CHAPTER IX

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.