DESPERATE FIGHTING IN ESSEX
London was at a standstill. Trade was entirely stopped. Shopkeepers
feared to open their doors on account of the fierce, hungry mobs
parading the streets. Orators were haranguing the crowds in almost every
open space. The police were either powerless, or feared to come into
collision with the assembled populace. Terror and blank despair were
everywhere.
There was unrest night and day. The banks, head offices and branches,
unable to withstand the run upon them when everyone demanded to be paid
in gold, had, by mutual arrangement, shut their doors, leaving excited
and furious crowds of customers outside unpaid. Financial ruin stared
everyone in the face. Those who were fortunate enough to realise their
securities on Monday were fleeing from London south or westward. Day and
night the most extraordinary scenes of frantic fear were witnessed at
Paddington, Victoria, Waterloo, and London Bridge. The southern railways
were badly disorganised by the cutting of the lines by the enemy, but
the Great Western system was, up to the present, intact, and carried
thousands upon thousands to Wales, to Devonshire, and to Cornwall.
In those three hot, breathless days the Red Hand of Ruin spread out upon
London.
The starving East met the terrified West, but in those moments the bonds
of terror united class with mass. Restaurants and theatres were closed,
there was but little vehicular traffic in the streets, for of horses
there were none, while the majority of the motor ’buses had been
requisitioned, and the transit of goods had been abandoned. “The City,”
that great army of daily workers, both male and female, was out of
employment, and swelled the idlers and gossips, whose temper and opinion
were swayed each half-hour by the papers now constantly appearing night
and day without cessation.
Cabinet Councils had been held every day, but their decisions, of
course, never leaked out to the public. The King also held Privy
Councils, and various measures were decided upon. Parliament, which had
been hurriedly summoned, was due to meet, and everyone speculated as to
the political crisis that must now ensue.
In St. James’s Park, in Hyde Park, in Victoria Park, on Hampstead Heath,
in Greenwich Park, in fact, in each of the “lungs of London,” great mass
meetings were held, at which resolutions were passed condemning the
Administration and eulogising those who, at the first alarm, had so
gallantly died in defence of their country.
It was declared that by the culpable negligence of the War Office and
the National Defence Committee we had laid ourselves open to complete
ruin, both financially and as a nation.
The man-in-the-street already felt the strain, for the lack of
employment and the sudden rise in the price of everything had brought
him up short. Wives and families were crying for food, and those without
savings and with only a few pounds put by looked grimly into the future
and at the mystery it presented.
Most of the papers published the continuation of the important story of
Mr. Alexander, the Mayor of Maldon, which revealed the extent of the
enemy’s operations in Essex and the strong position they occupied.
It ran as below:--
“Of the events of the early hours of the morning I have no very clear
recollection. I was bewildered, staggered, dumbfounded by the sights and
sounds which beset me. Of what modern war meant I had till then truly
but a very faint idea. To witness its horrid realities enacted in this
quiet, out-of-the-way spot where I had pitched my tent for so many
years, brought them home to me literally, as well as metaphorically. And
to think that all this wanton destruction of property and loss of life
was directly due to our apathy as a nation! The Germans had been the
aggressors without a doubt, but as for us we had gone out of our way to
invite attack. We had piled up riches and made no provision to prevent a
stronger nation from gathering them. We had seen every other European
nation, and even far-distant Japan, arm their whole populations and
perfect their preparedness for the eventualities of war, but we had been
content to scrape along with an apology for a military system--which was
really no system at all--comforting ourselves with the excuse that
nothing could possibly evade or compete with our magnificent navy. Such
things as fogs, false intelligence, and the interruption of telegraphic
and telephonic communication were not taken into account, and were
pooh-poohed if any person, not content with living in a fool’s paradise,
ventured to draw attention to the possibility of such contingencies.
“So foolhardy had we become in the end, that we were content to see an
immense and threatening increase in the German shipbuilding programme
without immediately ‘going one better.’ The specious plea that our
greater rapidity in construction would always enable us to catch up our
rivals in the race was received with acclamation, especially as the
argument was adorned with gilt lettering in the shape of promised
Admiralty economies.
“As might have been foreseen, Germany attacked us at the psychological
moment when her rapidly increasing fleet had driven even our _laissez
faire_ politicians to lay down new ships with the laudable idea of
keeping our naval pre-eminence by the rapidity of our construction. Our
wide-awake enemy, seeing that should these be allowed to attain
completion the place he had gained in the race would be lost, allowed
them to be half finished and then suddenly attacked us.
“But to return to my personal experiences on this never-to-be-forgotten
day. I had run down Cromwell Hill, and seeing the flames of Heybridge,
was impelled to get nearer, if possible, to discover more particularly
the state of affairs in that direction. But I was reckoning without the
Germans. When I got to the bridge over the river at the foot of the
hill, the officer in charge there absolutely prevented my crossing.
Beyond the soldiers standing or kneeling behind whatever cover was
offered by the walls and buildings abutting on the riverside, and a
couple of machine guns placed so as to command the bridge and the road
beyond, there was nothing much to see. A number of Germans were,
however, very busy in the big mill just across the river, but what they
were doing I could not make out. As I turned to retrace my steps, the
glare of the conflagration grew suddenly more and more intense. A mass
of dark figures came running down the brightly-illuminated road towards
the bridge, while the rifle fire became louder, nearer, and heavier than
ever. Every now and again the air became alive with, as it were, the
hiss and buzz of flying insects. The English must have fought their way
through Heybridge, and these must be the bullets from their rifles. It
was dangerous to stay down there any longer, so I took to my heels. As I
ran I heard a thundering explosion behind me, the shock of which nearly
threw me to the ground. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the Germans
had blown up the mill at the farther end of the bridge, and were now
pushing carts from either side in order to barricade it. The two Maxims,
too, began to pump lead with their hammering reports, and the men near
them commenced to fall in twos and threes. I made off to the left, and
passed into the High Street by the end of St. Peter’s Church, now
disused. At the corner I ran against Mr. Clydesdale, the optician, who
looks after the library which now occupies the old building. He pointed
to the tower, which stood darkly up against the blood-red sky.
