[Frontispiece: GENERAL SIR H. SMITH-DORRIEN. _From the Painting by
Arnold Mountford._]
The
Retreat from Mons
BY ONE WHO SHARED IN IT
BY
A. CORBETT-SMITH
(_Major, R.F.A._)
_With Three Plates and Map_
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd
With one appearing hair, that will not follow
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1916
To
GENERAL SIR H. L. SMITH-DORRIEN,
G.C.M.G., G.C.B., D.S.O., ETC.
DEAR GENERAL SMITH-DORRIEN,
When, some few months ago, you honoured me by your acceptance of this
dedication I had in mind to make a single volume which should trace the
course of the War during the period of your command of the Second Army,
the unforgettable days from Mons to Ypres.
Since then I have found that there is one phase of the operations which
has gripped the imagination of the public more than any other event of
the past two years: the "Retreat from Mons." It is, indeed, almost
incredible how little the people know of this, and how splendidly they
respond to the telling of the story.
But it seems to me that the story can never be told as it should be.
Only those who actually experienced the horror and the splendour of
those ten days could hope to tell it, and for them the facts are
blurred and distorted by the nightmare through which they passed.
Still, I am rashly making the attempt, and in doing so I try to write
of the big, human side of things. For it is the trivial, homely
incidents in the daily life of the British soldier, and the stories of
noble devotion and chivalry of gallant gentlemen like Francis Grenfell
and Bradbury, which fire the imagination. I know that you will
understand and appreciate my motives.
For the rest, should the public be kind to this trivial volume I shall
hope later to continue the narrative as I had originally intended.
Will you, then, accept my book, not in tribute of a Command which must
remain indelibly scored in letters of gold on the page of our country's
history so long as Britain endures, but as a memory of the two or three
years of peace when I was privileged to work with you and of the year
of war when I had the honour of serving, one of that "band of
brothers," in your Command?
I am,
Very faithfully yours,
A. CORBETT-SMITH.
THE MIDDLE TEMPLE,
LONDON.
AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I tender my very grateful thanks to GENERAL SIR HORACE SMITH-DORRIEN
for his kindness in reading the proof-sheets of the book and for
several most valuable items of information.
My thanks are also due to CAPTAIN C. T. ATKINSON, of the Historical
Section, Committee of Imperial Defence, for his courteous help in the
task of compiling the Roll of Honour. Also to the SECRETARY, K.A.
Institution, for the loan of material for the same purpose.
I have availed myself to some extent of the researches of MR. HILAIRE
BELLOC in my estimates in Chapter V.; while my details of the German
Army are taken from German sources, "Deutsche Land- und Seemacht," by
Rabenau, and other volumes.
To my comrades-in-arms (few, alas! remain), whose deeds and experiences
have contributed to the writing of the story, I hold out a hand of
greeting. I salute in reverence the immortal souls of the gallant dead.
A. C.-S.
CONTENTS
Roll of Honour
CHAPTER
1. Mobilisation
2. The Sailing of the Force
3. The Landing of the Force
4. Up Country
5. The Marshalling of the Armies
6. Mons
7. Mons (_continued_)
8. The Retreat Begins
9. The Second Day
10. An Interlude
11. Wednesday, the 26th of August
12. Wednesday, the 26th of August (_continued_)
13. The Retreat Continues
14. Past Compiègne
15. The Final Stages
Appendix I.
Appendix II.
LIST OF PLATES
General Sir H. Smith-Dorrien . . . _Frontispiece_
Field-Marshal Viscount French
General Sir Douglas Haig
Map of Country from Mons to Paris
The Roll of Honour
OF THE
FIRST EXPEDITIONARY FORGE
_General Officer Commanding-in-Chief the British Forces:_
FIELD-MARSHAL SIR J. D. P. FRENCH.
_Chief of the General Staff:_
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR A. J. MURRAY.
_Adjutant-General:_
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR C. F. N. MACREADY.
_Quartermaster-General:_
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR W. R. ROBERTSON.
_FIRST ARMY CORPS_
_General Officer Commanding-in-Chief_--
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR DOUGLAS HAIG.
