The new battle-ground was the area on both sides of the river Lys,

between the La Bassee Canal and the Wytschaete Ridge. The German Staff

knew that our front line had already been thinned to supply ten

divisions for the struggle in the south, and at the moment it was weakly

held, mainly by troops exhausted in the Somme battle. The enemy Staff

chose their ground well. They had the great city of Lille behind them

to screen the assembly. Certain key-points, such as Bethune and

Hazebrouck, lay at no great distance behind the British front. The

British communications were poor, while the German were all but perfect.

If the enemy could break through at once between La Bassee and

Armentieres and capture Bethune, he could swing north-westward and take

Hazebrouck and the hills beyond Bailleul, and so threaten the Channel

Ports, on which the British armies depended for supplies.

The attack began on Tuesday, 9th April. A Portuguese division south of

the Lys was driven in at the first thrust, and through the gap the enemy

streamed in. At a quarter-past ten that morning he was more than a mile

to the rear of the division holding the left of the gap, which was

accordingly compelled to retreat. On the right of the gap, covering

Bethune, lay the 55th West Lancashire Division. The story of the Lys is

a story of the successful defence of key-points against critical odds,

and Givenchy, where the men of West Lancashire stood, was most vital,

for unless it fell Bethune could not be taken, and unless Bethune were

captured at once the enemy attack would be cramped into too narrow a

gate. The 55th Division did not yield though outnumbered by four to

one. They moved back their left flank but they still covered Bethune,

and their right at Givenchy stood like a rock. By noon the enemy was in

the ruins of Givenchy; in the afternoon the Lancashire men had recovered

them; in the evening they were again lost, and in the night retaken.

This splendid defence was the deciding event in the first stage of the

battle. It was due, said the official report, "in great measure to the

courage and determination displayed by our advance posts. Among the

many gallant deeds recorded of them, one instance is known of a

machine-gun which was kept in action although the German infantry had

entered the rear compartment of the pill-box from which it was firing,

the gun team holding up the enemy by revolver fire from the inner

compartment."

Next day, 10th April, a new German army attacked north of the Lys,

captured Messines, and was pouring over the Wytschaete crest. But at

Wytschaete stood the 9th Division, which we have previously seen in

action on the Somme at Marrieres Wood. There its South African Brigade

had been completely destroyed, but a new one had been got together, and

this second showed all the heroism of the first. That night they retook

Messines, and during the evening cleared the Wytschaete Ridge. That

stand saved the British northern flank and gave its commander time to

adjust his front. For thirty hours the Germans were held up on that

ridge, and when they finally advanced the worst danger was past.

The situation was still most critical. The French were sending troops,

but with all possible resources utilized we were still gravely

outnumbered, and the majority of the men were desperately weary from the

Somme battle. On the 11th Sir Douglas Haig issued an Order of the Day,

in which he appealed to his men to endure to the last. "There is no

other course open to us than to fight it out. Every position must be

held to the last man; there must be no retirement. With our backs to the

wall and believing in the justice of our cause, each one of us must

fight on to the end." Not less solemn was Sir Arthur Currie's charge to

the Canadian Corps before they entered the battle. "Under the orders of

your devoted officers in the coming battle you will advance or fall

where you stand, facing the enemy. To those who fall I say, 'You will

not die, but will step into immortality. Your mothers will not lament

your fate, but will be proud to have borne such sons. Your names will

be revered for ever and ever by your grateful country, and God will take

you unto Himself.'" It is a charge which has the noble eloquence of

Cromwell or Lincoln.

Within a week it seemed as if the enemy had succeeded. On the evening of

15th April the Germans entered Bailleul, and the next day we withdrew

from the ground won in the Third Battle of Ypres to a position a mile

east of that town. By the 17th the enemy was in both Meteren and

Wytschaete, and this meant that the northern pillar of our defence had

gone. The next step for the Germans was to seize Mont Kemmel, the

highest ground between them and the Channel, and a position which would

presently give them Hazebrouck.

The 17th and 18th of April were perhaps the most critical days of the

whole battle. The enemy had reached his greatest strength, and the

British troops were not yet reinforced at any point within sight of

security. On the 17th the Germans had failed in an attack on the

Belgians north of Ypres, and next day they failed no less conclusively

in a movement on Bethune. This gave us a breathing space, and by the

morning of Sunday, the 21st, French troops had taken over the defence of

Mont Kemmel, and we had been able to relieve some of the divisions which

had suffered most heavily.

That day saw the end of the main crisis of the battle. Mont Kemmel was

lost and regained more than once, but the enemy was quickly becoming

exhausted, and his gains, even when he made them, had no longer any

strategic value. By the end of April he had employed in that one area of

the line thirty-five fresh divisions, and nine which had been already in

action. These troops were the cream of his army, and could not be

replaced. Moreover, an odd feature had appeared in the last stages of

the Lys battle. In March the enemy had succeeded in piercing and

dislocating the British front by a new tactical method applied with

masterly boldness and precision, the method which has been described as

"infiltration."[#] But as the Lys battle dragged on the Germans seemed

to have forgotten these new tactics, and to have fallen back upon their

old methods of mass and shock. The reason was that the new tactics

could only be used with specially trained troops, and with fresh troops;

they put too great a strain on weary divisions and raw levies;

therefore, as the enemy's losses grew, his tactics would deteriorate in

the same proportion.

[#] See p. 36.

If we take 5th May as marking the close of the Battle of the Lys, we may

pause to reflect upon the marvels of the forty-five preceding days,

since the enemy torrent first broke west of St. Quentin. More history

had been crowded into their span than into many a year of campaigning.

They had seen the great German thrust for Amiens checked in the very

moment of success. They had seen the last bold push for the Channel

Ports held up for days by weak divisions which bent but did not break,

and finally die away with its purpose still far from achievement. In

those forty-five days divisions and brigades had been more than once

destroyed as units, and always their sacrifice had been the salvation of

the British front. The survivors had behind them such a record of

fruitful service as the whole history of the war could scarcely

parallel.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE MARNE.*

The First Battle of the Marne meant the frustration of Germany's main

battle purpose, and the disappearance for ever of her hope of a complete

and decisive victory. The Second Battle of the Marne in July 1918 was

the beginning of Germany's defeat. In both battles the armies of

Britain contributed to victory, but in both battles, as was right and

proper, the main work was done by the French, and with them lies the

chief glory.

In March Haig had been forced back to the gate of Amiens, and Foch, at

last appointed Commander-in-Chief of all the Allies, had for nearly a

month looked into the eyes of defeat. But slowly the tide ebbed. Foch

was able not only to repel the German assaults but to nurse and

strengthen his own reserves. In spite of the desperate crises on the

Lys and the Aisne midsummer found him rapidly growing in strength. And

as the Allies grew, so the enemy declined.

[Illustration: MARSHAL FOCH.]

For the first time Foch had the advantage of numbers, and by June there

were more than half a million Americans in France. Moreover, he had

devised an answer to the German tactics, and in his new light tanks he

had a weapon which would give him the advantage of surprise. But like a

great and wary commander, he waited till the enemy had struck yet again,

so that he might catch him on the rebound. Germany still maintained her

confidence. Her press announced that unless the American army could

swim or fly it would never arrive in Europe--that at the best the men of

the United States were like the soldiers of a child's game, made of

paper cuttings. The battle staged for July was to bring the Germans to

Paris. One army was to strike east of Rheims and cut the railway from

Paris to Nancy. Another was to press across the Marne. When Foch had

hurried all his forces to the danger points a third army would break

through at Amiens and descend on the capital from the north. Then the

British would be finally cut off from the French, the French would be

broken in two, and victory, complete and indubitable, would follow.

The enemy was so confident that he made no secret of his plans, and from

deserters and prisoners Foch learned the main details long before the

assault was launched. The French general resolved to play a bold game.

He borrowed a British corps from Haig, and he thinned the Amiens section

so that it was dangerously weak. His aim was to entice the enemy south

of the Marne, and then in the moment of his weakness to strike at his

undefended flank.

At midnight on Sunday, 14th July, Paris was awakened by the sound of

great guns, and knew that the battle had begun. At 4 a.m. on the 15th

the Germans crossed their parapets. The thrust beyond the Marne was at

once successful, for it was no part of Foch's plan to resist too

doggedly at the apex of the salient. On a front of 22 miles the Germans

advanced nearly three. But the attack east of Rheims was an utter

failure. Gouraud's counter-bombardment dislocated the attack before it

began, and with trifling losses to himself he held the advance in his

battle zone, not losing a single gun. In the west the Americans stood

firm, so that the enemy salient could not be widened. These were the

troops which, according to the German belief, could not land in Europe

unless they became fishes or birds. The inconceivable had been brought

to pass--"Birnam Wood had come to Dunsinane."

In two days the German advance had reached its limit--a long narrow

salient south of the Marne, representing a progress at the most of 6

miles from the old battle-front. The time had now come for Foch's

counterstroke. He had resolved to thrust with all his available

reserves against the weak enemy flank from Soissons southward. There,

in the shelter of the woods of Villers-Cotterets, lay the army of

Mangin, who first won fame at Verdun.

The morning of the 18th dawned after a night of thunderstorms and

furious winds. There was no gunfire on the French side, but at 4.30,

out from the shelter of the woods came a great fleet of French light

tanks, and behind them on a front of 35 miles the French and American

infantry crossed the parapets. Before the puzzled enemy could realize

his danger they were through his first defences.

The advance of the 18th was like a great bound forward. The chief work

was done by Mangin's left wing, which at half-past 10 in the morning

held the crown of the Montagne de Paris, on the edge of Soissons. All

down the line the Allies succeeded. Sixteen thousand prisoners fell to

them and some 50 guns, and at one point Mangin had advanced as much as 8

miles. Foch had narrowed the German salient, crumpled its western

flank, and destroyed its communications. He had wrested the initiative

from the Germans and brought their last offensive to a dismal close.

He had done more, though at the time no eye could pierce the future and

read the full implications of his victory. Moments of high crisis slip

past unnoticed. It is only the historian in later years who can point

to a half-hour in a crowded day and say that then was decided the fate

of a cause or a people. As the wounded trickled back through the

tossing woods of Villers-Cotterets, spectators noted a strange

exaltation in their faces. When the news reached Paris the city

breathed a relief which was scarcely justified with the enemy still so

strongly posted at her gates. But the instinct was right. The decisive

blow had been struck. When the Allies breasted the Montagne de Paris

that July morning they had, without knowing it, won the Second Battle of

the Marne, and with it the war. Four months earlier Ludendorff had

stood as the apparent dictator of Europe; four months later he and his

master were fleeing to a foreign exile.