“‘Look at those infernal Germans!’ he said. ‘They can’t even keep out of
that old place. I wish we could have got the books out before they
came.’
“I could not see any of our invaders where he was pointing, but
presently I became aware of a little winking, blinking light at the very
summit of the tower.
“‘That’s them,’ said Clydesdale. ‘They’re making signals, I think. My
boy says he saw the same thing on Purleigh Church tower last night. I
wish it would come down with them, that I do. It’s pretty shaky,
anyway.’
“The street was fairly full of people. The Germans, it is true, had
ordered that no one should be out of doors between eight in the evening
and six in the morning; but just now they appeared to have their hands
pretty full elsewhere, and if any of the few soldiers that were about
knew of or thought anything of the interdiction, they said nothing. Wat
Miller, the postman, came up and touched his cap.
“‘Terrible times, sir,’ he said, ‘ain’t they? There was a mort of people
killed this afternoon by them shells. There was poor old Missis Reece in
the London Road. Bed-ridden, she were, this dozen years. Well, sir,
there ain’t so much as the head on her left. A fair mash up she were,
poor old lady! Then there was Jones the carpenter’s three kids, as was
left behind when their mother took the baby to Mundon with the rest of
the women. The house was struck and come down atop of ’em. They got two
out, but they were dead, poor souls! and they’re still looking for the
other one.’
“The crash of a salvo of heavy guns from the direction of my own house
interrupted the tale of horrors.
“‘That’ll be the guns in my garden,’ I said.
“‘Yes, sir; and they’ve got three monstrous great ones in the opening
between the houses just behind the church there,’ said Clydesdale.
“As he spoke the guns in question bellowed out, one after the other.
“‘Look--look at the tower!’ cried the postman.
“The light at the top had disappeared, and the lofty edifice was swaying
slowly, slowly, over to the left.
“‘She’s gone at last!’ exclaimed Clydesdale.
“It was true. Down came the old steeple that had pointed heavenward for
so many generations, with a mighty crash and concussion that swallowed
up even the noise of the battle, though cannon of all sorts and sizes
were now joining in the hellish concert, and shell from the English
batteries began to roar over the town. The vibration and shock of the
heavy guns had been too much for the old tower, which, for years in a
tottery condition, had been patched up so often.
“As soon as the cloud of dust cleared off we all three ran towards the
huge pile of débris that filled the little churchyard. Several other
people followed. It was very dark down there, in the shadow of the trees
and houses, despite the firelight overhead, and we began striking
matches as we looked about among the heaps of bricks and beams to see if
there were any of the German signal party among them. Why we should have
taken the trouble under the circumstances I do not quite know. It was an
instinctive movement of humanity on my part, and that of most of the
others, I suppose. Miller, the postman, was, however, logical. ‘I ’opes
as they’re all dead!’ was what he said.
“I caught sight of an arm in a light blue sleeve protruding from the
débris, and took hold of it in a futile attempt to remove some of the
bricks and rubbish which I thought were covering the body of its owner.
To my horror, it came away in my hand. The body to which it belonged
might be buried yards away in the immense heap of ruins. I dropped it
with a cry, and fled from the spot.
“Dawn was now breaking. I do not exactly remember where I wandered to
after the fall of St. Peter’s Tower, but it must have been between
half-past five and six when I found myself on the high ground at the
north-western corner of the town, overlooking the golf links, where I
had spent so many pleasant hours in that recent past that now seemed so
far away. All around me were batteries, trenches, and gun-pits. But
though the firing was still going on somewhere away to the right, where
Heybridge poured black smoke skyward like a volcano, gun and howitzer
were silent, and their attendant artillerymen, instead of being in cover
behind their earthen parapets, were clustered on the top watching
intently something that was passing in the valley below them. So
absorbed were they that I was able to creep up behind them, and also get
a sight of what was taking place. And this is what I saw:--
“Over the railway bridge which spanned the river a little to the left
were hurrying battalion after battalion of green and blue clad German
infantry. They moved down the embankment after crossing, and continued
their march behind it. Where the railway curved to the right and left,
about half a mile beyond the bridge, the top of the embankment was lined
with dark figures lying down and apparently firing, while over the golf
course from the direction of Beeleigh trotted squadron after squadron of
sky-blue riders, their green and white lance pennons fluttering in the
breeze. They crossed the Blackwater and Chelmer Canal, and cantered off
in the direction of Langford Rectory.
“At the same time I saw line after line of the Germans massed behind the
embankment spring over it and advance rapidly towards the lower portion
of the town, just across the river. Hundreds fell under the fire from
the houses, which must have been full of Englishmen, but one line after
another reached the buildings. The firing was now heavier than
ever--absolutely incessant and continuous--though, except for an
occasional discharge from beyond Heybridge, the artillery was silent.
“I have but little knowledge of military matters, but it was abundantly
evident, even to me, that what I had just seen was a very formidable
counter-attack on the part of the Germans, who had brought up fresh
troops either from the rear of the town or from farther inland, and
launched them against the English under cover of the railway embankment.
I was not able to see the end of the encounter, but bad news flies
apace, and it soon became common knowledge in the town that our troops
from Colchester had not only failed to cross the river at any point, but
had been driven helter-skelter out of the lower town near the station
and from the smoking ruins of Heybridge with great loss, and were now in
full retreat.
“Indeed, some hundreds of our khaki-clad fellow-countrymen were marched
through the town an hour or two later as prisoners, to say nothing of
the numbers of wounded who, together with those belonging to the
Germans, soon began to crowd every available building suitable for use
as an hospital. The wounded prisoners with their escort went off towards
Mundon, and are reported to have gone in the direction of Steeple. It
was altogether a disastrous day, and our hopes, which had begun to rise
when the British had penetrated into the northern part of the town, now
fell below zero.
“It was a black day for us, and for England. During the morning the same
officer who had captured me on the golf course came whirling into Maldon
on a 24-h.p. Mercedes car. He drove straight up to my house, and
informed me that he had orders to conduct me to Prince Henry, who was to
be at Purleigh early in the afternoon.
