Part 6

That was all. Remains only little details, only one of which I will tell you. The most romantic, dramatic, and piquant episode that modern war can ever show. The _Defender_, having sunk an enemy, lowered a whaler to pick up her swimming survivors; before the whaler got back an enemy’s cruiser came up and chased the _Defender_, and thus she abandoned her whaler. Imagine their feelings--alone in an open boat without food, 25 miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy’s fortress, with nothing but fog and foes around them. Suddenly a swirl alongside and up, if you please, pops his Britannic Majesty’s submarine E 4, opens his conning tower, takes them all on board, shuts up again, dives, and brings them home 250 miles! Is not that magnificent? No novel would dare face the critics with an episode like that in it, except, perhaps, Jules Verne; and all true!

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_Letter 36.--From a seaman on one of the British destroyers:_

We have at last had an innings at the Germans. It was a go. Fully seven hours we fought shot for shot. I had the pleasure of seeing four German ships go down. We never knew but it might be our turn next, as great shells were falling all around us. Several shells went just over our heads, whistling just like a needle on a broken record. Would you believe it, one of our boats had actually stopped to pick up German wounded when the Germans fired on her?

I think all our men took it just as though we were having our annual battle practice--cool, laughing, and cracking jokes, with shell all around them. All the thought was just of shooting it into them--and they got it! I was told they lost 1,500 men. I shall never understand how it was our ship was not hit, for we were within range of their cruisers and the Heligoland forts. We are ready for another smack at them.

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_Letter 37.--From a seaman on H.M.S. “New Zealand” to his uncle in Halifax:_

The torpedo craft had rather a hot time with the enemy in the early morning, but suddenly we appeared out of the mist. To say that they were surprised is to put it mildly, because before they knew where they were we were playing our light cruisers, and the destroyers worried them like terriers. Then for us to come along and give them the _coup de grace_ was absolutely _It_.

Two of their ships, I am convinced, would have been floating to-day, but as our small ships gathered round them to take off their survivors--all their flags were struck--they opened fire, only to be sent to Davy Jones’s locker a little quicker than they could shoot. Well, we succeeded in sending some good ships and some unfortunate men to the bottom in something like fourteen minutes. Not a bad score for the cricket season, is it?

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_Letter 38.--From a seaman on board the flagship of the first destroyer squadron, to his friends at Wimbledon:_

We had a very decent splash last week off Heligoland, as doubtless you have read. Our ship was not hit at all, though some shots were pretty near. It was a fine sight to see the _Lion_ demolish one cruiser. We could see her (the cruiser’s) shots falling short, but still the _Lion_ did not fire. For fully ten minutes the cruiser belted away without getting a hit. Then the _Lion_, who was leading the line, hoisted “open fire,” turned slowly and majestically round and fired her broadside--once. It was quite sufficient. Up went a cloud of smoke and steam from the target, and when it cleared her aft funnel was at a rakish angle, and a huge rent appeared the length of her side.

After a few more “salvoes” she was rapidly sinking by the stern. Shortly afterwards she half-hauled down her ensign, and as we were steaming up to stand by and rescue her survivors, she hoisted it again and opened fire. It was a dirty trick, but they got their deserts. Once again the _Lion_ turned, and this time fired but five shots from her huge turrets. Amidst a shower of splinters, smoke, and fire she disappeared. We steamed over the spot, but although there was plenty of wreckage, not a single living thing was to be seen. This incident only lasted about forty-five minutes, although the whole battle was raging for eight hours.

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_Letter 39.--Front leading telegraphist H. Francis, of Croydon:_

We had the first taste of blood on Friday, and I can tell you it was O.T. The battle lasted from 6.30 a.m. till one p.m., going at it hammer and tongs all the time.

We came back with sixty prisoners, one of them being Admiral von Tirpitz’s son, who was second-lieutenant in the _Mainz_. We were within twenty yards of her when she went down, and I can tell you it was a grand sight.

Their officers were shooting the men as they jumped overboard, and one chap on the bridge was beckoned to by our commander to come off. But there was “nothing doing.” He simply folded his arms, shook his head, and as the ship rolled over he never moved. The captain also went down in her. He had both his legs blown off.

For a quarter of an hour the sea was simply alive with Germans, all singing out most piteously, and, as we pulled them on board, we marvelled how they managed to swim with the wounds they had, some with feet off, some with one or two legs off, some with their arms gone.

The Kaiser has been stuffing his men up that the English cannot shoot. They know differently now. They were greatly surprised when we picked them up and looked after them.

Pleased to say I am enjoying myself, and longing for more.

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_Letter 40.--From Gunner T. White:_

We didn’t waste more shots than was necessary on the Germans off Heligoland. One of their destroyers was knocked over first shot. It was one of the cleanest shots you ever saw, and the man who fired it is the proudest man in our ship to-day.