[Illustration: The Second Battle of the Marne.]

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*THE BEGINNING OF THE END.*

The attack on the German flank on the morning of 18th July had put an

end to the enemy's hope of an advance on Paris, and had forced him to

assume the defensive. But in this he still persevered. His plan now

was to defend the line of the Aisne, in the hope that the French would

break their teeth on it, and that the battle would then decline into a

fruitless struggle for a few miles of trench, like the other actions of

the long siege warfare. He hoped in vain. Foch had no mind to waste a

single hour in operations which were not vital. As early as 23rd July

the Allies' great scheme for the autumn battles was framed, and on

Thursday, 8th August, Sir Douglas Haig opened the attack.

Foch's plan was to give the enemy no rest. He was like a swordsman who

avoids his antagonist's sledge-hammer blows, who with lithe blade pinks

him again and again and draws much blood, who baffles and confuses him,

till the crushing weight of his opponent has been worn down by his own

trained and elastic strength. It was his business to wear down the

enemy continuously and methodically by a series of attacks on limited

fronts, aiming at strictly limited objectives, and to keep him

ceaselessly harassed over the whole battle-ground. The campaign had

developed like a masterly game of chess. From 21st March to 18th July

Foch had stood patiently on the defensive. From 18th July to 8th August

he had won back his freedom of action, cleared his main communications,

and hopelessly dislocated the German plan. From 8th August to 26th

September it was his task to crumble the enemy's front, destroy the last

remnant of his reserves, force him beyond all his prepared defences, and

make ready for the final battle which would give victory.

On 8th August Haig's striking force was the British Fourth Army, under

Sir Henry Rawlinson, and part of the French First Army, under General

Debeney. The front of attack was east of Amiens, astride the valleys of

the Avre, the Luce, and the Somme. Haig's immediate aim was to free his

communications--that is, to push the enemy out of range of the main

railways behind his front--as the French had done on the Marne, and to

this end the enemy must be driven out of range of Amiens.

The preparations for the attack were most cunningly concealed, and

infinite pains were taken to make the surprise complete. By an

elaborate piece of "camouflage" the enemy was induced to believe that an

attack in Flanders was preparing. The Canadians, who, along with the

Australians, were the principal British attacking troops, had been

secretly brought down from the north a few days before, and only came

into line just before the battle. For the action Sir Douglas Haig had

accumulated not less than 400 Tanks, many of the light "whippet" type

and most of the newest pattern. He was to employ Foch's tactics in their

purest form. There was to be no artillery bombardment except just at

the moment of advance; the ground had been perfectly reconnoitred from

the air; the objectives to be secured were ambitious but strictly

defined; and the troops to be used were among the _corps d'elite_ of the

army.

In the first week of August much rain fell, and on the night of the 7th

a heavy mist hung over the ground. Just before daybreak on Thursday the

8th an intense bombardment was opened, so intense that the enemy's

defences disappeared as if wiped out by a sponge. Four minutes later

the bombardment stopped, and the Tanks and infantry moved forward.

Rawlinson advanced at 4.20 a.m.; Debeney some twenty minutes later.

Success was immediate and continuous. The Canadians and Australians,

pressing along the two great Roman highways to St. Quentin and Roye,

marched steadily towards their final objectives, and these they reached

long before noon. The enemy was completely surprised. At one place the

Tanks captured an entire regimental mess at breakfast. At another the

whole staff of a division was seized. In some villages the Germans were

taken in their billets before they knew what had happened, and parties

of the enemy were actually made prisoners while working in the harvest

field. The Canadian cavalry passed through the infantry and captured a

train on the railway line near Chaulnes. Indeed, that day the whole

British cavalry performed miracles, advancing 23 miles from their point

of concentration.

[Illustration: Map showing the ground regained and the New Front reached

in the

First Stages of the last Allied Offensive.]

This success at the beginning of the last battle of the war was due

partly to the brilliant tactical surprise, partly to the high efficiency

of the new Tanks, and also in some degree to the evident deterioration

in the quality of the German infantry in that part of the front. The

enemy machine-gunners did not display their old tenacity. The Allied

casualties were extraordinarily small, one Canadian division, which was

in the heart of the battle, losing only 100 men. It was very clear that

the fortitude of the German line was ebbing, and this more than any

other fact disturbed the minds of its commanders. Ludendorff has

recorded in his Memoirs that after the battle of 8th August he realized

that Germany was beaten.

The Tanks played a brilliant and dramatic part in the day's success.

One Tank captured a village single-handed, and its wary commander

solemnly demanded a receipt for the village before he handed it over to

the Australians. But the chief performance of the day was that of the

"whippet" Tank "Musical Box," commanded by Lieutenant C. B. Arnold, and

carrying as crew Gunner Ribbans and Driver Carney. This Tank started off

at 4.20 a.m. in company with the others, and when she had advanced the

better part of 2 miles discovered herself to be the leading machine, all

the others having been ditched. She came under direct shell-fire from a

German field battery, and turned off to the left, ran diagonally across

the front of the battery at a distance of 600 yards, and fired at it

with both her guns. The battery replied with eight rounds, fortunately

all misses, and the Tank now managed to get to the battery's rear under

cover of a belt of trees. The gunners attempted to get away, but

"Musical Box" accounted for them all.

If a Tank can be said to go mad, this Tank now performed that feat. She

started off due east straight for Germany, shooting down Germans

whenever she saw them. The Australian infantry were following her, and

for some time she was also in touch with two British cavalry patrols.

Seeing a party of the enemy in a field of corn, she charged down upon

them, killing three or four. She found a patrol of our cavalry

dismounted and in trouble with some Germans on a railway bridge, so she

made for the bridge and dispersed the Germans. She moved still farther

east, and approached a small valley marked on Lieutenant Arnold's map as

containing German hutments. As she entered the valley the Germans were

seen packing their kits and beginning to move, and "Musical Box" opened

fire. There was a general flight, but this did not prevent her guns

from accounting for a considerable number. She now turned a little to

the left across open country, firing at retreating German infantry at

ranges of from 200 to 600 yards, and being heavily fired on by rifles

and machine-guns in reply. Unfortunately she was carrying petrol tins

on her roof, and these were perforated by the hail of bullets, so that

the petrol ran all over the cab. The great heat from her engines and

guns, which had been in action for nine or ten hours, made it necessary

at this point for the crew to breathe through their box-respirators.

It was now about 2 o'clock in the afternoon, and "Musical Box" was still

moving east, shooting at anything she could see, from motor transport to

marching infantry, and getting heavily peppered in return. At last

Lieutenant Arnold was compelled to withdraw the forward gun. The fumes

and the heat were stifling, but the crew managed to endure it till

suddenly the gallant "Musical Box" was struck by two heavy shells

following close one upon the other, and the cab burst into flames.

Carney and Ribbans reached the door and collapsed. Lieutenant Arnold

was almost overcome, but managed to get the door open and fall out upon

the ground. He was then able to drag out the other two men. Burning

petrol was running on to the ground where they were lying, and the

clothing of all three was on fire. They struggled to get away from the

petrol, and while doing so Carney received his death wound. The enemy

were now approaching from all quarters, and, having been thoroughly

scared, they not unnaturally treated the two survivors somewhat roughly.

Lieutenant Arnold and Gunner Ribbans, badly burned, incredibly dirty,

half-suffocated, and fainting with fatigue, were led off into captivity,

after having completed such an Odyssey of devastation as perhaps befell

no other two men in the war.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*THE AUSTRALIANS AT MONT ST. QUENTIN.*

Close to the spot where the South Africans made their great stand in the

retreat of March 1918, it fell to the lot of troops from another of our

Dominions to perform an almost miraculous exploit in the advance

eastward to victory. By 30th August, as we have seen, the tide had

fully turned. All the British armies were pressing back the enemy over

the old Somme battlefield, and that enemy was struggling desperately to

hold on to key positions long enough to enable him to retire in good

order to the Hindenburg Line, where he hoped to stand on the defence

over the winter. But these key positions were now being rushed too fast

to permit of an orderly retreat, and so the Hindenburg defences proved

of no avail, and before the end of October the Germans were a defeated

army.

Of all the key positions the strongest was that of Mont St. Quentin,

which commanded the old town of Peronne on the north. Peronne, as

readers of Sir Walter Scott will remember, was the scene of some of the

adventures of Quentin Durward. It had fallen into British hands in

March 1917, when the Germans first retired to the Hindenburg Line. It

had been lost in the great enemy onslaught of the following March. It

was a very strong place, defended on the south and west by the links of

the marshy Somme, and on the north by the low ridge called Mont St.

Quentin, which provided superb gun positions. The place was held by one

of the best of the German Divisions brought up from the reserve, the 2nd

Prussian Guards. Their orders were to maintain it at all costs, for

unless Mont St. Quentin was held, Peronne would fall, and if Peronne

fell it would be a very battered remnant that would struggle back to the

main Hindenburg Line.

Sir Henry Rawlinson, the commander of the British Fourth Army, believed

that the fight for Peronne would be long and difficult, and he entrusted

it to the Australian Corps, who were unsurpassed for their fighting

quality by any army in the world. This corps now performed the

impossible, and in a single day's fighting, and with few losses, swept

the enemy from Mont St. Quentin, took Peronne, and shook the German II.

Army to its foundations. Sir Henry Rawlinson has described their

exploit as the finest single action in the war.

No man who once saw the Australians in action could ever forget them.

In the famous landing at Gallipoli, in a dozen desperate fights in that

peninsula, in the fight for Pozieres during the First Battle of the

Somme, at the Third Battle of Ypres, and in the action at

Villers-Bretonneux just before the final advance, they had shown

themselves incomparable in their fury of assault and in reckless

personal valour. They had more than gallantry; they had a perfect

discipline and a perfect coolness. As types of physical perfection they

have probably not been matched since the time of the ancient

Greeks--these long, lean men, with their slow, quiet voices, and often

the shadows of great fatigue around the deep-set, far-sighted eyes.

Their first task was to cross the Somme--no easy task, since Mont St.

