LE HAVRE AND HARFLEUR.
At 12 p.m. we detrained at Southampton, hungry and thirsty. Owing to
lack of foresight we had had nothing to eat since breakfast. The night
was a beautiful one, and a voyage across channel sounded very inviting.
We marched our 350 R.A.M.C. orderlies on to our transport, the _Braemar
Castle_, and the officers tried to find a place to sleep. We managed to
get some corners in the smoking-room, and curled up as best we could in
the cramped places. The ship was packed full of troops, and we learned
that we were the first reinforcements for the Expeditionary Army. We had
two generals on board and the headquarter staff of a new division. Our
destination was to be Le Havre. At 2 a.m. we steamed out, followed by
several other transports crowded with soldiers. Torpedo-boat destroyers
kept watchful eyes on us across channel, and twice a huge searchlight
played all round us from far out at sea. The navy was watching on the
deep waters. The soldiers on board slept on the deck, on hatches,
anywhere, and they were all up and cheerfully carolling at dawn. When
a soldier wakes his first thought is for food, and at 5 a.m. they were
all discussing bully beef and biscuits. The ship’s cook had prepared
cauldrons of tea,—and Tommy loves tea. One wag after breakfast stood on
a hatch reciting, “Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us in
sundry places,” to a congregation of grimy-faced soldiers.
At 12.30 midday we sighted Le Havre, and in two hours were tied alongside
the wharf. The disembarkation rapidly followed, and at 4 p.m. we were on
the march through Le Havre to our encampment. As we steamed into Le Havre
there was a scene of the wildest enthusiasm, and the whole harbour front
was a mass of cheering men and women and children. “Vive l’Angleterre!”
“Vive Tommy!” “Vive l’entente cordiale!” Flags and handkerchiefs were
waved from every window, and the picture of enthusiastic welcome was most
inspiring. Our men seemed to thoroughly enjoy it, and cheered and yelled
their throaty greetings as loudly and as heartily as the French. One
would call in a bull voice, “Are we downhearted?” and the reply, “No!”
from thousands of throats, echoed and reverberated over the sea front.
Then would come a piping voice, “Do we like beer?” followed by a
unanimous roar of “Yes.” The French welcome was a spontaneous and
enthusiastic one, and Le Havre, gay with bunting and twined flags,
shouted itself hoarse that day. I visited Le Havre some months later
and saw a crowded British transport arrive. There was no cheering, no
flags, no excitement. At the wharf was a big hospital ship, and wounded
soldiers were being carried aboard by stretcher-bearers. The French had,
since August, passed through some days of disappointment and despair, and
the German was still in France. The frenzied ecstasy of that welcome of
August, the gifts of flowers, of fruit, of wine were no longer there, but
deep down there was still the same welcome, unspoken but warm and sincere.
A dusty march of eight miles on a hot, blistering road brought us to our
camp at Harfleur. We were indeed on historic ground. Close by were the
remains of the old Castle of Harfleur that Henry V. and his men-at-arms
stormed in the long ago.
On this same field Henry is said to have addressed his soldiers:
“And you good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding.”
It was on this field and at that time that old Bardolph said:
“Would I were in an alehouse in London.
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.”
So here again, in the twentieth century, were some thousands of good
yeomen whose limbs were made in England, and a pot of ale would have been
relished by all, for the day had been a thirsty one.
Our arrival at camp was not expected. The commandant seemed very
surprised to see us, but told us to make ourselves at home. We had no
kits, no blankets, no tents, no food—all had been left on the wharf—and
no hot water was procurable. We made a meal off our “iron rations,”
which consist of a small waterproof cover holding a tin of bully beef,
biscuits, pepper and salt and tea. Pipes were lit and we then lay down as
we were, under the lee of a haystack, and slept till bugle-call, when we
awoke, cold and damp with dew. The nights were very cold at this time and
the days terribly hot.