Next time I fancy the Germans will want to make it a rule of the fight that a German ship must be allowed at least ten shots to one of ours before the knock-out is fired. Of course, it’s very hard on the rest of us, because it simply means that the gunner who gets first shot does the trick, and we may be in a dozen fights and never get a shot at the enemy once, because there’s nothing left to hit.

Since that first engagement, the British Fleet has been waiting alert for the enemy to come out of hiding and give them a second chance; and has incidentally been busy sweeping the sea of floating mines and prowling after mine-layers that, disguised as Grimsby trawlers, have succeeded in putting in some deadly work.

An interesting account of the efficiency of this policing of the North Sea was related by two trawler skippers, a week after the fight, to a _Daily Telegraph_ Correspondent who remarks that the _modus operandi_ necessitates a continuous vigilance, mostly under cover of the darkness, and entails a strain upon the naval officers and men that can only be appreciated by those who witness it.

The first skipper stated that he had just come from Iceland:

At one point up north there was, he said, a solid wall of warships, which made it impossible for any foe to break through undetected. The scrutiny did not end with a mere examination at the point mentioned. After being released our boat was followed by a couple of torpedo destroyers until we reached our destination. In this way we were not only convoyed, but the warships made absolutely certain that we were British trawlers. The experience, being novel to us, was very inspiring.

The other skipper’s story was even more interesting. He is in charge of a North Sea boat, and anchored each night near the shore.

We were laid under the land, he said, when about two in the morning a cruiser suddenly appeared alongside of us. All his lights were extinguished, and the quiet way in which he came up and the clever tactics he showed in getting alongside without doing any damage was astonishing.

Talk about cats seeing in the dark, these naval officers are wonderful. When the cruiser reached us all we could see was a huge black object hemming us in. A voice shouted out, “Who are you?” and I answered back, “A British trawler.” “What is your name?” he asked, and I replied. “When did you leave?” he next asked. I told him. “What were your orders when you left?” he next asked. I told him and in a flash the commander of the cruiser shouted back, “All right.”

It was a fine piece of work, believe me, but there was something even more astonishing. Directly the commander had finished talking to me another voice from the stern of our vessel sung out, “The name is quite correct, sir.” A submarine had crept up behind to verify our name and number, and although all the crew had come on deck to see what was happening, not one of the men aft had seen the submarine appear. The whole episode only occupied a few minutes, and the cruiser, after wishing us good morning and plenty of fishing, disappeared in the darkness. I have seen the British Navy in times of peace, but to see it in war time makes you feel proud of it. No swank, simply good old Nelson’s motto all the time.

V

FROM MONS TO THE WALLS OF PARIS

“_The Lilies of France and our own Red Rose Are twined in a coronal now: At War’s bloody bridal it glitters and glows On Liberty’s beautiful brow._”

GERALD MASSEY.

In his despatch to Lord Kitchener, dated September 7th, Sir John French tells of the four-days’ battle at Mons, and traces his masterly, triumphant retreat, in the face of irresistible odds, to Maubeuge, to Cambrai, to Le Cateau, to Landrecies, and so almost to within sight of the walls of Paris. He pays a glowing tribute to the magnificent fighting spirit of the officers and men who carried out these stupendous movements with such complete success, but at present it is to the men themselves you must turn again for detailed information of the horrors and heroisms, the grim and glorious hours that darkened and lightened through those tumultuous days. “What we did in that three weeks English people at home will never know,” writes Private J. Harris, of the Worcestershire Regiment: “We were marching and fighting day and night for three weeks without a break.”

_Letter 41.--From Private Smiley, of the Gordon Highlanders, to his brother, Mr. G. A. Smiley, of Chepstow:_

On Sunday, 23rd, at Mons, we rose at four a.m. and marched out 1,100 strong. We took up ground on the extreme flank of the British force. Immediately we started to entrench ourselves, and to the good trench work we did we put down our freedom from casualty. Later in the day a hellish tornado of shell swept over us, and with this introduction to war we received our baptism of fire. We were lining the Mons road, and immediately in our front and to our rear were woods. In the rear wood was stationed a battery of R.F.A. The German artillery is wonderful. The first shot generally found us, and to me it looked as if the ranges had been carefully taken beforehand. However, our own gunners were better, and they hammered and battered the Germans all the day long.

They were at least three to our one, and our artillery could not be in fifty places at once, so we just had to stick it. The German infantry are bad skirmishers and rotten shots, and they were simply mowed down in batches by our chaps. They came in companies of, I should say, 150 men in file five deep, and we simply rained bullets at them the live-long day. At about five p.m. the Germans in the left front of us retired, and we saw no more of them.

