THE SECOND DAY
_Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
The greater, therefore, should our courage be.--
. . . . God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out.
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful and good husbandry._
During the night of Monday the whole Force was on or about the line
already indicated, with the fortress of Maubeuge on their right flank.
But let it not be imagined that the men settled down quietly at 9 P.M.
to a cosy supper with a night's sleep to follow. There was no such
thing as a halt for any time. Incidentally, most of the horses went
through the whole business without being off-saddled once. The first
regiments in were the first to move off again. The men just dropped
down in the road where they halted and, if lucky, snatched ten minutes'
sleep. Many of the men seemed to sleep while they marched; although,
as one has often done it on night manoeuvres at home, there was nothing
curious about that.
By midnight I do not think that anybody very much cared what happened.
There was a certain amount of trench digging going on, and there was,
in consequence, some idea that a stand would be made. But the men were
really too exhausted to care one way or the other.
It is all very well to remark upon their invariable cheeriness, as most
writers seem to delight in doing, but it gives a hopelessly wrong
impression of the hardships. A certain form of "cheery spirit" is
inseparable from the British soldier when he is up against a tough job,
but you can't very well be lively and make funny remarks (as reported
in the Press) when you have become an automaton in all your movements.
Had the French held firm, in all probability a stand would have been
made on this line. But there is no object in speculating about it now.
The view adopted by the Commander-in-Chief, which determined a further
retreat, may best be given in his own words:
"The French were still retiring, and I had no support except such as
was afforded by the fortress of Maubeuge; and the determined attempts
of the enemy to get round my left flank assured me that it was his
intention to hem me against that place and surround me. I felt that
not a moment must be lost in retiring to another position."
"I hoped," he adds, "that the enemy's pursuit would not be too vigorous
to prevent me effecting my object."
This hope was, fortunately, fulfilled, and the second day's retirement
was, on the whole, less eventful. Later I will hazard a suggestion why
it was so.
The necessary orders had been given overnight to be clear of the
Valenciennes--Bavai--Maubeuge road by 5.30 A.M. The Second Corps got
clear by the time specified, but the First Corps could only begin their
move at that hour, and so got behind. This fact tended to make
inevitable the fight which took place that evening at Landrecies.
It was, as I remember, a baking hot day, with a blazing sun in a
cloudless sky. Along English country roads and through our own little
dappled-grey villages it would have been trying enough; but French
roads, built Roman fashion, do not try to be picturesque and charming,
and they certainly have no sense of humour like ours. Thus, the day's
march was simply purgatory to a tired force. The fruit trees with
their harvest really saved the situation. But, oh, those green apples
and pears!
Once again, do not imagine the regiments trekking along straight for
their next destination. The day was less eventful only in comparison
with Monday and Wednesday. It was a rear-guard action most of the way,
and there was quite enough fighting to break the monotony, with some
big cavalry actions and the 5th Brigade heavily engaged.
Take, for instance, a field battery in the 2nd Division. The
time-table would be something like this: 5.30 A.M., open fire; 6, cease
fire and limber up; 6.10, en route to new position; 6.30, halt, open
fire; 6.40, cease fire, limber up, and start off for new position;
7.15, halt, open fire; and so on all through the day. In fact, that
was the ordinary day's programme. The particular battery I have in
mind had a little adventure all to itself on Tuesday. It is of
interest as revealing another side of German thoroughness.
The battery was in action, but had temporarily ceased firing, and the
detachments were lying by the guns.
A big grey "Sunbeam" drew up on a road to the flank of the battery, and
a couple of red-tabbed Staff officers jumped out, walked up to the
nearest gun, and started to chat with one of the gunners.
After a few remarks about how well the battery had been doing, they
asked some questions about casualties, positions of neighbouring
batteries, the infantry near them, and the usual facts which the Staff
come to inquire about.
The major had been watching from the far flank, and, as the Staff
officers turned to get into their car, he remarked to the
sergeant-major:
"I don't quite like the look of those two officers; there's something
wrong about them." And he had a look through his glasses.
Some distance along the road there was marching down a company of
R.E.'s.
"Call up those sappers (by flag) and tell them to hold up that car."
The sergeant-major repeated the message to the flag-wagger.
"Stop grey car--suspicious."
The R.E. sergeant ran up to the subaltern in charge:
"Battery signals 'stop grey car.'"
"Well, stop it, then," replied the subaltern irritably.
So the grey car was stopped, very much to the annoyance of two Staff
officers who were in a great hurry to get back to G.H.Q.
