[From The London Times, Nov. 4, 1914.]
_The following letter, thoroughly characteristic of the pluck
and cheerfulness of the young British officer, was received
from a cavalry subaltern at the front:_
October 27.
Your two boxes of cigarettes were heaven. We've been in the trenches two
days and nights, but no excitements, except a good dose of shrapnel
three times a day, which does one no harm and rather relieves the
monotony. I've got my half troop, 12 men, in this trench in a root
field, with the rest of the squadron about 100 yards each side of us,
and a farmhouse, half knocked down by shells, just behind. We get our
rations sent up once a day in the dark, and two men creep out to cook
tea in the quiet intervals. Tea is the great mainstay on service, just
as it was on manoeuvres. The men are splendid, and as happy as
schoolboys, and we've got plenty of straw at the bottom of the trench,
which is better than any feather bed. We only had one pelting night, and
we've had three or four fine days. We have not seen any German infantry
from this trench, only one patrol and a sniper or two. Their guns, too,
are out of sight, but hardly a mile away.
Our first day's real close-up fighting was the 19th. We cavalry went on
about a day and a half in front of the infantry. We got into a village,
and our advanced patrols started fighting hard, with a certain amount of
fire from everywhere in front of us. Our advanced patrols gained the
first group of houses, and we joined them. Firing came from a farm in
front of us, and then a man came out of it and waved a white flag. I
yelled, "Two hundred; white flag; rapid fire." But ---- wouldn't let us
fire. Then the squadron advanced across the root fields toward the farm
(dismounted, in open order), and they opened a sharp fire on us from the
farm. We took three prisoners in the roots, and retired to the houses
again. That was our first experience of the white flag dodge; we lost
two killed and one wounded.
Then I got leave to make a dash across a field, for another farm where
they were sniping at us. I could only get half way, my Sergeant was
killed and my Corporal hit. We lay down; luckily it was high roots and
we were out of sight; but they had fairly got our range, and the bullets
kept knocking up the dirt into one's face and all round. We just lay
doggo for about half an hour, and then the fire slackened, and we
crawled back.
I was pleased with my troop, under bad fire. They used the most awful
language, talking quite quietly, and laughing all the time, even after
the men were knocked over within a yard of them. I longed to be able to
say that I liked it, after all one has heard about being under fire for
the first time. But it is beastly. I pretended to myself for a bit that
I like it, but it was no good. But when one acknowledged that it was
beastly, one became all right again and cool.
After the firing had slackened we advanced again a bit, into the next
group of houses, the edge of the village proper. I can't tell you how
muddling it is. We did not know which was our front, we did not know if
our own troops had come round us on the flanks, or whether they had
stopped behind and were firing into us. And besides, a lot of German
snipers were left in the houses we had come through, and every now and
then bullets came singing by from God knows where. Four of us were
talking in the road when about a dozen bullets came with a whistle. We
all dived for the nearest door, and fell over each other, yelling with
laughter. ---- said, "I have a bullet through my new Sandon twillette
breeches." We looked, and he had; it had gone clean through. He didn't
tell us till two days after that it had gone through him too; but there
it was, like the holes you make to blow an egg, only about 4 inches
apart.
We stopped about two hours. Then the cavalry regiment on our left
retired. Then we saw a lot of Germans among the fires they had lit (they
set the houses on fire to mark their line of advance.) They were running
from house to house. We were told not to fire, for fear of our own
people on the other side. Then came a lot of them, shouting and singing
and advancing down the street, through the burning houses. One felt a
peculiar hatred for them. We heard afterward that there was a division
of infantry, at first we thought there were only a few patrols.
We retired about two miles and dismounted for action. Soon they began to
come up from three sides, and we retired again. They were pretty close,
advancing higgledy-piggledy across the fields and firing. They shot
abominably (nothing like the morning, from the houses, when they had all
the ranges marked to a yard). We lost only about 20 horses, no men
killed. "Hellfire Herbert" got his horse shot under him when they were
within about 200 yards. He was next troop in front of me. He suddenly
got complete "fou-rires" when he saw me. I got him a spare horse, and he
was still laughing, and cursing them with a sort of triumph. We only
trotted away. A man in my troop kept touching his cap to the Germans,
saying "Third-class shots, third-class shots."
The next day we went forward to another places and intrenched against a
very big German force, but we only had to face their guns. Poor ---- was
killed. They pushed us pretty hard back to our infantry. We were
supposed to have done well.
Since then we have been doing infantry work in the trenches. We have
been out of work in our trenches; only shrapnel and snipers. Some one
described this war as "Months of boredom punctuated by moments of
terror." It is sad that it is such a bad country for cavalry. Cavalry
work here against far superior forces of infantry, like we had the other
day, is not good enough. The Germans are dashing good at that
house-to-house fighting business.
It is horrible having to leave one's horses; it feels like leaving half
oneself behind, and one feels the dual responsibility all the time. I
hope we get them on the run soon, then will come our chance. They have
been having terrific fighting on the line on each side of us, and it has
gone well.
I adore war. It is like a big picnic without the objectlessness of a
picnic. I've never been so well or so happy. Nobody grumbles at one for
being dirty. I've only had my boots off once in the last ten days, and
only washed twice. We are up and standing to our rifles at 5 A.M. when
doing this infantry work, and saddled up by 4:30 A.M. when with our
horses. Our poor horses don't get their saddles off when we are in
trenches.
The dogs and cats left in the deserted villages are piteous, and the
wretched inhabitants trekking away with great bundles and children in
their hands.
I can't make out what has happened to the Battle of the Aisne; it seems
to have got tired and died.
The Indians had two men killed directly, and said, "All wars are good,
but this is a bot'utcha war. Now we advance." A Colonel of a French
regiment on our flank was sitting in a pub. in the village when the
Germans came around that flank and started firing their Maxim gun. The
Colonel and his orderly rushed into the street, and each discharged ten
rounds quick, and then went back and finished their drinks. It's
horrible when they put "Jack Johnsons" into your bivouac at night from
about twelve miles off. You can hear them coming for about 30 seconds,
and judge whether they are coming for you or a little to one side.