“‘Was it in connection with the skirmish with the Volunteers?’ I asked.
“‘I don’t know,’ was the reply. ‘But I don’t fancy so. In the meantime,
could I write here for an hour or two?’ he asked politely. ‘I have much
to write to my friends in Germany, and have not had a minute up to
now.’
“I was very glad to be able to oblige the young man in such a small way,
and left him in my study till midday, very busy with pens, ink, and
paper.
“After a makeshift of a lunch, the car came round, and we got into the
back seat. In front sat his orderly and the chauffeur, a fierce-looking
personage in a semi-military uniform. We ran swiftly down the High
Street, and in a few minutes were spinning along the Purleigh Road,
where I saw much that amazed me. I then for the first time realised how
absolutely complete were the German plans.”
“TUESDAY, _September 4_.
“About six o’clock this morning I awoke rather suddenly. The wind had
gone round to the northward, and I was certain that heavy firing was
going on somewhere in that direction. I opened the window and looked
out. The ‘thud’ and rumble of a cannonade, with the accompaniment of an
occasional burst of musketry, came clearly and loudly on the wind from
the hills by Wickham Bishops village. The church spire was in plain
view, and little faint puffs and rings of grey smoke were just visible
in its vicinity every now and again, sometimes high up in the air, at
others among the trees at its base. They were exploding shells; I had no
doubt of that. What was going on it was impossible to say, but I
conjectured that some of our troops from Colchester had come into
collision with the Germans, who had gone out in that direction the day
of their arrival. The firing continued for about an hour, and then died
away.
“Soon after eight Count von Ohrendorff, the general officer commanding
the 32nd Division, who appeared to be the supreme authority here, sent
for me, and suggested that I should take steps to arrange for the
manufacture of lint and bandages by the ladies living in the town. I
could see no reason for objecting to this, and so promised to carry out
his suggestion. I set about the matter at once, and, with the assistance
of my wife, soon had a couple of score of more or less willing workers
busily engaged in the National Schoolroom. In the meantime, the roll of
a terrible cannonade had burst forth again from Wickham Bishops. It
seemed louder and more insistent than ever. As soon as I got away from
the schools I hurried home and climbed out on the roof. The top of the
Moot Hall, the tower of St. Peter’s, and other better coigns of vantage
had all been occupied by the Germans. However, with the aid of a pair of
field-glasses I was able to see a good bit. Black smoke was now pouring
from Wickham Bishops in clouds, and every now and again I fancied I
could see the forked tongues of flame shooting up above the surrounding
trees. A series of scattered black dots now came out on the open ground
to the south of the church. The trees of Eastland Wood soon hid them
from my sight, but others followed, mingled with little moving black
blocks, which I took to be formed bodies of troops. After them came four
or five guns, driven at breakneck pace towards the road that passes
between Eastland and Captain’s Woods, then more black dots, also in a
desperate hurry. Several of these last tumbled, and lay still here and
there all over the slope.
“Other dots followed at their heels. They were not quite so distinct. I
looked harder. Hurrah! They were men in khaki. We were hustling these
Germans at last. They also disappeared behind the woods. Then from the
fringe of trees about Wickham half a dozen big brilliant flashes,
followed after an interval by the loud detonation of heavy cannon. I
could not distinguish much more, though the rattle of battle went on for
some time longer. Soon after eleven four German guns galloped in from
Heybridge. These were followed by a procession of maimed and limping
humanity. Some managed to get along unaided, though with considerable
difficulty. Others were supported by a comrade, some carried between two
men, and others borne along on stretchers. A couple of ambulance carts
trotted out and picked up more wounded. Our bandages and lint had not
long to wait before being required. After this there was a cessation of
firing.
“About one o’clock the German general sent word to me that he thought an
attack quite possible during the afternoon, and that he strongly advised
me to get all the women and children out of the town--for the time
being, at any rate. This was evidently well meant, but it was a pretty
difficult matter to arrange for, to say nothing of raising a panic among
the inhabitants. However, in an hour and a half’s time I had contrived
to marshal several hundred of them together, and to get them out on to
the road to Mundon. The weather was warm for the time of year, and I
thought, if the worst came to the worst, they could spend the night in
the old church. I left the sad little column of exiles--old, bent women
helped along by their daughters, tiny children dragged along through the
dust, clutching their mothers’ skirts, infants in arms, and other older
and sturdier children staggering beneath the weight of the most precious
home adornments--and made the best of my way back to arrange for the
forwarding to them of their rations.
“At every step on my homeward way I expected to hear the cannonade begin
again. But beyond the twittering of the birds in the trees and
hedgerows, the creak and rumble of a passing cart, and the rush of a
train along the railway on my left--just the usual sounds of the
countryside--nothing broke the stillness. As I stepped out on the
familiar highway I could almost bring myself to believe that the events
of the past twenty-four hours were but the phantasmagoria of a dream.
After interviewing some of the town councillors who were going to
undertake the transport of provisions to the women and children at
Mundon, I walked round to my own house.
“My wife and family had driven over to Purleigh on the first alarm, and
had arranged to stay the night with some friends, on whatever shakedowns
could be improvised, since every house in the peninsula harboured some
of the ubiquitous German officers and men. I wandered through the
familiar rooms, and came out into the garden--or rather what had been
the garden. There I saw that the Saxon gunners were all standing to
their pieces, and one of my none too welcome guests accosted me as I
left the house.
“‘If you’ll take my advice, sare, you’ll get away out of this,’ he said
in broken English.
“‘What! are you going to fire?’ I asked.
“‘I don’t fancy so. It wouldn’t hurt you if we were. But I think your
English friends from Colchester are about to see if they can draw us.’
“As he spoke I became aware of a sharp, hissing noise like a train
letting off steam. It grew louder and nearer, passed over our heads, and
was almost instantly followed by a terrible crash somewhere behind the
house. A deeper and more muffled report came up from the valley beyond
Heybridge.
