STORIES OF THE RETREAT FROM MONS TO ST. QUENTIN.
From what you have read in the two previous chapters you will gather
that, during the four days' battle which was fought between Mons and St.
Quentin, incident crowded upon incident. You may be sure that our
soldiers had much to say of their experiences when they wrote home, or
when they arrived on this side of the Channel to nurse their honourable
wounds. Before, however, I tell you some of their stories, let us learn
what happened at Tournai. You will remember that while our men were
holding the Condé-Mons-Binche line a French Territorial battalion was
defending Tournai. It was by way of this town that von Kluck was trying
to turn the British left. In order to help the French in Tournai, the
British Commander-in-chief sent them twenty-two pieces of field
artillery, two heavy guns, and a force which only numbered seven hundred
all told.
Tournai[57] is one of the most ancient cities of Belgium. It is as old
as Cæsar, and its history is very warlike. Few towns have borne the
brunt of so many sieges, and have changed hands so often. The Duke of
Marlborough captured it in 1709. It contains one of the noblest
cathedrals in Europe; a fine Cloth Hall, which is now a museum and
picture gallery; a belfry with a set of chimes; and other interesting
buildings. In 1653, near one of the old churches, a tomb was discovered
containing the sword and other relics of Childeric I.,[58] one of the
early kings of the Franks, a group of tribes which settled in the Lower
Rhine valley about 250 A.D., and afterwards gave its name to France.
Amongst the relics in the tomb were three hundred small figures in gold,
resembling bees. When Napoleon ordered the robe in which he was crowned,
he had it embroidered with gold bees instead of the usual French lilies.
Tournai is one of the cleanest and pleasantest of Belgian industrial
towns. The quays on the Scheldt are planted with trees, and the old
walls have been turned into promenades.
A civilian who witnessed the fighting at Tournai tells us that the
French Territorials, who were only one thousand strong, had barely
arrived, after an eleven miles' march, when they were fired on by German
guns. The firing began at 8 a.m. on Monday, 24th August, and shortly
afterwards the Germans entered the town. He saw them in the garden of
the station square taking cover under the bushes and behind the statues,
and firing along all the streets that radiate from it. Then he heard the
quick, continuous reports of the machine guns, which, he says, sounded
like the noise of a very loud motor-cycle engine. The French made their
last stand before the bridges of the Scheldt. They were mainly men of
forty, but they held their ground the whole morning against a deadly
fire, and only gave way when they were surrounded by the Germans.
Our seven hundred British with their guns were posted to the south-west
of the town. An artillery duel began at 11, and continued fiercely until
2.30. Shrapnel continually burst over the trenches and batteries; but
there was no flinching, and the gunners took a fearful toll of the
advancing foe. Reinforcements had been promised, but they failed to
arrive. Swarms of German cavalry, not less than five thousand of them,
now swooped upon the little band of British, who fought desperately, and
used the bayonet with deadly effect. After an agonizing struggle of an
hour and a half, during which the Germans rode right up to the muzzles
of the guns, "all that was left of them," some three hundred men, fought
their way from the field, and escaped by the Cambrai road. "The last I
saw of one of our officers," said a survivor, "was that he had a
revolver in his hand, and was firing away, screened by his gun. He alone
must have accounted for a dozen Uhlans. They were falling on all sides
of him." The British guns were captured.
Such was the fine feat of arms performed by a handful of Britons at
Tournai. They were assailed by a force that outnumbered them ten to one;
but they stood their ground, and made a defence worthy to rank with that
of Rorke's Drift.[59] The British soldier is never so great as when
facing "fearful odds."
[Illustration: The City of Tournai.
_Photo, Central News._
The scene of the heroic stand described on page 107.]
* * * * *
I have already told you how the Belgian and French townsfolk and
villagers looked upon the British as their deliverers, and how readily
they gave them food and lodging. I am sure you can understand the
anguish of these poor people when they saw the British retreating, and
leaving them to the mercy of the dreaded Uhlans. In many places they
made little bundles of their most precious belongings, and, locking up
their houses, fled southwards. Here is an amusing story of a British
officer's experience with a family that remained:--
"After the Battle of Mons we were billeted at a large farmhouse, the
inhabitants of which did not seem very pleased to see us. We had not
touched any eatables for several hours, and I made the housewife
understand that we wanted some food. She looked at us in a way which was
not altogether an expression of friendliness, and pointing to the table,
round which a number of men were gathered, to whom she was serving their
meals, she said, 'After my workpeople.'
"We waited patiently till the men had finished their meal, and then
asked once more for food. But the woman merely remarked, 'After us,' and
she and her husband prepared to eat their supper. It is rather trying to
see somebody making an attack on a hearty meal while one has not tasted
any food for a long time. So I demanded, in the name of the King, that
we should be supplied with foodstuffs immediately, the more so that the
woman seemed so unwilling to grant our wishes. The only answer she made
was that if we were in want of food we should have to look for it
ourselves, and try to prepare it.
"The situation was rather awkward, and I was wondering why these French
peasants were so extremely unkind towards British soldiers.
