CHAPTER VIII

THE RETREAT BEGINS

_The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger._

To follow now the fortunes of the British Force you must imagine it, if you will, divided, like Caesar's Gaul, into three parts. There is the First Corps, which still holds its position, save that extreme right by Binche; there is the Second Corps, which has begun at 3 A.M. to retire to a new position; and there is the Cavalry, Allenby's Division and the remainder of Chetwode's Brigade, which turns up whereever it is most needed to lend a helping hand.

If you glance through Sir John French's dispatch (at the end of the book) you will see that he had in mind to retire in what is called "echelon" formation. That is, one-half retires and takes up a new position, while the other half stays behind to act as a rear-guard and hold up enemy attacks. Then, in turn, that other half retires behind the first half, and so on.

That was the idea, and on the first day it worked very well. But after that it was found simply impossible to keep to it, partly through the enemy's thunderbolt movements, and partly because our men became more and more exhausted.

Now, it is also a cardinal principle in rearguard fights that you must not only check your enemy, but must also, whenever possible, make a counter-attack. In fact, the counter-attacks are part and parcel of the checking movements. This is where cavalry comes in very useful.

Let us, then, take the three divisions of the Force separately.

_The First Corps_

Night attacks, especially in the early morning (it sounds rather Irish), are horribly uncomfortable things. The nerves are continuously on edge and you are apt to loose off guns or rifles at the merest suspicion of a movement.

"If ye should see a wee brrown beastie in frront o' ye," a canny Scot sergeant told his men, "ye mauna fire, because likely it'll be a bit rrabbit, and rrabbits are guid for the pot. But if the beastie should walk upon twa legs, then ye may ken it's no a rrabbit, but a Gerrman, an' ye will tak a verry quick but carefu' sicht o' him."

All through that Sunday night the men had snatched odd minutes of sleep just where they had fought through the day. And very little rest did the enemy allow them. For one can well imagine how exasperated by this time the enemy were at being held up by a handful of a "contemptible little army." It was most difficult, too, to get any food up to the lines, for the German guns had "registered" all the approaches and persistently dropped their shells across them.

But the men hung on cheerily enough, and if they couldn't get any sleep they made up their minds that the Germans should not either, especially where they were dug in only a few hundred yards in front.

So the short summer night was passed. And with the first hint of dawn the news ran quickly round that, far from dreaming of retiring, the First Corps was going to attack. The news was as good as a big breakfast. Somehow or other the A.S.C. got up rations to most of the units, and so it was the cheeriest of 2nd Divisions which swung out of their trenches and loop holed houses and headed for the enemy's left flank in Binche. The 1st Division acted as supports.

In the attack there was something more of a hint of that method and timing which, eight months later, were brought to such perfection in Flanders. The British batteries had by now recovered somewhat from their severe handling during the day, and at the given moment every gun got well to work in support of the infantry, and very fine practice they made.

Of course the attack was really no more than a ruse, daringly conceived and successfully executed. Binche could not have been held even if it had been recaptured. But it is not difficult to imagine the enemy's astonishment at finding an Army Corps, which they had fondly imagined as good as wiped out, coming to life again and actually having the cheek to attack them. Kipling's remark about the Fuzzy-wuzzy who is "generally shamming when 'e's dead" was an excellent motto for that morning's work.

When the attack was well launched General Lomax began to withdraw very carefully some of his regiments from the supporting 1st Division. The task of the British guns of the two divisions (working together) was to lower such a curtain of fire in front of the 2nd Division as to make it as difficult as possible for the enemy to counter-attack or, indeed, to advance at all. As soon as the 1st Division have retired a little, it will be the turn of the division which has made that excellent sortie.

It is easy enough to say "the guns will check an enemy advance," but think for a moment what that means. There is already a big enemy superiority in guns, and, what is more, these have already got the ranges to a nicety.

Our batteries, or most of them, were in quite good positions, but at this early date we had not yet learned the art of concealing them sufficiently. The enemy aircraft were very active, and against them our own aircraft were hopelessly outnumbered. And so it was not long before our guns were "spotted," with the inevitable result.