“‘Well, they’ve begun now, and the best thing you can do is to get down
into that gun epaulment there,’ said the German officer.
“I thought his advice was good, and I lost no time in following it.
“‘Here comes another!’ cried he, as he jumped down into the pit beside
me. ‘We’ll have plenty of them now.’
“So we did. Shell after shell came hissing and screaming at us over the
tree-tops in the gardens lower down the hill. Each one of them sounded
to me as if it were coming directly at my head, but one after another
passed over us to burst beyond. The gunners all crouched close to the
earthen parapet--and so did I. I am not ashamed to say so. My German
officer, however, occasionally climbed to the top of the embankment and
studied the prospect through his field-glasses. At length there was a
loud detonation, and a column of dirt and smoke in the garden next below
us. Then two shells struck the parapet of the gun-pit on our left
almost simultaneously. Their explosion was deafening, and we were
covered with the dust and stones they threw up.
“Immediately afterwards another shell passed so close over our heads
that I felt my hair lift. It just cleared the parapet and plunged into
the side of my house. A big hole appeared just to the right of the
dining-room window, and through it came instantaneously the loud bang of
the explosion. The glass was shattered in all the windows, and thick
smoke, white and black, came curling from every one of them.
“‘The house is on fire!’ I shouted, and sprang madly from the pit.
Heedless of the bombardment, I rushed into the building. Another crash
sounded overhead as I entered, and a blaze of light shone down the
stairway for an instant. Another projectile had found a billet in my
home. I tried to make my way to my study, but found the passage blocked
with fallen beams and ceiling. What with the smoke and dust, and the
blocking of some of the windows, it was very dark in the hall, and I got
quite a shock when, as I looked about me to find my way, I saw two red,
glittering specks shining over the top of a heap of débris. But the howl
that followed told me that they were nothing but the eyes of miserable
Tim, the cat, who, left behind, had been nearly frightened out of his
senses by the noise and concussion of the bursting shell. As I gazed at
him another projectile struck the house quite close to us. Tim was
simply smashed by a flying fragment. I was thrown down, and half buried
under a shower of bricks and mortar. I think I must have lost
consciousness for a time.
“The next thing I recollect was being dragged out into the garden by a
couple of Saxons. I had a splitting headache, and was very glad of a
glass of water that one of them handed me. Their officer, who appeared
to be quite a decent fellow, offered me his flask.
“‘The house is all right,’ he said, with his strong accent. ‘It caught
fire once, but we managed to get it under. Your friends have cleared
off--at any rate for the present. They got too bold at last, and pushed
their guns down till they got taken in flank by the warship in the
river. They had two of their pieces knocked to bits, and then cleared
out. Best thing you can do is to do the same.’
“I was in two minds. I could not save the house by staying, and might
just as well join my people at Purleigh Rectory. On the other hand, I
felt that it would better become me, as Mayor, to stick to the town.
Duty triumphed, and I decided to remain where I was--at least for the
present. All was now quiet, and after an early supper I turned in, and,
despite the excitement of the day and my aching head, was asleep the
moment I touched the pillow.”
“WEDNESDAY, _September 5_.
“It must have been about three in the morning when I awoke. My head was
much better, and for a minute or two I lay comfortably in the darkness,
without any recollection of the events of the preceding day. Then I saw
a bright reflection pass rapidly over the ceiling. I wondered vaguely
what it was. Presently it came back again, paused a moment, and
disappeared. By this time I was wide awake. I went to the window and
looked out. It was quite dark, but from somewhere over beyond Heybridge
a long white ray was sweeping all along this side of Maldon. Now the
foliage of a tree in the garden below would stand out in pale green
radiance against the blackness; now the wall of a house half a mile away
would reflect back the moving beam, shining white as a sheet of
notepaper.
“Presently another ray shone out, and the two of them moving backwards
and forwards made the whole of our hillside caper in a dizzy dance. From
somewhere far away to my right another stronger beam now streamed
through the obscurity, directed apparently at the sources of the other
two, and almost simultaneously came the crack of a rifle from the
direction of Heybridge, sharp and ominous in the quiet darkness of the
night. Half a dozen scattered shots followed; then a faint cheer. More
and more rifles joined in, and presently the burring tap-tap-tap of a
Maxim. I hurried on my clothes. The firing increased in volume and
rapidity; bugles rang out here, there, and everywhere through the
sleeping town, and above the rolling, rattling clamour of the drums I
could distinguish the hurried tramp of hundreds of feet.
“I cast one glance from the window as I quitted the room. The electric
searchlights had increased to at least half a dozen. Some reached out
long, steady fingers into the vague spaces of the night, while others
wandered restlessly up and down, hither and thither. Low down over the
trees of the garden a dull red glare slowly increased in extent and
intensity. The rattle of musketry was now absolutely continuous. As I
ran out of the house into the street I was nearly carried off my feet by
the rush of a battalion that was pouring down Cromwell Hill at the
double. Hardly knowing what I did, I followed in their wake. The glare
in front got brighter and brighter. A few steps, and I could see the
cause of it. The whole of Heybridge appeared to be on fire, the flames
roaring skywards from a dozen different conflagrations.”
* * * * *
England halted breathless. Fighting had commenced in real earnest.
The greatest consternation was caused by the publication in the _Times_
of the description of the operations in Essex, written by Mr. Henry
Bentley, the distinguished war correspondent, who had served that
journal in every campaign since Kitchener had entered Khartum.
All other papers, without exception, contained various accounts of the
British defence at the point nearest London, but they were mostly of the
scrappy and sensational order, based more on report than upon actual
fact. The _Times_ account, however, had been written with calm
impartiality by one of the most experienced correspondents at the
front. Whether he had been afforded any special facilities was not
apparent, but, in any case, it was the most complete and truthful
account of the gallant attempt on the part of our soldiers to check the
advance from Essex westward.
During the whole of that hot, stifling day it was known that a battle
was raging, and the excitement everywhere was intense.