Quentin commanded every reach of it. Sir John Monash, the Australian

commander, decided not to attempt to force the river south of the town;

but in the darkness of night a brigade of the 2nd Australian Division

managed to cross and seize the German trenches at Clery. This placed two

of the three Australian Divisions of attack on the east of the river,

directly under the ridge of St. Quentin. General Rawlinson visited the

Australian headquarters that evening, and whetted their keenness by

frankly expressing his disbelief in their success on the morrow. "You

think you are going to take Mont St. Quentin with three battalions! What

presumption! However, I don't think I ought to stop you. Go ahead and

try."

Very early on the morning of 31st August the Australian 2nd Division lay

just under the ridge, with the 3rd Division on its left, and on its

right the 5th Division south of the Somme. The plan was that the 2nd

Division should take Mont St. Quentin, while the 3rd Division completed

the capture of the high ground towards Bouchavesnes on the north, and

the 5th Division passed troops across the river for the assault on

Peronne. There were no Tanks to assist the infantry, and very few heavy

guns, for the men had marched far ahead of the artillery.

At 5 a.m. on the 31st, while the morning was still quite dark, the 5th

Brigade of the 2nd Division opened the attack. It advanced straight up

the hill with the bayonet, and at 8 a.m. Sir John Monash was able to

report to General Rawlinson that his men had obtained a footing on Mont

St. Quentin. All day the heroic brigade beat off desperate

counter-attacks, and by nightfall it still maintained its position.

Meantime the 14th Brigade from the 5th Division crossed the Somme, and

passed through the 2nd Division area for the assault on Peronne, for

Monash had determined that the right course was to take the defences of

the town by a rush while they were still being organized by the enemy.

The 14th Brigade had a march of 7 miles before it could be in position

to deploy for the attack. It was ten hours on the road, and reached its

jumping-off ground in the darkness of the night. There it had on its

left the 6th Brigade of the 2nd Division, whose business was to complete

the capture of Mont St. Quentin.

The final success came on 1st September. The 6th Brigade advanced well

over the crest of Mont St. Quentin, and that fortress was now wholly in

British hands. The 14th Brigade took Peronne. Ever since the attack of

8th August it had been the misfortune of that brigade to be the reserve

unit of its Division, and therefore it had not shared in any serious

fighting; but this day it made up for lost opportunities. "You see,"

said one company commander, "we had been trying to buy a fight off the

other fellows for a matter of three weeks, and that day we got what we

had been looking for, so we made the most of it."

Meantime the 3rd Division, on the left, completed the capture of the

Bouchavesnes spur. By 3rd September the whole of the Peronne area was

in British hands, and the enemy was in headlong retreat. It was clear

that he could find no resting-place short of the main Hindenburg Line,

and a month later Sir Douglas Haig proved that not even in that position

was there an abiding sanctuary.

The actual capture of Mont St. Quentin was achieved by two brigades. It

was a straightforward fight with the bayonet--the cream of the British

Army against the cream of the enemy. For so resounding a success it was

singularly economical of human life; on the hill itself nearly 2,000

prisoners were taken at the expense of some 200 Australian casualties.

*CHAPTER XV.*

*THE LAST BATTLE.*

By the 25th of September the German armies were back on the great line

devised by Hindenburg in the autumn of 1916. The one chance left to them

was to hold out there during the winter, in the hope that they might be

able to bargain with the Allies. If the Allies attacked, there were two

sections which Ludendorff viewed with anxiety. One was his left wing on

the Meuse, where, if the Allies broke through, the Hindenburg Line would

be turned on its flank. The other was the German centre from Douai to

St. Quentin, the main Hindenburg Line, which was not only the fortress

where he hoped to pass the winter, but the one protection of the great

railway from Lille by Valenciennes to Mezieres, on which his whole

position depended. He therefore laboured to keep his left and centre as

strong as possible; for, in spite of his experience in August and

September, he could not conceive the possibility of an assault on every

section.

For Foch this was to be the crowning battle of the war. If he could

break through the German centre, and at the same time turn the German

left, defeat would stare the enemy in the face, and there would be

victory long before Christmas. If the Americans on the Meuse succeeded,

they would make retreat imperative; but if Haig in the centre succeeded,

he would make retreat impossible, and disaster must follow. The British

were assigned the most difficult part. They had to attack in the area

where the enemy defences were most highly organized and his forces

strongest. If the Hindenburg Line held, the German courage might yet

recover, and a new era of resistance begin. Haig's armies had already

borne the heaviest share of the summer fighting, and every division had

been sorely tried. Yet the attempt must be made, for it was the

essential part of the whole strategy, and the measure of difficulty was

the measure of the honour in which Foch held the fighting qualities of

his British allies.

In deciding to make the attack, and to break the Hindenburg Line at one

blow, Sir Douglas Haig stood alone. So difficult seemed the operation

that the British Government were in the gravest doubts, and left the

burden of responsibility upon the Commander-in-Chief. Even the French

generals hesitated. The movement was undertaken on Sir Douglas Haig's

initiative; he bore the whole burden of it; and therefore to him belongs

the main credit of what was destined to be one of the decisive actions

of the war.

Foch began on his right flank, and on 26th September the American army

attacked on the Meuse. Next day, the 27th, Haig struck towards Cambrai.

The two main defences of the Hindenburg Line were the Canal du Nord,

and, behind it, the Scheldt Canal, the latter forming the outwork of the

system. The principal German trenches were on the east bank; but on the

west bank lay advanced posts, skilfully placed. In one section the

canal passed through a tunnel 6,000 yards long, connected by shafts with

the trenches above. In another part it lay in a deep cutting, the sides

of which were honeycombed with dug-outs. The fortified zone was from 5

to 7 miles wide, and culminated on the east in what was known as the

Beaurevoir Line, strongly wired double-trench lines of the same type as

those on the western side.

On the 27th the Third Army under Byng, and the First Army under Horne,

attacked on the left, crossed the Canal du Nord, and by the evening had

reached the edge of the Scheldt Canal. Next day that canal had been

partially crossed, and Cambrai was menaced from two sides. These events

roused acute apprehension in the mind of the German Staff. The crossing

of the Canal du Nord by Tanks on the backs of Tanks, and the passing of

the Scheldt Canal at its northern end, had shaken their confidence in

the outer Hindenburg defences. Next day, the 29th, came Haig's crowning

blow. He struck at the strongest part, and it crumbled before him.

The attack was made by Rawlinson's Fourth Army. For two days his guns

had not been silent; the enemy's garrisons were forced into tunnels and

deep dug-outs, and the transport of food and ammunition was made all but

impossible. The Germans were, therefore, in a state of confusion and

fatigue when Haig attacked at 10 minutes to 6 on the morning of Sunday,

the 29th.

This action was one of the greatest of the campaign, whether we regard

the difficulties to be faced or the strategic value of the gains.

Ludendorff was fighting for his last hope, and he had warned his men

accordingly. One captured order reminded his troops that "Our present

position is our winter position." Another ran: "There can be no

question of going back a single step further. We must show the British,

French, and Americans that any further attacks on the Hindenburg Line

will be utterly broken, and that that Line is an impregnable rampart,

with the result that the Entente Powers will condescend to consider the

terms of peace which it is absolutely necessary for us to have before we

can end the war." Germany was already busy with peace proposals, and

she had nothing to bargain with except these defences in the West.

The key of the position was the angle of the Scheldt Canal where it bent

east, with the village of Bellenglise in its bend, for if the canal were

forced there the defences on either side would be turned. The work was

entrusted to the 46th Division of North Midland Territorials, which had

a long and brilliant record in the war. Theirs was an amazing

performance. The canal before them was some 50 to 60 feet wide, the

water in some parts being as much as 10 feet deep. and in others a mere

trickle. It was a morning of thick fog when behind the tornado of the

barrage the Midlanders, carrying life-belts and mats and rafts, advanced

to the attack. Since parts of the canal were impassable, the crossing

had to be made on a narrow front. Swimming or wading, and in some cases

using foot-bridges which the enemy had left undestroyed, they passed the

canal west and north of Bellenglise, swarmed up the farther bank, and

took the German trenches beyond. Then, fanning out, they attacked in

rear the positions to the south, capturing many batteries still in

action. That day this one Division took over 4,000 prisoners and 70

guns.

It was the same everywhere else on the British front. The main

Hindenburg defences had been breached, and all next day the Fourth Army

pressed through the gap. The greatest battle of the war was now

approaching its climax, and the whole 250 miles of front, from the Meuse

to the sea, were ablaze. Ludendorff could not have withdrawn even if he

had wished it. By 7th October Haig had broken through all the front

Hindenburg Line, and was pressing upon the last defences. The time was

therefore ripe for a great movement on the broadest possible front,

which would destroy the whole zone. For, in the words of the official

dispatch, "Nothing but the natural obstacles of a wooded and

well-watered country lay between our armies and Maubeuge."

The great movement was begun by Haig early on Tuesday, 8th October. It

was a wild, wet, autumn morning when Byng at 4.30 and Rawlinson at 5.10

attacked on a 17-mile front, while a French army extended the battle 4

miles farther south. The enemy resisted desperately, but nothing could

stay the rush of the Allied infantry and the deadly penetration of their

Tanks. By the evening Haig had advanced between 3 and 4 miles, and the

Hindenburg zone was no more. The enemy was falling back to the Oise and

the Selle, and for the moment his organization had been broken. Every

road converging on Le Cateau was blocked with transport and troops, and

our cavalry were galloping eastward to confuse the retreat.

Sir Douglas Haig's battle, which ended on the 10th October, may be

considered the determining action in the campaign, and it has been

described by Foch as "a classic example of military art." It had no

defect either of plan or of execution. The enemy was fairly and clearly

defeated in a field action. Foch had played on the whole front a

crescendo of deadly music, and the enemy's strategic position was now so

desperate that no local stand could save him. There was talk at the time

of a German retreat to the Meuse. but it was an idle dream. Long before

her broken divisions could reach that river Germany would be upon her

knees.

*PART III.*

*THE "SIDE SHOWS."*

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*THE LANDING AT GALLIPOLI.*

Early in 1915 it seemed to the British Government that, since there were

no longer any flanks to be turned on the Western front, the lines in

France and Flanders were settling down to a siege and a war of

positions. They therefore looked elsewhere for some more promising area

of battle, since, if the front door of a fortress is barred, there may

be an entrance by a back door. The place which promised best was the

narrow straits called the Dardanelles, which led from the AEgean into

the Sea of Marmora, and so to Constantinople. There full use could be

made of the British fleet. The capture of the Straits would involve the

fall of the capital, and this might drive Turkey out of the war.

