The British soldier

THE
BRITISH SOLDIER

His Courage and Humour

BY

Rev. E.J. HARDY, M.A.

Chaplain to the Forces (Retired)

Author of "How to be Happy though Married,"
"Mr. Thomas Atkins," etc. etc.

"Nous entendons dire de tous côtés que vos pauvres Tommies se battent comme des lions et que chaque jour ils font des exploits magnifiques. Ils sont bons garçons et tres drôles."—(Extract from a French lady's letter.)

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN

1 ADELPHI TERRACE W.C.

First published in 1915

(All rights reserved.)

TO

THOSE WHO HAVE GIVEN THEIR LIVES

OR THEIR HEALTH

TO

SAVE CIVILISATION FROM BARBARISM

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

CONTENTS

[PREFACE]

I did not need a war of nations to learn about the courage and humour of the British soldier. As a book I wrote called "Mr. Thomas Atkins" shows, I had studied and appreciated him during the thirty-one years in which I served as Chaplain to the Forces. Still, it was pleasant to read despatches and letters from the seat of war highly praising my old friend. This book is based upon the strong, clear letters of Mr. Thomas Atkins (I am never guilty of the impertinence of calling him "Tommy") which were written amidst the stress and strain of war, often even in the pauses of battle. I have done little more than select and classify the letters of that best of war correspondents—the British soldier. The letters are a credit to his head and his heart, and throw a searchlight on the war. The soldier wrote of the things he knew about, and the result is that we can see his pen pictures.

I would like to express my indebtedness to the newspapers in which the letters were printed, but find it difficult to do so as the letters were all over the Press, so to speak, and many of them quoted without mention of the paper from which they were taken. I know, however, that The Times, The Daily Mail, The Daily Telegraph, The Daily Chronicle, The Evening News, The Star, The Standard, Reynolds' Newsletter, and News of the World are amongst the papers from which I have taken extracts.

What effect has war upon those engaged in it? A reflective soldier thus answers: "If war brings out the brutal instincts, it reveals the God-like also, for I have come across scores of instances of sacrifice even unto death among men who in times of peace are looked upon as almost worthless characters."

May we not trust that:

"Those who live on amid our homes to dwell
Have grasped the higher lessons that endure?"

In reference to Mr. Thomas Atkins, the British public is wont to blow hot and cold. When he is engaged in a popular war they are inclined to make a popular fool of him, talking as if it were rather wonderful, and not a matter of course, that he should bear hardships uncomplainingly and not skulk in battle. When peace comes there are in some places of public resort as many snubs for him as before there had been sweets, pairs of socks, and other "comforts."

The following lines were cut by a soldier in a stone sentry-box at Gibraltar:

"God and the soldier all men adore
In time of trouble, and no more;
For when war is over,
And all things righted,
God is neglected;
And the old soldier slighted."

Let us hope that when this war is over God will not be neglected nor the soldier slighted.

The Author's profits from this book will be given for the benefit of soldiers.

[CHAPTER I]

Up to Sample

A manufacturer is glad when he can supply goods up to sample, and we ought to be thankful that the old mixture of English, Scotch, Irish and Welsh sent to the war against Germany was as good as it ever was.

Lord Roberts said, "Our men have done wonderfully at the front, and I am proud of the British Army." Another old soldier, Lord Sydenham, told an audience that British troops had never shown finer qualities.

"Ah, Monsieur," said a French Staff Officer to an English friend, "without your Army we should have been lost. It proved that one volunteer is worth ten conscripts."

In the retreat from the Belgian frontier it was the small British Army that kept back at fearful loss the huge army of Germany, and by doing so enabled the French forces to fall back in safety.

One who was associated with the British at the beginning of this strategic retirement wrote: "I have seen a crack cavalry regiment almost annihilated in a desperate charge against the German artillery. I have seen the heroic Scots mown down. Yet the British have already forgotten those tragic days when they alone bore the weight of the German onslaught. When in my presence those British soldiers were told of the disasters to their best regiments they never flinched. 'Never mind. We'll have the best of it one day,' was the invariable answer after a moment's silence."

Writing of the long resistance of our men against overwhelming odds in the region of Ypres, Sir John French said in his dispatches, "No more arduous task has ever been assigned to British soldiers, and in all their splendid history there is no instance of their having answered so magnificently to the desperate calls which of necessity were made upon them."

The accuracy of British artillery and infantry shooting surprised both our allies and the enemy. A French officer attached to one of our contingents was astonished at the coolness and ingenuity of our soldiers when under fire. He noted their good food and the celerity with which they made tea, cooked, washed and shaved when the enemy's fire slackened. He said that our aviators had mastered the technique of the new arm.

General Zurlinden wrote thus in The Gaulois: "The British Army, which grows from day to day, has done miracles under Field-Marshal French. It shows in all engagements its incontestable superiority over the German infantry and artillery; as well as over the German cavalry."

There is a large body of German prisoners in the old fortress of Blaye, on the Gironde, and the French doctor told a friend that the first set of prisoners hastened to inform later arrivals that the English were fighting with the French against Germany. "This, however," they added, "is of no consequence whatever. The English soldiers are not worth taking into account." By-and-by other prisoners arrived, and the same story was repeated to them. They immediately protested. "You make a grievous mistake," they said, "if you believe that. The English soldiers are terrible fellows."

The following is a translation of a letter that was found on a dead German officer: "The English soldier is the best trained soldier in the world. The English soldier's fire is ten thousand times worse than hell. If we could only beat the English it would be well for us, but I am afraid we shall never be able to beat these English devils. They are very brave and fight to the last."

Even the Kaiser has found out that French's "Contemptible little Army" is like what the nervous lady said of a mouse— "small, but a horrible nuisance."

The deeds of daring that were done in former British wars were repeated over and over in the present one. There were cavalry charges which can compare with that of the Light Brigade at Balaclava, only that nobody blundered. Almost every day a small number of our men kept multitudes of Germans at bay and got out of the tight corner at last. Guns were saved or taken with up-to-sample bravery. Wounded men were rescued by self-forgetting comrades who were often themselves wounded.

Here is an extract from a sergeant's letter printed in The Evening News: "When on the Monday morning we were compelled, reluctantly, to retire it was just as though we stood on parade at Woolwich. The line was as straight and steady as ever it was. I could not help thinking that here was an answer to the blatant ranters who are for ever prating about the degeneracy of our race."

Nor were our men afraid of the greater amount of work which up-to-date war entails. An officer mentioned having had during five days of a retreat, two hours of sleep and nineteen to twenty hours marching a day. "It was awful to see men with bad feet fall by the roadside; but I am glad our troops are still the British soldier of history, taking everything that comes in a most philosophical and courageous manner. Lying in rain-soaked trenches for three days under a murderous and hellish fire, wet, hungry, merely provokes him to song and laughter."

A corporal of the 16th Lancers wrote: "We are in the saddle from 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. to 10 p.m. and 11 p.m.; then off again at three next morning—not exactly playing billiards at the club."

A sergeant-major was so worn out with marching that at the battle of Le Cateau he fell asleep and did not awake until his regiment, which had been in reserve, was ordered to engage. Some men with rifles still hot in their hands and their heads resting on the barrels slept "the brave sleep of wearied men."

In a letter from the front there was this passage: "Our fellows have signed the pledge because Kitchener wants them to. But they all say, 'God help the Germans, when we get hold of them, for making us teetotal.' You can get plenty of beer, but I would not disgrace myself with that, especially on active service."

The French expected our soldiers to be fond of drink, but they found that they preferred tea to the free drinks of wine they offered.

The girls and women hung on the arms of the British and said that their only hope was in them. The children played with them and the old people were cheered up by their songs and laughter as they marched through the villages. Mr. Thomas Atkins was as brave in resisting the temptations of this popularity as he was when he came, as he soon did, to his first battles.

The brave are always tender-hearted, and our soldiers were as humane and considerate to those whom they conquered as they were strong and courageous in conquering. After the battle the men with whom they had been fighting were no longer enemies. They were, if wounded, poor fellows to be pitied and helped.

And our men were generous in their appreciation. One man wrote: "In spite of all we say about the Teuton he is taking his punishment well, and we've got a big job on our hands. Getting to Berlin isn't going to be a cheap excursion."

[CHAPTER II]

Courage

What is courage or fortitude? There are many kinds of it, but Locke's definition covers most cases. "It is the quiet possession of a man's self, and an undisturbed doing of his duty, whatever evil beset him, or danger lie in his way."

There are those who have courage to fight, but not to wait. Where duty says, "Go forward," to halt or to go in any other direction is cowardice; where duty says, "Stand still," to go forward is cowardice. Our soldiers have shown themselves capable of both kinds of courage. At the battle of Mons they were brave enough to retreat when ordered, though they were driving the Germans before them at the point of the bayonet. They said that they could not understand why the order to retreat was given, but they trusted their leaders.

"Tommy Atkins, you're a fighter.
An' your work is clean and sweet—
When you've got a job before you,
Why you goes an' does it neat;
Tommy Atkins, you're a hero,
With your 'masterly retreat!'
"Tommy Atkins, you're a Saxon,
An' you're bloomin' hard to beat,
And you've borne the brunt o' fightin'
And you've kept upon your feet—
An' you've learned the precious lesson
Of a 'masterly retreat!'
"Tommy Atkins, you're a soldier,
An' your work is clean and sweet,
An' you've won a dozen battles
By a nicely-timed defeat—
Tommy Atkins, you're a hero,
With your 'masterly retreat'!"

"Ah," said a French officer, "we lose so heavily, we French. We haven't the patience of the English. They are fine and can wait: we must rush."

But indeed the very constancy of the courage of our soldiers may sometimes hide it. We take it for granted. We become so accustomed to read of the coolness of Mr. Thomas Atkins amidst a hail of bullets, that we begin to fancy that with a good umbrella we would be equally indifferent to the shower. Is courage then natural, and are all men brave? Quite the contrary. What is natural is an instinctive desire to save life and limb, and those who overcome this from a sense of duty ought to get credit for doing so.

How courage creates courage is told by a Connaught Ranger. Writing of a man who had carried him away through a storm of bullets when wounded he said, "He is a grand lad and afraid of nothing. He gave all who were near him courage by his brave conduct."

There are many kinds and degrees of courage. There is that which is calm, deliberate and with little or no hope of reward.

A magnificent manifestation of this courage was given by twelve Royal Engineers. A bridge on the British line of retreat had to be destroyed. A party of sappers laid a charge; but before they could light the fuse they were killed. Then one of the Engineers made a rush, alone, towards the fuse. He was killed before he had got half-way, but immediately he was down another man dashed up and ran on until he, too, fell dead, almost over the body of his comrade. A third, a fourth, a fifth attempted to run the gauntlet of the German rifle fire, and all of them met their deaths in the same way. Others dashed out after them, one by one, until the death toll numbered eleven. Then, for an instant, the German rifle fire slackened, and in that instant the bridge was blown up, for the twelfth man, racing across the space where the dead bodies of his comrades lay, lit the fuse and sent the bridge up with a roar as a German rifleman brought him down dead.

