The Fighting Retreat To Paris — Inside the Classic

ison between the men they were going to fight and certain dogs that won’t fight which the Yorkshire collier has not time to waste upon at the pit-head; the Cockney soldier was there with his sallies about “Uncle Bill,” and every Irishman who went into the firing line wished he had the money to buy a little Irish horse, so that he could have a slap at the Uhlans.

And the cavalry! Officers coming from the front declare that our cavalrymen charged the much-vaunted German horsemen as Berserkers might have done. When they got into action with tunics open, and sometimes without tunics at all, they flung themselves at the German horsemen in a manner which surprised even their own officers, who had themselves expected great things of them. The Uhlans, whose name and fearful fame had spread terror among the Belgian peasants and the frontier villages of France, were just the sort of men the British troopers were waiting for. The Britishers, mostly Londoners, who, as Wellington said, make the best cavalry soldiers in the world, were dying to have a cut at them; and when they got into clinches the Uhlans had the surprise of their lives.

From the scene of battle, the point of interest in the European war drama, as far as England is concerned, shifted in the small hours of this morning to the railway station at X, where officers and men of the Army Service Corps awaited the arrival of the wounded—the British wounded from the firing line. Everything was perfectly organised; there was no theatrical display; the officers and men of the British Army waited silently and calmly for the toll of war, which they had been advised was on its way.

The West Kents were one of the first of the British troops to come under fire at Mons, in which they lost four officers killed, including Major Pach-Beresford, and four officers and seventeen men wounded. A wounded lance-corporal of this regiment says:—

We reached Mons on Saturday afternoon, August 22, the day before the battle. We at once commenced to entrench, and were still engaged on this work when the Germans fired their first shell, which wrecked a house about twenty yards away. Then we got ready for the fight. We made loopholes in a wall near the house, and remained there for fifteen hours under a heavy fire of shrapnel. The Germans came across the valley in front of us in thousands, but their rifle fire was absolutely rotten, and such damage as they did was caused by the big guns which covered their advance. Numerically the Germans were far superior to us, and as soon as one lot was shot down another took its place.

We retired from Mons about four o’clock on Monday morning to a little village on the borders of France. We kept up a rearguard action all the way, and it was in this that I was wounded. A shell dropped close to me, and some fragments penetrated my left leg. I was thrown to the ground, and for a time lay unconscious. When I recovered I found my rifle and ammunition were missing, having, I suppose, been taken by the Germans, who evidently thought I was dead.

The lance-corporal eventually managed to reach St. Quentin.

A private of the same regiment told a thrilling story of the battle:—

It was Sunday, August 23 (he said), that we were at Mons, billeted in a farmyard, and we were having a sing-song and watching people home from church. The Belgian ladies were very kind-hearted, and we were given their prayer-books as souvenirs, and they also went to the shops and bought us cigarettes, which were most acceptable to the troops. At about 12.30 an orderly had gone down to draw dinners, when an aeroplane appeared overhead, throwing out some black powder. After this shrapnel burst overhead, acquainting us of the fact that the Germans were in the vicinity.

All was confusion and uproar for the moment, because we were not armed, and our shirts and socks were out to wash, that being the only chance we had to get them washed. It did not take us long, however, to get in fighting trim and to go through the town to the scene of operations, which was on the other side of a small canal that adjoined Mons. Here we found the A Company of the Royal West Kents engaged in a hard tussle in keeping off the enemy until support arrived. The A Company had been engaged in outpost duty, so that they were the first to meet the enemy. Their casualties were very heavy, and they lost all of their officers except Lieut. Bell, who showed great valour in going out to bring in the wounded. Most of the damage was done by the shells, although at times the enemy were within 300 yards of our troops. We arrived in the nick of time, and took up position in a glass-blowing factory. We loop-holed the walls and held that position until darkness set in. With darkness upon us we fixed bayonets, and lay in wait in case the enemy made an attempt to rush us.

About eleven p.m. we received orders to retire over the canal. Two sections of C Company were left to keep the enemy in check, whilst the remainder of the battalion retired. After all had crossed the bridge was blown up, so that we were likely to be left in peace until the Germans could find a means of crossing the river. The two sections of C Company that had been left behind, unfortunately, were unable to retire over the bridge before it was blown up, and they had to find their own ways and means of getting across. Most of them managed to do so. We retired from the town of Mons, and got into open country, but we still kept on moving throughout the night. When daylight arrived we saw that Mons had been practically demolished, and that the Germans were also firing at times at the hospital. Throughout the morning we continued to fight a rearguard action. We did not leave off trekking until six in the evening, when we found ourselves well out of the range of the German artillery in a valley surrounded by large hills. Here all the troops were glad to lie down and get something to eat, as we had been without food since the previous morning.

Hungry soldiers were thankful to go into the swede and turnip fields and make a meal of these roots as though they were apples. We found the French and Belgian people very kind to us on the line of march. They would stand at the wayside and give us fruit, and they had large tubs of water ready, and this the troops very much appreciated.