Success there would bring over to our side the hesitating Balkan neutral

states. It would open the road for Russia to import munitions of war,

and to export her accumulated supplies of wheat. Lastly, Russia was

being hard pressed, and had appealed to the Western Allies for aid, and

her request could not be refused.

Accordingly, it was decided to make an attempt upon the Dardanelles.

The first effort was made by ships alone. But the Turks had powerful

forts on both sides of the straits which could not be destroyed by naval

guns. It was clear that the Dardanelles could not be opened until the

Gallipoli Peninsula on the north side was captured. Unfortunately, the

naval attack had forewarned the enemy, and he had enormously

strengthened his position on the Gallipoli heights.

The forces put at Sir Ian Hamilton's disposal for the enterprise were

the 29th Division of regulars and Territorials, two divisions from

Australia and New Zealand, the Royal Naval Division, and a French

brigade. Of these troops only the 29th Division had had any experience

in war. Sir Ian Hamilton decided that the only possible landing-places

were the beaches at the south-west end of the Peninsula, and another

beach at Gaba Tepe, some distance up the northern side. His aim was, by

landing at the point, to fight his way to Krithia village, and carry the

Achi Baba ridge, while the Australians from Gaba Tepe could turn the

right wing of the Turkish defence. Once the Achi Baba heights were

captured the Straits would be ours.

The day originally fixed for the attempt was 23rd April. But on the 20th

a storm rose which for forty-eight hours lashed the AEgean. On the 23rd

it abated, and that afternoon the first of the black transports began to

move out of Mudros harbour. Next day the rest of the force followed,

all in wild spirits for this venture into the unknown. They recalled to

one spectator the Athenians departing for the Sicilian expedition, when

the galleys out of sheer light-heartedness raced each other to AEgina.

The morning of Sunday, the 25th, was one of those which delight the

traveller in April in the AEgean. A light mist fills the air before

dawn, but it disappears with the sun, and all day there are clear skies,

still seas, and the fresh, invigorating warmth of spring. At the butt

end of Gallipoli there are five little beaches, originally nameless, but

now for all time to be known by the letters affixed to them on the war

maps of the British Army. Beginning from the left, there is Beach Y,

and, a little south of it, Beach X. Rounding Cape Tekke, we reach Beach

W, where a narrow valley opens between the headlands of Tekke and

Helles. Here there is a broad semicircular stretch of sand. South of

Helles is Beach V, a place of the same configuration as Beach W, but

unpleasantly commanded by the castle and village of Sedd-el-Bahr at its

southern end. Lastly, inside the Straits, on the east side of Morto

Bay, is Beach S, close to the point of Eski Hissarlik. The landing at

Gaba Tepe, on the north side of the peninsula, was entrusted to the

Australian and New Zealand troops; that at the Helles beaches to the

29th Division, with some units of the Naval Division. It was arranged

that simultaneously the French should land on the Asiatic shore at Kum

Kale, to prevent the Turkish batteries from being brought into action

against our men at Beaches V and S.

Let us assume that an aeroplane enabled us to move up and down the

shores of the peninsula and observe the progress of the different

landings. About one in the morning the ships arrive at a point 5 miles

from the Gallipoli shores. At 1.20 boats are lowered, and the troops

line up on the decks. Then they embark in the flotillas, and steam

pinnaces begin to tow them shorewards in the hazy half-light before

dawn. The Australians destined for Gaba Tepe are carried in destroyers

which take them close in to the shore.

The operations are timed so that the troops reach the beaches at

daybreak. Slowly and very quietly the boats and destroyers steal

towards the land. A little before 5 an enemy's searchlight flares out.

The boats are now in shallow water under the Gaba Tepe cliffs, and the

men are leaping ashore. Then comes a blaze of rifle-fire from the

Turkish trenches on the beach, and the men who have landed charge them

with the bayonet. The whole cliff seems to leap into light, for

everywhere trenches and caverns have been dug in the slopes. The fire

falls most heavily on the men still in the boats, who have the difficult

task of waiting as the slow minutes bring them shoreward.

The Australians do not linger. They carry the lines on the beach with

cold steel, and find themselves looking up at a steep cliff a hundred

feet high. In open order they dive into the scrub, and scramble up the

loose yellow rocks. By a fortunate accident their landing is farther

north than was intended, just under the cliffs of Sari Bair. At Gaba

Tepe the long slope would have given the enemy a great advantage in

defence; but here there is only the 40-foot beach and then the cliffs.

He who knows the AEgean in April will remember those fringed sea walls

and bare brown slopes. From a distance they look as arid as the Syrian

desert, but when the traveller draws near he finds a paradise of curious

and beautiful flowers--anemone, grape hyacinth, rock rose, asphodel, and

amaryllis. Up this rock garden the Australians race, among the purple

cistus and the matted creepers and the thickets of myrtle. They have

left their packs at the foot, and scale the bluffs like chamois. It is

an achievement to rank with Wolfe's escalade of the Heights of Abraham.

Presently they are at the top, and come under the main Turkish fire.

But the ground gives good cover, and they set about entrenching the

crest of the cliffs to cover the boats' landing. This is the position

at Sari Bair at 7 a.m.

As we journey down the coast we come next to Beach Y. There at 7 a.m.

all is going well. The 1st King's Own Scottish Borderers and the

Plymouth battalion of the Naval Division, landing at a place which the

enemy thought wholly impracticable, have without difficulty reached the

top of the cliffs. At Beach X things are even better. The _Swiftsure_

has plastered the high ground with shells, and the landing ship, the

_Implacable_, has anchored close to the shore in six fathoms of water.

With scarcely a casualty the 2nd Royal Fusiliers have gained the cliff

line.

[Illustration: The Landing Beaches at Gallipoli.]

There has been a harder fight at Beach W, between Tekke and Helles,

where the sands are broader. The shore has been trenched throughout,

and wired and mined almost to the water's edge, and in the scrub behind

are hidden the Turkish snipers. Though our ships have bombarded the

shore for three-quarters of an hour, they cannot clear out the enemy,

and do not seem to have made much impression on the wire entanglements.

The first troops have landed to the right under the cliffs of Cape

Helles, and have reached the top, while a party on the left has scaled

Cape Tekke. But the men of the 1st Lancashire Fusiliers who landed on

the shore itself have had a fiery trial. They suffered heavily while

still on the water, and on landing came up against unbroken lines of

wire, while snipers and concealed machine-guns rained death on them.

Here we have had heavy losses, and at 7 a.m. the landing has not yet

succeeded.

The case is more desperate still at Beach V, under Sedd-el-Bahr. Here,

as at Beach W, there are a stretch of sand, a scrubby valley, and

flanking cliffs. It is the strongest of the Turkish positions, and

troops landing in boats are exposed to every type of converging fire. A

curious expedient has been tried. A collier, the _River Clyde_, with

2,000 men of the 2nd Hampshires, 1st Dublin Fusiliers, and 1st Munster

Fusiliers on board, and eight boat-loads towed by steam pinnaces,

approached close to the shore. The boat-loads--the rest of the Dublin

Fusiliers--suffered horribly, for when they dashed through the shallows

to the beach they were pinned to the ground by fire. Three lines of

wire entanglements had to be forced, and a network of trenches. A bank

of sand, 5 or 6 feet high, runs at the back, and under its cover the

survivors have taken shelter. In the steel side of the ship doors have

been cut, which open and disgorge men into the lighters alongside, like

some new Horse of Troy. But a tornado of shot and shell rained on her,

and of the gallant men who leaped from the lighters to the reef and from

the reef to the sea, very few reached the land. Those who did have

joined their fellows lying flat under the sand-bank on that beach of

death. At Beach S, in Morto Bay, all has gone well. Seven hundred men

of the 2nd South Wales Borderers have been landed from trawlers, and

have established themselves on the cliff tops at the place called De

Totts Battery.

*CHAPTER XVII.*

*THE LANDING AT GALLIPOLI (*_*continued*_*).*

Let us go back to Sari Bair and look at the position at noonday. We are

prospering there, for more than 10,000 men are now ashore, and the work

of disembarking guns and stores goes on steadily, though the fire from

inland is still deadly. We see a proof of it in a boat full of dead men

which rocks idly in the surf. The great warships from the sea send

their heavy shells against the Turkish lines, sea-planes are "spotting"

for them, and wireless stations are being erected on the beach. Firing

from the ships is not easy, for the morning sun shines right in the eyes

of the gunners. The Royal Engineers are making roads up the cliff, and

supplies are climbing steadily to our firing line. On the turf of the

cliff top our men are entrenched, and are working their way forward.

Unfortunately the zeal of the Australians has outrun their discretion,

and some of them have pushed on too far. They have crossed three ridges,

and have got to a fourth ridge within sight of the Straits. In that

broken country such an advance is certain death, and the rash attack has

been checked with heavy losses. The wounded are being brought in, and

it is no light task getting them down the cliffs on stretchers, and

across the beach and the bullet-splashed sea to the warships. Remember

that we are holding a position which is terribly conspicuous to the

enemy, and all our ammunition and water and food have to be dragged up

these breakneck cliffs. Still, the first round has been won, Indian

troops are being landed in support, and we are firmly placed at Sari

Bair.

As we move down the coast we find that all goes well at Beach X, and

that the troops there are working their way forward, but that at Beach Y

the Scottish Borderers are being heavily counter-attacked and are making

little progress. The _Implacable_ has knocked out of action a Turkish

battery at Krithia which gave much annoyance to our men at Beach X. At

Beach W we have improved our position. We have cleared the beach and

driven the Turks out of the scrub at the valley foot, and the work of

disembarking men and stores is proceeding. Our right wing--the 4th

Worcesters--is working round by the cliffs above Cape Helles to enfilade

the enemy who are holding Beach V, where our men are still in deadly

jeopardy.

The scene at Beach V is strange and terrible. From the deep water the

_Cornwallis_ and the _Albion_ are bombarding the enemy at Sedd-el-Bahr,

and the 15-inch shells from the _Queen Elizabeth_ are screaming

overhead. The Trojan Horse is still lying bow on against the reefs,

with her men unable to move, and the Turkish howitzers playing on her.

If a man shows his head he is picked off by sharpshooters. The troops

we have landed lie flat on the beach under cover of the sand ridge,

unable to advance or retreat, and under a steady tornado of fire. At

Beach S things are satisfactory.

Meantime the French landing at Kum Kale has achieved its purpose.