The Royal Irish Regiment had had an awful smashing earlier on, as also had the Middlesex, and our company were ordered to go along the road as reinforcements. The one and a half mile seemed a thousand. Stormed at all the way, we kept on, and no one was hit until we came to a white house which stood in a clearing. Immediately the officer passed the gap hell was let loose on us, but we got across safely, and I was the only one wounded, and that was with a ricochet shrapnel bullet in the right knee.

I knew nothing about it until an hour after, when I had it pointed out to me. I dug it out with a knife. We passed dead civilians, some women, and a little boy with his thigh shattered by a bullet. Poor wee fellow. He lay all the time on his face, and some man of the Irish was looking after him, and trying to make him comfortable. The devils shelled the hospital and killed the wounded, despite a huge Red Cross flag flying over it.

When we got to the Royal Irish Regiment’s trenches the scene was terrible. They were having dinner when the Germans opened on them, and their dead and wounded were lying all around. Beyond a go at some German cavalry, the day drew in, and darkness saw us on the retreat. The regiment lost one officer and one man dead, one officer and some men severely wounded.

We kept up this sort of game (fighting by day and retiring by night) until we got to Cambrai, on Tuesday night. I dare not mention that place and close my eyes. God, it was awful. Avalanche followed avalanche of fresh German troops, but the boys stuck to it, and we managed to retire to Ham without any molestation. Cambrai was the biggest battle fought. Out of all the glorious regiment of 1,100 men only five officers and 170 of the men answered the roll-call next day. Thank God, I was one of them.

Of course, there may be a number who got separated from the battalion through various causes, and some wounded who escaped. I hope so because of the heavy hearts at home. I saw the South Lancs, and they were terribly cut up, only a remnant left of the regiment.

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_Letter 42.--From Corporal W. Leonard, of the Army Service Corps (a South African War reservist) to his mother at Huddersfield:_

I know that you will all excuse me for not receiving a letter from me this long time, but I hope that you will excuse me. Don’t, whatever you do at home, don’t worry about me. If I just thought that you won’t worry at home I shall be all right. You know, mother, I know more about war this time than I did last, and the conditions also. It’s all right when you know the ropes, and my African experiences are serving me in good stead here, so I hope and trust that you at home are not worrying about me; time enough to worry when there is cause. Well, I hope and trust all are well at home, as it is hell out here. Up to this affair I thought that the Germans were a civilised race of people, but they are nothing but savages; niggers would not do what they do. Just fancy mounting maxim guns on ambulance wagons bearing the Red Cross, cutting the right hand off prisoners and turning them loose afterwards minus a hand. By jingo, mother, the boys (our boys) are absolutely all in. We did give the Boers a chance now and again, but these devils we don’t give them a cat in hell chance; we’re playing the game to the finish. I would not care to write so much, as I had better tell you when I come home. The Boer War was a tame affair. We are moving off again to-night. I don’t know where, and we don’t care either; it’s a do to a finish this time. I hope you got my postcards from Rouen in France, as there was some doubt as to whether they would let them through or not. I will write home as opportunity occurs, and I hope you won’t worry about me, because you all know at home that I shall always be where I’m wanted, and my duty every time, so don’t worry. Tell anyone who enquires I am O.K., lost a bit of weight perhaps, but not the worse so far, and above all don’t believe all you see in the papers, as they know practically nothing, as everything is done under sealed orders, which never leak out. We are not even allowed to say in our letters where we are, as they are opened and read by the captain before they leave here, so you can judge for yourselves how things are. And I might say, mother, that we are very busy.

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_Letter 43.--From Corporal Edward Hood, to his father, at Taunton:_

The fighting lately has been hot all round, and the French have had much harder than us in some places, but they’re sticking at it manfully, and they deserve to win a victory that will wipe the Germans off the map. The French make a lot of us in camp, and when we pass each other in the field, no matter how busy the Frenchman may be, they give us hearty cheers to encourage us on our way. There’s plenty of friendly rivalry between us when there’s hard fighting to be done, and when we do get there before the French they don’t grudge us our luck. They’re good sports right through to the core, and the British soldier asks nothing better from allies in the field.

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_Letter 44.--From Private William Burgess, of the Royal Field Artillery, to his parents at Ilfracombe:_

We left our landing place for the front, on the Tuesday, and got there on Saturday night. The Germans had just reached Liège then, and we got into action on the Sunday morning. The first thing we did was to blow up a bridge to stop the Germans from crossing. Then we came into action behind a lot of houses attached to the main street. We were there about ten minutes, when the houses started to fall around us. The poor people were buried alive. I saw poor children getting knocked down by bursting shells.

The next move was to advance across where there was a Red Cross Hospital. They dropped shells from airships and fired on it until the place was burnt down to the ground. Then they got a big plan on to retire and let the French get behind them. We retired eight miles, but we had to fight until we were forced to move again. We got as far as Le Cateau on Tuesday night. We camped there until two o’clock next morning.