1st DIVISION
_General Officer Commanding_--MAJOR-GENERAL S. H. LOMAX.
1st Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL F. I. MAXSE.
1st Batt. Coldstream Guards.
1st Batt. R. Highlanders.
1st Batt. Scots Guards.
2nd Batt. R. Munster Fusiliers.
2nd Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL E. S. BULFIN.
2nd Batt. R. Sussex Regt.
1st Batt. Northampton Regt.
1st Batt. N. Lancs. Regt.
2nd Batt. K. R. Rifle Corps
3rd Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL H. J. S. LANDON.
1st Batt. R. W. Surrey Regt.
1st Batt. Gloucester Regt.
1st Batt. S. Wales Borderers.
2nd Batt. Welsh Regt.
CAVALRY (attached)
C Squadron 15th Hussars.
ROYAL ENGINEERS
23rd and 26th Field Companies.
ROYAL ARTILLERY
R.F.A. Batteries--113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 46, 51, 54;
(Howitzer) 30, 40, 57.
_Heavy Battery R.G.A._--26.
An Ammunition Column and an Ammunition Park.
2nd DIVISION
_General Officer Commanding_--MAJOR-GENERAL C. C. MONRO.
4th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade-Commander_--GENERAL R. SCOTT-KERR.
2nd Batt. Grenadier Guards
3rd Batt. Coldstream Guards
2nd Batt. Coldstream Guards
lst Batt. Irish Guards.
5th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL R. C. B. HAKING.
2nd Batt. Worcester Regt.
2nd Batt. Highland L.I.
2nd Batt. Oxford and Bucks L.I.
2nd Batt. Connaught Rangers
6th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL R. H. DAVIES.
1st Batt. Liverpool Regt.
1st Batt. R. Berks Regt.
2nd Batt. S. Staffs. Regt.
lst Batt. K. R. Rifle
CAVALRY (attached)
B Squadron 15th Hussars.
ROYAL ENGINEERS
5th and 11th Field Companies.
ROYAL ARTILLERY
_R.F.A. Batteries_--22, 50, 70, 15, 48, 71, 9, 16, 17;
(Howitzer) 47, 56, 60.
_Heavy Battery R.G.A._--35.
An Ammunition Column and an Ammunition Park.
CAVALRY
_A Division_ (_Four Brigades_)
General Officer Commanding--MAJOR-GENERAL E. H. H. ALLENBY.
1st Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL C. J. BRIGGS.
2nd Dragoon Guards.
5th Dragoon Guards.
11th Hussars.
2nd Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL H. DE B. DE LISLE.
4th Dragoon Guards.
9th Lancers.
18th Hussars.
3rd Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL H. DE LA POER GOUGH.
4th Hussars.
5th Lancers.
16th Lancers.
4th Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL HON. C. E. BINGHAM.
Household Cavalry (composite Regiment).
6th Dragoon Guards.
3rd Hussars.
And--
the 5th Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL SIR P. W. CHETWODE.
12th Lancers.
20th Hussars.
2nd Dragoons.
ROYAL HORSE ARTILLERY
_Batteries_ "D," "E," "I," "J," "L."
SECOND ARMY CORPS
_General Officer Commanding-in-Chief_--
GENERAL SIR H. L. SMITH-DORRIEN.
3rd DIVISION
_General Officer Commanding_--MAJOR-GENERAL H. I. W. HAMILTON.
7th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL F. W. N. McCRACHEN.
3rd Batt. Worcester Regt.
1st Batt. Wilts Regt.
2nd Batt. S. Lancs. Regt.
2nd Batt. R. Irish Rifles.
8th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL B. J. C. DORAN.
2nd Batt. R. Scots.
4th Batt. Middlesex Regt.
2nd Batt. R. Irish Regt.
1st Batt. Gordon Highlanders.
9th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL F. C. SHAW.
1st Batt. Northumberland Fusiliers.
1st Batt. Lincolnshire Regt.
1st Batt. R. Scots Fusiliers.
4th Batt. R. Fusiliers.
CAVALRY (attached)
A Squadron 15th Hussars.
ROYAL ENGINEERS
56th and 57th Field Companies.