Originally timed for 6 a.m., it did not take place till 9.30. They had

a skirmish with the Turks, partly on the height at Kum Kale, and partly

on the Trojan plain. Then they advanced along the swell of ground near

the coast as far as Yeni Shehr. Next evening they re-embarked and

joined our right wing at Beach S. They took 500 prisoners, and could

have taken more had there been room for them in the boats. The Turk,

who showed himself a dauntless fighter, surrendered with great

good-humour when the game was up. He had no crusading zeal in the

business.

As darkness fell on that loud Sabbath, the minds of the Allied Staff may

well have been anxious. We had gained a footing, but no more, and it

was but a precarious lodgment. The complexity and strength of the

enemy's defence far surpassed our expectation. He had tunnelled the

cliffs, and created a wonderful and intricate trench system, which took

full advantage of the natural strength of the ground. The fire from our

leviathans on the deep was no more effective against his entrenched

positions than it had been against the forts of the Straits.

Let us resume our tour of the beaches about 10 o'clock on the morning of

the 26th. At Sari Bair the Australians are facing a counter-attack. It

lasts for two hours, and is met by a great bombardment from our ships.

The end comes when, about noon, the Australians and New Zealanders

advance with the bayonet, and drive back the enemy. But all that day

there is no rest for our troops, who are perfecting their trenches under

a deluge of shrapnel. Their flanks are indifferently secured, and they

have but the one landing-place behind them, from which their front line

is scarcely 1,000 yards distant. They are still clinging precariously

to the coast scarp.

At Beach Y things have gone badly. Our men there had advanced during

the Sunday afternoon, and had been outflanked and driven back to the

cliff edge. The Scottish Borderers lost their commanding officer and

more than half their men. It was decided to re-embark and move the

troops to Beach X, and as we pass the retreat is going on successfully

under cover of the ship's fire. At Beach X there has been a hard

struggle. Last night we were strongly attacked there, and driven to the

very edge of the cliffs, where we hung on in rough shelter trenches.

This morning we are advancing again, and making some way.

At Beach W, too, there has been a counter-attack. Yesterday afternoon

our right wing there, which tried to relieve the position on Beach V by

an enfilading attack on the enemy, got among wire, and was driven back.

During the night the Turks came on in force, and we were compelled to

fling our beach parties into the firing line, bluejackets and sappers

armed with whatever weapons they could find. This morning the situation

is easier, we have landed more troops, and are preparing to move

forward.

At Beach V the landing is still in its first stage. Men are still

sheltering on the deadly beach behind the sandbank. We have gained some

positions among the ruins which were once Sedd-el-Bahr, but not enough

to allow us to proceed. Even as we look a final effort is beginning, in

which the Dublin Fusiliers and the Munster Fusiliers distinguish

themselves, though it is hard to select any for special praise among the

splendid battalions of the 29th Division. It continues all morning,

most gallantly directed till he fell by Lieutenant-Colonel Doughty-Wylie

of the Headquarters Staff, and about 2 p.m. it is successful. The main

Turkish trenches are carried, the debris of the castle and village are

cleared, and the enemy is in retreat. The landing can now go forward,

and the men, who for thirty-two hours have been huddled behind the

sandbank, enduring torments of thirst and a nerve-racking fire, can move

their cramped limbs and join their comrades.

By the morning of Tuesday, the 27th, all the beaches--except Beach Y,

which had been relinquished--were in working order, and the advance

could proceed. Next morning it began, and by the evening of the 28th we

had securely won the butt of the peninsula, and our front ran from 3

miles north-west of Cape Tekke to a mile north of Eski Hissarlik.

So ended the opening stage of the Gallipoli campaign--the Battle of the

Landing. It was a fight without a precedent. There had been

landings--such as Abercromby's at Aboukir and Wolfe's at the cove west

of Louisburg--fiercely contested landings, in our history, but none on a

scale like this. Sixty thousand men, backed by the most powerful navy

in the world, attacked a shore which nature seemed to have made

impregnable, and which was held by not inferior numbers of the enemy, in

positions prepared for months, and supported by the latest modern

artillery. The mere problem of transport was sufficient to deter the

boldest. Every rule of war was set at nought. On paper the thing was

impossible, as the Turkish army orders announced. According to the

text-books no man should have left the beaches alive. We were fighting

against a gallant enemy who was at his best in defence and in this

unorthodox type of battle. That our audacity succeeded was due to the

unsurpassable fighting quality of our men--the Regulars and Territorials

of the 29th Division, the Naval Division, and not least to the dash and

doggedness of the Australasian corps. The Gallipoli campaign was to end

in failure, but, whatever be our judgment on its policy or its

consequences, the Battle of the Landing must be acclaimed as a

marvellous, an unparalleled feat of arms.

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

*THE DEPARTURE FROM GALLIPOLI.*

By September 1915 it was clear that the Gallipoli expedition could not

succeed. All summer the hopeless struggle had continued for the heights

of the peninsula. In July reinforcements arrived, and in August these

new divisions, together with the Anzacs,[#] made an attack, that of the

left wing at Suvla Bay being designed to turn the enemy flank. This

supreme effort failed. There was no chance of further reserves, for the

entry of Bulgaria into the war meant that the Allies must send troops to

Salonika to help Serbia if possible, and in any case to protect the

northern frontier of Greece. Only one course was possible--to get off

the peninsula as best we could.

[#] So called from the initial letters of the first Australasian

Corps--"Australian and New Zealand Army Corps."

After much discussion it was decided to evacuate the positions at Suvla

and Anzac, and to retain those at Cape Helles. Nearly everybody

concerned in the matter assumed that this would entail a heavy loss.

Many estimated it at 15 per cent., and the most hopeful were prepared

for the loss of at least one division. An embarkation in the face of

the enemy had always meant a stiff rearguard fight and many casualties.

On the 8th December Sir Charles Monro, who was then in command of the

British troops in the AEgean, issued orders for evacuation. The

difficulties were enormous. It was a question of embarking not a

division or two, but three army corps; it was impossible to move them

all at once with the available transports; there must be a gap between

the operations, and this meant that the enemy would probably be

forewarned of the later movements. Moreover, a lengthy embarkation put

us terribly at the mercy of the winter weather. Even a mild wind from

the south or south-west raised a swell that made communication with the

beaches precarious.

The plan was to move the war material, including the heavy guns, by

instalments during a period of ten days, working only at night. A large

portion of the troops would also be got off during these days, certain

picked battalions being left to the last. Everything was to be kept

normal during the daylight, and every morning before daybreak the

results of the night's work must be hidden. Success depended upon two

things mainly--fine weather and secrecy.

From the 8th December onward the troops, night after night, watched the

shrinkage of their numbers. There was a generous rivalry as to who

should stay till the last--a proof of spirit, when we remember that

every man believed that the rearguard was doomed to death or capture.

Soon only those in the prime of health and strength were left; all the

weak and sickly had gone aboard the transports, which nightly stole in

and out of the moonlit bays. Soon the heavy batteries had gone. Then

the field guns began to disappear, leaving only enough to keep up the

daily pretence of bombardment. It was an eerie business for the last

battalions as they heard their protecting guns rumbling shoreward in the

darkness. Then the horses and motor-cars were also shipped, and by

Friday, the 17th December, very few guns were left. To the Turkish

observers the piles of boxes on the beaches looked as if fresh supplies

had been landed and we were preparing to hold the place indefinitely.

The weather was warm and clement, with light moist winds and a

low-hanging screen of cloud. Coming in the midst of an AEgean winter it

seemed to our men a direct interposition of Providence. It was like the

land beyond the North Wind, which Elizabethan mariners believed in,

where he who pierced the outer crust of the Polar snows found a country

of roses and eternal summer. No fisherman ever studied the weather

signs more anxiously than did the British commanders during these days.

Hearts sank when the wind looked like moving to the west. But the

weather held, and when the days fixed for the final embarkation arrived,

the wind was still favourable, skies were clear, and the moon was

approaching its full. Nature had joined the daring conspiracy.

On Saturday, the 18th December, only a few picked battalions held the

Suvla front. The final embarkation had been fixed for the two

succeeding nights. The evening fell in a perfect calm. The sea was

still as a mill-pond, and scarcely a breath of wind blew in the sky.

Moreover, a light blue mist clothed all the plain of Suvla, and a haze

shrouded the moon. At 6 p.m. the crews of the warships went to action

stations, and in the darkness the transports stole into the bay. Not a

shot was fired. In dead quiet, showing no lights, the transports moved

in and out. Every unit found its proper place. By 1 a.m. on the

morning of Sunday, the 19th, the bay lay empty in the moonlight.

That Sunday was one of the most curious in the war. Our lines looked

exactly as they had done during the past four months. We kept up our

usual fire and received the Turkish answer, but had any body of the

enemy chosen to attack they would have found the trenches held by a mere

handful. There were 20,000 Turks on the Suvla and Anzac fronts, and

60,000 in immediate reserve. Had they known it, they had before them

the grand opportunity of the campaign. Night again fell with the same

halcyon weather. The transports--destroyers, trawlers, picket boats,

every kind of craft--slipped once again into the bay, and before

midnight the last guns had been got on board. By 3.30 a.m. the last of

the troops were on the beach, and long before the dawn broke all were

aboard. One man had been hit in the thigh by a bullet, but that was the

only casualty.

[Illustration: Evacuation of the Gallipoli Peninsula.]

The operations at Anzac were conducted on the same lines. The beaches

at Suvla were 5 miles from the enemy and open to observation; at Anzac,

in places they were less than 2 miles distant, but were concealed from

view under the steep seaward bluffs. Some of our gun positions there

were on dizzy heights, down which a gun could only be brought part by

part. The work was brilliantly performed. On the Saturday night

three-fifths of the entire force were got on board the transports. On

Sunday night the rest were embarked, with two men wounded as the total

casualties. By 5.30 a.m. on Monday morning the last transports moved

away from the coast, leaving the warships to follow.

Then on the 12 miles of beach, from Suvla Burnu to Gaba Tepe, there was

seen one of the strangest spectacles of the campaign. The useless

stores left behind had been piled in great heaps on the shores and

drenched with petrol. Before the last men left parties of Royal

Engineers set time fuses. About 4 a.m. on the Monday morning the fires

were alight, blazing most fiercely near Suvla Point. As the beach fires

flared up, the enemy, thinking some disaster had befallen us, shelled

the place to prevent us extinguishing the flames. The warships shelled

back, and all along that broken coast great pillars of fire flared to

heaven like giant beacons in some strife of the Immortals. Up to 8

o'clock picket boats were still collecting stragglers; by 9 a.m. all was

over, and the last warship steamed away from the coast which had been

the grave of so many high hopes and so many gallant men.