The public were in anxious terror as the hours crept by until the first
authentic news of the result of the operations was printed in a special
evening edition of the _Times_ as follows:--
“(_From our War Correspondent._)
“DANBURY, ESSEX, _September 8_.
“To-day has been a momentous one for England. The great battle has raged
since dawn, and though just at present there seems to be a lull, during
which the opposing forces are, so to speak, regaining their breath, it
can be by no means over.
“Dead and living alike will lie out on the battlefield the whole night
through, for we must hold on to the positions so hardly won, and be
ready to press forward at the first glimmer of daylight. Our gallant
troops, Regular and Volunteer alike, have nobly vindicated the
traditions of our race, and have fought as desperately as ever did their
forebears at Agincourt, Albuera, or Waterloo. But while a considerable
success--paid for, alas! by the loss of thousands of gallant lives--has
been achieved, it will take at least another day’s hard fighting before
victory is in our grasp. Nowadays a soldier need not expect to be either
victorious or finally defeated by nightfall, and although this battle,
fought as it is between much smaller forces and extending over a much
more limited area than the great engagement between the Russians and
Japanese at Liaoyang, will not take quite so long a time to decide, the
end is not yet in sight. I write this after a hard day’s travelling
backwards and forwards behind our advancing line of battle.
“I took my cycle with me in my motor-car, and whenever opportunity
offered mounted it, and pushed forward as near to the fighting as I
could get. Frequently I had to leave the cycle also, and crawl forward
on hands and knees, sheltering in some depression in the ground, while
the enemy’s bullets whined and whistled overhead. As reported in a
previous issue, the Army which had assembled at Brentwood moved forward
early on the 5th.
“During the afternoon the advanced troops succeeded in driving the enemy
out of South Hanningfield, and before sundown they were also in full
retreat from the positions they had held at East Hanningfield and
Danbury. There was some stiff fighting at the latter place, but after a
pounding from the artillery, who brought several batteries into action
on the high ground north-west of East Hanningfield, the Germans were
unable to withstand the attack of the Argyll and Sutherlands and the
London Scottish, who worked their way through Danbury Park and Hall Wood
right into their position, driving them from their entrenchments by a
dashing bayonet charge. Everything north and east of the enemy’s main
position, which is now known to lie north and south, between Maldon and
the river Crouch, was now in our hands, but his troops still showed a
stout front at Wickford, and were also reported to be at Rayleigh,
Hockley, and Canewdon, several miles to the eastward. All preparations
were made to assault the German position at Wickford at daybreak to-day,
but our scouts found that the place had been evacuated. The news that
Rayleigh and Hockley had also been abandoned by the enemy came in
shortly afterwards. The German invaders had evidently completed their
arrangements for the defence of their main position, and now said, in
effect, ‘Come on, and turn us out if you can.’
“It was no easy task that lay before our gallant defenders. Maldon,
perched on a high knoll, with a network of river and canal protecting it
from assault from the northward, fairly bristles with guns, many of
them heavy field howitzers, and has, as we know to our cost, already
repulsed one attack by our troops. Farther south there are said to be
many guns on the knolls about Purleigh. This little out-of-the-way
hamlet, by the way, is noteworthy as having had as its Rector from
1632-1643 the great-great-grandfather of the famous George Washington,
and the father of the first Washingtons who emigrated to Virginia. Great
Canney Hill, standing boldly up like an immense redoubt, is reported to
be seamed with entrenchments mounting many heavy guns. The railway
embankment south of Maldon forms a perfect natural rampart along part of
the enemy’s position, while the woods and enclosures south-west of Great
Canney conceal thousands of sharpshooters. A sort of advanced position
was occupied by the enemy at Edwin Hall, a mile east of Woodham Ferrers,
where a pair of high kopjes a quarter of a mile apart offered command
and cover to some of their field batteries.
“Our scouts have discovered also that an elaborate system of wire
entanglements and other military obstacles protects almost the whole
front of the somewhat extensive German position. On its extreme left
their line is said to be thrown back at an angle, so that any attempt to
outflank it would not only entail crossing the river Crouch, but would
come under the fire of batteries placed on the high ground overlooking
it. Altogether, it is a very tough nut to crack, and the force at our
disposal none too strong for the work that lies before it.
“Further detail regarding our strength would be inadvisable for obvious
reasons, but when I point out that the Germans are supposed to be
between thirty and forty thousand strong, and that it is laid down by
competent military authorities that to attack troops in an entrenched
position a superiority of six to one is advisable, my readers can draw
their own conclusions. For the same reason, I will not enumerate all the
regiments and corps that go to compose our Army in Essex. At the same
time there can be no harm in mentioning some of them which have
particularly distinguished themselves in the hard fighting of the past
twelve hours.
“Among these are the Grenadier and Irish Guards, the Inns of Court
Volunteers, and the Honourable Artillery Company from London, and the
Oxfordshire and two battalions of the Royal Marines from Chatham, which,
with other troops from that place, crossed over at Tilbury and joined
our forces. The last-mentioned are the most veteran troops we have here,
as, besides belonging to a long-service corps, they have in their ranks
a number of their Reservists who had joined at a day’s notice. The
Marines are in reality, though not nominally, the most territorial of
our troops, since the greater number of their Reserve men settle down in
the immediate neighbourhood of their headquarters. It is this fact which
enabled them to mobilise so much quicker than the rest of our regiments.
The Oxfordshire, for instance, coming from the same garrison, has very
few Reservists as yet, while most of the others are in the same plight.
And yet the fiat has gone forth that the Marine Corps, despite its past
record, the excellence of its men, and its constant readiness for active
service, is to lose its military status. Would that we had a few more of
its battalions with us to-day. But to return to the story of the great
battle.
“The repairs to the railway line between Brentwood and Chelmsford, that
had been damaged by the enemy’s cavalry on their first landing, were
completed yesterday, and all night reinforcements had been coming in by
way of Chelmsford and Billericay. The general headquarters had been
established at Danbury, and thither I made my way as fast as my car
could get along the roads, blocked as they were by marching horse, foot,
and artillery. I had spent the night at South Hanningfield, so as to be
on the spot for the expected attack on Wickford; but as soon as I found
it was not to come off, I considered that at Danbury would be the best
chance of finding out what our next move was to be.