A few British soldiers held at bay a large number of Germans who were trying to rush a bridge. A Sergeant of the Royal Engineers perceived that if they did this our men would be cut off. He destroyed the bridge with dynamite, the British troops were saved, but a shell took off the Sergeant's head.

With the modesty of a real hero Lance-Corporal Jarvis, R.E., said to a newspaper reporter: "Yes, I am proud to have gained the Cross, but all the fellows at the front deserve it." Jarvis got the Victoria Cross for gallantry shown at Genappes on August 23rd in working for one and a half hours under heavy fire, in full view of the enemy, and in successfully firing charges for the demolition of a bridge. "The work on the bridge was done under fire from three sides. Near the bridge I found Captain Theodore Wright, V.C., wounded in the head. I wished to bandage him, but he said, 'Go back to the bridge; it must be done'—and so I went. The British infantry were posted behind barricades, and I had to make quite a detour to get round where I had to start operations."

"Good-bye, you fellows." Thirty gunners of a British field battery had just been killed and wounded. Thirty others had been ordered to take their places. Knowing they were going to their death, this was the last greeting to their comrades in the reserve line. Two minutes afterwards every man had been put out of action, and another thirty went to the front, with the same farewell greeting, smoking cigarettes as they went to almost certain death.

A pathetic picture was presented when a British Red Cross shelter was being shelled, and the less wounded men carried the more wounded to a place of comparative safety.

Some almost mad things were done by men in the trenches, in the intervals of coolly playing games.

A man stole forth on a dark night to carry off a German maxim. He wriggled on his stomach to within a few yards of his object. He surprised the guard of five Prussians, slew them, and returned in triumph to his trench with the maxim slung like a sheep across his shoulders. Rendered brazen by his success he sallied forth again to collect the ammunition and belt which he had left behind on his first journey.

One day the Gloucesters were lying under shell fire, and a shell dropped right in the middle of a party having some food. It did not explode at once, so one of the men dropped his biscuit, got up and threw the shell out of the trenches.

A sergeant of the Royal Horse Artillery who had come back from the war for a rest, was asked if there were many men getting the Victoria Cross. He replied: "Of course there are, but every fellow who has fought has in some way or other earned it. Why, our little trumpeter, had he been saving a wounded man under the same conditions as he collared a chicken for his comrades' dinner, would have certainly obtained the coveted Cross. We were being shelled and fired on fiercely when a chicken suddenly ran into a very inferno of fire. 'There goes our dinner!' cried the trumpeter, and without another word he chased the bird for at least five minutes, never worrying a little bit about the shells and bullets. Finally he came back with a bullet in his leg, but as proud as the Kaiser himself, with the chicken in his arms."

Compare with this the following, written by Sergeant George Freshwater, of the Highland Light Infantry: "The other day one of our fellows shot a pig that came wandering towards our trench. The difficulty was, however, to get him. The pig lay about 30 yards from us, and was right in the line of the German fire. Some of the Germans also shot at him, but it was our chaps who killed him. We drew lots who would go out and fetch the 'bacon' in. The chap who was stuck for the job went out at once, though some of us wanted him to wait until it got dark, but he wouldn't. He got the pig in safely, though he got two shots through his sleeve and one through his cap. The pig got six shots in him. We skinned and roasted the pig in the trench that night, and had a real good breakfast off him the next morning."

A man crept up to a German trench and took away from a sleeping warrior a helmet, knapsack, a pair of patent-leather boots (evidently looted), and forty-five rounds of ammunition.

A soldier wrote: "There was a big, awkward, gawky lad of the Camerons who took a fancy to a Scotch collie that had followed us about a lot, and one day the dog got left behind when we were falling back. The big lad was terribly upset and went back to look for it. He found it, and was trudging along with it in his arms, making forced marches to overtake us, when he fell in with a party of Uhlans on the prowl. He and his dog fought their best, but they hadn't a dog's chance between them, and both were killed."

"A man of the 'Glosters' noticed a horse that had been struck with a shell and was in great pain, and was neighing piteously for water. There was none about, and with the Germans rapidly closing in it was as much as any man's life was worth to stay another minute. The brave chap knew that as well as anyone, but he wanted to make the poor animal comfortable before he cleared off, so he hunted around until he found water. We had to clear out, and didn't know what had happened to him until next day when we retook the position, and found the Gloucester lad and horse both dead."

The highest courage comes from forgetting self and caring for the welfare of others.

This was told by a corporal of an Irish regiment. "We were in a place near Rheims and a Britisher dashed out from a farmhouse on the right and ran towards us. The Germans fired and he fell dead. We learned that he had been captured the previous day by a party of German cavalry, and had been held a prisoner at the farm, where the Germans were in ambush for us. He saw their game, and, though he knew that if he made the slightest sound they would kill him, he decided to make a dash to warn us of what was in store."

It was not enough for our men to show courage on land and sea; they now do so also in the air. At one time it was thought that the Germans excelled in this new kind of warfare, and that their Kaiser was "the Prince of the power of the air." Now the French and British have successfully disputed this ascendancy.

The men of the Royal Flying Corps are not "afraid of that which is high." "Fired at constantly both by friend and foe," Sir John French writes, "and not hesitating to fly in every kind of weather, they have remained undaunted throughout."

John Baker, Royal Flying Corps, told the following in a letter home: "While flying over Boulogne at a height of 3,000 feet something went wrong with the machine, and the engine stopped. The officer said, 'Baker, our time has come. Be brave, and die like a man. Good-bye,' and shook hands with me. The next I remembered was that I was in a barn."

Another new opportunity for courage is given by the work of the motor-cycle despatch-rider. There is in it adventure, danger, hardship and every other element of romance. The despatch-rider has to take his machine over rough fields and roads made dangerous by shell holes. He has often experiences as bad as the one which Lance-Corporal Davies, of the Welsh Fusiliers, thus describes: "I had to accompany one of the sergeants in carrying a despatch across the battlefield under fire. We had not gone far before the sergeant was shot dead. I took the despatch from his keeping with all haste and made at top speed for the staff officers for whom it was intended. As I delivered the despatch I dropped into a dead faint from exhaustion, and when I came round I found myself in the field hospital."

The despatch-rider has to pass sentries who shoot at sight, and sometimes he has to go through even the lines of the enemy.

[CHAPTER III]

Courage and Discipline

Before the last Boer War British Army officers did not take their profession as seriously as did Continental military men. A regiment was a club and many came into it merely to have a good time.

After the lessons of the Boer War all this changed. Zeal and energy took hold of our officers and they began to think that they were bound in honour to make themselves efficient. And they have done so.

The rank and file know this, and respect them for it. One soldier ended a letter with these words: "We are officered by excellent men, and we feel that we are being led. Their coolness when in a tight corner had a great effect upon the men and pulled us through often." In one of his letters at the beginning of the war a sergeant of the Buffs remarked, "It is wonderful, with all they have to do, how helpful and kind the officers are. They know their work to their finger tips. If some of you at home who have spoken sneeringly of British officers could have seen how they handled their men and shirked nothing you would be ashamed of yourselves."

The other day Lord Raglan, Lieutenant-Governor of the Isle of Man, related an incident which shows what a soldier will do for his officer. He said that his son, who is a lieutenant in the Welsh Regiment, was seriously wounded in Belgium, and that a private soldier first bound up the wound, and then said, "They shall not hit you again, sir." He then lay down in front of his wounded officer so that his own body would protect him from the fire of the enemy.

An officer of the Manchester Regiment was equally self-sacrificing for a soldier. Lieutenant W.G. Mansergh was hit in the leg at Le Cateau. Falling near an empty trench he crawled into it and was comparatively safe. Shortly after a soldier of the same regiment crawled up to the same trench. Mansergh pulled him in and got the man underneath him (it was a short "two-man trench" for kneeling). Mansergh was now exposed to shrapnel, though still protected by the trench parapet from rifle fire. A shell burst just in front of the trench low down. Mansergh was killed on the spot.

An officer wrote, "You cannot imagine how one gets to love these soldier chaps. The other day they found an egg which they wanted me to have. Of course I wouldn't, but offered to cut for it (we have got a pack of cards). In the end it was given to a woman we met. They are just like children in the way they look up to one and ask one for advice and counsel on all kinds of subjects, great or small. Although I say it myself, I don't think they could put more confidence in their officers than they do at times like these, and I think most of us appreciate the fact."

Private Walker, of the 1st Cameronians, wrote in a letter to his mother: "I asked an officer for some tobacco, and he gave me some of what he had been smoking, laughingly remarking, 'It's Cavendish.' It was just leaves pulled off the trees, so hard up were we for tobacco."

What a contrast there is between the discipline of the German and the British Army! In the former officers and men are almost in the same relation to each other as warders and convicts. The officers drive their men and do not lead them, and dumb, driven cattle cannot be heroes in the strife. German officers think of their men only as "cannon fodder," ours associate with them in games during peace time, and in war share all their hardships. It was this "moral persuasion" discipline that so often enabled our small army to knock the tail-feathers out of the Kaiser's eagle.

A corporal of the 1st Cameronians wrote: "Thank Heaven our officers are not like German officers. Ours are the best in the world. 'Come on, lads!' is the way they cheer us, and the boys know how to obey."

This war has shown that there never was in our Army more of that best kind of discipline which comes from officers and men being in friendly touch with each other. A man who was lying in a place where shells were exploding, said to his officer, "Sir, may I retire, I have been hit three times?"

The following are some of the testimonies which men returned from the war gave as to the good feeling that exists between our officers and their men.

This is from a corporal's letter: "Our officers are grand and they cheer our men by their laughter and jokes in the trenches. They are gluttons for work, and are always cheerful, cool, and quick to see and seize any chance of delivering a punishing blow at any part of the enemy's lines. The only complaint against them is that they will not take cover, but expose themselves too much. The Boer War lesson they teach to the men, but won't profit by it themselves."

Describing the fighting at Mons, a sergeant of the Royal Berkshire Regiment said: "Captain Shott, D.S.O., of our regiment, was, I think, the bravest man I ever met. On August 23rd, when we were near —— and were lying in our trenches with shell fire constantly around us, he walked out into the open and, with his cheery words, gave us good heart. He was puffing a cigarette and he said, 'Lads, we will smoke.' He was an officer and a gentleman in every sense of the word, and when he was killed two days later it was a great blow to us."

"Captain Berners, of the Irish Guards," wrote one of his men, "was the life and soul of our lot. When shells were bursting over our heads, he would buck us up with his humour about Brock's displays at the Palace. But when we got into close quarters, it was he who was in the thick of it, and didn't he fight! I don't know how he got knocked over, but one of our fellows told me he died a game 'un.' There is not a Tommy who would not have gone under for him."

