MORE STORIES OF THE RETREAT.
The stories which you have read in these pages have been told by British
soldiers. I am sure you would now like to read some French stories of
various incidents which occurred during the retreat. The following story
relates how a French cavalryman received the surrender of three hundred
Germans.
One fine morning in August, during a sharp engagement in a small village
of Alsace, a French hussar was captured by the enemy. The Germans, who
numbered three hundred, were then holding the village. Shortly
afterwards French artillery began to shell the place, and it was evident
that an infantry attack would soon follow.
When the French infantry were seen advancing, the German officer sought
advice from the captured hussar. "If you resist," said the Frenchman,
"your whole command will be shot down." To this the German replied, "We
are willing to surrender, but we are afraid that your people will put us
to death." The hussar gave his word of honour that no such fate would
overtake them, and assured them that in France the rules of civilized
warfare were always observed. "You need fear nothing," concluded the
hussar; "you will be well treated by my countrymen."
A sigh of relief escaped from the lips of the officer, and he said,
"Such being the case, we will surrender." At once the hussar placed
himself at the head of the column, gave the order to march, and with
three hundred Germans at his heels led the way to the French lines,
where he handed over his prisoners.
* * * * *
Here is a story in praise of German courage. It is told by a British
artilleryman. "The grandest thing I saw out there," he says, "was the
fight of a handful of Germans. These chaps were the last of a regiment
to cross a stream under a fiendish rifle and artillery fire.
"They were hotly pursued by French cavalry and infantry, and when they
saw that it was all up with them, the remnant made for a little hill and
gathered round the regimental flag, to fight to the last. The French
closed round them, and called on them to surrender; but not they! They
stood there, back to back, until the last man went down with the flag in
his grasp and a dozen bullet wounds in his body.
"Then the flag was captured by the French; but there was no shouting
over the victory, and every soldier who passed that way, and knew the
story of those chaps, bared his head to the memory of brave men."
* * * * *
In your history books you read of the Battle of Fontenoy, which was
fought five miles south-east of Tournai in the year 1745. In that
battle, so the story goes, an English general shouted to the enemy,
"Gentlemen of the French Guards, fire first." To which they replied,
"The French Guard never fires first; fire yourselves." Strange to say,
an incident which recalls this exchange of courtesies took place on
August 28, 1914, when a French infantry battalion entered Mezières in
order to defend the bridges over the Meuse. On reaching the railway
bridge, the French lieutenant commanding the detachment learnt that a
German patrol was hiding in the station. Taking some men with him, he
hurried off to the station and dispersed the patrol. The German officer
took refuge in an engine shed, and was discovered by the lieutenant
hiding behind a tender. The German prepared to sell his life dearly. The
opponents, revolver in hand, stood facing each other. "Pray shoot," said
the Frenchman; whereupon the German did so, and missed. The Frenchman
then fired, and shot his adversary dead.
* * * * *
How a young French bull played a soldier's part is told in the following
story. Early in September, when the Germans were approaching a village
between the Marne and the Seine, the inhabitants opened their cowsheds
and set the animals free, so that they might not easily be captured by
the enemy. Among the cattle was a steer, which was so terrified by the
sound of guns that it charged directly at a German infantry company
which had taken up a position on a mound. Mad with rage, the animal
dashed into the midst of the Germans, knocking them over like ninepins.
Several men fired at him; but the bullets only maddened him the more. He
did not fall until he had laid eighteen Germans low.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Hard Pressed.
_By permission of The Sphere._
This picture illustrates an incident at La Fère during the retreat. The
French, after snatching a few hours' sleep, were shelled in the gray of
the dawning, and were obliged to rush hastily from their billets to
resist the German onset. After taking a heavy toll of the enemy they
continued their retreat.]
A very interesting story is told of a young Frenchwoman who was a
servant in a girls' boarding-school situated in a village on the line of
German advance. When war broke out the pupils were sent away to their
homes, and she was left alone in the school, with an old deaf lady who
had lost the full use of her limbs. When the Germans entered the village
they went through the girls' school from cellar to attic, collecting all
the linen and bedding for the use of their wounded, whom, for some
reason best known to themselves, they installed, not in the main school
building but in the adjoining chapel.
The servant girl tended the German wounded with great devotion, for two
reasons: first, because she was very tender-hearted; and secondly,
because she had a special reason for wishing to stand well with the
invaders. She had a secret, and it was this. Down in the grotto at the
foot of the school garden she had concealed ten British "Tommies," who
had lost their way, and had arrived hungry, weary, and footsore just an
hour before the Germans entered the village. "They will be here in a
moment," said the British officer, not wishing that the girl should run
into danger on their behalf. "Never mind," she said; "I'll hide you
somewhere, and look after you." Then she led them to the grotto.