We were just in time. That night the weather broke, and a furious gale

blew from the south which would have made embarkation impossible. Rain

fell in sheets and quenched the fires, and soon every trench at Suvla

and Anzac was a torrent. Great seas washed away the landing stages.

The puzzled enemy sat still and waited. He saw that we had gone, but he

distrusted the evidence of his eyes. History does not tell what fate

befell the first Turks who penetrated into our empty trenches, or what

heel first tried conclusions with the hidden mines.

The success--the amazing success--of the Suvla and Anzac evacuation made

the position at Cape Helles more difficult. No one believed that a

similar performance would be possible there after the enemy had been so

fully warned; but on the 27th December it was decided to evacuate

Helles, and the work went on during the last days of the month and the

first week of the new year. On Friday, January 7, 1916, there was a

Turkish attack, which the few men remaining managed to repel. Next day,

Saturday, the 8th, was calm and fine, and all was ready for the final

effort.

About 4 o'clock in the afternoon the weather changed. A strong

south-westerly wind blew up; by 11 p.m. it increased to a gale of 35

miles an hour. This storm covered our movements from the enemy, but it

nearly made retirement impossible. On some beaches the piers were

washed away and no troops could be embarked. Nevertheless by 3.30 the

last men were on board.

All night the Turks gave no sign, but when the transports had moved off

the stores left behind were fired simultaneously by time fuses. Red

lights instantly burned along the enemy lines, and a bombardment began

which continued till sunrise. The Turks proclaimed that the retreat had

been attended with desperate losses and great captures of guns. The

claim was an absurd falsehood. We blew up and left behind the ruins of

seventeen old worn-out pieces. Our total casualties at Helles amounted

to one man wounded.

To avoid the disastrous consequences of a defeat is, as a military

operation, usually more difficult than to win a victory. There is less

chance of the high spirit of the attack, for such is the generosity of

the human spirit that safety is less of an incentive to effort than the

hope of victory. To embark so great an army secretly and without loss

in mid-winter was an extraordinary achievement. It was made possible

only by an almost miraculous series of favourable chances, and by the

perfect organization and discipline of our men. We had failed at

Gallipoli, but we had escaped the worst costs of failure. We had

defeated the calculations of the enemy and upset every precedent.

Across the ribbon of the Dardanelles, on the green plain of Troy, the

most famous war of the ancient world had been fought. The European

shores had now become a no less classic ground of arms. If the banks of

Scamander had seen men strive desperately with fate, so had the heights

of Achi Baba and the loud beaches of Helles. Had the fashion continued

of linking the gods with the strife of mankind, what strange myth might

not have sprung from this rescue of the British troops in the teeth of

winter gales and uncertain seas I It would have been rumoured, as of old

at Troy, that Poseidon had done battle for his children.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

*THE CAPTURE OF JERUSALEM.*

At the outset of the war the conquest of Egypt was an important aim of

the Turkish Government and their German masters. But early in 1915 the

Turkish invasion was scattered on the banks of the Suez Canal, and hopes

of an easy victory were shattered. Nevertheless, the defence of Egypt

remained an anxious problem for Britain. That country was the base both

for Gallipoli and for Mesopotamia, and moreover, as Moltke pointed out

long before, was the key of Britain's Eastern possessions. It was soon

realized that Egypt could not be properly defended on the Canal, but

only on the Palestine frontier, beyond the Sinai Desert.

During 1915 and 1916 Turkey and Germany projected many schemes for an

Egyptian invasion, and the British generals in Egypt were no less busy.

If the war was to be carried into Palestine railways and water pipes

must be laid across the desert. Slowly the British front crept

eastward. The Turks were defeated in various desert battles, and in the

spring of 1917 the British army crossed the frontier of Palestine.

The British purpose had somewhat changed. The offensive had been

substituted for the defensive. So far as possible it was desired to do

in Palestine what Sir Stanley Maude was doing in Mesopotamia--to pin

down large Turkish forces, and so alarm Turkey about the safety of

certain key points in her territory that she would demand aid from

Germany and thus confuse the plans of the German General Staff.

The land from the Wadi el Arish--the ancient "River of Egypt"--to the

Philistian Plain had for 2,600 years been a cockpit of war. Sometimes a

conqueror from the north or the south met the enemy in Egypt or in

Syria, but more often the decisive fight was fought in the gates. Up

and down the strip of seaward levels marched the great armies of Egypt

and Assyria, while the Jews looked fearfully down from their barren

hills. In the Philistian Plain Sennacherib smote the Egyptian hosts in

the days of King Hezekiah, only to see his army melt away under the

stroke of the "angel of the Lord." At Rafa Esarhaddon defeated Pharaoh,

and added Egypt and Ethiopia to his kingdoms. At Megiddo, or

Armageddon, Josiah was vanquished by Pharaoh Necho, who in turn was

routed by Nebuchadnezzar. At Ascalon, during the Crusades, Godfrey of

Bouillon defeated the Egyptians, and 150 years later that town fell to

the Mameluke Sultan after the battle of Gaza. In this gate of ancient

feuds it now fell to Turkey's lot to speak with her enemies.

But at first the British advance was checked. In March and April 1917

two battles were fought at Gaza--two frontal attacks which failed.

During the summer Sir Edmund Allenby was appointed to the chief command,

and slowly and patiently he perfected his plans. He saw that a direct

attack on Gaza was likely to fail, but far to the east he observed a

weak point in the enemy front where the town of Beersheba constituted a

detached and separate defensive system. If Beersheba could be taken,

the whole Gaza position could be turned on the flank.

Beersheba was duly taken at the end of October 1917, and on the 7th

November Gaza followed. The enemy suffered severely, and was in full

retreat, almost in flight. Sir Edmund Allenby's objective was now

Jerusalem, and his problem was less one of manoeuvres than of supply.

His troops would advance just as fast as water and food could be brought

up behind them.

[Illustration: FIELD-MARSHAL SIR EDMUND ALLENBY

(VISCOUNT ALLENBY OF MEGIDDO).]

The advance was made in two main directions--one from Hebron due north

towards Bethlehem; the other by the coastal plain, aiming at the

junction where the Jerusalem railway joined the main line to Damascus.

The Turkish army was split into two parts, retreating in different

directions. Though Enver came from Constantinople and Falkenhayn from

Aleppo it was difficult for them to devise a defence. Allenby seized

Jaffa, and then swung eastward into the Judaean highlands. Now the

progress became slow, while squalid little villages, whose names are

famous throughout the whole Christian world, fell to the British troops.

On the 30th November the British line had the shape of a sickle, with

the centre of the curve flung far forward towards Jerusalem, and it was

necessary to bring up the handle, which consisted of the cavalry and

infantry which were at Hebron. By the 7th these had taken Bethlehem, and

by the 8th British troops were before Jerusalem on the south and west,

and within a mile and a half of its walls.

The Turkish garrison did not await the attack. In the night preceding

Sunday, the 9th December, the day of the festival of the Hanookah, which

commemorates the recapture of the Temple by Judas Maccabaeus,

detachments of broken Turkish soldiers poured in at the western or Jaffa

Gate, while an outgoing stream flowed eastward across the valley of

Jehoshaphat. Early in the morning the enemy sent out a white flag of

surrender, and before noon British patrols were in the city.

Two days later Sir Edmund Allenby entered by the Jaffa Gate. Close by

was the breach made in the walls to admit the German Emperor when he

made his foolish pilgrimage in 1898. Far different was the entry of the

British general. It was a clear, bright day, and the streets and

housetops were thronged with black-coated, tarbushed Syrians and

Levantines, picturesquely-clad peasants from the near villages, and

Arabs from the fringes of the desert. There was no display of bunting

and no bell-ringing or firing of salutes. On foot, accompanied only by

his Staff, the commanders of the French and Italian detachments, and the

military attaches of France, Italy, and the United States, he was

received by the newly appointed Military Governor of the city, and a

guard representing all the nationalities engaged in the campaign. He

turned to the right into the Mount Zion quarter, and at the Citadel, at

the base of the ancient Tower of David, his proclamation was read to the

people.

Then he quietly left the city. Yet no conqueror had ever entered it

with more prestige. For centuries there had been current an Arab

prophecy that a deliverer should come from the West, and in 1898 the

people of Palestine had asked if the Kaiser was indeed the man. But the

prophecy foretold that such would not be the manner of his coming, for

the true saviour would bear the name of a Prophet of God, and would

enter Jerusalem on foot, and that he would not appear till the Nile

flowed into Palestine. To the peasants of Judaea the prophecy now

seemed to be fulfilled, for the name of the English general was in

Arabic "the Prophet," and his men had come into the land bringing with

them the waters of Egypt.

*CHAPTER XX.*

*ALLENBY'S GREAT DRIVE.*

The capture of Jerusalem on December 9, 1917, left a curious military

situation. The Turkish army was split into two parts, with its right

wing north-east of Jaffa and its left to the north and east of

Jerusalem, and between these lay a patch of rocky country without

communications. Clearly the next step for Allenby was to cross to the

east of the Jordan and cut the Hedjaz railway, with the assistance of

the Arab army from the south. If traffic on this railway were

interrupted the Turkish forces in Arabia would be at his mercy.

But first he had to secure his advanced bases at Jaffa and Jerusalem.

This work was done before the close of the year. He then turned his

attention to safeguarding his right flank by driving the enemy beyond

the Jordan. Jericho fell to the Australians on the 1st February, and

the move eastward across the river began. It proved, however,

unexpectedly difficult. The promised Arab assistance was not

forthcoming in time, and early in May the British troops, except for a

bridge-head garrison, were again on the west side of Jordan. Allenby for

a time was compelled to hold his hand. The grave situation in France

made it necessary for him to reorganize his forces, for all white troops

that could be spared were ordered to the Western front. In their place

he received cavalry and infantry from Mesopotamia and India.

We come now to what must rank as one of the most dramatic tales in the

whole campaign--an exploit undertaken at the precise moment when its

chances were brightest and its influence on the general strategy of the

war most vital--an exploit, moreover, which was perfectly planned,

perfectly executed, and overwhelming in its success. The little

campaign which began three years before on the banks of the Suez Canal

had grown slowly to a major operation. In face of every difficulty the

Allies had crept forward, first across the Sinai Desert, then, after

long delays, through the Turkish defences of the south, and then in a

bold sweep to the gates of the Holy City.