We read of an officer of the 1st Hampshire Regiment reading "Marmion" aloud in the trenches, under a fierce fire, to keep up the spirits of his men. "He is as cool as a slab of salmon in a fishmonger's shop. He is a top-hole chap and worshipped by his men."

Writing of the terrible fire of the German artillery at the Marne, a soldier said: "All we could do was to keep on firing. Our officer stood up in the trenches and clapped his hands like as if he was clappin' a star turn at the Empire. 'Good boys!' he yelled. 'Good boys, stick to it!' That was all he said. The next moment a piece of shell crumpled him up. His death was a terrible blow to us. He did not know what fear is, and shared everything from a biscuit to a cigarette with his men."

So, too, a guardsman wrote: "There is not a man in the whole Brigade of Guards but what would readily admit that all the hardships the men have endured have been shared by the officers."

I read the following from a corporal's letter in The Daily Chronicle: "Our Major (Mathieson) was a hero. When we were hard pressed and they charged our weak line, we were almost on the point of retiring, but he stood up in the midst of the fire and shouted, 'Never let it be said that a Cold-streamer retired in front of a German dog.' After that we were all as one man and never flinched."

A subaltern was heard to say in his sleep, "This position must be held at any cost." This showed his zeal and the tension of his overworked nerves.

A battalion, full strength, went into the trenches. They stayed there day after day without relief, resisting overwhelming forces which were trying to drive them out. At last the time for relief came. They came out of the trenches, but only a fourth of those who had gone into them, and they came out under the command of one who had become their senior officer, a boy of nineteen. When they came out he formed up his men. He gave them the order to march, and then he burst into tears, and fell fainting to the ground. While duty required it he had done all that was wanted of him, but when it was over the strain was too much, and he broke down.

An officer said to his men, "Surely British soldiers can keep back any amount of German waiters." The men said that they were "bucked up" by this way of putting it.

In a letter to his wife, Private McKay, of the 2nd Highland Light Infantry, wrote: "The Highland Light Infantry, the Oxford and Bucks Light Infantry, the Worcester Regiment, and the Connaught Rangers have beaten all records for marching by doing 190 miles in eight and a half days, and at the same time fighting rearguard actions day after day. When on the march the men have been so run down that they feel like falling down, but our officers help them on with a few words, such as 'Come on, men! Think of the honour of the regiment.' That does it. They all start singing, 'Hold your hand out, naughty boy!' and feel fit for another 10 or 15 miles."

Another soldier wrote to his parents: "I have often told you what a fine fellow our captain was. He got knocked over with a piece of shell; but kneeling on one knee, he was cheerful, and kept saying, 'My bonnie boys, make sure of your man.' When he was taken away in the ambulance he shouted, 'Keep cool and mark your man.' To his men he was always a gentleman."

Bandsman Imeson, 4th Middlesex Regiment, wrote this about his officer, Lieutenant Williams: "He was a hero. When in the trenches he would expose himself to danger so as to take good aim with his rifle, although we frequently requested him to get under cover. His answer was, 'Look at the bounders, men; don't waste a shot; take careful aim, so that each shot tells.' It was while he was taking aim that he was shot through the stomach, and later died. His last words were, 'Men, give it them.'"

Another soldier in a letter said that he nearly cried when he saw his captain shot. "He has been so good to us."

Big strapping troopers of the Horse Guards are said to have "cried like kids" when their Major fell in action. "If you knew how much we loved that man you would understand."

A soldier thus wrote, who had been asked to tell General A. Wynn about his son's death at Landrecies:

"Sir, these are a few of the instances which made your son liked by all his men. The last day he was alive we had got a cup of tea in the trenches, and we asked him to have a drink. He said, 'No. Drink it yourselves; you are in want of it.' And then with a smile, he added, 'We have to hold the trenches to-day.' Again, at Mons, we had been fighting all day, and someone brought a sack of pears and two loaves of bread. Lieutenant Wynn accepted only one pear and a very little bread. We noticed this. I had a small bottle of pickles in my haversack and asked him to have some. But it was the usual answer: 'You require them yourselves.' Our regiment was holding the first line of trenches, and Lieutenant Wynn was told to hold the right of the company. Word was passed down to see if Lieutenant Wynn was all right, and I was just putting up my head when they hit me, and I heard from a neighbour that Lieutenant Wynn was hit through the eye and died instantly. He died doing his duty, and like the officer and gentleman he was."

Officers and men were always on the watch to help each other. At the battle of Mons an officer stood over the body of a private who had previously saved his life until he had fired his last shot from his revolver, and then fell seriously wounded. A private soldier carried on his back for 800 yards a young subaltern, who afterwards died in hospital.

Trooper O'Brien, of the 3rd Dragoons, told in a letter to his wife how Captain Wright, of his squadron, crept out under a heavy artillery and rifle fire to try and bring in two wounded men. "He brought one back to the trench and bandaged up and placed in safety the other. He is a lovely man, and I and every other man in my squadron would follow him anywhere to the death."

A private wrote: "Officers seem to be mainly concerned about the safety of their men, and indifferent to the risks they take upon themselves. Lieutenant Amos rescued a wounded man under heavy fire. Several of us volunteered to do it, but the lieutenant would not hear of anybody else taking the risk."

Private R. Toomey, Royal Army Medical Corps, told of an officer of the Royal Irish shouting at the top of his voice, "Give them hell, boys, give them hell!" He had been wounded in the back by a lump of shrapnel, but, said Toomey, "It was a treat to hear him shouting."

Because of a foolish affair in Ulster, Ireland, our Army not so long ago was said to be insubordinate. What answer has the war given to this? It has shown that officers and men never worked better together, and that the educated, temperate soldier of the present fights just as well as did his predecessor, whose mind was too uncultivated to realise danger, and who was not unfrequently blinded to it by drink.

How well the officers managed their men when they were sore and disappointed at the order to retreat after the battle of Mons! A General told the South Staffordshire Regiment that they were doing splendidly, but that they must retreat or they would be surrounded. They were all so unwilling to yield ground that one of them, expressing impatience, made a comment he would never have thought of doing in peace time. The General only smiled.

At St. Quentin Sir John French, "smiling all over his face," explained to the troops the meaning of the repeated retirements. Up to this the men had almost to be pulled back by their officers, but after the explanation they fell in cheerfully with that most hated thing—a strategic movement to the rear.

The men were pleased by Sir John and his staff going among them to see their life in the trenches, and whether they were being properly looked after. "He has no 'side,' and is just as ready to smile on the ordinary private as on the highest officer. He stops when he has time to have a chat for the sake of finding out what we think of it all, and whether we are properly looked after."

The spirit which animates our officers, and the men through them, is shown by words written by Captain Norman Leslie a short time before he was killed: "Try and not worry too much about the war units. Individuals cannot count. Remember we are writing a new page of history. Future generations cannot be allowed to read of the decline of the British Empire and attribute it to us. We live our little lives and die, and to some are given the choice of proving themselves men, and to others no chance comes. Whatever our individual faults, virtues, or qualities may be, it matters not; but when we are up against big things let us forget individuals and let us act as one great British unit, united and fearless. Some will live and many will die, but count not the loss. It is better far to go out with honour than survive with shame."

[CHAPTER IV]

Boys of the Bulldog Breed

A bugler only sixteen years of age was, on returning from the war, being taken to the Royal Herbert Hospital at Woolwich. One of the soldiers said to the people who were looking on, "He is a little hero, and deserves a dozen medals. He did not leave off sounding his bugle until his left arm was blown off with a shell and he had four bullet wounds in him."

Another boy of the bulldog breed, who is a trumpeter, did this heroic deed. A British battery had lost all its horses and all its men except a lieutenant and a trumpeter. By one of the guns lay the sergeant-major, wounded in the leg and shoulder, and the lad decided that he would make an attempt to take him out of the line of fire. His officer tried to dissuade him, declaring that it was sheer madness, in face of the awful shell fire that was pouring like rain all round that spot. The lad, however, was determined, and, getting hold of a spare horse from the rear, galloped off to where the wounded sergeant-major lay, picked him up, placed him across his saddle, and brought him safely to the hospital.

The great complaint our cavalry had against that of the enemy was that they would not stand and have a respectable charge against them.

A party of Royal Marines were going by train from Antwerp to Ostend. At 10 o'clock at night the train was stopped and the Marines were fired at by Germans from all directions. The officer in command was asked to surrender. He replied, "Royal Marines never surrender." The no-surrender boys fought their way through, though they lost many of their number.

Great was the pain that an order to retreat gave to other boys of the bulldog breed. While the British were gaining a series of great successes, the French were being defeated on the right. They were unable to hold the Germans. The British were ordered to fall back in order that they might not be enveloped by the Germans and completely cut off. When the order came, the men became almost rebellious. "Stalwart members of the Scottish and Irish regiments wept."

The men, however, as it proved, got even more opportunity of showing courage in the retreat that they did not, at the time, understand. "My story," says the New York World correspondent, "principally concerns the bulldog-like resistance of the British troops against the constant ferocious attacks by the Germans holding the centre of the far-flung line, while the French troops were engaged in pushing back the right flank of the Germans. Official statements conveyed but an incomplete idea of the tremendous undertaking of the British and French troops."

"If there be truth behind the splendid boast
That freedom makes of every man a host
And multiplies his courage and his might
Above the strength of peoples without right
To liberty; now is the hour to show
The universe how Britain meets the foe."

The following incidents have been mentioned in despatches: During the action at Le Cateau on August 26th the whole of the officers and men of one of the British batteries had been killed or wounded, with the exception of one subaltern and two gunners. These continued to serve one gun, kept up a sound rate of fire, and came unhurt from the battlefield.

On another occasion a portion of a supply column was cut off by a detachment of German cavalry, and the officer in charge was summoned to surrender. He refused, and starting his motors off at full speed dashed safely through, losing only two lorries.

It is no wonder that a French officer said that British soldiers were always "le bulldog. We did not know that they could fight as they do, nor did the Germans. You cannot wear out their spirits: even if you walk them off their legs they will crawl somehow, they will never stop."

Writing about his soldiers after the battle of the Aisne, a British officer used these words: "There is an extraordinary English atmosphere over the whole show. I mean that the men display a dogged, obstinate resistance in the face of any odds and absolutely refuse to consider the possibility of their being beaten. They won't admit at any time that the Germans have got the best of them. Their cheerfulness is extraordinary and nothing is able to depress them."