The camp at Harfleur had about five or six thousand men, composed of
representatives of all arms of the service—Highlanders, Guardsmen,
Engineers, and details from dozens of other regiments. We were
reinforcements. Rumours were coming through at this time that all was
not well with our army, and we were disquieted to hear that it was being
steadily pushed back and fighting desperately. The retirement of our army
occasioned anxiety at Le Havre, our principal base at that time, and
the reinforcements at Harfleur could not be joined up till the position
became clearer.
[Illustration: A ROAD OBSTRUCTION NEAR HARFLEUR.]
[Illustration: HARFLEUR—OUR SLEEPING QUARTERS.]
At Harfleur we got little authentic news. We lived on rumours, and some
of these were of the most extraordinary kind. There was one rumour
that came through, and the Tommies fully believed it. It was said that
the Germans cut off the right hand of every captured stretcher-bearer,
and killed every prisoner of the combatant rank. Our men were quite
determined to die fighting, and the stretcher-bearers asked for guns. The
day after our arrival in camp we were given tents, and these were pitched
in the morning. Twelve men were put to each tent, but blankets were few
and we could only give four blankets to each tent. Next day the tents
were struck and packed away for some unknown reason, and that night we
all had to sleep in the open. The officers’ kits arrived on the second
day, and on the fourth day we were told to take from them only what
was absolutely necessary. It was said that our kits were to be either
packed away or burned. It was said also that the whole camp equipment,
tents, blankets, etc., were to be burned. Later in the day this order was
countermanded and we again took possession of our kits. We guessed from
all these various orders that the position at the front was uncertain,
and, as history has since shown, such was the case. On our fourth day at
Harfleur a flying man arrived in his aeroplane from England, and we all
crowded round to know what the latest news was. He had none to give, but
told us that he had flown over a part of the German army. I think that
he brought some important information, for that afternoon the whole camp
was set to work digging trenches right across the front of the camp. We
had more rumours of “tremendous British losses,” “breakdown of French
mobilisation,” “stubborn fighting,” but nothing authentic reached us.
However, work proceeded feverishly in the camp. Harfleur was on the main
road leading from the north to Le Havre. It was said that the Germans
were advancing, and this was true. A raiding force of 20,000 men—one
German division—of cavalry, gunners, and infantry—the latter on fast
motor-lorries—was certainly moving on Le Havre, and the intention was to
destroy the British base dépôt, burn our huge stores, and capture and
sink all the shipping and blow up the railways. Our camp was to delay
this raid till the French could move up some divisions. Accordingly,
lines of trenches were dug across the turnip fields and meadows. The
farmhouses were surrounded by trenches and put into a state of defence.
The doctors and stretcher-bearers were ordered to occupy an orchard about
500 yards in rear of the trenches. There was an extraordinary resemblance
between one old farmhouse adjoining the camp and the famous farmhouse
of Hougoumont at Waterloo. There was an old chapel in the centre of the
farm, near to the big two-storied stone dwelling. Behind the chapel
were the wine cellars and stables. To the right of the house was a long
orchard surrounded by a stone wall about 5 feet high. The farmhouse and
farmyard were surrounded by a high stone wall. Also there was a big
gateway as at Hougoumont. Inside and lining the stone walls were tall
pine trees. Our men soon began to make some alterations in the quaint old
Norman place. The lower branches of the trees were lopped off. Trenches
were made inside the stone wall and stones were pulled out of the base
for loopholes for rifles, so that our men could lie in the ditch and fire
through the bottom of the wall. The same thing was done in the orchard,
and men of the Rifle Brigade were told off to line its walls when the
time came. This farm, if exposed to artillery, of course would have been
a death-trap, but against infantry or cavalry would have been a very
hornet’s nest for the enemy to attack. The gateways were pulled down,
barricades were placed across the gaps, and machine-guns controlled the
angles and were able to sweep the open spaces, should a rush be made,
with a hail of lead.
All was ready for a second Hougoumont, and the picture was completed by
the old farmer’s wife, who was ordered to leave the farm, but who firmly
refused to budge. Had the Germans come, like her ancient prototype on
that June day at Waterloo, she would most likely have taken shelter at
the foot of the cross in the chapel.