This campaign had always been fought with only the margin of strength

which could be spared from the greater contests in the West. But it had

moved patiently to its appointed end, for it was carried on in the true

tradition of those dogged earlier wars of Britain which had created her

Empire. Our feet might be stayed for a season, or even retire, but in

the long run they always moved forward. The Last Crusade was now

approaching its climax, and the Crusaders were such as would have

startled the souls of St. Louis and Raymond and Richard of England,

could they have beheld that amazing army. For only a modest portion of

it was drawn from the Western peoples. Algerian and Indian Moslems,

Arab tribesmen, men of the thousand creeds of Hindustan, African

negroes, and Jewish battalions were among the liberators of the sacred

land of Christendom.

In September 1918 the Turkish armies of Syria held a front from the

coast north of Jaffa through the hills of Ephraim to a point half-way

between Nablus and Jerusalem, and thence to the Jordan, and down its

eastern bank to the Dead Sea. On the right lay the VIIIth Turkish Army,

in the centre the VIIth, and east of Jordan the IVth. Far on their left

flank they were threatened by the Arabs under Sherif Feisal and Colonel

T. E. Lawrence. Allenby's plan was to defeat the enemy west of Jordan,

and so either to isolate or compel the retreat of the IVth Army. The

communications of the Turkish centre and right wing were poor, and if

their front could be broken and our cavalry sent through, it was

possible that these might be cut. Allenby therefore thinned his front

elsewhere, and concentrated his main energies on breaking up the VIIIth

Army in the Plain of Sharon, and thus opening the route for his cavalry.

At 4.30 on the morning of the 19th September British cavalry attacked

and won an immediate victory, sweeping through the enemy's defences in

the Plain of Sharon. The VIIIth Army was in utter rout, pouring along

the northern roads, while the main body of our cavalry was riding for

Esdraelon to cut them off. That night the VIIth Turkish Army was also

pressed back in the centre. By noon that day the leading troops of our

cavalry were 18 miles north of their old front line; that afternoon they

were through the barrier of the Samarian hills; and early next morning

they reached Nazareth, and all but captured the German

commander-in-chief. On the night of the 20th one cavalry division

reached Beisan, 80 miles from their starting point, and so shut the last

outlet from the south. In thirty-six hours the trap had been closed.

Every track and road was choked with the rout. Camps and depots were in

flames, and our airmen steadily bombarded each section of the retreat.

There now remained only the IVth Army, east of the Jordan. Till the

third day of the battle it had shown no signs of moving, but on the

morning of the 23rd it began a leisurely retreat. Meantime the British

had joined hands with Feisal's Arabs, and pressed the fugitives along

the Hedjaz railway. The game was now wholly in Allenby's hands. His

next step was to move on Damascus, and so intercept what was left of the

IVth Army in its northward flight. On the afternoon of the 25th, the

4th Cavalry Division moved out of Beisan on its 120 miles' ride, and the

Australian Mounted Division followed next day by the northern route. On

the 30th British cavalry lay 12 miles south-west of Damascus, and all

the northern and north-western exits had been closed. At 6 o'clock on

the morning of the 1st October the British and Arabs entered the city.

[Illustration: Palestine--the Decisive Battle.]

It was the twelfth day from the opening of the attack. Three Turkish

armies had melted away, over 60,000 prisoners and between 300 and 400

guns were in Allenby's hands, and the dash for Damascus had destroyed

the faintest possibility of an enemy stand. All that remained was a mob

of 17,000 Turks and Germans, fleeing north without discipline or

purpose.

Of the many brilliant episodes of those marvellous twelve days, perhaps

the most brilliant was the converging movement of the British Desert

Corps and Feisal's Arabs on the most ancient of the world's cities.

Damascus had been an emporium when Tyre was young, and she was still a

mighty city centuries after Tyre had become a shadow. Rich in holy

places, she had one shrine of peculiar interest for this last crusade.

Within her walls lay the tomb of Saladin, the greatest of those who

fought in Palestine in the battle of Asia against Europe. One of

Feisal's first acts was to remove the tawdry bronze wreath with which

the German Emperor in 1898 had seen fit to adorn the sleeping-place of

the great Sultan.

Allenby did not rest upon his laurels. On the 8th he was in Beirut, on

the 11th in Baalbek. The next and last stage was Aleppo, that mart

through which in the Middle Ages the wealth of Asia flowed to Venice and

the West. A cavalry division went forward, and on the 26th October

entered the town. Patrols advanced 15 miles farther, and occupied

Muslimie railway junction. This last was a fitting conclusion to a

great exploit, for it meant the cutting of the Bagdad railway, the line

which was to link Berlin with the Persian Gulf and threaten our Indian

Empire. Four days later Turkey signed the Armistice which was her

surrender. Bulgaria had already laid down her arms, Austria was on the

eve of collapse, and Germany was left without allies, and with her front

crumbling before Foch and Haig.

*PART IV.*

*THE SILENT SERVICE.*

*CHAPTER XXI.*

*THE SILENT SERVICE.*

The British Navy earned during the war the title of "The Silent

Service," and the phrase needs a word of comment, for it is full of

meaning. There has always been a feeling in the Service that sea-power

is the one thing vitally necessary to the safety of the Empire, and that

so long as this is being maintained the less talk about it the better;

for where the life of nations is daily and hourly in trust, all

advertisement is unworthy and all description inadequate. Then the

Great War came, and the landsmen, who form the bulk of our people all

over the world, naturally wished to know how the Sea Service was

handling the affair; but the rule of silence still held. For the Navy,

besides their old tradition, had now the reason of policy on their side;

operations at sea can be, and must be, kept secret to a degree which is

not possible in a land campaign. To inform the public at home would be

to take the chance of being overheard by the enemy.

Moreover the work of the Navy is so multifarious, so technical, and so

far-sighted in its aims, that by far the greater part of it would always

be difficult to grasp. The ordinary news-reading citizen must be

content to judge of it by its results, and he is not always capable of

doing even that. Neither in this country, nor in the Dominions overseas,

still less in the outer world, has the supreme importance or the

decisive achievement of our naval Service been realized. Yet to those

who understand, the influence of sea-power on history has never been so

conclusively demonstrated. In this war, as in the war of a hundred

years before, it was from first to last our ships that lay between a

military despot and the domination of the world.

To prove this it is only necessary to make a plain statement of the

tasks which the British Navy had to undertake in August 1914, to mark

the fact that a failure in any one of them would have involved the ruin

of the Allied cause; and to remember that no such failure occurred. The

gigantic scope of the effort may then be seen; but even then only by

those whose vision is wide enough to survey the whole world at once as

one vast field of conflict.

First, then, our Fleet undertook to blockade the enemy; to drive his

commerce from the seas; to stop his sea-borne supplies, especially

foodstuffs, cotton--the raw material of explosives--and munitions of all

kinds; also to disable his credit by the stoppage of his export trade.

Secondly, the protection of our own commerce necessitated the control of

all the seas of the world. The Atlantic was our main avenue of supply,

but we had also to maintain and guard the routes to and from Australia,

New Zealand, India, and China; and a Northern Patrol was necessary to

ensure the passage from Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and the north of

Russia.

Thirdly, the enemy's main naval force had to be put out of action: that

is to say, the North Sea must be effectively controlled by a Grand Fleet

capable of dealing with the German High Sea Fleet.

Fourthly, the transfer of enemy troops across the sea must be made

impossible; and, in particular, strong flotillas and secondary fleets

must be maintained on our own coasts as a guard against possible

attempts at invasion.

[Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR JOHN JELLICOE

(VISCOUNT JELLICOE OF SCAPA).]

Fifthly, the transport of our own troops and of those of our Allies must

be covered from attack. Under this head alone there were included

before the end a number of simultaneous operations entirely beyond

example in the history of war. An army of some six millions was passed

oversea from the British Isles, from India, from Australia, and New

Zealand (and at last more millions from America) to France, to India, to

Africa (East and West), to Egypt and Palestine, to Gallipoli and

Salonika.

Sixthly, the supplies to all these forces, and to most of them

simultaneously, had to be maintained for more than four full years and

on a scale hitherto unimagined.

Seventhly, in several campaigns the Navy had to co-operate in the

military operations, notably in Gallipoli, in battles near the Belgian

coast, and in the attack on the fortified harbour of Zeebrugge.

These seven heads cover every recognized department of naval war; but it

must be added that when this latest war changed its character and became

an unrestricted submarine campaign, new developments were necessary and

were immediately carried out. Under the second and third of the above

headings, an entirely new fleet of mine-sweepers, trawlers, and

anti-submarine patrols had to be provided, manned, and equipped, to

secure the safety both of our ships of war and of our mercantile marine.

It will be seen that these tasks, taken altogether, formed a work of

which only one Power in the world was capable; while taken separately

they appear plainly as seven threads upon every one of which the fate of

the common cause depended absolutely. The effort of the Allies in this

war was distinguished first by the early heroism of the Belgian,

Serbian, and Russian troops; then by the long and desperate endurance of

the French, British, and Italian armies; finally, it was reinforced by

the large contingent of late-comers from America, and carried to victory

by the supreme genius of Foch. But behind and beneath all these lay

another force, scarcely thought of at the time, and since almost

forgotten, though to it they all owed the very possibility of their

military existence. During those four years the British Fleet never

ceased to carry great armies over sea; to sweep every ocean clean, and

guard the territories along their shores; to shut up the hostile Empire

within an impassable barrier. In a word, it retained every day and

every night, from the first hour of the war to the last, that control

which was the most vital condition of success.

In so doing it suffered some losses and achieved stirring successes, of

which one or two are related in the pages which follow. But it must

always be remembered that these are but incidents; the business of the

British Navy is the right use of the sea, and not conquest or display.

For it, therefore, victory is not the affair of a day here or a day

there, however rousing to the blood: it lies rather in what is neither

spectacular nor resounding--in the monotonous but manifold perfection of

an indispensable service.

*CHAPTER XXII.*

*CORONEL.*

The battle of Coronel will always have a peculiar interest for us: there

is a mystery about it which can never be finally cleared up. At the

outbreak of war a British admiral, Sir Christopher Cradock, was in

charge of a large and important area off the coast of South America. It

was his business to keep this area clear of the enemy squadron under

Admiral Graf von Spee, which was much stronger than his own, but was

believed to be scattered on the trade routes. In the end Cradock found

the enemy squadron united and in much superior force. He instantly

attacked, and went down in the action, with two of his ships.