The following account of part of the same battle illustrates the above remark: "The Engineers built a pontoon bridge across the river. They were under shell fire all the time, but they stuck to the work gamely. Luckily the shells dropped in the river, and did not explode. The order was given to cross the bridge man by man, six yards between each man. It was a race across under fire. I saw men getting ready for their turn, as if it were a hundred yards sprint and the officer giving the word to the next man: 'Go.' It was an exciting time, and lots of men fell in the river and were drowned. I ran the race of my life, but I got over safely. We advanced up a side of a hill, as the river was down a valley, and when we got on top it was all open country, and the Germans held a position on the hills in front of us, and their infantry had trenches just below them. Their shells started to drop on us. We advanced a bit. We were getting slaughtered. We lay down flat on our stomachs. They were well in the trenches, and we could see they meant to make a stand. We lay there helpless against their artillery. The shells ceased a while, and their infantry tried to rush us, but as soon as they left their trenches our rifle fire played hell with them. They were trying to rush us, but we drove them back time after time. My rifle I could hardly hold, as it was red-hot with the continual firing. It was raining all the time, and we were lying in water. I had to keep dropping my rifle and wet my hands on the ground. We could not move an inch. The shells started again. It was like waiting to be killed. It was miserable lying in wet. We lay there for four days, getting biscuits and bully beef at night, when the supplies used to creep up to us at the risk of their lives."

Another instance of bulldog resistance was thus recorded: "At one place we had a surprise attack. We were just getting ready for some food, when all of a sudden shells started bursting around us. I can tell you, it was a case of being up and doing. Dixies and tea-cans were flung one side, our tea spilt, fires put out, and the order given to stand to our guns and horses; everyone to prepare for action. Still, we were not to be caught napping. Our boys only close one eye when we get a chance of a sleep, so you can tell we were wide awake to the fact that it was a case of do or die. Our gallant boys, the Guards, held them at bay until our death-dealing pea-shooters put them to flight; nevertheless, the Germans made a strong resistance during the night, and it was only after a hard struggle that we managed to be victorious."

How the Coldstream Guards saved a division of British troops is told by one of them: "The Germans were in tremendous numbers, easily sufficient to swamp us. We had chosen the position very carefully, and our flanks were protected by barbed-wire defences. The enemy suffered fearful losses along that narrow strip of road, but they never relaxed their efforts to take the place by storm. So fierce was the fighting that the Germans did manage once to capture one of our machine guns, but they did not keep it long—we soon had it back. Rush after rush came during the night, but our lads held fast. The German big guns were very troublesome. One of them was a particular danger, and the order came to one of the machine gunners to try to scrap it. 'Yes, sir, what range?' 'Four hundred yards,' came the reply. The gunner adapted his machine, and let drive. One shot was sufficient. It got the German gun right in the breech, and it did not bark again that night. The engagement proceeded all night. A huge German force was held up by a comparative handful of British soldiers, while the latter's main body was able to extricate itself from a most precarious position."

A soldier of the 1st Queen's described this case of bulldog resistance: "On September 17th we were supporting the Northamptons, who were hotly engaged with the enemy. The Germans threw up their hands, and the Northants ceased to press home the attack. As they approached, however, instead of surrendering, the Germans opened a withering fire, and the Northants were compelled to retire. Their danger was recognised by Colonel Warren, whose machine-gun section was disabled. He himself served a gun, assisted by his adjutant, and helped to pour in a heavy fire on the Germans, who suffered severely. Both officers paid for their gallantry with their lives. A shrapnel shell from a German gun burst over them, their gun was shattered, and Colonel Warren and Captain Wilson were instantaneously killed."

A soldier related how when unable to sleep one night with the cold of the trenches the regiment wished for some warming work and got it. "We were called out to support an infantry brigade. During the action at one point the line broke, and our lads fell back in some confusion. Reserves were pressed forward to feed the fighting line, and the advance began again. Once more the Germans were too heavy for our chaps, and again they were forced back. They halted for a little to take a rest and then began again. They dashed up the slope like wild cats and closed with the Germans, who were by this time getting tired of it. There was no falling back this time, and though it was very hard work indeed, the whole line of trenches was cleared and the Germans sent flying. I tell you that it is so terrible in the trenches at times, that we mutter through our chattering teeth prayers to Almighty God only to give the Germans sufficient grace to make them come out and attack us, just to warm us up and give us the exercise our aching limbs are crying out for."

After relating how his regiment at one place held its ground to the last, a soldier proudly added: "General French has thanked us for the way we behaved, and praise from him is worth a great deal more than from other men. He is not in a hurry to say nice things about us, but when he does speak we know he means every word of it, and maybe more. That's the way to get round the soldiers."

[CHAPTER V]

Facing Fearful Odds

This is how some twenty-six British soldiers faced 3,500 Germans after the evacuation of Mons. The British forces reluctantly retreated. As they were only giving ground step by step, twenty-six Fusiliers entrenched themselves in a farm overlooking a long, straight road. They were in possession of several machine guns and these they placed inside the doors of the farm house. "Now, boys," shouted one of the twenty-six, "we are going to cinematograph the grey devils when they come along. This is going to be Coronation Day. Let each of us take as many pictures as possible." As soon as the Germans appeared on the road and started attacking a canal bridge the Fusiliers very coolly turned the handle of their guns.

The picture witnessed from the farm on the "living screen" by the canal bridge was one that will not easily be forgotten. The "grey devils" dropped down in hundreds. Again and again they came on only to get more machine murder. At length they thought that it was wiser to continue their march and leave alone the twenty-six who had for a considerable time delayed it.

A well-known Member of Parliament, when visiting a locality in France where there had been much fighting, came to a lonely wood. Around a large tree were significant mounds enclosed by a palisade on which were hanging laurel wreaths. On a part of the tree from which the bark had been stripped was a rude inscription: "Here lie the bodies of twenty English heroes." This was a German tribute to our countrymen, who had fought to the last against overwhelming odds. The enemy admiring their bravery, had buried them and left this record. A company of French soldiers passing through the wood later on saw it. They stayed to erect the palisade to guard the graves, and upon it they hung twenty laurel wreaths.

One of the Lancashire Fusiliers when left behind at Mons continued to fire until his last cartridge was gone. His bayonet was also gone, so he stood up with folded arms until he was shot down.

Here is how the brigade to which the Welsh regiment belonged faced fearful odds.

"'The contemptible little Army' were opposed by 300,000 Germans. Our brigade got a position that, had the enemy made a dash at us, we should have been overwhelmed. Had they had the pluck they could have come over a ridge and mowed us down, for we were all in a valley, but our General knew we were safe from any attack in the open. All they did was to keep up a terrible artillery fire. Shrapnel shells were bursting over us, but amid all this we took heed of only one word, 'Advance,' and advance we did. Our regiment had a centre position. On we all went. We neared the crest of the hill behind which was our goal. About twenty yards from the crest we lay down and our company commander, Captain Haggard, advanced to the top, saw the Germans and then shouted, 'Fix bayonets, boys, here they are.' What an officer! What a soldier! He himself used a rifle. We 'fixed' and were prepared to follow him anywhere, but we were checked by a storm of maxim fire. We knew by the sound that we were up against a tremendous force. There was only one game to play now—bluff them into the belief that we were as strong as themselves, so we were ordered 'rapid firing,' which gives an enemy the impression that the firing force is strong. We popped away like this for three hours, never moving an inch from our position, and our officers standing up to locate the enemy every now and again. We lost four officers in about twenty minutes. Men were getting hit, bullets coming at us from our front and both flanks. Still we hung on. Just near me was lying our brave captain mortally wounded. As the shells burst over us he would occasionally open his eyes, so full of pain, and call out—but 'twas very weak—'Stick it, Welsh Regiment, stick it, Welsh.' Many of us wounded managed to crawl up and down the firing line 'dishing out' the ammunition we were unable to use. So our lads stuck at it until our artillery got into action. We won. Out in that field were strewn thousands and thousands of German dead and wounded. They even piled them up and made barricades of their dead. Towards dusk, though we were still exposed to terrible shell fire, and to move was almost courting suicide, several of our lads volunteered to collect and carry away the wounded. Many got hit in doing so, but they cared nothing. We were taken to a little farmhouse to wait for the field ambulance wagons. Officers were telling us yarns, were sending everywhere for milk and resolutely refused to be bandaged until we were seen to."

A wounded private of the Royal Munster Fusiliers told the following story of fighting when the regiment had to bear the brunt of the whole German attack, while the rest of the brigade fell back: "They came at us from all points—horse, foot, artillery, and all, and the air was thick with screaming, shouting men waving swords and blazing away at us like blue murder. Our lads stood up to them without the least taste of fear, and when their cavalry came down on us we received them with fixed bayonets in front, the rear ranks firing away as steadily as you please. All round us we saw them collecting until there was hardly a hole fit for a wee mouse to get through, and then it was that the hardest fight of all took place, for we wouldn't surrender, and tried our hardest to cut through the stone wall of the Germans.

"It was hell's own work, but we never hoisted the white flag. One of our men has been recommended for the Distinguished Service Medal. When the man—who was working the machine gun—was killed he came up and took his place. Then the gun was smashed altogether, and his hand blown off with a shell."

The nickname of the regiment is "Dirty Shirts," and because of their heavy losses on this occasion it was said that the Germans had cleaned up the "Dirty Shirts." "Well," said an indignant Fusilier, "it was a moighty expensive washin' for them, anny way."

One of the Irish Dragoon Guards carried a wounded trooper to a farmhouse under fire. A German patrol called at the house and found them. From behind a barrier the Dragoons kept the Germans at bay. The Germans then brought a machine gun up and threatened to destroy the house. Rather than bring suffering on their hosts or the village the two hunted men made a rush out with some mad idea, perhaps, of taking the gun that had been brought against them. They got no further than the threshold of the door, where they fell dead, their blood bespattering the walls of the house.

The 4th Royal Fusiliers were in a warm corner. They were being fired at by outnumbering artillery and infantry, and they were, as one of them said, "like a lot of schoolboys at a treat" when ordered to fix bayonets and charge. "We had about 200 yards to cover before we got near them, and then we let them have it. It put us in mind of tossing hay, only we had human bodies. I was separated from my neighbours and was on my own when I was attacked by three Germans. I had a lively time and was nearly done when a comrade came to my rescue. I had already made sure of two, but the third would have finished me. I already had about three inches of steel in my side when my chum finished him."

The special correspondent of The Daily Mail told the following. One hundred and fifty Highlanders were detailed to hold a bridge over the river Aisne. The Germans opened fire from the woods around, and another body of them greatly outnumbering the Highlanders rushed towards the bridge. For a time they were kept at bay. Then the maxim gun belonging to the little force ceased its fire, for the whole of its crew had been killed, and the gun stood there on its tripod silent, amid a ring of dead bodies. A Highlander ran forward under the bullet storm, seized the maxim, slung tripod and all on to his back, and carried it at a run across the exposed bridge to the far side facing the German attack. The belt of the gun was still charged, and there, absolutely alone, the soldier sat down in full view of the enemy, and opened a hail of bullets upon the advancing column. Under the tempest of fire the column wavered, and then broke. Almost the moment after the Highlander fell dead beside his gun.