The soldiers found their quarters narrow, damp, and very uncomfortable.
The girl was anxious to give them better accommodation, so in the night
she managed to get them into the house and instal them in the unoccupied
rooms on the top floor of the school.
The ten "Tommies" were now in comfortable quarters; but how to feed them
was a difficult question. She gave them her own food, but that was not
enough. Then she went to and fro amongst her friends and relations,
begging a piece of bread here and some vegetables there. When the
Germans saw her with a heavily-loaded basket they were suspicious, and
asked her what she was going to do with the food. "It is for your
wounded in the chapel," she said, and their suspicions were allayed. She
appointed herself cook for the Germans, and was thus able to pick up all
sorts of broken victuals for her friends on the top floor. British
soldiers, as you know, are very fond of tobacco, and the girl was
anxious to provide them with something to smoke. The Germans had made a
rule that no one was to buy more than two sous' worth of tobacco at a
time. This made her task very hard, but it did not daunt her. She got
together some boy friends, and sent them to buy small quantities of
tobacco at various shops each day. In this way the "Tommies" on the top
floor were able to enjoy their pipes while they remained in hiding.
A hundred times a day they were in danger of being discovered by the
Germans. The clever girl knew this, so she provided them with a rope,
which they hung down through trap doors to the ground floor. She advised
them to practise escape drill, so that they might get away if the
Germans discovered them. This they did, and were soon quite expert.
"Just imagine!" said the girl when she told the story: "my Englishmen
after a few days were able to strap their haversacks and all slip down
the rope noiselessly in less than five minutes."
Happily the "Tommies" were never discovered, and there was no need for
them to use their rope as a means of escape. Some time afterwards the
Germans were obliged to leave the town, and the British soldiers were
able to reach their own lines in safety. Before they departed they gave
the girl their names and addresses, and begged her to come to England
when the war was over, so that they might repay her for all her
kindness. The French paper which reports the story says that one of the
ten was a nobleman, a relative of King George, and that his name
was--Lord Smith! Can't you imagine the merry face of the rogue who gave
the girl this astounding piece of information?
* * * * *
I have already told you that every French boy must be a soldier when he
is twenty years of age. Many of the French boys who were in their teens
when the war broke out were very keen to shoulder a rifle and march
against the enemy. When the Germans drew near to Paris, a boy named
André, who was only twelve years of age, felt that he must do something
to defend his country. One day he disappeared, leaving behind him the
following letter:--
"My dear Father and Mother,--I am starting for the war. Don't
worry about me. I have my savings-bank money.--Your loving son,
"André."
A fortnight passed, and the anxious parents heard nothing of their boy.
Then one morning he reappeared, very hardy and sunburnt but very
sorrowful, and gave this account of his adventures. He had travelled
many long miles before he reached a regiment of the army. He told the
men he had come to help them. They laughed at him, but they had not the
heart to send him away. So he had marched with them, shared their
rations, and slept in their bivouacs or billets at night. At last the
colonel noticed him, and made him give an account of himself. The upshot
was, that he was sent home to wait until he was some years older and
could join the army in the proper way.
* * * * *
Now I must tell you some British stories. Lance-Corporal Nolan of the
Scots Greys, who formed one of a reconnoitring party, was preparing to
engage a German patrol when a scout came up to say that a whole division
of the enemy was at hand. The Greys attacked the patrol; but our hero
had his horse shot under him, and he received a bullet in the right arm.
A sergeant gave him a lift on his horse, and together they tried to
gallop into safety. As they dashed on through the streets of a village,
the Germans fired at them from the windows, killing the horse and
wounding the sergeant. Both men were captured, and the Germans stripped
them of everything but their trousers and shirts. One man snatched from
Nolan the revolver which he had taken from a German officer, and was
about to rob him of his shirt, when the very German officer from whom he
had taken the revolver appeared, and said, "You are the man who took my
revolver. Let me have it back instantly." Nolan replied, "I haven't got
it. One of your own men has taken it." "Then come with me," said the
officer, "and find the man who took it, and I will have him shot." "I
went round with him," said Nolan, "as a matter of form; but I was not
having any. Even if I had found the chap who had taken the revolver, I
should not have peached on him, as I knew what his fate would have
been." Nolan was afterwards taken to hospital, and was left behind when
the Germans were driven off by a British cavalry brigade. Finally his
comrades took him back to his own lines.