The problem is to ascertain what were his motives for this swift

decision to fight against overwhelming odds. Not a man in the flagship

survived, and we must do the best with what evidence we have before us.

We know the admiral's general idea of the work he had to do; we know

what his instructions were, what force he asked for and what was given

him; we know the speed and gun-power of the enemy ships, and what he as

an experienced commander must have thought of them. Finally, we know

the nature of the choice which was open to him; and in face of all this

the mystery remains.

The key to it probably lies in the character of the man who had to make

the decision; and from this point of view the story is a fine one.

While every one is free to form an opinion on the facts, the judgment of

those who knew Cradock best is the simplest and the most favourable one.

A certain margin of discretion must be allowed to every admiral in time

of war; and at the moment of crisis a man of powerful character and

vision may go even further, and take the great responsibility of

departing from the line of strict obedience to orders. To Cradock's

friends it seems clear that he saw himself and his squadron as

representing the prestige of his country in combat with a superior force

which might be disabled, if it could not be destroyed; he saw that duty

might be fulfilled, and honour and success attained, though victory

should be impossible. So he hunted his great enemy both skilfully and

fearlessly, but relied at a pinch rather on courage than on caution.

From the outbreak of war the German China Squadron, as we now know, was

never wholly dispersed: Spee detached ships from time to time to the

coast of South America, but remained himself with the strongest part of

his force in the Pacific, where he was heard of only at intervals. He

might possibly be intending to go westwards and raid the Indian Ocean,

as the _Emden_ actually did. He moved, in fact, on Samoa, but when he

arrived there on September 14, 1914, he found Apia already safe in the

hands of the New Zealanders, and not a ship in the harbour. He left

again for Suvarov Island, coaled in the Society Islands, bombarded the

French capital Papiete on the 22nd September, and appeared to be making

for South America; he might be thinking of a dash through the Magellan

Straits to attack our trade on the eastern coast.

The British Admiralty knew the danger of this. Spee's two principal

ships--the _Scharnhorst_ and the _Gneisenau_--were fast ships and well

armed, with prize gunnery crews. To hunt them satisfactorily a pair of

battle-cruisers were required, and these could not well be spared from

the Grand Fleet. The _Indefatigable_ was therefore ordered out from the

Mediterranean, with the fast cruiser _Defence_; but the Cabinet refused

to spare the _Indefatigable_, and the _Canopus_, an old and slow

battleship, with 12-inch guns, was sent, with the _Defence_ to follow.

Admiral Cradock was ordered to concentrate meanwhile at the Falkland

Islands, with his flagship, the _Good Hope_, the cruisers _Monmouth_ and

_Glasgow_, and some ships of inferior armament.

The _Canopus_ was a whole week late in arriving. Cradock was most

anxious to prevent Spee from coming round the Horn to raid the east

coast, and he feared that if he kept the old 12-knot battleship with him

he might be too late to bar the enemy's passage. In this crisis he took

his first great risk: he sent the _Canopus_ by the shorter way, through

Magellan's Straits, and took the weaker ships boldly round the Horn.

Spee, however, was not in the south; he had spent six days in

concentrating at Easter Island, and was at this moment making for the

island of Mas-a-Fuera, 500 miles west of Valparaiso.

Cradock now had the _Canopus_ with him again. His instructions were

that he was not expected to act without her; but her slow speed

continued to hamper him in carrying out his definite orders to search

for the enemy and destroy them. He accordingly ordered the _Defence_ to

join him from the east coast, where she had been sent by the Admiralty,

and went north in the meantime to find the cruiser _Leipzig_, which was

believed to be in front of him, operating alone. Unfortunately the

_Canopus_ was once more in need of repairs, and had to be left behind

for twenty-four hours.

[Illustration: Battle of Coronel.]

The two squadrons, British and German, were now, without knowing it, in

the act of converging upon one another. Each admiral believed himself to

be in pursuit of a single ship, for, while Cradock was after the

_Leipzig_, Spee was in chase of the _Glasgow_ (Captain Luce), who had

been sent on to Coronel on the west coast with a message. The force of

the opponents was as follows: Admiral von Spee had two powerful ships,

the _Scharnhorst_ (flagship) and the _Gneisenau_, each of 11,420 tons,

armed with eight 8-inch and six 6-inch guns; and their gunners were of

high repute. His other ships, the _Leipzig_, _Dresden_, and

_Nuernberg_, were light cruisers, each carrying ten 4-inch guns.

Against these Cradock had the _Good Hope_, a twelve-year-old cruiser of

14,000 tons, armed with two 9.2-inch guns; the cruiser _Monmouth_, with

6-inch guns only; the _Glasgow_, a light fast cruiser, with two 6-inch

and ten 4-inch guns, and the auxiliary cruiser _Otranto_, which was not

sufficiently armed to take part in an action. He knew, as well as any

one living, what was the meaning of these figures, and he must have been

hoping that the _Canopus_, with her 12-inch guns, would rejoin him

before he met his enemy.

The _Glasgow_ despatched her message from Coronel, and at 2.30 p.m. on

the 1st November she rejoined her squadron. Cradock was still steaming

north when, at 4.40, she sighted and reported to him the _Scharnhorst_,

_Gneisenau_, and _Leipzig_, visible to the east. He had found the ship

he was chasing, but he had found her in company with her powerful

consorts; and the _Dresden_ and the _Nuernberg_ were, in fact, also

present, though they were not yet in sight.

Cradock had but a few minutes in which to make his decision. Was he to

fight or run? Even the three enemy ships which were in sight were more

than a match for his own. His two big guns might make a few lucky hits,

but they could not keep down the fire of eight times their number, laid

by prize gunners with the choice of range and position. To fight was

highly dangerous; yet the alternative evidently looked to him still less

attractive. The enemy was nearly due east; the _Canopus_ was coming up

slowly from the south, 250 miles away; if he were to turn and run he

might be able to join her in nine hours or even in eight. But Spee had

the position of advantage inshore; he would be racing down the shorter

side of the triangle, and with his 23 knots could overtake the

_Monmouth_ for certain, and possibly cut in between the others and the

_Canopus_. During the chase he would have a fighting light for three

hours, and after that a moonlight equally to his advantage.

We cannot tell whether Cradock weighed these considerations anxiously,

or whether he instinctively felt that the tradition of the Navy would be

more injured by his flight than by his own defeat and death. He does

not seem to have hesitated. At 5.10 p.m. he signalled to his squadron

to concentrate on the _Glasgow_--the ship nearest the enemy--and

attempted to cross Spee's line so as to gain the inshore position. The

German admiral, however, kept away successfully, and at 6.18 Cradock

made a wireless signal to the _Canopus_, giving his position, and

adding, "I am going to attack enemy now."

At 7 o'clock the sun set, and Spee, having now every advantage of light,

opened fire at 12,000 yards. The _Good Hope_ in reply made a hit or

two, but her forward 9.2 gun was soon knocked out, and the ship set on

fire. The _Monmouth_ was also burning within three minutes. The

_Glasgow_ was engaged by both the _Leipzig_ and the _Dresden_, but was

saved by the German smoke which drifted towards her. With the sunset

glow behind them, our ships were a fair target, while the British

gunners could no longer see anything but the flash of the enemy's guns.

Both the _Good Hope_ and the _Monmouth_ were continually on fire, and at

7.45 the flagship blew up with an explosion which sent up flames 200

feet high. By 8 o'clock the _Monmouth_ too was silenced and sinking in

the heavy seas; as the moon rose the German ships could just be seen

closing on her.

Captain Luce, left alone with the _Glasgow_ and the _Otranto_, had now

to face the most painful duty of his life. His ship had been hit by

only five shells out of the six hundred aimed at her, and he was in a

position to make use of her superior speed by going to warn the

_Canopus_ of the danger towards which she was heading. He steered

north-west into the darkness, intending to turn south as soon as he was

out of sight. The _Monmouth's_ men were all crowded on her quarterdeck,

and they cheered the _Glasgow_ as they saw her going away--a cheer that

should never be forgotten when the tale is told. At 9.20 firing was

heard again, and from the _Glasgow_ seventy-five flashes were

counted--"No doubt," says Captain Luce, "the final attack on the

_Monmouth_." She went down, like the _Good Hope_, with all hands.

So ended Cradock's forlorn hope, and the mystery of it will remain with

us. One thing is certain, that whatever was the motive for his

decision, it could not have been a discreditable one--a man does not

fling away his command, his professional chances, and his own life out

of sheer recklessness. We may safely infer, then, that Cradock was

attempting the best that was possible for his country at the hazard of

everything that he valued most. For this he took the final

responsibility of disobeying his orders; and for this he paid the full

price. It is difficult to think him wrong, and not difficult to hold

him justified. He gave something to the enemy, but far more to his own

Service. When darkness fell on Coronel, Spee's triumph had but

thirty-seven days to run. The tradition of Cradock's unflinching

devotion will last as long as the British Navy; and it is by such

traditions that sea power is built and sustained. Naval supremacy will

never be won or kept by the consistent refusal of unequal fights.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*THE FALKLANDS.*

News of Coronel was received by the Admiralty on the 4th November; it

was given to the public unofficially on the 5th and officially on the

17th. By that time the counterstroke had been not only prepared, but

launched. Speed and secrecy were an urgent necessity, for the Falkland

Islands, a valuable coaling-station with a wireless installation and a

fine double harbour, were certain to be in danger from the victorious

enemy. The population numbered only 2,000, mostly Scottish shepherds,

and the inhabitants of the capital, Port Stanley, proposed to abandon

the town and take refuge on the moors. But on the 8th November the

_Canopus_ and the _Glasgow_ ran in on their way north, and on the 12th

the _Canopus_ returned with orders to remain and defend the

coaling-station. Captain Grant grounded his ship on the harbour mud,

disguised her by dazzle-painting, and made her into a fort. The work

took three weeks.

In the meantime the new Board of Admiralty were taking action on the

plan originally proposed by their predecessors. The Grand Fleet had now

been reinforced, and could spare the battle-cruisers _Invincible_ and

_Inflexible_. These two ships came round to Devonport on the 8th

November for repairs. On the 9th Admiral Sturdee was appointed

Commander-in-Chief in the South Atlantic and Pacific--from Pernambuco to

China. The service in hand demanded perfect secrecy and perfect

efficiency: a sudden and irresistible counterstroke was to be delivered,

and the two principal ships were to be returned immediately with

unimpaired fighting value. It was a mission offering unique powers and

responsibilities.