Then we all heard there was a big fight coming off, so we all got together and cleared the field for action.... (The letter mentions the numbers of men engaged, and states that the Germans were in the proportion of three to one.) ... We cut them down like rats. We could see them coming on us in heaps, and dropping like hail. The Colonel passed along the line, and said, “Stick it, boys.”

I tell you, mother, it was awful to see your own comrades dropping down--some getting their heads blown off, and others their legs and arms. I was fighting with my shirt off. A piece of shell went right through my shirt at the back and never touched me. It stuck into a bag of earth which we put between the wheels to stop bullets.

We were there all busy fighting when an airship came right over the line and dropped a bomb, which caused a terrible lot of smoke. Of course, that gave the Germans our range. Then the shells were dropping on us thick. We looked across the line and saw the German guns coming towards us. We turned our two centre guns on them, and sent them yards in the air. I reckon I saw one German go quite twenty yards in the air.

Just after that a shell burst right over our gun. That one got me out of action. I had to get off the field the best way I could. The bullets were going all around me on the way off; you see they got completely around us, I went about two miles, and met a Red Cross cart. I was taken to St. Quentin’s Hospital. We were shelled out of there about two in the morning, and then taken in a train, and taken down to a plain near Rouen.

Next morning we were put in a ship for dear old England.

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_Letter 45.--From a Corporal in the King’s Royal Rifles, now at Woolwich Hospital:_

I was in three engagements, Mons, Landrecies, and Cambrai, but the worst of all was Mons. It was on Sunday, the 23rd of August, and I shall never forget the date. They were easily twenty-five to one, and we eventually had to retreat with just over a thousand casualties, but heavens, they must have had a jolly sight more. At Landrecies, where we arrived at 7.30, we thought we were going to have a night’s rest, though we were wet through and no change, but we hadn’t been there long before they (the Germans) started firing; they seemed to be in every place we went to. The only thing we heard then was, “turn out at once.” It was about 10.15 when we turned out, and the Colonel’s orders were that we had to take a bridge if every man was killed. (I thought that sounded a wee bit healthy.) I had my last drink out of a dirty glass of beer. I says, “good health Billy,” and off we went with bayonets fixed.

On our way to the bridge we met the regiment who had tried and failed, bringing back its wounded and killed in scores. (I thought more encouragement for the corps.) I was carrying my pal, the rifle, with my right hand. Well, we got near the bridge and found out from our scouts that there were 10,000 German troops on each side of the bridge and we were 1,300 strong. (More encouragement.) So we lined a long hedge about two yards apart so as to make a long line and harder for them to hit. We lay here till daybreak just before 4 a.m., and we could hear them talking all night about 300 yards away. We could see them quite clearly by this time; so we started to fire and rolled them over by dozens. It wasn’t long, though, before the bullets were whizzing past my ears on each side, and I began to get my head lower and lower till I think I should have buried it in the mud if it had got much lower. Their superior numbers began to tell and we had to retire as fast as we could. I couldn’t go fast enough with my pack on (it weighs 84 lbs.), so I threw it away as did hundreds more, and I finished bridge-taking with my old pal only (the rifle).

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_Letter 46.--From Lieutenant O. P. Edgcumbe, of 1st Battalion D.C.L.I., to his father, Sir Robert Edgcumbe, Commandant at Newquay:_

29th August, 1914.

For the last week or ten days we have been fighting hard and are now for one day resting. Altogether, during five days and five nights, I got six hours’ sleep, and so am rather weary. However, bullets and a real enemy are a wonderful stimulant, and I feel as fit as anything. Do all of you write as often as possible, and send me some newspapers. It does not matter whether there is any news--the sight of a letter from home is very cheering.

All our men are somewhat fatigued, but are very keen and full of fight. My regiment has had a bad time, and I am dreadfully afraid that they have been badly cut up, although I can as yet get no details. They were caught in a village by Germans in the houses, who had managed to get there by wearing our uniforms. Never again shall I respect the Germans, or any of them I may meet. They have no code of honour, and there have been several cases of their wearing French and British uniforms, which is, of course, against the Geneva Convention.

The weather is good, for which we are thankful.

Everything is so peaceful now, and it is such a perfect day that were it not for the continuous growl of the guns, which never cease, one would hardly believe one was in the midst of a huge war.

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_Letter 47.--From Private D. White:_

German airships we seldom see now, though we used to have them every day over our heads. They are finding the French more than a match for them, and they most likely prefer to rely on their ordinary spies, of whom they have thousands. They are found often among the men engaged for transport work, but they are such clumsy bunglers that they give themselves away sooner or later. Some of us who haven’t the heart to drown a cat never turn a hair when we see these scum shot, for they richly deserve what they get and a soldier’s death is too good for them.

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_Letter 48.--From Private Spain, of the 4th Guards Brigade (late police-constable at Newry):_