About eight o’clock all lights were ordered to be put out and no noise to be made, and we all lay down for a well-earned rest after two trying days, putting out pickets in case of surprise. About an hour before dawn we were all ordered to stand to arms, and the column was once more engaged in a retiring movement.

As the column was on the march, I saw a duel in the air between French and German aeroplanes. It was wonderful to see the Frenchman manœuvre to get the upper position of the German, and after about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the Frenchman got on top, and blazed away with a revolver on the German. He injured him so much as to cause him to descend, and when found he was dead. The British troops buried the airman and burnt the aeroplane.

During that day we were not troubled by any more German aeroplanes, and about five p.m. a halt was ordered, and we took things comfortably, hoping to have a rest until daylight came again. We were fortunate enough not to be disturbed that night, and at dawn we again stood to arms, and we found the Germans close upon our heels. The column got on the move, and several regiments were ordered to entrench themselves. We found it very hot and fatiguing work with such small tools to use. We soon found, however, that “where there’s a will there’s a way,” and quickly entrenched ourselves so as to be protected from the artillery fire. It was not long before the German artillery found our trenches and gave us rather a warm time. Our own artillery had to open fire at 2,100 yards, which was very close for artillery. I saw a battery in front of us put out of action. There were only about six men left amongst them, and they were engaged in trying to get away the guns. This disaster was due to the accurate shell firing of the German artillery.

In their efforts the brave gunners were not successful, owing to their horses being killed. It was interesting to see an officer engaged in walking round the guns and putting them out of action, or in other words seeing that they would be of no use to the Germans. This action required a great deal of bravery under the circumstances, because the enemy continued to keep up the heavy firing. Much bravery was also displayed by wounded comrades of the battery helping one another to get out of the firing line.

About this time the enemy were advancing, owing to the superiority of numbers, and hand-to-hand fighting had taken place in the right trenches. Owing to the artillery firing being so heavy, and the British being in such comparatively small numbers, the officer in charge of my company deemed it wise to retire. It was rather late, however, and he said to the men who were in the trenches: “Now, boys, every man for himself.” Having got these orders, we were not long in doing a retiring movement and trying to save our own skins. It was hard to see my own comrades being cut down like corn owing to the deadly shrapnel firing.

I was wounded at this point by a bullet from a maxim gun. I staggered at the time, thinking my hand had been blown off; but I recovered and kept on the run, and got in a trench, where I bandaged myself up. From there I continued to retire on my own, as I had lost touch with my section. I ran into the general commanding, and he asked me what was the matter with me. I told him I was wounded, and he said, “For God’s sake, man, don’t go into the hospital; they are blowing it up now.” I did not want telling that twice, and I started to track down country to get into touch with the column, where I knew the ambulance men were, and they would dress my wound.

When I got to the ambulance wagons I found they were mostly full with wounded who were in a far worse plight than I was. So I went along with the column, and a motor lorry came by and I got a lift to St. Quentin.

“So awful was the fighting that it is wonderful that anybody ever came out of it alive. I have no idea how we did come through,” said a wounded corporal of the Royal Engineers.

The corporal and his comrades were ordered to build a pontoon bridge over the Mons Canal. This work was begun early on the Sunday morning, August 23, in the face of a murderous rifle and shell fire. Gradually the bridge was pushed over, until it was almost within touch of the bank held by the enemy. Man after man of the British Engineers was hit, but still the rest stuck to their task, heedless of the rain of missiles all around.

Late in the afternoon the corporal was standing in the water assisting in the construction, when a shrapnel shell wounded him in the right arm. He made for the bank, only to find that his boots, which he had removed, had disappeared. He bound up his wounded arm with his handkerchief, and soon afterwards work on the bridge was abandoned.

Orders were given to get to cover the best way possible, and to wait until darkness fell. Then our troops fell back owing to the overwhelming numbers of the Germans. The corporal removed his putties, bound them round his feet, and started to retire. In the darkness, however, he lost the main body of the British, and wandered away to the west.

After a while he met a wounded Gordon Highlander, who had had his teeth shot away, and was also lost. The Highlander bound up the Engineer’s arm with his first field dressing, and the two men snatched what sleep they could under a hedge. Their breakfast next morning was a raw swede, pulled up from one of the fields.

Throughout that day they trudged on and on through a deserted country, but as night fell they came to some cottages scattered on the roadside. The inhabitants, recognising them as British, welcomed the wanderers, and gave them a good meal of bread and butter, cheese, and rabbit. They also allowed the soldiers to sleep there that night, and early in the morning directed them to Boussu, a town some miles further on in the direction of Lille.

Creeping slowly and painfully along, under cover of the hedges as far as possible, the men saw large parties of Uhlans scouting a short distance ahead. Fortunately a small wood was near by, and, turning into it, they lay concealed under some bushes for nearly eight hours. Several times the enemy approached within fifty yards of the fugitives, who almost feared to breathe. At length, towards evening, the coast became clear, and the two men were able to continue their journey.