ROYAL ARTILLERY
_R.F.A. Batteries_--107, 108, 109, 6, 23, 49, 29, 41, 45;
(Howitzer) 128, 129, 130.
_Heavy Battery R. G. A._--48.
An Ammunition Column and an Ammunition Park.
5th DIVISION
_General Officer Commanding_--MAJOR-GENERAL SIR C. FERGUSSON.
13th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL G. J. CUTHBERT.
2nd Batt. K. O. Scottish Borderers.
1st Batt. R.W. Kent Regt.
2nd Batt. Yorks L.I.
2nd Batt. W. Riding Regt.
14th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL S. P. ROLT.
2nd Batt. Suffolk Regt.
1st Batt. Duke of Cornwall's L.I.
1st Batt. East Surrey Regt.
2nd Batt. Manchester Regt.
15th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL COUNT A. E. W. GLEICHEN.
1st Batt. Norfolk Regt.
1st Batt. Cheshire Regt.
1st Batt. Bedford Regt.
1st Batt. Dorset Regt.
CAVALRY (attached)
A Squadron 19th Hussars.
ROYAL ENGINEERS
17th and 59th Field Companies.
ROYAL ARTILLERY
_R.F.A. Batteries_--11, 52, 80, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124;
(Howitzer) 37, 61, 65.
_Heavy Battery R.G.A._--108.
An Ammunition Column and an Ammunition Park.
19th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--MAJOR-GENERAL L. G. DRUMMOND.
2nd Batt. R. Welsh Fusiliers.
1st Batt. Middlesex Regt.
1st Batt. Scottish Rifles.
2nd Batt. Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.
ROYAL FLYING CORPS
Aeroplane Squadrons Nos. 2, 3, 4 and 5.
ARMY SERVICE CORPS
Horsed and Mechanical Transport.
ROYAL ARMY MEDICAL CORPS
There came into line at Le Cateau on August 25th the--
4th DIVISION
_General Officer Commanding_--MAJOR-GENERAL T. D. O. SNOW.
10th Infantry Brigade
Brigade Commander--BRIGADIER-GENERAL J. A. L. HALDANE.
1st Batt. R. Warwickshire Regt.
1st Batt. R. Irish Fusiliers.
2nd Batt. Seaforth Highlanders.
2nd Batt. R. Dublin Fusiliers.
11th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL A. G. HUNTER-WESTON.
1st Batt. Somersetshire L.I.
1st Batt. Hampshire Regt.
1st Batt. E. Lancs. Regt.
1st Batt. Rifle Brigade.
12th Infantry Brigade
_Brigade Commander_--BRIGADIER-GENERAL H. F. M. WILSON.
1st Batt. R. Lancs. Regt.
2nd Batt. R. Inniskilling Fusiliers.
2nd Batt. Lancashire Fusiliers.
2nd Batt. Essex Regt.
CAVALRY (attached)
B Squadron 19th Hussars.
ROYAL ENGINEERS
7th and 9th Field Companies.
ROYAL ARTILLERY
_R.F.A. Batteries_--39, 68, 88 (xiv. Brigade); 125, 126, 127 (xxix
Brigade); 27, 134, 135 (xxxii. Brigade); 31, 35, 55 (xxxvii. Brigade).
_Heavy Battery R.G.A._--31.
LINES OF COMMUNICATION AND ARMY TROOPS
1st Batt. Devonshire Regt.
1st Batt. Cameron Highlanders
The Retreat from Mons
CHAPTER I
MOBILISATION
_Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man._
August 5th, 1914! "Who would have dreamed of such a thing!" exclaimed
the big majority. "So it has come at last," said the small minority.
Broadly speaking, there you have the country's opinion during those now
dimly remembered days which followed immediately upon Germany's
throwing down of the gauntlet.
Officers and men of our once-upon-a-time professional Army did not
bother very much about it either way. War was their job. Active
service was to be welcomed as a picnic change from the monotony of
soldiering in England. Also, to the man keen on his profession (and
since the Boer War such men have been steadily increasing in numbers)
it meant the chance of promotion and of showing what he was made of.