In a night attack upon the Worcester Regiment the Germans used the bayonet, which they seldom did, and it was far from a success for them, though there were great masses of them. "We gave them," said a sergeant of the Worcesters, "one terrible volley, but nothing could have stopped the ferocious impetus of their attack. For one terrible moment our ranks bent under the dead weight, but the Germans, too, wavered, and in that moment we gave them the bayonet, and hurled them back in disorder. The Germans have the numbers; we have the men."

At Ypres our Army had to face and hold in check 250,000 Germans for five days. In addition to the ordinary shell and shrapnel there were shells from heavy siege guns brought from Antwerp. These churned up the earth in the trenches and often buried our men who lay there. Over and over again masses of the enemy's infantry advanced within a few hundred yards. Then they halted and poured in a volley. They had no relish for a bayonet charge. Over and over again men leapt from the trenches and went at them with the bayonet. They fled, firing their rifles over their shoulders as they ran. Many hundreds were captured, and thousands were mown down with shell, with rifle, and machine-gun fire. Still their shell and shrapnel rained upon our trenches. Fresh infantry were brought up. The situation became critical; it seemed as if our men would be over-borne by sheer weight of numbers. Still they held on until the fifth day, when relief came and the position was saved.

[CHAPTER VI]

Fights to a Finish

Those were stirring words which the Colonel of the Manchester Regiment addressed to his men when they were surprised at Douai by very superior numbers: "No surrender, lads! First you have your rifles, then your bayonets, then the butts of your rifles, then your fists!"

Even with their fists our soldiers, on one occasion, made the Germans pay for their treachery. "They attacked our position in very strong numbers, but we kept them at bay until they played a trick on us that cost us dear, but not so dear as it cost themselves. They got to two hundred yards of our trenches, then the fire was so hot for them that they hoisted the white flag. Of course we stopped firing, and some got up to go out and take them prisoners, but as soon as they got up to them they opened a pitiless fire on our fellows. For a moment our chaps were taken by surprise, but it was the sight of a lifetime to see them a moment later. Straight into the German masses they sprang, and with their bayonets, butts of their rifles, and even their fists, they set about them. The slaughter was terrible. Soon the Germans had had enough of Tommy Atkins when his temper is roused. They broke and fled in utter disorder. You ought to have heard them yell; it was like a wild beast show let loose."

A company of the Middlesex Regiment were also handy with their fists. Alas! these were not sufficient. They were digging trenches near Mons when a mass of Germans, who seemed to come from nowhere, bore down upon them. Bayonets in hand, they rushed upon our men, who were quite unprepared in the matter of equipment, but the sergeant of the company set the lead by the use of his fists, and "downed two Germans with two successive blows." The whole company followed their sergeant's lead, but they were mowed down like grass.

Here is a typical Irish description from a Munster Fusilier: "The Germans seem to think that you can catch Irish soldiers with fly-papers, for they just stepped up the other day and called on us to surrender, as bold as you like and bolder. We didn't waste any words in telling them to go about their business, but we just grabbed hold of our bayonets and signed to them to come on if they wanted anything, but they didn't seem in any great hurry to meet us. After a bit they opened fire on us with a couple of maxims, but we fixed bayonets and went for the guns with a rush. They appear to be delicate boys indeed, and can't stand very much rough usage with the bayonet. We got their guns. Their cavalry had a try at getting them back later on, but we let them have it with bayonet and rifle, and they got sick of it altogether before long. A big party of them tried the other day to cut off four companies of the Royal Irish Regiment advancing to relieve a French force hard pressed on our left. The Germans lined up along the road just like the police at home trying to turn back a procession that wasn't approved of. The Royal Irish boys didn't take the least heed until they were right up at the Germans, and then they gave them it blazing hot with the bayonet. The Germans' pluck lasts until we are fifty yards from them, and then they are off. It would do you good to see our little chaps chasing great big fellows shouting and laughing. You wouldn't think it was war."

A British Guardsman related how his regiment received German cavalry: "Suddenly the cavalry remounted their horses, and came crashing down on our chaps. 'Now, Guards!' was all the officer in command said, but his men knew what he meant, and they braced themselves for the tussle. They lined up in the good old British square that has proved a terror to European armies before, and the front ranks waited with the bayonet, while the men inside kept blazing away at the advancing horsemen. They came closer and closer, and the earth seemed to shake and quiver beneath their rush. 'Steady!' was all the commander of the —— Guards said, and he said it in a dull way, as though he were giving a nice piece of advice to some noisy youngsters who had been making a row. The men answered not a word, but they set their teeth. Then the crash came. Steel met steel, and sparks shot out as sword crossed bayonet. The game of the Germans was to ride down our ranks, but they didn't know that that trick won't work with British troops, and the Guardsmen kept their ground, in spite of the weight of men and horses. The Germans came to a dead stop, and just then they got a volley from the centre of the square. They broke and scattered, and then they got another volley. The order was given to the Guards, and they dashed after them towards the point where our other men were expected."

On another occasion the Brigade of Guards, who were doing a slow retreat for rest, and who were being followed by a brigade of Germans, over double their strength, suddenly stopped, and hiding in a wood waited for the Germans. In a pitched battle, with fixed bayonets, they wiped the whole crowd out—over 4,000 of them. General French had this recorded, and it was read out to all the troops on special parade.

Rifleman Cummings, of the King's Royal Rifles, wrote to his mother: "I shall never forget the first day under fire. It commenced on our left, and in a short time, in spite of heroic efforts, we watched it silence a battery of our guns. The ear-splitting crash of eight shells bursting along our line at once was terrible. However, we held on all day and part of the night. We knew it was part of the scheme, our retiring, and, although hundreds must have been suffering agonies with their feet, the boys always managed a song and a cheer. One night we reached a town and had just settled down in our billets saying to ourselves, 'Now for a well-earned rest,' when we were suddenly ordered to fall in. Our officer told us the Germans had captured a bridge about a mile from the town, and the General had sent word it had to be taken at all costs. It was a dark road and we were all in single file. There was a continued stream of wounded coming up from the bridge. After one or two charges the bridge was taken at the point of the bayonet."

Private Fairweather, of the Black Watch, gives this account of an engagement on the Aisne: "The Guards went up first and then the Camerons, both having to retire. Although we had watched the awful slaughter in these regiments, when it was our turn we went off with a cheer across 1,500 yards of open country. The shelling was terrific and the air was full of the screams of shrapnel. Only a few of us got up to 200 yards of the Germans. Then with a yell we went at them. The air whistled with bullets, and it was then that my shout of '42nd for ever!' finished with a different kind of yell. Crack! I had been presented with a souvenir in my knee. I lay helpless and our fellows retired over me. Shrapnel screamed all round, and melinite shells made the earth shake. I bore a charmed life. A bullet went through the elbow of my jacket, another through my equipment, and a piece of shrapnel found a resting place in a tin of bully beef which was on my back. I was picked up eventually during the night, nearly dead from loss of blood."

There is little of the glory of war for the wounded when they are waiting to be picked up by the stretcher-bearers and wondering whether they will be picked up at all. No wonder that an officer wrote in a letter: "If ever I come back, and anybody at home talks to me about the glory of war, I shall be d——d rude to him."

This is how another Scotch regiment cleared a road for French artillery when German guns were preventing them from passing along it.

The General commanding the British troops demanded for his men the honour of clearing the way. A Scotch regiment was ordered forward. They left the road and advanced in open order across the marshy ground on the left towards the position where the German guns were firing. The German fire was deadly, but nothing could stop the Scotch men. They made a series of short rushes, making ample use of the ditches, which every hundred yards or so cross the peat bog, to take cover. They were soon within charging distance. The order for fix bayonets was given, and with a ripple the whole line dashed forward. Ditches, barbed wire, and a hail of bullets from quickfirers did not stop them. A rush carried them right up to the German guns, and they bayoneted the gunners at their pieces. A few minutes sufficed to damage the breeches of the guns and so render them useless, and then the regiment fell back, its task accomplished. The brief period this brilliant charge of the Scotch regiment had lasted was sufficient for the French guns to gallop along the road to safety, and they soon came into action.

[CHAPTER VII]

Cavalry Charges

A nervous young man broke down when trying at a party to recite Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade." The considerate hostess said, "Just give it in your own words, Mr. ——" My words are very inadequate to describe the charge of the 9th Lancers at Toulin. Terrible damage was being done to British infantry and artillery by eleven German guns concealed in a wood. At last the commanding officer of the Lancers said, "We must take those guns," and ordered his men to charge. They rode straight at the guns though "stormed at by shot and shell." "They were like men inspired," declared a spectator, "and it seemed incredible that any one could escape alive." When the brave fellows got near the guns they came across hidden wire entanglements. Horses and men went down in a heap. Nothing, however, could stop them. They got to the guns, cut down the gunners, and put the guns out of action.

The Lancers took the praises that were given to them very modestly. "We only fooled round and saved some guns," they said.

At St. Quentin the Black Watch and Scots Greys acted in concert. As at the battle of Waterloo, the Highlanders got into the thick of the fight by holding on to the stirrup leathers of the cavalry. The Greys plunged straight into the ranks of the enemy, each horseman accompanied by a comrade on foot, and the Germans, taken completely by surprise, were broken up and repulsed with tremendous losses. "Our men," said a wounded eye-witness of the charges, "came on with a mighty shout, and fell upon the enemy with the utmost violence. The weight of the horses carried them into the close-formed ranks of the Germans, and the gallant Greys and the 'Kilties' gave a fearful account of themselves."

On another occasion the Scots Greys, seeing the wounded cut at by the German officers, went mad, and, even though the retreat had been sounded, a non-commissioned officer leading, they turned on the Potsdam Guards and hewed their way through, their officers following. Having got through, the officers took command again, formed them up, wheeled, and came back the way they went!

Truly the Greys lived up to or died up to their motto "Second to none." They charged no less than five times at the battle of Mons. One of them thus wrote: "The Germans and our people had been fighting at long range for several hours and we stood looking on, impatient to get at them. Our officers told us not to worry, as our chance would come, and we soon found that they were right. The enemy, greatly outnumbering our chaps, kept creeping up slowly in spite of tremendous losses. One body was endeavouring to work round our flank, and when they came close enough we had our chance. We tore down into them, cutting and thrusting. They did not wait long, we were covered with blood and so were our horses."

Of a combined charge of the Scots Greys and the 12th Lancers, a sergeant of the Berkshire regiment wrote: "It was grand. I could see some of the Germans dropping on their knees and holding up their arms. Then, as soon as our cavalry got through, the Germans picked up their rifles and started firing again. Our men turned about and charged back. It was no use the Germans putting up their hands a second time. Our cavalry cut down every one they came to. I don't think there were ten Germans left out of about 2,000."

The officer commanding the brigade said that it went through the German cavalry as circus horses might go through paper hoops.

Another episode was the capture of fourteen German guns by the 2nd and 5th Dragoons. They were attacked at dawn in a fog, and it looked bad for them, but they turned it into a victory.