"Suddenly it entered my mind that perhaps she thought we were Germans!
At the same time I had something like a happy thought in order to prove
that we were not. One of our men, a tall, heavy chap, who was still
outside the house, was ordered to substitute a German helmet for his own
cap, and to knock at the door. He did: the door was opened, we dashed
forward, and made 'the German' a prisoner.
"The whole scene changed all of a sudden. The whole family embraced us,
almost choked us. Food and wine and dainties were supplied at once, and
we had a most glorious time."
* * * * *
The following story of the retreat is told by Private Stewart of the
Royal Scots. "After Mons," he says, "the hardships of fighting on the
retreat began. We had little time for sleep; both day and night we
retreated, and as they marched the men slept. If a man in front of you
happened to stop, you found yourself bumping into him. At one place
where we halted for the day the lady of the farmhouse was washing, so
some of us took off our shirts to have them washed. While they were
hanging up to dry the order came that the troops had to move on, and the
wet garments had to be put on just as they were. Mine was dry next
morning."
A party of Royal Scots which was cut off from its main body joined up
with the Grenadier Guards, and fought in the streets of Landrecies. The
Germans called on them to surrender; but a Royal Scots officer replied,
"British never surrender! Fix bayonets! Charge!" So well did they charge
that the Germans went down before them in large numbers.
* * * * *
Here is a fine story of a young soldier of the King's Own Scottish
Borderers. While trying to cross two planks over a canal that was being
peppered with machine-gun fire, the youngster received a flesh wound,
and was about to fall. Colonel Stephenson gripped him to save him from
falling into the canal, and said, "You had better go back to the
hospital, sonny." So he did; but scarcely had he reached the hospital
when the Germans began shelling it, and he and the other patients had to
beat a quick retreat. Some time later he was on sentry go by a wayside
shrine, and was waiting for the reliefs to come round, when he saw
Germans in the distance. He fired at them once or twice--"for luck," as
he said--but almost immediately received another wound in the body. This
time it was so serious that he had to be sent home.
Colonel Stephenson, who is mentioned in this story, was the hero of
another life-saving episode. During the fighting at Le Cateau one of the
captains of his regiment fell in front of the British trenches. Without
a moment's hesitation the colonel rushed out to carry in the captain,
and in doing so exposed himself to a fierce fire. As he entered the
lines with his unconscious burden the men gave him a rousing cheer.
Later in the day he was hit, and was assisted into an ambulance wagon;
but shortly afterwards he came out of it, in order, as he said, to make
room for men who were worse wounded than himself. Almost immediately
afterwards the retreat was continued, and the colonel was picked up and
made prisoner by the Germans.
* * * * *
There was scarcely an hour during the whole retreat which was not marked
by some noble deed of self-sacrifice. A private of the 1st Cheshires
tells us admiringly of the great pluck of a wounded lieutenant of the A
Company. "I only know his nickname, which was 'Winkepop.' He had been
shot through his right leg and left foot, and we cut off his boots and
attempted roughly to bandage his wounds. As he rose to his feet, he saw
one of our privates in distress about fifteen yards away, and seizing
his gun, he rushed or hobbled forward to bring him in, which he managed
to do on his back, under a murderous fire from the enemy. Having dropped
his rifle and sword in this courageous act, he made his way back for
them, and we missed him after that, and indeed he has not been seen
since."
* * * * *
In an earlier chapter we read of the splendid spirit of comradeship
shown by officers to men and men to officers in the British army. A good
instance is afforded by the letter of a private of the Yorkshire Light
Infantry, who thus writes to General Wynn telling him of the death of
his son, Lieutenant Wynn: "I have been asked by friends of ours to let
you know fuller particulars of your son's death. He was my platoon
officer, and he met his death at Landrecies. Sir, these are a few of the
instances which made your son liked by all his men. He was a gentleman
and a soldier. The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the
trenches, and we asked him if he would have a drink. He said, 'No; drink
it yourselves.' And then, with a smile, he added, 'We have to hold the
trenches to-day.' Again, at Mons we had been fighting all day, and some
one had brought us a sack of pears and two loaves of bread. Lieutenant
Wynn accepted only one pear and a very little bread. We noticed this. I
had a small bottle of pickles in my haversack, and asked him to have
some. But it was the usual answer, 'You require them yourselves.' Our
regiment was holding the first line of trenches, and Lieutenant Wynn was
told to hold the right of the company. Word was passed down to see if
Lieutenant Wynn was all right, and I was just putting up my head when
they hit me, and I heard from a neighbour that Lieutenant Wynn was hit
through the eye and died instantly. He died doing his duty, and like the
officer and gentleman he was."
[Illustration: Ready, aye ready!
_Photo, Daily Mirror._]
[Footnote 57: _Toor-nay´._]
[Footnote 58: Reigned from 463 to 481; the father of Clovis, who founded
the kingdom of the Franks. His capital was at Tournai.]
[Footnote 59: On the Buffalo River, Natal; scene of heroic stand by a
handful of the 24th Regiment after the Zulus had cut up our troops
(January 22, 1879).]