After another night in the open air Boussu was reached on the following morning. From there they were sent on to Lille, and afterwards to Le Havre and England.

Sergeant Bird and Private Woolgar, of the 4th Dragoon Guards, also had the misfortune to miss their regiment. They said:—

It was when we were sent out under General Allenby to help the left wing, which was hard pressed, that our misfortunes began. Our horses were shot under us, but we struggled after our men as best we could until we picked up some German horses, all of which bore the mark K 4 on the reins. We had hardly got going again when we had these shot under us by the German artillery, with the result that we were stranded absolutely on our own, and you can guess our feelings as we saw our squadron moving away on the right. We were all more or less injured. One of our chaps had his arms split right open, and calmly said, “I say, boys, do you think I’m hurt?”

We endeavoured to get the wounded to a neighbouring farmhouse, and succeeded in taking several there, but on going back with the last batch were refused admission, as by this time the occupants could see the Germans bearing down in that direction in force. We then made for the fowlhouse and hid there, but our position was very dangerous, as it was not long before the Germans began to enter in order to wash their wounds at the little well in the corner.

It was pitch dark at the time (continued Sergeant Bird), and I found the most comfortable position for me was sitting in a basket, which, I realised after a few moments and by certain signs, had contained a dozen eggs in the straw. The artillery were now in action, and the British seemed to have found the spot, as the tiles of our hiding-place began to fall in, and we found it advisable to put baskets over our heads as well; otherwise they would have been split open by the flying tiles and fragments of shells.

When night came we decided to endeavour to escape from our perilous position, and just outside the door we found a German sentry, who seemed to be scouting for British fugitives. We passed quite close to him, but didn’t stop to say “Good-night.” How we did it I can’t for the life of me tell you, but we did it, and then made off as we thought towards the British lines, but to our disgust found we were going right into the German lines. We decided, therefore, to anchor there for the night and get away in the morning. We found this was the German Headquarters Staff, so that we can say we dined with the German generals that night, the only difference being that they were inside and we were outside; they were having wines, &c., and we had swedes and no &c.

In the morning we had to dodge sentries, but found that presented little difficulty. We decided then to travel south-west, with the sun as our guide. To do this, however, was impossible, for in our wanderings we had day after day to dodge German troops, who were continually marching across our tracks. We can hardly describe what happened during this time, but the harrowing sights we saw will never be effaced from our memories. Our condition was terrible, for we were at one time reduced to five biscuits between three of us, and these had to suffice us for three days. Sometimes we were afraid to drink water because we heard it was poisoned. At last we met the British.

Private Alexander Andrews, of the Royal Scots, spoke of the deadly havoc of the shrapnel:—

But the German infantry could not hit the place they belong to. We could not help hitting them. We saw them first about 800 yards away, and they came along in bunches just like a crowd leaving a football match. Our Maxims simply struck them down, and I will guarantee that for every one that fell on our side they lost ten or twelve. It was “rapid firing,” and we gave it them hot. None in our trench was killed, and we had only five or six, including myself, injured with shrapnel. A piece of shrapnel struck me on the top of the left ankle about half-past seven o’clock, cutting through my boot and making me feel a little queer. I bandaged it up, and went off with the others when the order came to retire about one o’clock on the Monday morning. Mons was in flames by that time, and the German big guns had been blazing about all night. We had been in a tight corner—two regiments against thousands, as most of us believe—and I would like to say a word for our captain, Captain Hill Whitson. In the trenches on the Sunday night, August 23, he was walking about with his revolver, ready for anything, and cheering us up while the shrapnel played about our position. Well, as I said, we had to retire. We went back three or four miles. The first regiment we saw was the Gordons, and I took particular notice that they had a German prisoner in the front of their ranks.

The aeroplanes were employed with great skill by the Germans, before opening fire, to take observations for the range of their artillery, and the precise locality of our soldiers. It was, moreover, evident that they possessed an intimate knowledge of the country where the fighting took place. Owing to the enormous number of the German reserves, when one regiment was vanquished another was always ready to take its place, and so they advanced like an avalanche.

The slaughter was awful: the British suffered terribly, but the German losses were appalling. It is stated that in some places the dead of the enemy was piled up to a height of six feet, and that to pass over them the Germans made bridges of the corpses of their own men.

Here, as elsewhere, the Germans resorted to cowardly brutality. Their cavalry are said to have driven women and children in front of them in the streets, to protect them from the British fire. But the enemy lost as well as gained reputations: Sir Philip Chetwode, the cavalry leader, after fighting without ceasing for ten days, with odds of five to one against them, said, “We have been through the Uhlans like brown paper.”

Innumerable cases of personal heroism have been recalled. That of Captain Grenfell must not be omitted. Although suffering from two severe wounds, he participated in the rescue of two British guns, after shrapnel shell had burst over them and struck the artillerymen who were serving them. This act enabled troopers of the 9th Lancers under his direction to get away.