An officer wrote: "There was no stopping them once they got on the move. Many flung away their tunics and fought with their shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow. One trooper with his shirt in ribbons actually stooped so low from his saddle as to snatch a wounded comrade from instant death at the hands of a powerful German. Then, having swung the man right round to the near side, he made him hang on to his stirrup leather while he lunged his sword clean through the German's neck."

Well might Sir John French write in an official despatch, "Our cavalry do what they like with the enemy."

I was at Pekin at the end of the Boxer trouble in China, and was standing one day near a German officer when a regiment of Indian cavalry marched past. The German officer made many disparaging remarks about them. The following is a description of the first charge in this war of our Indian cavalry, and the Germans must have learned from it that Indian soldiers are as little contemptible as is the rest of French's army:

"The charge took place one day when the enemy had been pressing us hard all along the line. We had been at it hammer and tongs for three weeks, and were feeling the strain. Towards nightfall the enemy kept pressing closer and closer, and it looked as though their deadweight alone was going to force us back. Their plan seemed to be to break our line at a point where they guessed our men to be most exhausted. Just when they were half way towards our trenches, the Indians, who had arrived the day before and were anxious to get into it, were brought up. At the word of command they swept forward, only making a slight detour to get out of the line of our fire, and then they swept into the Germans from the left like a whirlwind. The enemy were completely taken aback. The Turcos they knew, but these men, with their flashing eyes, dark skins, and white, gleaming teeth, not to mention their terribly keen-edged lances, they could not understand. The Indians didn't give them much time to arrive at an understanding. With a shrill yell they rode right through the German infantry, thrusting right and left with their terrible lances, and bringing a man down every time. The Germans broke and ran for their lives, pursued by the Lancers for about a mile. When the Indians came back from their charge they were cheered wildly all along our line, but they didn't think much of what they had done."

[CHAPTER VIII]

Grit and Guns

In no way has British grit shown itself more in this war than in the capture of German guns and in the defence of our own.

At Neri three artillerymen of the now famous L Battery R.H.A., inspired by their heroic commanding officer, continued to serve the only gun not silenced. The three heroes have been given the Victoria Cross.

Driver Grimes, of the Royal Field Artillery, gave the following account of what happened: "We were about two miles away when we got word to come to the relief of 'L' battery. When we arrived on the scene a terrible sight met our eyes. The battery had been blown to smithereens. Guns were smashed or overturned; some were untouched, but useless, because there was nobody to work them. Officers and men lay dead and wounded on every side. All the officers were killed, and one poor young fellow lay crushed beneath an overturned gun. Haystacks were blazing round about; the place was dense with smoke from shell fire. The Germans took them by surprise, and opened on them at no more than 600 yards' range. It was wonderful that anybody could have lived through such a hell—it was nothing else. But there were the sergeant-major and a couple of drivers working away like madmen at one of the guns, coats off, shirts torn open, and bleeding from minor wounds. They never looked round, but kept potting away for all they were worth. We were only in time. For almost immediately we came on the scene they fired their last remaining charge. The Germans cleared off as soon as we got agoing, and we never heard them that day again. I was one of those who assisted the three men back to the ambulance. 'Have you got a glass of water?' one of them asked. 'We got it pretty hot in there just now,' he added. 'You don't need to tell us that,' we replied, looking round at the great holes which the German shells had torn up in the ground on every side."

Captain Bradbury, R.H.A., had served a gun himself, and knocked out one German gun. He had one leg shot away; but fired off a round or two, until the other leg was taken off. A doctor came to help him, and all he asked from him was morphia so that the men might not hear him screaming.

In a charge at Toulin, Captain Grenfell, of the 9th Lancers, was hit in both legs, and had two fingers shot off at the same time. Almost as he received these wounds a couple of guns posted near were deprived of their servers, all of whom save one man were struck by bursting shrapnel. The horses for the guns had been placed under cover. "We'll get the guns back," cried Captain Grenfell, and at the head of a number of his men, and in spite of his wounds, he did manage to harness the guns up and get them away. He was then taken to hospital.

The final scene at a British battery during the retirement after the battle of Mons is thus described by Gunner B. Wiseman, of the Royal Field Artillery: "Our battery had fired their last round. The Germans were only three hundred yards away. The order was given, 'Retire. Every man for himself.' It was a splendid but awful sight to see horses, men, and guns racing for life, with shells bursting among them. The Germans rushed up, and I lay helpless. A German pointed his rifle at me to surrender. I refused, and was just on the point of being put out when a German officer saved me. He said, 'Englishman, brave fool.' He then dressed my wound, and gave me brandy and wine, and left me."

About fifty men of the Royal Berkshire Regiment were trying to save some guns at Soissons, and this is what happened in the words of a sergeant in a letter to his wife: "We had an order to abandon the guns, but our young officer said, 'No, boys, we will never let a German take a British gun.' Our chaps let up a cheer, and kept up a rapid fire. The guns had fired all their ammunition, but we kept on. Then the Staffords came up and reinforced us on our left flank. We then saw the gun teams coming up to fetch the guns."

The following is a letter of a major in the Royal Field Artillery, to his wife: "At last we came to the edge of the wood, and in front of us, about 200 yards away, was a little cup-shaped copse, and the enemy's trenches with machine-guns a little farther on. I felt sure this wood was full of Germans, as I had seen them go on earlier. I started to gallop for it, and the others followed. Suddenly about fifty Germans bolted out firing at us. I loosed off my revolver as fast as I could and —— loosed off his rifle from the saddle. They must have thought we were a regiment of cavalry, for except a few they suddenly yelled and bolted. I stopped and dismounted my lot to fire at them to make sure they didn't change their minds. I held the horses, as I couldn't shoot them like that myself. I then suddenly saw there were more in the copse—so I mounted the party and galloped at it, yelling, with my revolver held out. As I came to it I saw it was full of Germans, so I yelled 'Hands up!' and pointed the revolver at them. They all chucked down their rifles and put their hands up. Three officers and over forty men to ten of us with six rifles and a revolver. I herded them away from their rifles and handed them over to the Welsh regiment behind us. I tore on with the trumpeter and the sergeant-major to the machine-guns. At that moment the enemy's shrapnel, the German infantry who'd got away, and our own howitzers, thinking we were hostile cavalry, opened fire on us. We couldn't move the beastly things, and it was too hot altogether, so we galloped back to the cup wood and they hailed shrapnel on us there. I waited for a lull, and mounted all my lot behind the bushes and made them sprint as I gave the word to gallop for cover to the woods where the Welsh company was. There I got ----, who understands them, and an infantryman who volunteered to help, and —— and ran up to the maxims, and took out the breech mechanism of both and one of the belts and carried away one whole maxim. We couldn't manage the other. The Welsh asked what cavalry we were. I told them we were the staff of the —— battery and they cheered us, but said we were mad. We got back very slowly on account of the gun and the men wild with excitement, and we have got the one gun complete and the mechanism and belt of the other. The funniest thing was the little trumpeter, who swept a German's helmet off his head and waved it in the air shouting, 'I've got it,' wild with excitement. He is an extraordinarily brave boy."

Lance-Corporal Bignell, Royal Berks, tells how he saw two R.F.A. drivers bring a gun out of action at Mons. Shells had been flying round the position, and the gunners had been killed, whereupon the two drivers went to rescue the gun. "It was a good quarter of a mile away, yet they led their horses calmly through a hail of shell to where the gun stood. Then one man held the horses while the other limbered up."

A Highlander, called Wilson, single-handed captured a German gun. Six Germans were in charge of the gun. Wilson picked off five with his rifle, bayoneted the sixth, and then tried to turn the gun on the enemy. Unfortunately it jammed, and an officer coming up helped him to destroy it. Wilson has been given the Victoria Cross.

Another Highlander had more of guns than he bargained for. In a night fight he lost his regiment, and was picked up by a battery of the Royal Field Artillery, who gave him a lift. But he did not rest long, for the kind gunners went into action ten minutes afterwards with their visitor sitting on one of their guns.

A private in the 1st Lincolns, who has returned home wounded, described how two companies of his regiment captured a battery of six German guns, one of which is now in London:

"During the German retreat the British were held up on a ridge by a battery. Two companies of us made a detour on the right, marched down a valley out of sight of the German gunners, and entered a wood on the enemy's left. The German battery, about 200 yards away, were busy with their work in front, not dreaming that we were on their flank. In extended order we took steady aim, and at the first round every man of the German battery fell. That was all we fired. Our artillery continued firing on the guns and smashed four. The other two were taken. We were afterwards commended."

In The Times appeared the following account, gathered from letters received from brother officers at the front, of the charge in which Lieutenant Sir Archibald Gibson Craig gave his life:

"He was shot while leading his men to the attack of a German machine gun which was hidden in a wood. He located the gun and asked our second in command whether he might take his platoon (about twenty men) and try to capture the gun, which was doing a lot of damage to our troops at the time. The major gave his consent, and Gibson Craig went off to get the gun.... They crawled to the top of the hill and found themselves unexpectedly face to face with a large body of Germans. Our men fired a volley, and then the lieutenant drew his sword and rushed forward, ahead of his men, calling to them 'Charge, men! At them!' He got to within ten yards of them and then fell. By his gallant action he did a great deal to assist the general advance of the regiment, and, in fact, of the whole of the troops engaged. The remaining men silenced the gun, and brought their comrades—two killed and three wounded—back to the lines, two miles, under shell fire all the way, and not one was touched."

A brilliant little exploit was performed by one of our cavalry patrols. Coming suddenly upon a German machine-gun detachment, the subaltern in command at once gave the order to charge, with a result that some of the Germans were killed, the rest scattered, and the gun was captured and carried off.

One who was present described this "double event:"

"The sky turned pure black, and I knew we were going to have a heavy shower. But we had a 'double event'—a shower of bullets also. I could see we were attacked in the rear, and all was confusion for a few minutes, but our men soon woke up, and we got the order to fix bayonets. Down came the rain, and lightning and thunder. I stood for a moment to survey the scene. It was like something you would read about. We got the order to charge the guns, and you should have seen the Irish Guards, 3rd Coldstreams and 2nd Grenadiers rush on them like an avalanche. It was all over in ten minutes. The Germans stood dumbfounded. I shouldn't like to stand in front of that charge myself. Our men were drenched to the skin, but we didn't care, it only made us twice as wild. Such dare-devil pluck I was glad to see."

On one occasion, when the Connaught Rangers were charging with their bayonets to save guns of the Royal Field Artillery, the Germans put up a white flag and afterwards fired on the Irishmen. This got up the Connaught blood, and as one of the Rangers said, that "is nasty to be up agin." The Rangers left their mark on the treacherous foe and saved the guns.