Imagine, then, how gloriously those gun detachments must have worked to have accomplished what they did that day, "enabling Sir Douglas Haig, with the First Corps, to reach the new line without much further loss about 7 P.M." For it was undoubtedly the devotion of the guns which made possible this and succeeding retirements. Unless facts like this are realised, the astonishing work of the Force in its retreat can never be appreciated.

_The Second Corps_

If that Monday was an anxious day for Sir Douglas Haig, what must it have been for General Smith-Dorrien and his men? One looks hopelessly at the blank writing-pad in despair of giving even the most primitive description of the anxiety, the work, and the accomplishment of it.

Here is a Corps which has gone through, for the first time, the awful ordeal of a day's modern shell-fire and massed infantry attack. The men have supped full of horrors, and, at 3 A.M., hungry, weary and with nerves stretched to their utmost tension, they have received orders to move. There is not a regiment which has not lost heavily, especially in officers, and there is not a man but receives the command with his senses tangled in bewilderment.

Now it should be remembered that up to this time all our dispositions had been made for an advance. The impedimenta to the rear of the firing-line were so arranged that they might the more easily follow up a British attack. There was no real thought of retiring. The British were in the place of honour on the left of the line, and intended, with our French comrades, to drive the enemy back again through Belgium. I will not say that all this was a foregone conclusion, but at least it was "confidently anticipated." Remembering this, you will perhaps realise more vividly how staggering were the contents of that telegram from French G.H.Q. The work, therefore, of clearing the roads of the transport was exceedingly difficult. This devolves upon the Q.M.G.'s department, and General Smith-Dorrien has placed on record the wholly admirable way in which it was accomplished by General Ryecroft and his Staff. But proper Staff work for all the retiring troops during the hours of darkness was even more complicated.

Thus some few of the companies, with no one to guide them, start off in the wrong direction and march straight into the German lines; they are shot or captured. Others wander off to the east, struggle painfully through the shell-fire on Mons, and drift into their comrade ranks of the First Corps. Others, again, march off to the west, and are hopelessly lost; they are either captured by the flanking German corps or they get through and meet with friendly peasants, to turn up eventually at base ports or other towns.

Night marching across unknown country is not always easy in peace time, with guides at the heads of columns. Now there was the added confusion of the crowds of emigrants, a perfect network of roads to choose from, and, above all, continual alarms of enemy attacks which the British had to turn to meet. The whole of the night and all the Monday was one long period of marching, fighting, marching and fighting.

Early in the morning another infantry brigade, the 19th, arrived by railway, detraining at Valenciennes, and it is no exaggeration to say that the men went straight off the trains into the thick of the fight. It was a very welcome reinforcement of about 4,000 men.

By 8 A.M. the enemy had burst through Mons, across the canal line, and were in hot pursuit in overwhelming numbers. Away on the left flank they had attacked Tournai, which was occupied by French Territorials and also, I believe, by a British battery, though how it got there, or why, I do not know. That bit of fighting was over by midday with the capture of the town and the destruction or capture of its defenders. The Germans were then free to resume their victorious advance.

About the middle of the morning, then, the line of the Second Corps extended from a little Belgian village called Frameries, five miles S.W. of Mons, through the village of Dour. The right flank was the more forward, partly because the regiments there had to encounter the more furious attacks and could not break away.

It was at this point that there was made one more of those splendid but hopeless cavalry charges of which we so often read in military history. It is, curiously enough, almost the only definite incident mentioned by Sir John French in his dispatch. But the incident, or rather the sequel to it, caught the public imagination, mainly because of the fine work of that most gallant gentleman, Francis Grenfell.

Of all the noble, lion-hearted men who have "gone west" in this bloody war, no man more worthily deserves the description applied to the Chevalier Bayard, "_sans peur et sans reproche_," than Francis Grenfell--he and one other whom I shall name hereafter. Gallant soldier, brilliant sportsman, graceful poet, and true lover of Nature, a genuine statesman in his dealings with men, and the most loyal of friends, he died later on the field of honour, and Britain--nay, the world is the poorer for his loss.

The charge was made by the 9th Lancers, which regiment, with others of the 2nd Brigade, had been moved forward to ease the pressure on the right flank.