A war, even long foreseen, must inevitably come as a surprise when it
does actually break out, and this one was no exception. During the
last week of that July there were very, very few in Aldershot who felt
certain that the hour was at last striking.
But Aldershot was ready for it. For many a long year past Aldershot
had existed for the Army. Latterly it had been the forge where
Britain's little striking force, the spear-head of her armies, had been
welded, sharpened and tested, made ready for instant launching. So,
with the Fleet, were we prepared to fulfil our pact with France; or, if
the summons came, to stand by Belgium.
Aldershot existed for war, and the comings and goings of troops passed
almost unnoticed. True, it now became increasingly difficult to find
rooms in the town, and the local outfitters promptly set to work to
reap a golden harvest from the fantastic prices which they put upon war
gear of all kinds, but that was all--at least to the eye of a casual
observer.
There was Fritz, the doyen of Aldershot hairdressers. I wonder how
much he learned in those days of the movements of units. Fritz had
been an institution in the camps when present-day G.O.C.'s, grizzled
and weather-beaten, had, as junior subalterns, sought his advice upon
the training of incipient moustaches. Fritz remembered them all, could
instantly reel off details of their careers, their regiments or
stations, from the time they had left Aldershot until they had returned
in senior commands. All duly pigeonholed in Berlin together with
seemingly trivial incidents in their private lives.
Later on, sometime at the Aisne, rumour came round that Herr Fritz had
been up to mischief of a more serious nature and that he had been duly
lodged in prison, or shot, or something equally suitable.
Those were happy if very strenuous days at Aldershot that week or so
before the embarkation. Men talked very little about the future,
everyone was really too busy. Thoughts naturally flew back to the
South African War when they did talk.
"Nobody was particularly keen on that," was the generally expressed
opinion; "nobody wanted to kill the Boers; too one-sided. This--oh!
this is the real thing. We've got our work cut out."
The very day after the mobilisation the Officers' Mess showed signs of
packing up. It reminded one so much of the third act in _The Second in
Command_. Two notices in the hall brought things home:--
"Officers may wear Service dress or blue undress jackets in Mess."
"Officers are particularly requested to pay their mess bills before
leaving."
Packing-cases and parcels began to drift in and lie about: dozens of
telegrams passed in and out: a smaller variety of dishes appeared at
luncheon and dinner: the regimental band came and played to us every
night (the cheerier spirits all took a hand at conducting, especially
rag-time).
Everybody had his job, and nobody knew what anyone else was doing.
Right at the beginning we experienced a curious feeling of secrecy.
You would see an officer at lunch and miss him at dinner.
"Oh yes! I believe he has gone this afternoon," someone remarks.
"When are you off?" Colonel X. would say to an officer in a moment of
forgetfulness, hastily adding, "No, I don't want to know--but, mind you
pay your mess bill before you go."
This secrecy of movement was certainly the most striking feature of
those early days: that, and the splendid organisation. We have got
accustomed to it since, but at the time, and to men used to the
happy-go-lucky methods of this dear, lovable, muddle-headed old country
of ours, that organisation struck one as amazing.
On August 5th every C.O. was handed a file of documents. In these were
given the most precise directions as to times, places and dates when
his unit was to leave Aldershot. For instance:
"Train No. 463Y will arrive at siding B at 12.35 A.M., August 10th.
"You will complete loading by 3.40 A.M.
"This train will leave siding C at 9.45 A.M., August 10th.
"You will march on to the platform at 9.30 A.M. and complete your
entraining by 9.40."
And I believe it is a fact that every train left five minutes ahead of
its scheduled time. The London and South Western Railway was given
sixty hours in which to send to Southampton 350 troop-trains. They did
it in forty-five hours. "Some" hustle! The astonishing efficiency of
it all, and the admirable co-operation between military and civil
authorities. I very much doubt if there were more than two officers of
the Staff at Aldershot H.Q. who knew details of the intended movements.
Fritz must have been annoyed. C.O.'s, and other individual officers,
who knew when their own unit was timed for departure, entered
splendidly into the spirit of the game and loyally kept the information
to themselves; would not even tell their people, nor their best girls.