At Charleroi another Irish regiment showed their grit in helping our cavalry to save guns. The horses were shot from under our men, and the Uhlans tried to capture our battery. Then the Munsters stuck to the guns. They dashed forward with fixed bayonets, put the Germans to flight, captured some of their horses, and all their guns.

"There's been a divil av a lot av talk about Irish disunion," says Mr. Dooley, "but if there's foightin' to be done it's the bhoys that'll let nobody else thread on the Union Jack."

A corporal of the Northamptonshire Regiment wrote: "The Germans, who seemed to have the position to a hair's breadth, sent shells shrieking and hissing around a battery of R.F.A. The horses got frantic and began prancing, kicking, and calling out in terror. The drivers, some of whom had dismounted in readiness for unlimbering, held on like grim death, but the animals were in such a state of terror that they could not be restrained, and at last they dashed off with the guns in the direction of the German lines. The drivers on the ground were knocked down, and one was run over by a carriage, but those who were mounted stuck to their posts and did all they could to restrain the mad horses. A party of new men with horses were brought out and dashed off in pursuit of the terrified animals. They caught them up soon and rode alongside to get hold of the runaways. It was no use, however, and now they came within range of more German guns, and the shells were bursting overhead, making the horses madder than ever. There was nothing for it but to shoot them, and this was done after some difficulty. Then it was necessary to take out the dead team and put the new one in, while German shells were dropping round. Half of the men were hit, but they meant to stick to their posts, and not all the Germans in the field could have driven them away. Just as they were getting the guns away a party of German infantry came on the scene, but by that time our battery had moved out to cover the withdrawal of the guns, and we gave the Germans as much as they could stand."

Simple heroism simply told is the keynote of a letter which Gunner Batey, of the R.G.A., has written to the parents of Gunner F.S. Mann. He says: "God bless your son. If it had not been for him I should not be alive to tell the tale. We had been fighting for three days across the Meuse, and I was severely wounded by shrapnel, and fell. We had to retreat, but we were determined to save the guns. I fell again, and our men drove off. Your son and I had fought side by side, and he missed me. The noble lad came back through fires of hell, and carried me to safety. He was wounded, but not dangerously. We are all proud of that boy; he is always in the thick of it. All over the line you could hear him shout, 'Lads, lads; the sooner we get through, the sooner we'll get home.'"

[CHAPTER IX]

Gallantry of Individuals

An Irish Fusilier regiment was in a dangerous position and a messenger was wanted to bring to the men an order to retire. Who would go? Every man offered himself, though they knew that they would have to cross an open country raked with rifle fire. They tossed for the honour, and the first man who started with the message had not gone more than 200 yards when he was wounded, but he rushed on till a second bullet brought him down. Another man took on the message and got only a little way when he was hit. A third messenger almost reached the endangered regiment when he was shot. Half-a-dozen men ran out to bring him in. They all were hit; but the wounded messenger making a supreme effort, crawled to the regiment and delivered the message.

Similar gallantry was shown when the Munster Fusiliers were surrounded and a driver of the R.F.A. named Pledge, who was shut up with them, was asked to "cut through" and get the assistance of the artillery. Pledge mounted a horse and dashed through the German lines. His horse fell and Pledge's legs were injured. Nothing daunted, he got his horse on its feet, and again set off at a great pace. To get to the artillery he had to pass down a narrow road, which was lined with German riflemen. He did not stop, however, but rode through without being hit by a single bullet. He conveyed the message to the artillery, which tore off to the assistance of the Munsters, and saved the situation.

In view of the death of Prince Maurice of Battenberg, the story told by Corporal J. Jolley, King's Royal Rifles, has special interest. After the retreat from Mons the Germans were severely punished. On reaching a height overlooking Chorley-sur-Marne, the King's Royal Rifles were the advance guard. They noticed the Germans preparing to blow up a bridge, but they got away on seeing the British. The latter were ordered to take the bridge. Prince Maurice was the first man over, and searched a house all by himself—a brave act for an officer alone. The British got across the bridge.

A short time before he was shot the cap of the Prince was struck by a bullet. The Prince made a joke of the occurrence and laughed.

Among those who fell at Cambrai was Captain Clutterbuck, of the King's Own (Lancaster) Regiment. He was killed while leading a bayonet charge. "Just like Clutterbuck," wrote a wounded sergeant, describing the officer's valour, and adding, "Lieutenant Steele-Perkins also died one of the grandest deaths a British officer could wish for. He was lifted out of the trenches wounded four times, but protested and crawled back again till he was mortally wounded."

A British officer was in one of the Antwerp forts when it was being pounded by great shells. When its doom was sealed the officer ordered the mixed garrison to save themselves. They succeeded in doing so, but the officer, who stuck to the fort as a captain to his sinking ship, was made a prisoner.

A German prisoner told about a Lancashire Fusilier who had been cut off and refused to surrender to two hundred Germans. He lay on the ground and kept firing away until he hadn't a cartridge left, and as his bayonet was gone he stood up with folded arms while they shot him down.

A corporal of the Fusilier Brigade held a company of Germans at bay for two hours by firing at them from different points, and so making them think they had a crowd to face. He was getting on very well until a party of cavalry outflanked him, and as they were right on top of him there was no deceiving as to his "strength," so he bolted, and the Germans took the position he had held so long.

Rev. Percy Wyndham Guinness, Chaplain to the Forces, 3rd Cavalry Brigade, was awarded a D.S.O., because on November 5th he brought Major Dixon, 16th Lancers, when mortally wounded to an ambulance under heavy fire, and on the afternoon of the same day, being the only individual with a horse in the shelled area, took a message under heavy fire from 4th Hussars to headquarters of 3rd Cavalry Brigade.

An Englishman, who had just returned from making his way by the banks of the Aisne in an attempt to take cigarettes to the troops, came across a solitary grave. Twice he passed it, and his attention was arrested by the fact that kindly hands each day strewed fresh flowers over it. On the pontoon bridge near by a French detachment was keeping guard, and the soldiers explained that the grave was that of an English soldier who, quite alone, had there fought till overwhelmed by numbers. During the great retreat he had strayed from his comrades and fallen exhausted from fatigue. Unable to find them he took up his quarters in an abandoned carriage, but thirty-six hours later the Germans appeared on the other side of the Aisne and fired at him. Undeterred by the fact that he was utterly alone he replied, and such was his determination and accuracy of aim that the villagers declared he accounted for six German officers, one of them a general, before he fell under a volley. The French buried him where he had fought, and erected a cross in honour of his gallantry.

The 1st Royal Scots Fusiliers were defending a bridge and the Germans were firing into them. An officer called Stephens was severely wounded, and would have fallen into the hands of the enemy if he had not been rescued by one of the sergeants. Cropp (that was the sergeant's name) went on the bridge, seized the wounded officer, and placed him on his back. Instead of risking a journey across the shot-swept bridge, he decided, encumbered as he was, to swim the canal, which he did. He swam with the wounded officer out of the line of fire to a place of safety.

A private in the East Yorkshire Regiment tells the following story—"One of the hardest night attacks we had to face was made possible by the momentary carelessness of a lad of the Loyal North Lancashires who was on guard and somehow allowed his thoughts to stray in other directions so that he didn't notice the Germans until they were on top of him. He was disarmed, and became terribly distressed over the prospect of what his carelessness had brought on the Army. He had one chance of redeeming his fault, and he took it. Just when the Germans were half-way towards the sleeping camp he made a run for it. He didn't go far, but the shots fired by the Germans warned the camp of what was coming, and the advanced guard held them in check until the main body got under arms. When we found that lad he was just able to explain what had happened, but he was quite happy when I told him there wasn't a soldier who wouldn't think that his heroism had atoned for the original fault. At that he smiled and passed away."

Another private wrote: "One poor fellow here deserves the V.C. He saved two officers under heavy firing; then after that a shell came and blew a horse right in two. One part of the horse fell across the legs of another wounded man. This fellow, named Morris, of the R.E., rushed out and tried to pull the horse off him. He just managed to do so, and the chap could get up, when another shell came and blew the wounded chap's head and shoulders off, at the same time blowing half of Morris's right leg off. The brave fellow has a wife and three children and is only twenty-five years old. I am glad to say he is getting better, although the whole of his leg has been taken off."

This story was told by a sergeant of the Northumberland Fusiliers. "There was a man of the Manchester Regiment who was lying close to the German lines terribly wounded. He happened to overhear some conversation between German soldiers, and being familiar with the language, he gathered that they intended to attack the position we held that night. In spite of his wounds he decided to warn us of the danger, and he set out on the weary tramp of over five miles. He was under fire from the moment he got to his feet, but he stumbled along in spite of that, and soon got out of range. Later he ran into a patrol of Uhlans, but before they saw him he dropped to earth and shammed being dead. They passed by without a sign, and then he resumed his weary journey. But this time the strain had told on him, and his wound began to bleed, marking his path towards our lines with thin red streaks. In the early morning, just half an hour before the time fixed for the German attack, he staggered into one of our advanced posts, and managed to tell his story to the officer in charge before collapsing in a heap. Thanks to the information he gave, we were ready for the Germans when they came, and beat them off; but his anxiety to warn us had cost him his life."

There was a time during the battle of Ypres when our line, so thin in comparison with that of the Germans, was in great danger of being broken, but the courage of individuals of all ranks saved the situation. The General commanding the division spent one day with his staff in the trenches encouraging the men. Brigadier-General H.E. Watts rushed into the firing line on one occasion to rally the infantry. A spy, a German in a British uniform, had brought an order to retire at a moment when retirement would have meant annihilation. From his post in a château the Brigadier saw the movement. He acted at once. He ran through a storm of shrapnel, placed himself at the head of the battalions, formed them up under cover of a road, and then headed them at the charge back to the trench they had vacated.

Private Jones and Private Vennicombe, 1st Battalion Coldstream Guards, decided that they would rescue Colonel Ponsonby, their colonel, who had fallen. Although German bullets were falling fast, the two men made a dash towards their colonel's body. They found that he had been shot in the leg, and was unable to walk. Between them they managed to get back safely into the cover of their companions, carrying their colonel.

So great was the gallantry of Private Goggins, of the Leinster Regiment, that in a night he brought in under fire no less than sixty wounded men.

Sergeant-major White, of the Army Service Corps, was awarded the Victoria Cross for a deed which he thus described to an interviewer. "We got orders at night to move a convoy. We ran into an ambush of Uhlans and they gave it to us hot. I accounted for four of them with my sword, but we had to retire. When we reached a place where we could pull ourselves together the officer asked if anyone had seen Captain Grey, who was in charge. It was stated he had been shot down, and I said I would go back for him. I went and found him, and placing him across my horse, galloped back to safety with bullets whistling round. I was hit in both legs."

Lance-corporal F.W. Holmes, of the 2nd Battalion King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, after carrying a wounded man out of the trenches under heavy fire assisted to drive a gun out of action by taking the place of the driver, who had been wounded. His letters to his wife contained no mention of his deeds, but after he was invalided home with a bullet wound in the leg, he informed her that he had received the French Medaille Militaire and had been recommended for the Victoria Cross.