About 400 yards from the German infantry and guns the Lancers galloped full tilt into barbed wire. There was nothing for it but to swerve across the German front. How a single man or horse escaped the hail of shell and bullets which was turned on them one can never understand. But a poor remnant, under Captain Francis Grenfell, did indeed get across, mercilessly pursued by that storm of lead, and eventually found some little shelter under a railway embankment.

A R.F.A. battery was in action here. At least, the guns were still there, but officers and detachments had been gradually wiped out until there were just one officer and two detachments left to work the battery. It was only a matter of minutes before the remainder must be killed and the guns fall into the hands of the enemy, for the German guns had the range and the German infantry were crowding up.

The 9th Lancers and the Gunners are old friends, and the Lancers do not leave old friends (or new ones) to finish a losing fight alone.

"The Germans don't get those guns while any of us are left," said Grenfell. "I'm off to see how we can get them away."

Now Grenfell was already badly wounded, but he stuck on his horse somehow and _walked_ that gallant beast out into the storm to see where he was to run the guns to. (Why does not His Majesty create a decoration for horses? But I'll wager Grenfell hung his V.C. round his charger's neck a month later.)

Well, he walked him out and he walked him back, just to show his men what poor shots the Germans were.

"Now then," said Grenfell, "who's for the guns?"

And, since (as I have said) the Lancers always stand by old pals, every man of them was.

They tied their horses up, and Lancers and Gunners set to work. One by one of those guns they got at the wheels and trails and worked and worked. Down went more gallant Lancers and more gallant Gunners, but there were still a few left, and, by Heaven, those few stuck to it.

"Come on, lads, just one more!" sang out Grenfell, with his coat off.

And they worked and heaved, and did it. Every one of those guns they saved.

But then, be it repeated, the Lancers and Gunners always were good pals.

By midday General Smith-Dorrien's task had become one of the gravest difficulty. And this was but the opening phase of a movement which, I venture to think, will be accounted by the historian as one of the most astonishing pieces of work in military history. I refer not to the Retreat as a whole, but to the work of the Second Corps and its leader from 3 A.M. of the 24th to about midnight of the 26th--27th. An eternity of years was encircled by those few hours.

The difficulties of the movement can probably be appreciated at their full value only by the military student with a vivid imagination, so I will just suggest what had to be done. First of all, General Smith-Dorrien had to get his men away from the Mons line in the early dawn in the face of overwhelming numbers, numbers which he could only guess at, for at any moment a big attack might be made by another army upon his left flank. This was very much complicated by his men having been severely handled all through the Sunday, and getting no food nor rest. In fact, it was the human element which really made all the movement so difficult. The feeling that at any moment the tremendous strain upon the men's endurance would stretch to breaking-point and snap.

Then the G.O.C. had not merely to get his men gradually back, but they had to show a bold front the whole time. It was a matter of fighting backwards without a moment's rest. A couple of regiments, say, with some cavalry, would halt for half an hour on a certain line, and hold up with the heaviest fire they could the attack on their particular section. Then, when the enemy got nearer, up they would jump and go straight at the Germans with the bayonet, the cavalry backing them up all they knew. The same with the guns.

A battery would manoeuvre into a position, come into action, and pound away for a quarter of an hour. Then, at the right moment (and it called for the nicest judgment to select that moment) four guns would be run back, limbered up, and got away, while the remaining couple would continue an intermittent fire to cover the retirement. These in turn would slip away--if they could.

The casualties under conditions like these must, of course, be very heavy indeed. That they were not infinitely heavier was due to the splendid use the men made of the ground, taking cover and so on, and to the noble spirit of self-sacrifice for comrades which animated every unit.

Thirdly, the G.O.C. had to remember that he was not playing a lone hand, but that he had to consider the retirement of the First Corps on his right. He had to play the match for his side. Just at the moment Jessop, in the person of Sir Douglas Haig, was in with him, and Jessop had to hit out against time to make the runs while Leveson-Gower (Smith-Dorrien) kept up his wicket at the other end.

And, fourthly, to carry on the metaphor, when Jessop was forced to "retire hurt" Leveson-Gower had to begin to hit at just that moment when he felt that he had "collared the bowling." In other words, the G.O.C., having held a certain line of defence for a couple of hours or so, had to judge to a nicety the exact moment when he had, for the time, broken the enemy's attack sufficiently to permit of retirement another two miles to the next position.