“Nor was I mistaken. As I ran up to the village I found the roads full
of troops under arms, and everything denoted action of some kind. I was
lucky enough to come across a friend of mine on the staff--Captain
B----, I will call him--who spared a moment to give me the tip that a
general move forward was commencing, and that a big battle was imminent.
Danbury is situated on the highest ground for many miles round, and as
it bid fair to be a fine, clear day, I thought I could not do better
than try and get a general look round from the summit of the church
tower before proceeding farther. But I was informed that the General was
up there with some of his staff and a signalling party, so that I could
not ascend.
“However, no other newspaper correspondents were in the immediate
vicinity, and as there was thus no fear of my case being quoted as a
precedent, my pass eventually procured me admission to the little
platform, which, by the way, the General left a moment after my arrival.
It was now eight o’clock, the sun was fairly high in the heavens, and
the light mists that hung about the low ground in the vicinity of Maldon
were fast fading into nothingness. The old town was plainly
distinguishable as a dark silhouette against the morning light, which,
while it illumined the panorama spread out before me, yet rendered
observation somewhat difficult, since it shone almost directly into my
eyes. However, by the aid of my glasses I was able to see something of
the first moves on the fatal chess-board where so many thousands of
lives are staked on the bloody game of war.
“I noticed among other things that the lessons of the recent war in the
East had not passed unobserved, for in all the open spaces on the
eastern slope of the hill, where the roads were not screened by trees or
coppices, lofty erections of hurdles and greenery had been placed
overnight to hide the preliminary movements of our troops from the
glasses of the enemy. Under cover of these regiment after regiment of
khaki-clad soldiers, batteries of artillery, and ammunition carts, were
proceeding to their allotted posts down the network of roads and lanes
leading to the lower ground towards the south-east. Two battalions stood
in quarter column behind Thrift Wood. They were kilted corps, probably
the Argylls and the London Scottish. Several field batteries moved off
to the left towards Woodham Walter. Other battalions took up their
position behind Hyde Woods, farther away to the right, the last of them,
the Grenadier Guards, I fancy, passing behind them and marching still
farther southward.
“Finally two strong battalions, easily recognised as marines by their
blue war-kit, marched rapidly down the main road and halted presently
behind Woodham Mortimer Place. All this time there was neither sight nor
sound of the enemy. The birds carrolled gaily in the old elms round my
eyrie, the sparrows and martins piped and twittered in the eaves of the
old church, and the sun shone genially on hill and valley, field and
wood. To all appearance, peace reigned over the countryside, though the
dun masses of troops in the shadows of the woodlands were suggestive of
the autumn manœuvres. But for all this, the ‘Real Thing’ was upon us.
As I looked, first one then another long and widely scattered line of
crouching men in khaki issued from the cover of Hyde Woods and began
slowly to move away towards the east. Then, and not till then, a vivid
violet-white flash blazed out on the dim grey upland five miles away to
the south-east, which had been pointed out to me as Great Canney, and
almost at once a spout of earth and smoke sprang up a little way ahead
of the advancing British. A dull boom floated up on the breeze, but was
drowned in an ear-splitting crash somewhere close to me. I felt the old
tower rock under the concussion, which I presently discovered came from
a battery of big 4.7 guns established just outside the churchyard.
“There were at least six of them, and as one after another gave tongue,
I descended from my rickety perch and went down to look at them. They
were manned by a party of Bluejackets, who had brought them over from
Chatham, and among the guns I found some of my acquaintances in the
Boer War, ‘Joe Chamberlain’ and ‘Bloody Mary,’ to wit. But I must leave
my own personal experiences, at least for the present, and endeavour to
give a general account of the day’s operations so far as I was able to
follow them by observation and inquiry. The movement I saw developing
below me was the first step towards what I eventually discovered was our
main objective--Purleigh. The open ground, flat as a billiard-table to
the north of this towards Maldon, presented the weakest front to our
attack, but it was considered that if we penetrated there we should in a
very short time be decimated and swept away by the cross fire from
Maldon and Purleigh, to say nothing of that from other positions we
might certainly assume the enemy had prepared in rear.
“Could we succeed in establishing ourselves at Purleigh, however, we
should be beyond effective range from Maldon, and should also take Great
Canney in reverse, as well as the positions on the refused left flank of
the enemy. Maldon, too, would be isolated. Purleigh, therefore, was the
key of the position. We have not got it yet, but have made a good stride
in its direction, and if it is true that ‘fortune favours the brave,’
ought certainly to be in possession of it by to-morrow evening. Our
first move was in this direction, as I have already indicated. The
scouts were picked men from the Line battalions, but the firing lines
were composed of Volunteers and, in some cases, Militiamen. It was
considered more politic to reserve the Regulars for the later stages of
the attack. The firing from Canney, and afterwards from Purleigh, was at
first at rather too long a range to be effective, even from the heavy
guns that were in use, and later on the heavy long-range fire from
‘Bloody Mary’ and her sisters at Danbury, and other heavy guns and
howitzers in the neighbourhood of East Hanningfield, kept it down
considerably, although the big, high-explosive shells were now and again
most terribly destructive to the advancing British.
“When, however, the firing line--which as yet had
[Illustration: BATTLE OF PURLEIGH, 6TH SEPTEMBER.]
not been near enough to fire a shot in reply--arrived in the
neighbourhood of Loddard’s Hill, its left came under a terrible rifle
fire from Hazeleigh Wood, while its right and centre were all but
destroyed by a tornado of shrapnel from some German field batteries to
the north of Purleigh. Though dazed and staggered under the appalling
sleet of projectiles, the Volunteers stuck doggedly to their ground,
though unable to advance. They were intelligent men; and even if they
had the inclination to fall back, they knew that there was no safety
that way. Line after line was pushed forward, the men stumbling and
falling over the thickly scattered bodies of their fallen comrades.