One day the King came down. The visit was as secret as everything
else. Each unit received about a quarter of an hour's warning of His
Majesty's approach, and the men turned out of their tents or broke off
their work to line up by the road. A few words of "good-bye, and good
luck" to the men, a warm hand-clasp to the officers, three cheers, and
the Royal car slipped forward to the next unit. One could hear the
ripple of cheering flow round the camps as His Majesty passed.
By the way, it is a little curious how, from the very beginning, there
have been just three words used by everyone in bidding "good-bye."
"Good-bye, and good luck." A kind of spontaneous, universal formula.
Officers used it, the men, mothers, wives and sweethearts.
"Good-bye, and good luck" to our sailors
(It's a big debt we owe you to-day),
"Good-bye, and good luck" to our soldiers
(Some day we shall hope to repay).
Though anxious the hearts left behind you,
And a tear from the eye seems to fall,
Yet--"good-bye"--God be with you, "good luck attend you,
"Good-bye, and good luck to you all"--
as the refrain of a popular song had it later.
Impressions of those few hurried days are blurred. In a sense one had
been through it all many times before. It differed but little from
moving station or preparing for manoeuvres. And yet there was
something of the glamour of an unknown future before one: an
instinctive feeling that this was the end of soldiering as we had known
it. Not that anyone dreamed of the war lasting beyond Christmas; there
are no pessimists in the Army. We were all at school breaking up for
the holidays, and I think that just about sums up the situation as we
saw it at Aldershot. The unknown future was more on the lines of
"Shall we get any skating?" "Will there be some good shows at the
theatres?" "What sort of fun will the Pytchley give us?" "Shall I be
able to get in the Hunt Ball?"
And so one has little enough to say about the days of mobilisation and
packing up. Besides, quite enough has already been written to satisfy
an interested public. One little adventure, however, seems worth
recording. It befell a certain Gunner captain who was detailed to
conduct a draft of men from one unit to another. The yarn has the
merit of being true in every particular. It may form a small chapter
to itself.
A TOURING COMPANY
"Putting two and two together," said the A.S.C. major, "I imagine that
you're to take this draft on to Portsmouth and hand over to the O.C. of
the company down there."
Why a Gunner captain should have to conduct a draft of Field Gunners to
a place like Portsmouth and hand them over to the tender mercies of an
A.S.C. Company Commander, I couldn't imagine. Nor indeed why a Gunner
should take his instructions from an A.S.C. major at all. But the
Divisional C.R.A. had sent me up to him with the remark, "It looks as
though you ought to report there," and that was all about it.
Mobilisation is responsible for a good many queer happenings, and here
at Aldershot on the third day of it most men were rather at sea.
Even in those few hours one had learned not to ask questions. There
was no objection to the asking, but the answer was usually a vacant,
far-away look over the shoulder and "Eenteenth Brigade Office? Oh,
it's over there"; and a wave of the arm would comprehensively include
Farnborough, Deepcut and the Town Station.
And that was how the trouble began. If only the A.S.C. major had
exercised a little imagination and made five out of his addition sum:
if only he had read his own instructions a little more carefully
(although we didn't know that till afterwards), a draft of tired
Gunners would not have spent the next week trailing about the South of
England looking for an A.S.C. company which didn't want them, and their
officer would not have received a black mark which nearly damned his
future chances at the very outset. But that by the way.
"The men had their breakfast at three this morning," and the cheery
little subaltern, who had brought the draft down from Newcastle,
saluted and discreetly made himself still smaller by vanishing hastily
round the nearest corner.
I took my railway warrant and went out to have a look at the draft.
A fresh-looking lot they were; young, most of them, averaging about
twenty-three years old; special reservists the senior sergeant told me.
The few old hands, who sadly needed a shave and a wash, showed how
young the rest of them were. I didn't take much stock of them, then.
One doesn't when it's just a conducting job of a few hours, handing
over, and back to Headquarters right away.