"Very sorry, sir," said the subaltern, "but it's a telegraph message
from that battery. The O.C. has probably got something special to send
to G.H.Q." And the car was escorted back again.
The O.C. had "something special to send" in the shape of a couple of
German officers, very carefully disguised as British. A drum-head
court-martial was held at Corps H.Q., and as the Germans in question
were hopelessly compromised by the very full notes which they had
managed to collect from various units about the Force, the case was
clear.
"Guilty. To be shot at dawn."
They were plucky fellows, but--well, a spy is a spy, and that's all
about it.
Less than a week before the country folk had watched with delight and
relief the passing of mighty transport columns of British, had welcomed
and cheered the men forward, proud and confident in the anticipation of
early victory.
Now imagine their feelings, their alarm, at the sight of British
regiments, war-worn, weary and battered, trailing back as fast as they
could move.
Of what use was it to tell them that this was only a strategical
retirement? Panic spreads quickly, and once the hint of calamity is
given it is impossible to check the alarm.
But even then it was some little time before the stolid peasants of
Northern France could grasp the meaning of what they saw, and I
remember well how the inhabitants of a certain little village crowded
out to watch the extraordinary (to them) behaviour of a regiment which
was in the extreme rear of the retiring First Corps.
The village overlooked a valley, and there was a splendid view of the
British lines retiring in open order up the hill towards the little
hamlet. They came up panting heavily and, just under the brow of the
hill, set to work to dig up some rough shelter. The folk stood
watching, laughing and talking, until an exasperated lance-corporal
threw his tool in front of an oldish man.
"'Ere, it's about b---- well time _you_ did a bit"; and the corporal
sat down to wipe off some of the dirt from his face.
In a few minutes all the men and women had started digging as though
for buried treasure, and the British sat still for a spell and
encouraged them with happy comments.
Very soon down the opposite slope thousands of little grey-blue ants
came swiftly, and from the ridge behind them dim flashes shot out.
"Now, then, you'd better 'op it!" said the lance-corporal.
And even then they didn't understand what those ants really were.
"Allmonds!" was the lance-corporal's laconic remark.
The arrival of a shell settled it, and the villagers ran helter-skelter
for their houses and little treasures. In a quarter of an hour another
pitiable reinforcement had joined the ranks of the refugee army flying
southwards, and only the old curé remained, ever true to his charge.
They were gallant gentlemen those French curés, and bravely they faced
the death which nearly always overtook them at the hands of those
murderers.
It was not until the British had turned to advance from the Marne that
they began fully to realise the nature of the Germans. As yet they
encountered no evidence of the atrocious, bestial work of the enemy.
But already rumour was busy, and even on this day I had recorded
authentic details that the Germans were placing women and children
before their advancing infantry, and that they were stabbing the
wounded with the bayonet.
On the Sunday another British Division, the 4th, had arrived at Le
Cateau, the little town to which the Force was now moving. This meant
a reinforcement of some 14,500 men, together with three field
batteries. They were there waiting to come into action on the
Wednesday, and in the meantime had begun to entrench.
The general line of retirement on the Tuesday was:
(_a_) First Corps, Bavai--Maubeuge, to Landrecies--Maroilles.
(_b_) Second Corps, Bry--Bavai, to west of Le Cateau.
A glance at the picture-map will show the position of these places. It
will be noted that the various divisions kept together pretty well.
Also that between Landrecies and Le Cateau there was a gap in the line
which the 6th Brigade could not properly fill. The Commander-in-Chief
remarks in his dispatch that the men in the First Corps were too
exhausted to march farther so as to cover this gap.
You picture, then, the regiments arriving one by one at the end of that
most exhausting day. The men dog-tired, hardly able to drag their feet
over the burning ground, no proper meal since a hasty breakfast at
dawn, fighting on and off all day, and now simply done to the world.
Now, it is a golden rule in the Service that, however tired the men may
be, they must set to work at the end of their march to entrench
themselves or otherwise prepare against possible attack. I leave it to
your imagination to realise the meaning of "discipline" when you learn
that the men did entrench themselves that evening. And never was that
rule more finely vindicated.
I conceive Marshal von Kluck at German G.H.Q. soliloquising that
Tuesday morning something in this wise:
"My friends von Buelow and Hausen have between them settled with the
French on this side, and _they_ won't give any more trouble. Von
Buelow and I have pretty well pounded and demoralised the English, and
one more effort should finish _them_. Now, I will just give them
enough to keep them busy through to-day, keep them on the run and
exhaust them thoroughly, and then to-night we'll have a really hot
attack and crumple up the First Corps. They'll never stand that; and
we shall then have the rest of their army surrounded."?
