fine
buildings. We were just about five minutes billeted in the various
houses, and just stretching our weary legs, when an officer came
running in, shouting “The Germans are upon us; outside everyone.” We
came out, magazine loaded, bayonets fixed, and eager to get a good
bayonet fight with them. It appears they do not like it. But we found
none. They had not yet arrived. It was 10 p.m. before they did so.
In the meantime the poor people were leaving the town in crowds, with
as much goods and chattels as they could carry away, and it was well
for them, too. It was a dark night when we formed up in the streets,
and the lamps but dimly burned. The noises of rifles and field guns
were terrific. We rushed to the heads of the various streets, where
our German foe would advance. Our Field Artillery and the Coldstream
Guards went out to delay their advance whilst we stripped off our coats
and commenced to tear up the square setts, gather carts--in fact,
everything that would build a barricade to keep back our numerous
German foe, and we did so under perfect showers of shrapnel shell that
struck and fell around us, and struck the houses about us, but we were
undaunted, and so succeeded. Firing ceased, and we advanced out towards
the Coldstream Guards’ position. They had given them a good fight, but
many of them lay for ever silent upon the ground. The Germans would not
advance upon us, so we retired.
* * * * *
_Letter 49.--From Corporal Sam Moorhouse, of the King’s Own Yorkshire
Light Infantry, to his wife at Birkby:_
Our company were reserves, and came under fire about noon. We were in
a ditch--as we thought safe--when “Ping! ping!” came the bullets, and
off we shot across the open, under a railway embankment. On the way we
passed four artillery horses shot dead with shrapnel. Then we took up
a position on a hillside, when round the corner, 700 yards away, came
a German maxim gun. They were busy getting it ready for firing on us,
and we were firing at them, when our artillery--which was only half a
mile away--sent two shots and blew up the gun and all the men. Then we
cleared off and marched till twelve midnight. Up again at two and off
for what was called a rest camp. Still wet clothes, and filthy; had no
boots off for days. Instead of “rest” camp we marched nearly thirty
miles, arriving at 8 p.m. Here I had a good meal of jam, cheese, and
bread--first bite of bread for days.
Next day we were up before daylight and taking up position. We dug
trenches, and were fired on before we had finished. We were at the
back--a sort of last firing line. So we lay down in the trench, and
waited. Shrapnel and lyddite were flying round us like hail, and our
gunners were firing too. Such a noise! Just like thunder! Well, we
stuck out as long as we could when we got the order to retire. However
I came safely away goodness knows.
I picked up my gun and ran up the hill and dropped on one side of the
road to rest. Then I had to get across the road, so got up and was
half-way across when a shell burst and knocked me flat on my face. It
must have fused at the wrong time, as I got only a cut on my thumb from
a fragment. Then I got across and dropped in a trench where a fellow
was lying dead. I stayed there only a minute, and then ran off over the
hill and safe. The bullets were flying in all directions and shells
were bursting four at a time. South Africa was nothing compared to this.
I had had no sleep for nights, so decided to go back to a little
village we had just passed, where I sat on a doorstep till I fell
asleep, and woke up one hour later wet through and chilled to the bone.
It was still dark when I got back to where I left our regiment, and
they were off. So I trekked away alone, and got on the wrong road.
About nine in the morning I came across some transport, and rode along
with stragglers of other regiments to a camp. There were about sixty
of us, and we went to a large camp, about 2,000 of us--all lost. There
I came across Guy Jessop of Huddersfield, who was also lost, and was
glad to meet a pal. We had a walk in the town together, and called
in a café. We had some coffee and rum (Guy paid, as I had no money).
I played the piano and sang “Mrs. Hullaby.” Lucky job they could not
understand English, or they would have been shocked.
* * * * *
[Illustration:
_Drawn by Christopher Clark. Copyright of The Sphere._
HOW THE ROYAL FIELD ARTILLERY FIGHT.]
_Letter 50.--From Private E. W. Dyas, of the 11th Hussars, to his
parents at Mountain Ash:_
We landed at Havre, and travelled up country. We were under fire for
about twenty minutes on the first day, and the shells were bursting
like rain all around us. We got away with only one horse killed. It
was marvellous. We are continually under fire by day and travelling
by night. It is awful to hear the artillery booming death night and
day. We were fighting day and night for three days. The slaughter was
terrible. I took a dispatch across the battlefield when the Germans
were retiring, and I passed their trenches. The dead were piled up in
the trenches about ten deep, and there were trenches seven miles long.
It was terrible to see. We are collecting the three cavalry brigades
together at the present moment for a massive charge. I am writing this
in the saddle. I may get through this again. One bullet penetrated my
horse’s neck and another one went through the saddle. I have had a
sword-thrust through my sleeve. So I am getting on well.
* * * * *
_Letter 51.--From Lieut. Oswald Anne, of the Royal Artillery, to his
father, Major Anne, of Burghwallis Hall:_
Dear Dad.--Just got yours of the 13th inst. Battling yesterday and
the day before. I had a pal killed in another battery--five bullets
in him. I have just seen the first Sausage-maker prisoner in hands of
some infantry. They had the greatest difficulty in stopping the French
populace from knifing him. The German shrapnel is very dangerous stuff,
having high explosive in it. It bursts backwards, and so nullifies our
frontal shield. No more time or news.
August 29th.
The boom of French guns is now in full swing, and we are standing easy
for the moment. Did you get my other letter three days back? Just after
I had finished it, we had the alarm, which proved false, but that night
Germans marched into the town, thinking we had left it. So they say! A
gruff German voice answered a challenge, and 15 rounds rapid fire from
rifles and maxims behind the main road barricade, laid out every man.
Eight hundred were picked up next morning in this one street.
An R.E. told me on the canal bridge a maxim fired 9,000 rounds and laid
out another 1,000. The first Germans arriving in one end of this town
were in French uniforms. Luckily, those in the rear were seen and fired
on, stampeding the ammunition mules, scattering the “Sausages,” who
were almost laid out in a few rounds of fire. Lots of “espions” here,
male and female. I have hardly seen a German, except prisoners. Poor
Soames, of the 20th Hussars, was sparrowed first fight. W. Silvertop
(20th Hussars) is hard at it “biffing” Sausages, and a N.C.O.,
yesterday, who had lost the Regiment, told me 48 hours ago he was well.
“Cigs.” all arrived, and saved my life, also load of chocolate.
Screaming women rush everywhere during conflicts howling “Trahie,”
“Perdue,” “Sauve qui peut.” One of “D” battery, R.H.A., N.C.O., told
us they had mowed “Sausage-makers” down for ten minutes in one action
as hard as they could load and still they came in masses, till at last
the shrieking men ran all ways, not knowing where, leaving heaps of
semi-moving remnants on the ground.