The men stood to attention, picked up their kits, and, with a "Fours
left," we were off to the station down the shimmering, dancing, sandy
roads of the Aldershot camps. The A.S.C. major returned to his ledgers
and more arithmetic, and the cheery subaltern reclined at lordly ease
in a Gunner Mess arm-chair, with a tinkling glass of gin and ginger
beer at his elbow, and discussed the striking results of the previous
day's battle in the North Sea--which had not taken place.
The station-master, who didn't look as worried as he felt, touched his
cap.
"A local to ----, then change and go on to Reigate" (was it Reigate? I
forget now, one visited so many out-of-the-way places), "and from there
you'll probably get a through train to Portsmouth. If there isn't room
in the train you can always turn people out."
Visions of burly, homespun-clad farmers and comfortable market-women
being turned out, protesting, by a mere Gunner captain danced through
my brain. Actions for assault and battery, damages, bail, prison.
"How an if they will not turn out?" said I.
And then I realised. This was War, red War; and Great Britain was
mobilising. The needs of the State were paramount.
"You shall bid them turn out in the Prince's name," and, unlike
Dogberry, shall see that you are obeyed.
And I made myself two inches taller because after all a Gunner captain
was somebody in the world now. And people looked with a new interest
at the lads in khaki and began to realise, perhaps for the first time,
that they would have to count on the British Army even though it were
"such a little one."
To do the good folk justice there was never a word of protest at the
idea of having to turn out. And we had to invite them to do so a good
many times before the company finished its tour of the Southern ports.
Really it might have been a railway in Germany from the way the
civilians gave road to the uniform. This change of attitude was
certainly a vivid contrast to the days--last week was it?--when a man
in His Majesty's uniform was looked at askance in crowded street and
bar.
At Reigate, where we had to wait an hour, a bombardier, one of the old
hands, begged leave to visit a certain hotel outside the station to buy
some bread and cheese.
He was a man who hardly gave the appearance of being bread-and-cheese
hungry, if you quite take my meaning, and the glassy stare with which
this ancient tried to fix me augured ill for discipline if there were
many others in the draft like him. Permission was refused. It was a
trivial point gained but it had its consequences.
Portsmouth was reached in some five hours; and twenty minutes' march
brought us to the A.S.C. barracks where a hot dinner would cheer us
all; for I had remembered to send a telegram _en route_ to tell them to
expect us.
We were received with cordiality by a decrepit old store-keeper, and
the stables' cat. Otherwise the barracks looked as though an army had
lately sacked the place from floor to basement.
The men looked glum, and there was more than a hint of a move to a
near-by hotel for "bread and cheese." Well, they were only young
reservists and discipline was an almost unknown quantity.
But dinner had to materialise somehow. So, demanding the keys of the
castle from the unwilling seneschal, the senior sergeant, the
bombardier, the stables' cat and myself started on a tour of inspection.
Good! The kitchen contained a sack of flour and most of a sheep.
Apparently the sheep was intended to last the decrepit servitor and his
struggling family for the rest of the week. But we paid no heed to
tearful entreaties and ruthlessly tore the meat away from their very
mouths.
"This is War," said I.
Soon dinner was well on the way, blankets were found for the men, and
off I went to report to Headquarters.
H.Q. "received me most politely," as Harry Fragson used to sing, and
didn't think they wanted me nor my company for any performance in
Portsmouth.
"Come back to-morrow morning," said H.Q., "and we'll tell you."
The next day. "Oh, yes!" said H.Q., "you're Field Gunners, you're
evidently sent here for Hilsea (two miles out): you'd better move on at
once."
"Parade with kits in half an hour," I ordered.
Merrily we marched forth from the castle gates. Were we not wanted at
Hilsea?
A cyclist orderly threw himself, panting, from his machine.
"H.Q.'s compliments and will you please report there at once."
"Halt! Fours about! Quick march!"
H.Q. again received me most politely.
"No, you're not to go to Hilsea. You've evidently got to join the
Eenty-eenth A.S.C. Company which has gone on to Bristol. You'll just
catch the 5.0 train if you're sharp."
"We're to go to Bristol," said I to the senior sergeant, "and you've
got to get a move on or we'll miss the train."
"I've heard tell of Bristol," he ruminated; "nice place, so my wife's
cousin's husband used to say. He did tell as how----"
But I cut the soliloquy short and got the draft out of the castle again.