Those four points, then, constitute in very broad outline the task which General Smith-Dorrien had to perform. Our people have not been slow to recognise how magnificently he and his men accomplished it.

The enemy were now, by accident or design, beginning to drive in a wedge at Frameries between the two corps. Always a serious situation, especially when, as now, units had become very scattered in the gradual retirement. The gap was filled to some extent by the 5th Brigade, which General Smith-Dorrien borrowed from the First Corps.

* * * * *

Impressions gleaned from the other side are always of interest. Another German officer, whom we got a few days later, gave me his opinion of the British work somewhat like this.

"All our text-books," he said, "about rear-guard actions will have to be rewritten, and you have certainly taught us a lesson. It has been just like advancing into a wall of fog. The fog is elastic enough when one enters it, but soon it clings all round and chokes you. We pushed in all right, but never came out at the other side."

Personally, I felt inclined to apply the metaphor the reverse way, and that is how the men felt it. The dense, overpowering cloud rolling down, the battling against it with impotent arms, and the fog penetrating into every gap in the lines.

The men were dazed, stunned by the continuous onslaughts. There seemed no end to them. As fast as one German company was mown down another would spring up. It was as though their aircraft flew over with watchful eye to sow in every field another bushel of the mythical dragon's teeth. And everywhere more and more German guns would come into action to support their infantry, and everywhere more and more machine-guns would be rushed up by their very mobile transport to rake and enfilade the British companies or gun detachments.

At the time all these things were not realised, for there was no sitting down for five minutes to ruminate. But now, after eighteen months, when one pieces together this fact and that, and learns something of what the actual numbers were, one hesitates to set it down on paper for fear of being flatly disbelieved.

Any record of feelings during those hours is blurred. But there was one thought which, I know, was uppermost in every man's mind: "Where on earth are the French?"

When a thought like that has been born it is easy to guess how it will grow and run through the ranks. If only now and again they had seen a French squadron swoop down upon the enemy's flank in front of them everything would have been well. They would have cheered their French comrades on, and gone in for all they were worth to avenge their death, if called upon. But never a French soldier did one of our lads see.

So far as I know, our Allies have published no official account of their retreat from Namur, although they have very frankly admitted, in an official Government report, the mistakes which were then made and have shown how they were since rectified. It is by no means clear what happened to the 5th French Army on our right after Namur had fallen; we only knew that we never saw them.

But at the time it must be remembered that no one in the British Force, save G.H.Q., knew what was happening even to themselves, so it was hardly likely that they could learn anything definite about the French. So there the subject may rest.

In the early afternoon General Smith-Dorrien learned that the First Corps had "made good" during the morning, and were fighting their way back with sufficient success to admit of his own retirement when he was able to break away.

Although, perhaps, too little space has been given in this chapter to the work of the First Corps, they had nearly as hard a fight as the rest of the Force. The task before Sir Douglas Haig was probably not quite so delicate as General Smith-Dorrien's, but it was obviously one of as grave a responsibility. However, in the late afternoon he got safely back, as we have seen, to the position determined by the Commander-in-Chief.

The Second Corps then succeeded in breaking away, and by the evening a new line of the entire Force was formed, reaching from the fortress of Maubeuge on the right to two little villages, Bry and Jenlain, on the left. The 19th Brigade, which had come into the fight in the morning, was posted on and across the extreme left.

It should be noted that, with the fall of Tournai and the destruction of the French troops in that neighbourhood, the whole country on the west was open to the invaders. Their victorious army corps operating there was now able to swing round to attack the British left, and their cavalry was already sweeping in flying squadrons and patrols over the country-side. In fact, the French Channel ports, from Boulogne to Havre, were there for the taking, and the French coast line, for which the enemy fought so valiantly a few months later, would have been theirs without a struggle.

But these facts were only vaguely realised in the Force, and the men, of course, knew nothing of doings save only upon their immediate front. At every moment they fully expected to make a definite stand, with an advance to follow, and thus they remained in good heart, secure in the conviction that though badly mauled they were not even at the beginning of a defeat. But some of us knew and realised, and it was a hard task to keep the knowledge from the men and from the friendly country-folk.