But the Germans did not come, and history is deprived of a moving and
stirring story.
It was tragic but ludicrous to see the blank despair and consternation
on the face of the old farmer when we started to lop down some of his
trees, dig trenches round his farm and through his turnip fields. Knowing
very little about the war, and only vaguely interested in the invasion
of France, he was deeply concerned about his turnips and his trees.
Everything, however, was put right for him before we left.
When all our preparations for defence were complete two German aeroplanes
passed over us going towards Le Havre. Here they were fired on, and they
then returned to have a further look at Harfleur and circled slowly over
our camp. As we had no aircraft guns they descended fairly low, and I
think must have seen everything there was to see. We had field-glasses
out and could easily discern the black cross painted on the wings of the
Taube.
So there we were in our trenches commanding the roads to Le Havre, with a
Hougoumont and an orchard, and stone walls lined with riflemen. History,
so far, has not recorded how we “held the gate” to Le Havre without
firing a shot and without losing a man, but I am sure that it was our
preparations, seen by the enemy aeroplanes, that deterred the Germans
from coming on. It was a raiding German force, and a raiding force has no
time to tackle defences and strongly held positions. A brigade of French
cavalry moved across our front and rode as a big cavalry screen towards
the advancing raiders. Fifteen thousand French troops followed them; and
when twelve miles from our camp the Germans turned back, the menace was
over, and we breathed again.
A fast scouting motor-car containing three Prussian officers ran headlong
into a barricade cleverly placed across a road about ten miles from
Harfleur. A ditch, broad but shallow, was made across the road near a
curve, and artfully concealed with gravel laid on thin planking across
the top. The car rushed right on to this and was upset. Some concealed
French cavalry then rode up and captured the party.
The French officer who made the capture told me that the German officers
were livid with anger when he and his men rode up with drawn sabres.
One of the German officers had a revolver in his hand, which he flung
violently at the head of the chauffeur.
This defence of the road at Harfleur was one of those minor incidents
of the war which has been forgotten or ignored in the swirl of the big
happenings at that time. The situation of Le Havre and Harfleur was then
one of grave peril and gave rise to considerable anxiety. One need not
have been on the spot to grasp the dangerous possibilities. Our defence
of Harfleur ended tamely. We were told one day that Lord Kitchener was at
Le Havre and had ordered the evacuation of the big base by the British.
That night we were ordered by our commandant to strike the camp, move
into Le Havre, and embark on transports for a destination unknown.
The day before we left Le Havre some British stragglers from our
retreating army turned up in camp. About twenty-five dirty, grimy,
footsore men, with unkempt hair and stubbly beards, wandered in and told
us that they had lost their regiments and their way after Mons. Since
then they had been gipsying through France towards the coast. Sometimes
they got a lift on a farmer’s cart, but mostly they walked. They said
that the French people had treated them very well, and they certainly
did not look hungry. As usual, they told most harrowing tales. One man
said that the whole army had been captured by an army of twenty million
Germans!
On the morning of our last day at Harfleur we were all thrilled by the
visit of a German spy. I have said previously that when the trenches were
being dug at Harfleur the medical detachment was sent to an orchard in
the rear. A road led past the gate of this orchard. At the gateway we had
two of our men on sentry-go. Farther down the road was a French sentry
with a fixed bayonet. At 3 a.m. a powerful two-seater automobile dashed
up this road and pulled up at the gateway. The driver had on a heavy
khaki motor overcoat and a khaki cap. His face was muffled in a khaki
scarf. An officer, also in khaki, stepped out and began questioning our
men at the gate. He asked how many men were in the camp; were there any
big guns, and where were they? Had any ammunition been brought up that
day? Our sentries were heavy north-countrymen, recently enlisted, and did
not tumble to the fact that it was an unusual thing for a British officer
to put such questions to a private on sentry-go. The officer then got on
his car and went back in the direction of Le Havre. We were all agreed
that the strange officer was a spy dressed up to look like a British
officer. The French told us that Le Havre was full of spies at this time,
and that they had made many arrests of suspects.