A few minutes later peaceable citizens fled into doorways and up
courts, electric cars pulled up short with a grinding of brakes,
policemen held up traffic. The R.F.A. draft approached at a steady
double.
"Where's the fire?" yelled some.
"The Germans have captured the 'Hampshire Arms,'" said others.
"It's for a cinema show," screamed a ragged urchin. Everyone gave us
kindly encouragement, and girls waved merrily as we flew past. The
bombardier, who was on the pavement side, threw an arm gallantly round
the waist of a stout matron of some forty summers and dragged her, not
unwillingly, half a dozen yards before he could get home with a kiss on
the cheek.
But we caught that train with five minutes to spare. The men were now
beginning to see the joke. As yet it had escaped me. Of course it was
not the first time I had seen "Tommy" at his cheeriest under
misadventures; but this cheeriness now struck me vividly for the first
time. To-day it is world-famous.
They certainly made that journey a lively one. Six hours in a slow
train across country--it is apt to become somewhat tedious. I tried to
look like the man who owns a dog which persists in nibbling the
trousers of total strangers--to pretend they (the men, not the
trousers) didn't belong to me. It was no good. They might have been
Lancashire lads off to Blackpool for the "wakes."
So with imitations of Harry Tate, George Robey and other well-known
favourites of the music-halls, the railway officials at the various
stations being made the butt of the jokes; with a weird medley of
harmony and melody, from "Hallo, hallo, who's your lady friend?" to
"Sun of my Soul," the journey passed happily enough until the first of
the Bristol stations was reached about 11.45 P.M.
As no one knew where the A.S.C. barracks were I got through on the
telephone to H.Q.
"This is Captain Estcourt, R.F.A., speaking. I've got----"
The orderly evidently went to fetch someone else. It turned out to be
an adjutant, who listened to me most politely.
"No, we've got no A.S.C. here. I don't think there are any in Bristol.
But you might ring up ---- Barracks and see." Prrr.
"Hallo! Is that ---- Barracks? I'm Captain----"
The orderly went to fetch someone. This time, after a long wait, it
was evidently an irascible senior officer.
"No. No A.S.C. here. Try Avonmouth." Prrr.
This looked like bedding down in the station waiting-rooms. Still we
would try Avonmouth.
Avonmouth Headquarters received me over the telephone most politely,
considering the time of night.
"No, we've got no A.S.C. here; but you might ring up the Embarkation
Office." Prrr.
"Hallo! Embarkation Office? I'm ----, etc."
The Embarkation Office was not quite so polite in its reception. It
sounded very worried.
"No. We've got no A.S.C. here. You can come along down if you like in
case the company should turn up."
Luckily the last train had not gone. When it drew up in the station
the men greeted it as a long-lost friend. To the strains of "All
aboard for Dixie" they clambered in, more cheery than ever.
At Avonmouth we came out into a wilderness of mighty sheds. The night
breeze from the Bristol Channel carried with it the pungent, cleanly
smell of tarred rope.
"This is Avonmouth," said I to the senior sergeant, "and we can't go
any farther unless a ship is waiting for us. I'm going to see where we
can bed down."
The Embarkation Office had had time to recover from its worries and
received me very politely.
Eventually we got the men into one of the sheds where hundreds of sacks
of oats lay about. In ten minutes they had made themselves amazingly
comfortable and peace reigned.
But I'm glad we went to Avonmouth. It gave me my first real glimpse of
the astonishing organisation under which the Expeditionary Force was to
take the field; and also of the methods of supply.
Outside the dock gates, by all the approach roads into the little town,
there were streaming in hundreds upon hundreds of great motor lorries,
the majority of them built to carry three tons.
From all parts of England and Scotland dozens were arriving every hour.
The organisation of it! Here was the third or fourth day from
mobilisation and there were a couple of thousand ready for
transportation.
You picture a vividly green lorry of a big whisky distillery up North
axle to axle with the scarlet of a Brixton firm with its blatant
advertisement of somebody's corsets. The cockney driver from a London
furnishing house exchanged honeyed words with a colleague from "'twixt
Trent and Tweed" in a polite inquiry as to why the hell he couldn't let
his tail-board down without using his (the Londoner's) radiator to
scrape his boots on.