* * * * *
Many stories are told of brave fellows who have gallantly dashed through
a storm of bullets to carry important messages to their comrades in
other trenches. A wounded corporal of the Gloucester Regiment gives us
an instance which occurred during the retreat. "Orders had been given to
a battalion holding an advanced position to fall back. The only way to
get the order through was for a man to run the gauntlet of a murderous
fire. Volunteers were called for from the Royal Irish Fusiliers. All
wanted to go, but by tossing for it a choice was made. The man on whom
the lot fell was a shock-headed fellow, who didn't look as if there was
much in him; but he had grit. Ducking his head in a way that made us
laugh, he rushed into the hail of shot and shell. He cleared the first
hundred yards without being hit, but in the second hundred they brought
him down. He rose again and struggled on for a few minutes, but was hit
once more, and then collapsed.
"Two men now dashed into the fire and rushed across, while the Germans
were doing their best to pot them. One picked up the wounded man and
started back to the trenches with him, while the other took the dispatch
and ran ahead with it. Just as the wounded man and his mate were within
a few yards of our trenches, and we were cheering them, there came
another hail of bullets, and both went down dead. Meanwhile the man with
the dispatch was racing for all that he was worth. He got through all
right, until in the last lap he was brought down like a felled ox. He
was seen from the other trenches, and half a dozen men rushed out to his
aid. They were all shot down, but he was now crawling towards the
trenches with his message. With assistance he reached them, and, d,
thanks to him, the battalion was safely withdrawn to a new position."
* * * * *
In the dispatch describing the first part of the retreat from Mons, Sir
John French said: "I wish particularly to bring to your lordship's
notice the admirable work done by the Royal Flying Corps, under Sir
David Henderson. Their skill, energy, and perseverance have been beyond
all praise."
[Illustration: A British Aviation Camp.
_Photo, Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._]
Here is a story which shows you the resource and coolness of a British
flying man in a very tight place. During the retreat to the Marne a
squadron commander, with a passenger, made a long scouting flight over a
part of the country from which the British had withdrawn while he was in
the air. On his return he descended in a field which seemed to afford
him a good landing-place, and was, as he thought, within the British
lines. As his machine was running along the grass and about to come to
rest, he saw to his amazement two mounted German officers galloping
towards him, and behind them large numbers of infantry, who had been
hidden behind the trees.
Fortunately, the propeller of his aeroplane was still revolving, so he
opened the throttle and set the engine going again at top speed. Instead
of rising rapidly from the ground, he flew along quite close to the
German officers, waving his hand in friendly greeting. His passenger at
once grasped the situation, and followed the pilot's example. The
Germans thought that they were two of their own air scouts, and cheered
them heartily.
The pilot turned and flew back across the German front again, waving his
hand and showing other signs of friendliness. Slowly he rose, higher and
higher, and circled round and round, until he was high in the air, when
he headed for the safety of the Royal Flying Corps camp. He had
completely deceived the enemy, and had obtained valuable information as
to their numbers and the positions which they held. You will be able to
appreciate fully the cleverness of this flying man when I tell you that
there was a Union Jack painted on the wings of his aeroplane. He very
skilfully turned and "banked" his machine so that the near wing-tips
pointed down to the Germans, and the underside of the wings which showed
the Union Jack were thus hidden from view, until he was so far up in the
air as to be out of range of their guns.
* * * * *
According to custom, I will conclude this chapter by giving you the
names of the heroes who were awarded the Victoria Cross during the
latter part of the British retreat. All of them belong to Battery L of
the Royal Horse Artillery. They are:--
Battery Sergeant-Major George Thomas Dorrell (now Second Lieutenant). I
have already told you (see pages 147-8) how he continued to serve a gun
at Néry on 1st September until all the ammunition was expended. You will
remember that all the officers of his battery were killed or wounded,
and that he and his mates were subjected to a terrible fire from guns
and Maxims at a range of only six hundred yards.
Sergeant David Nelson (now Second Lieutenant). While under heavy fire at
Néry, and severely wounded, he helped to bring the guns into action, and
remained with them until all the ammunition was used up, although he had
been ordered to retire to cover.
Captain Edward Kinder Bradbury. You read on page 147 how gallantly he
rallied the men of his battery, and directed their fire until he was
shot down. Unhappily, the Victoria Cross was not awarded to him until
after his lamented death.