“It was a perfect holocaust. Some other card must be played at once, or
the attack must fail.”
* * * * *
The second of Mr. Henry Bentley’s descriptive articles in the _Times_
told a terrible truth, and was as follows:--
“(_From our War Correspondent._)
“CHELMSFORD, _September 7_.
“When I sent off my despatch by motor-car last night it was with
very different feelings to those with which I take my pen in hand
this evening, in the Saracen’s Head Hotel, which is the
headquarters of my colleagues, the correspondents.
“Last night, despite the hard fighting and the heavy losses we had
sustained, the promise of the morrow was distinctly a good one. But
now I have little heart with which to commence the difficult and
unpleasant task of chronicling the downfall of all our high hopes,
the repulse--ay, and the defeat--it is no use mincing matters--of
our heroic and sorely tried Army.
“Yes, our gallant soldiers have sustained a reverse which, but for
their stubborn fighting qualities and a somewhat inexplicable
holding back on the part of the Germans, might very easily have
culminated in disaster. Defeat although it undoubtedly is, the
darkness of the gloomy outlook is illuminated by the brilliancy of
the conduct of our troops.
“From General down to the youngest Volunteer drummer boy, our brave
soldiers did all, and more, than could be humanly expected of them,
and on none of them can be laid the blame of our ill-success. The
plan of attack is agreed on all hands to have been as good a one as
could have been evolved; the officers led well, their men fought
well, and there was no running short of ammunition at any period of
the engagement.
“‘Who, then, was responsible?’ it may well be asked. The answer is
simple. The British public, which, in its apathetic attitude
towards military efficiency, aided and abetted by the soothing
theories of the extremists of the ‘Blue Water’ school, had, as
usual, neglected to provide an Army fitted to cope in numbers and
efficiency with those of our Continental neighbours. Had we had a
sufficiency of troops, more especially of regular troops, there is
not the slightest doubt that the victory would have been ours. As
it was, our General was obliged to attack the enemy’s position with
a force whose numbers, even if they had been all regular soldiers,
were below those judged necessary by military experts for the task
in hand.
“Having broken through the German lines, success was in his grasp,
had he had sufficient reinforcements to have established him in the
position he had won and to beat back the inevitable counter-attack.
But it is best that I should continue my account of the fighting
from the point at which I closed my letter of yesterday. I had
arrived at the checking of our advance near Loddard’s Hill by the
blast of shrapnel from the German field batteries. It was plain
that the Volunteer Brigade, though it held its ground, could not
advance farther. But, unnoticed by them, the General had been
preparing for this eventuality.
“On the left the two battalions of Marines that I noticed drawn up
behind Woodham Mortimer Place suddenly debouched on Loddard’s Hill,
and, carrying forward with them the débris of the Volunteer firing
line, hurled themselves into Hazeleigh Wood. There was a sanguinary
hand-to-hand struggle on the wire-entangled border, but the
new-comers were not to be denied, and after a quarter of an hour’s
desperate mêlée, which filled the sylvan glades with moaning and
writhing wounded and stark dead bodies, we remained masters of the
wood, and even obtained a footing on the railway line where it
adjoins it.
“Simultaneously a long line of our field batteries came into
action near Woodham Mortimer, some trying to beat down the fire of
the German guns opposite, while others replied to a battery that
had been established near West Maldon Station to flank the railway,
and which was now beginning to open on Hazeleigh Wood. The latter
were assisted by a battery of 4.7 guns manned by Volunteers, which
took up a position behind Woodham Walter. The firing on Great
Canney from our batteries at East Hanningfield redoubled, the whole
summit of the hill being at times obscured by the clouds of smoke
and débris from the explosions of the big, high-explosive
projectiles.
“The main firing line, continually fed from the rear, now began
slowly to gain ground, and when the Grenadiers and the Irish
Guards, who had managed to work up through the series of
plantations that run eastwards for nearly two miles from Woodham
Hall without drawing any particular attention from the busily
engaged enemy, came into action on the right, there was a distinct
move forward. But the defence was too stubborn, and about midday
the whole line again came to a standstill, its left still in
Hazeleigh Wood, its right at Prentice Farm. Orders were passed that
the men should try to entrench themselves as best they could, and
spades and other tools were sent forward to those corps who were
not provided with them already.
“Here we must leave the main attack to notice what was going on
elsewhere. On the north the Colchester Garrison again brought their
heavy artillery into action on the slopes south of Wickham Bishops,
while others of our troops made a show of advancing against Maldon
from the west. These movements were, however, merely intended to
keep the German garrison occupied. But on the right a rather
important flanking movement was in progress.
“We had a considerable body of troops at East Hanningfield, which
lies in a hollow between two little ridges, both running from
south-west to north-east, and about a mile apart. The most easterly
ridge is very narrow for the most part, and behind it were
stationed several batteries of our field howitzers, which fired
over it at Great Canney at a range of about 5000 yards. A number of
4.7-inch guns, scattered over the western hill, were also
concentrated on the same target. Although the range was an
extremely long one, there is no doubt that they made a certain
number of effective hits, since Great Canney offered a conspicuous
and considerable target. But beyond this the flashes of their
discharges drew off all attention from the howitzer batteries in
front of them, and served to conceal their presence from the enemy.
Otherwise, although invisible, their presence would have been
guessed at. As it was, not a single German projectile came anywhere
near them.
“When the fighting began, those troops who were not intended to be
held in reserve or to co-operate with the right of the main attack
moved off in the direction of Woodham Ferrers, and made a feint of
attacking the German position astride the two kopjes at Edwin’s
Hall, their field guns coming into action on the high ground north
of Rettendon, and engaging those of the enemy at long range. But
the real attack on this salient of the German position came from a
very different quarter.
“The troops detailed for this movement were those who had advanced
against Wickford at daybreak, and had found it abandoned by the
enemy. They consisted of the Oxfordshire Light Infantry, the
Honourable Artillery Company, and the Inns of Court Volunteers,
together with their own and three or four other machine-gun
detachments, their Maxims being mounted on detachable legs instead
of carriages. Co-operating with them were the Essex and the East
Kent Yeomanry, who were scouting in the direction of Hockley.