"Can't you imagine Tommy's comments when he finds a 'Johnny Walker' van
bringing up his ammunition in the wilds of Belgium," was the general
remark, "but I suppose they'll give them a coat of paint first."
They didn't, as a matter of fact; at least not for several months, so
that Tommy was able to indulge his gift of language to the full.
And so nearly two days passed. The men amused themselves by wandering
about the docks, wondering at the shipping, and making sarcastic
remarks about the lorry drivers who were being taught how to handle a
rifle.
Then came a telegram from H.Q., Aldershot.
"Return and report here immediately."
"Good," said the senior sergeant to me, "I always did like Aldershot.
But we've had quite a pleasant holiday seeing the country."
The draft duly paraded again, and when they learned their next
destination their remarks were a joy to listen to.
We caught a 9.0 train in the evening into Bristol. Then we marched
across the city, a matter of, say, three miles. It was a Sunday night,
the good citizens were abed. But my lads were determined to show that
they were by no means downhearted.
The march across was one long pageant of melody. "I'm going home to
Dixie" was prime favourite, and splendidly they sang it in harmony.
Then some evening hymns, then more rag-time--they were really excellent
exponents of that difficult art--then "Onward, Christian Soldiers"; but
never a note of "Tipperary." That immortal chorus had not yet
"arrived."
The midnight train from Bristol to Reading. A wait of three hours.
Finally, Aldershot (the wrong station) at 6.30 A.M. A march of four
miles into camp somewhat took the spirit out of the men, breakfastless
and carrying heavy kits. But we rallied them at the last post and came
in singing "Somewhere the sun is shining," like a choir of Welsh
colliers. We certainly looked the part.
"We've been looking for you for a week; where on earth have you been?"
was hurled at us as we marched in.
The bombardier started upon a story which would have made that intrepid
explorer Captain de Rougemont green with envy. I left him to his
astonished audience and went off for a bath and shave before attending
my own funeral at H.Q.
It will have been observed that there were varying degrees in the
politeness with which successive H.Q.s greeted my touring company. The
politeness with which Aldershot Headquarters now greeted me was well
below freezing-point.
"I received your telegrams from Portsmouth and various other places,"
was the Chief's opening. "You appear to have been taking your men upon
an extended holiday round the southern coast health resorts. May I
inquire, without appearing too inquisitive, your authority for this
expenditure of public money?"
"Will you allow me to explain, sir?"
"I am waiting for your explanation."
I began. When I had recounted the story of the A.S.C. major's
arithmetical problem I saw that I had the Great Man's attention. As
soon as I had caught the 5 P.M. train from Portsmouth----
"Sit down, won't you," said the Great Man; "cigarette?"
I took one from his proffered case and lit it carefully.
"If only I can hold him," thought I, "I shall pull through."
I did hold him, and I did pull through.
"I don't know that I can compliment you on your perspicacity," said the
Great Man, "but I can see now where the blame lies. I had intended to
withdraw your name from the Expeditionary Force, but----"
I got up, mouth open.
"Expeditionary Force?" It can only have been a feeble gasp which the
Great Man heard. "Am I going out with the Force?"
The Great Man smiled and put his hand on my shoulder.
"We'll overlook it this time. Let's see how well you can do your job.
And if you send in your claim for travelling expenses, send it to me
and I'll countersign it."
I suppose I must have said something by way of thanks. I suppose I
must have saluted, and closed the door behind me. I know that I
cleared half a dozen or so of the stairs down at a bound and fell over
an astonished sentry at the bottom. It must have looked most
undignified in a Gunner captain, but--I had actually been selected to
join the British Expeditionary Force with a command of my own and----
I leaped into the waiting taxicab in a state of delirium.
The driver touched his cap.
"Where to, sir?" said he.
"Where to? Where to? Oh! Brussels; anywhere."
The driver grinned in sympathetic understanding and got on to third
speed in as many seconds.
And that is how I very nearly missed the most gorgeous adventure of my
life.