And that is the suggestion about the day's work which I venture to
make. We have seen how the daylight hours went for the British, and
how the Force drifted in to their destinations. Now we will see how
von Kluck crumpled up the First Corps with his night attack.
The 1st Division was halted in and about Maroilles, and the 2nd
Division at Landrecies. They were therefore on the extreme right of
the line, with their flank more or less "in the air," for no French
seemed to be near. Landrecies was held by the 4th Brigade, battalions
of the Foot Guards, Grenadiers, Coldstreams and Irish, under General
Scott-Kerr.
The torrid heat of the day had been the prelude to a cool, rainy
evening. Room was found for about two-thirds of the Brigade in the
houses and halls of the little town--a typical French country-town,
with its straight streets and market-place. The remainder of the men
got what little comfort they could on a rainy night outside.
By 9 P.M. they had hardly begun to settle down, after "clearing decks
for action"--in case. Outposts had been placed, and the men were
congratulating themselves on a comfortable shelter after so many nights
of foot slogging. At 9.30 lights were out, and town and country-side
were in pitch darkness.
A battalion of the Coldstream Guards had not yet arrived, but was about
a quarter of a mile from the town, marching in. The colonel was at the
head of the column with the guide. This man persisted in flashing an
electric torch to and fro towards the left, and the C.O. peremptorily
ordered him to put it out.
The man obeyed for a few yards, and then flashed the light again.
The C.O. at once grasped the situation, drew his revolver, and shot the
spy dead.
It was as though that bullet had been fired straight into a mountain of
gunpowder.
With a terrific crash German guns opened fire. Simultaneously, on
front and flank, rifles and machine-guns blazed out.
A German night attack is no question of feeling a way in open order
until the enemy's outposts are driven in; it comes down like a smith's
hammer on the anvil.
The Coldstreamers, with miraculous discipline, swung round and got into
a kind of line with the outposts already there, then continued
retirement to the town at the double.
The outpost line was crushed through almost in a moment like tissue
paper, and before anyone could grasp what was happening the Germans
were pouring their massed columns into the town.
Thus began perhaps the most critical and certainly the most remarkable
fight in which British regiments have ever been engaged.
Tired out, the men tumbled out of the houses; three privates and a
corporal here, a dozen men and a sergeant there, a subaltern, a private
and a machine-gun at another corner, half a dozen men at two
first-floor windows somewhere else. And the only light came from the
flash of the rifles.
There was no idea of forming ranks, even had it been possible. Slowly,
steadily up the streets the great German mammoth crept, and, like
tigers at their prey, the men of the Guards sprang at head and flanks,
worrying with grim-set teeth to the heart of the beast.
Now the British machine-guns opened fire straight upon the head of the
column, swept it away, swept the succeeding ranks, until the mass was
brought to a standstill.
More Guardsmen threw themselves straight at the ranks, firing as they
could, crashing in with bayonet and clubbed rifle.
Now the column shivers; but the Germans are brave men. They rally, for
their comrades are pouring into the town to help them. Up side streets
and lanes, by all the approaches they come, and everywhere the men of
the Guards spring at them.
But surely numbers must tell. What can four battered regiments,
fighting by handfuls, do in face of such thousands of a fresh army
corps!
From Maroilles right down the line the British are fighting for their
lives, for von Kluck has staked heavily on this throw, and it would
seem that the dice are loaded. He pushes his guns up still closer
until some are firing into the town almost at point-blank range.
Again, what does it matter if his own men are swept away? There are
thousands more to fill their places.
The houses have begun to blaze fiercely in the torrents of rain, and
there is plenty of light at last. And now the Guards rally for a
supreme effort. The last, the forlorn hope--but it is the Guards, and
at least they will go down fighting to the last man.
One mighty heave--in at them--again--they are breaking--heave!
They have done it. Broken them. Driven them out. And behind them the
enemy leave close upon 1,000 dead.
Away up by Maroilles Sir Douglas Haig has fought his men like one
possessed, and there, too, he has broken the German attack, just as two
French Reserve Divisions came up to his aid.
Slowly, sullenly, von Kluck withdraws his legions. Slowly and fitfully
the firing dies away, and by 2 A.M. all is still once more.