“The troops had a long, wearisome march before them, the design
being to take advantage of the time of low tide, and to move along
out of sight of the enemy behind the northern bank of the river
Crouch, as it had been discovered that the German line of defence
turned back to the eastward at a mile or two north of the river at
the point aimed at. Its guns still commanded it, and might be
trusted to render abortive any attempt to throw a bridge across it.
The Yeomanry had the task of occupying the attention of the enemy
at Canewdon, and of preventing the passage of boats from the German
warships. This part of our operations succeeded admirably. The long
creeping lines of the Oxfordshires and the machine-gun detachments
in their khaki uniforms were almost indistinguishable against the
steep mud banks at any distance, and they escaped observation both
from the German main lines and from their outpost at Canewdon until
they had reached the entrances of the two branch creeks for which
they were making.
“Then, and not till then, came the sound of artillery from the left
rear of the German position. But it was too late. The Oxford
companies pushed forward at the double. Five companies lined the
embankments of Stow Creek, the easternmost of the two, while the
remainder, ensconced in Clementsgreen Creek, aligned the whole of
their machine-guns on the southern of the two kopjes against which
the manœuvre had been directed. Their fire, which, coming from a
little to the rear of the left flank of the southern kopje,
completely enfiladed it, created such slaughter and confusion that
the Honourable Artillery Company and the Inns of Court, who had
been working up the railway line from Battle Bridge, had little
difficulty in establishing themselves at Woodham Ferrers Station
and in an adjacent farm. Being almost immediately afterwards
reinforced by the arrival of two regular battalions who had been
pushed forward from Rettendon, a determined assault was made on the
southern kopje. Its defenders, demoralised by the pelting shower of
lead from the machine-gun battery, and threatened also by the
advance from Woodham Ferrers village, gave way, and our people,
forcing their way over every obstacle, seized the position amid
frantic cheering.
“Meanwhile the Oxfordshires had been subjected to a determined
counter-attack from North Frambridge. Preceded by a pounding from
the guns on Kit’s Hill, but aided by the fire of the Yeomanry on
the south bank of the river, who galloped up and lined the
embankment, thus flanking the defenders of Stow Creek, it was
beaten back with considerable loss. The machine-guns were
transferred to the neighbourhood of South Kopje, and used with such
effect that its defenders, after repulsing several counter-attacks
from the adjoining German entrenchment, were able to make
themselves masters of the North Kopje also.
“Elsewhere the fighting still continued strenuous and deadly. The
main attack had contrived to make some little shelter for itself;
but though three several attempts were made to advance from this,
all ended in failure, one nearly in disaster. This was the last of
the three, when the advancing line was charged by a mass of cavalry
which suddenly appeared from behind Great Canney Hill. I myself was
a witness of this attack, the most picturesque incident of the
day’s fighting.
“I was watching the progress of the engagement through my glasses
from the high ground about Wickhams Farm, when I saw line after
line of the German horsemen in their sky-blue tunics and glittering
helmets trot out into the open, canter, and one after another break
into a mad gallop as they bore down upon the advancing lines of our
citizen soldiers. Staunchly as these had withstood the murderous
fire which for hours had been directed upon them, this whirlwind of
lance and sabre, the thunder of thousands of hoofs, and the hoarse
cries of the riders, were rather more than such partially trained
soldiers could stand. A scattering discharge from their rifles was
followed by something very much approaching a _sauve qui peut_.
“A large number of the Volunteers, however, sought shelter among
the ruined houses of Cock Clarke’s hamlet, from whence they opened
a heavy fire on the adventurous horsemen. The Argyll and Sutherland
Highlanders, who were by this time in Mosklyns Copse, and the
Guards and other troops on the right, also opened a rapid and
sustained fire on the German cavalry, which, seconded by the
shrapnel from our guns on Loddard’s Hill, caused them to turn and
ride back for their lives. There was a tremendous outburst of
firing from both sides after this, followed by quite a lull. One
could well imagine that all the combatants were exhausted by the
prolonged effort of the day. It was now between five and six in the
evening. It was at this time that the news of the capture of the
two kopjes reached me, and I made for Danbury to write my
despatches.
“Shortly after my arrival I heard of the capture of Spar Hill, a
detached knoll about 12,000 yards to the north-west of Purleigh.
The Marines from Hazeleigh Wood and the Highlanders from Mosklyns
Copse had suddenly and simultaneously assaulted it from opposite
sides, and were now entrenching themselves upon it. What wonder,
then, that I reported satisfactory progress, and reckoned--too
confidently, as it proved--on a victory for the morrow?
“I spent a great part of that night under the stars on the hilltop
near East Hanningfield, watching the weird play of the searchlights
which swept over the country from a score of different positions,
and listening to the crash of artillery and clatter of rifle fire
which now and again told of some attempted movement under cover of
the darkness. Just before daylight the continuous roar of battle
began again, and when light dawned I found that our troops had cut
right through the German lines, and had penetrated as far as Cop
Kitchen’s farm, on the Maldon-Mundon road. Reinforcements were
being hurried up, and an attack was being pushed towards the rear
of Purleigh and Great Canney, which was being heavily bombarded by
some of our large guns, which had been mounted during the night on
the two kopjes.
“But the reinforcements were not enough. The Germans held fast to
Purleigh and to some reserve positions they had established about
Mundon. After two or three hours of desperate effort, costing the
lives of thousands, our attack was at a standstill. At this
critical moment a powerful counter-attack was made from Maldon,
and, outnumbered and almost surrounded, our gallant warriors had to
give ground. But they fell back as doggedly as they had advanced,
the Argylls, Marines, and Grenadiers covering the retreat on
Danbury.
“The guns at East Hanningfield and the two kopjes checked the
pursuit to a great extent, and the Germans seemed unwilling to go
far from their works. The kopjes had to be abandoned later in the
day, and we now occupy our former line from Danbury to Billericay,
and are busily engaged in entrenching ourselves.”