An officer of the 2nd Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers, writing to the parents of Private Tom Barry, said: "All letters written by men have to be read and signed by an officer. Your son is under me (on the maxim gun), and I read his letters. I see he is too modest to tell you that he has been mentioned for conspicuous conduct. During an advance the man carrying one of the maxims was wounded and lying in the open. Your son ran out from under cover, brought the gun up to the firing line, and then went back for the ammunition he had previously been carrying. He is a good soldier, and I am proud to have him in my section. If you have any more like Tom, send them out here."

War in the air has given to many individuals an opportunity of showing gallantry. An officer thus described a duel between a German and a British airman. "The German manœuvred for position and prepared to attack, but our fellow was too quick for him, and darted into a higher plane. The German tried to circle round and follow, and so in short spurts they fought for mastery, firing at each other all the time, the machines swaying and oscillating violently. The British airman, however, well maintained his ascendancy. Then suddenly there was a pause, the German machine began to reel, the wounded pilot had lost control, and with a dive the aeroplane came to earth half a mile away. Our man hovered about for a time, and then calmly glided away over the German lines to reconnoitre."

[CHAPTER X]

Self Put Aside

The following are abbreviated narratives from letters printed in several papers:

Five wounded British soldiers who had lost their regiment managed to limp in the wake of the army until they found an officer lying wounded in a trench. They were all too weak to carry him, but they told him that they could not leave him there to the tender mercies of the butchers. "Push on, my lads," he replied. "England wants every man who can possibly save himself. Better for one life to be lost than six." But they did not leave him, and soon almost jumped for joy to see a motor-car flying the British flag. They were taken in the car to a French hospital.

We are so accustomed, however, to read of officers saying, when mortally wounded, to their men, "Do your duty, my lads, and never mind me," that their self-forgetfulness almost ceases to surprise.

One officer was hit, and his men were for putting on his first field dressing. "No," said he, "I am past that, but for God's sake don't let the Germans break the line."

There was a British gunner whose wonderful marksmanship was the talk of his battery. One shell blew up a railway station, the second fell plumb into a German victualling train, and the third lopped off the team of an advancing battery. Finally the German gunners hit him in the legs. Even then he would not leave the field. "Carry me to the gun and let me have one more shot," he implored. His comrades did so, and without a groan he took his last aim.

A similar instance of self-sacrifice for the sake of duty was related in The Evening News by Private R.G. Tipper, of the 3rd Battalion Grenadier Guards. "There was a man in the trenches who had not got a clean sheet; he was always getting into trouble for one thing or another. He got hit in the left arm. He crawled back to the nearest field ambulance, and had his wound dressed. We advised him to go to the rear, but he refused, and with difficulty made his way back to the firing line. There, despite his wounded arm, he steadily went on firing at the enemy. Some time passed, and he was shot in the right arm. Again he made the difficult and painful journey to the field hospital, and again, with both his arms injured, he stubbornly insisted on crawling back to the trench. By-and-by he collapsed, shot clean through the body. Several comrades ran to him and raised him. 'You must get back now,' they told him. 'No,' he said with a white face, 'let me be. The blighters have done me this time.' His rifle still rested where he had been firing, supported in its loophole. 'Hoist me up before you go,' he muttered, 'I'll give them another round, so help me! Prop me up, quick.' They knew they could do nothing. They propped him up beside his rifle and went to the other wounded men. With fumbling hands the dying man pointed his rifle, and let drive two more rounds at the enemy. Then he slipped down dead."

The fighting around Ypres involved a great amount of very risky observation work. In many instances artillery subalterns took up dangerous positions well in advance of the front line of infantry, and, telephone in hand, gave the range to the gunners with perfect calmness. A young lieutenant posted himself in a tower a few hundred yards from the German trenches. He telephoned his orders regularly for half an hour. Then he said, without any trace of excitement, to the operator on the other side, "I hear the Germans coming up the stairs. I have my revolver. Don't believe anything more you hear." With these words he dropped the receiver; and he has not been heard of since.

When there is the excitement and stimulus of a "gallery" it is comparatively easy to be brave; but think of the heroism of such lonely work as that which was done by Lieutenant F.H.N. Davidson, R.F.A. Early in the day our gunners had found it impossible to locate certain German guns which were fast rendering our trenches untenable. The country was so flat that there was no possible point of vantage from which the gunners could observe except the steeple of the church in Lourges. But the Germans knew that as well as we did, so the church was being vigorously shelled, and already no less than twelve lyddite shells had been pitched into it. It was the duty of Lieutenant Davidson to "observe," so he calmly went to the church, climbed the already tottering tower, and, seated on the top, proceeded to telephone his information to the battery. In consequence German battery after battery was silenced, the infantry, which at one time was in danger of extermination, was saved, and the position, in spite of an attack in overwhelming force by the enemy, was successfully held. The church was rendered a scrap heap, but still Davidson sat on the remnants of his tower. For seven solid hours expecting death every moment, he calmly scanned the country, and telephoned his reports. At dark his task was done, and he came down to rejoin the battery. As he left the ruins a fall of timber in one of the burning houses lit up everything with a sudden glare, there was the crack of a rifle—the German trenches were only a few hundred yards away—and a bullet passed through the back of his neck and out through his mouth. But, without hurrying his pace, he walked to his battery, gave them his final information, and then said, "I think I'd better go and find the field ambulance, for the beggars have drilled a hole in me that needs plugging." And he walked half a mile to the nearest "collecting point."

A man who was struck with four bullets in his thighs remarked, "What luck to have got all four; that means three comrades more to fight the Germans."

A private of the 1st Warwicks was hit with a shrapnel bullet at the battle of Mons. He said, "Good luck to the old regiment," and rolled over on his back dead. What esprit de corps! What forgetfulness of self!

The gunner who wrote the following had the freedom from self which enables us to sympathise: "I had comparatively little pain, though it seemed that my arm had been blown away. I could not verify this, because I was so numb it was impossible to move. What did hurt was the sight of pal after pal around me either killed outright at one go, or 'snuffing it' in agony quite near."

Another soldier, though mortally wounded himself, felt so much for a wounded pal that he said to the doctor, "See to that poor bloke first. He is going home; he will be home before me."

Some of the Irish Dragoons went to the assistance of a man of the Irish Rifles who, wounded himself, was yet kneeling beside a fallen comrade of the Gloucester Regiment, and gamely firing to keep the enemy off. The Dragoons found both men thoroughly worn out, but urgency required the regiment to take up another position, and the wounded men had to be left. "They knew that," said the trooper who related the incident, "and weren't the men to expect the general safety to be risked for them. 'Never mind,' said the young Irishman, 'shure the Red Cross chaps'll pick us up all right, an' if they don't—well, we've only once to die, an' it's the grand fight we've had, anny-how.'"

Private F. Bruce, of the Suffolk Regiment, acted in this self-forgetting way when wounded. After much hesitation he told the story to a newspaper interviewer: "The bullet that hit me prevented me from shooting. I said to a mate, 'I'm no good, so I'll make room for a better man.' He said, 'Don't go in this lot, you'll get riddled with bullets.' I said, 'Neck or nothing, mate; I'm keeping out somebody who could do more good than me.' I got up and ran about twenty yards, and a lyddite-shell burst about five or six yards in front of me, nearly bringing me down with the suffocating fumes. I regained my footing, and ran further, until I came to two artillery men. One was wounded in five places, and the other was all right. After giving the wounded man water, I tried to get to another fellow. Every time I made a start the Germans began firing at me, as they were closing round my company. But I was determined to go, and I made a dash for it. I ran about twenty yards, and dived into some standing corn. I got to the poor fellow. A live shell had burst and hit him in the lower part of the body. I asked him if I could do anything for him, and he said, 'Yes; have you got a rifle?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Well,' he said, 'for God's sake shoot me out of my misery.' I told him I could not do that, so I gave him water. A Highlander came up with a wound straight through the elbow. I bandaged him up. At that time the Germans were only about 60 yards away. We had to make a dash for our lives. I saw my company captured just at our rear, but we managed to get to safety."

Even for one of the enemy self was bravely put aside. Seeing a wounded German lying between the German and British trenches, a British officer ordered the "Cease Fire," and himself went out to pick up the man. He was struck by several bullets before the Germans saw what he was doing and ceased firing. Thereupon the British officer staggered to the fallen man and carried him to the German lines. A German officer received him with a salute, and, calling for cheers, pinned upon the breast of the British hero an Iron Cross. Then the Britisher returned to his own trenches. He was recommended for the Victoria Cross, but succumbed to his wounds.

A soldier wrote: "I saw a handful of Irishmen throw themselves in front of a regiment of cavalry, who were trying to cut off a battery of horse artillery. It was one of the finest deeds I ever saw. Not one of the poor lads got away alive, but they made the German devils pay in kind, and, anyhow, the artillery got away to account for many more Germans."

A private told the following to a newspaper correspondent: "A picket of our regiment posted on a hill overlooking our left was surprised in the early morning by a party of German infantry who had crept up under cover of a mist. Our men refused to surrender, and all were shot down but one, who was overpowered by the Germans. They wanted to get information about our strength from him, and thought they had only to offer him his life in return. He refused to tell anything, and then they were going to shoot him, when he made a dash for it. At that moment a party of our men, alarmed by the firing, came up, and the Germans were cut off."

A sergeant wrote: "There was a man of the Buffs who carried a wounded chum for over a mile under German fire, but if you suggested a Victoria Cross for that man he would punch your head, and as he's a regular devil when roused the men say as little as they can about it. He thinks he didn't do anything out of the common, and doesn't see why his name should be dragged into the papers."

So, too, an English colonel who had saved the life of a French private kept the deed a secret for fear of "a beastly fuss" being made about it.

Similar modesty was shown by a Highlander who helped a wounded comrade for four days through a country full of Germans. "When I found them," wrote a lance-corporal, "they had only a few biscuits between them. I pressed the unwounded man to tell me how they managed to get through the four days on six biscuits, but he always got angry and told me to shut up. He had gone without anything; and had given the biscuits to the wounded man."

Near Cambrai one dark night the British took the offensive against the Germans, who were holding a bridge spanning the canal. When our men reached an embankment running sharply down to the river several failed to secure a foothold, and fell into the water. Four of the men who were unable to swim, were in imminent danger of drowning, when Corporal Brindall, an excellent swimmer, plunged into the river and rescued all four in turn. He was clambering up the embankment himself, when a German shell exploded near him, killing him instantly.

A man of the West Yorkshire Regiment took off his coat and equipment, and walked over to the German trenches under a perfect hail of bullets and brought back the adjutant, then made ten more journeys, bringing in the colonel and nine men. He has been recommended for the V.C.

A soldier wrote in this way of an engagement: "We got the order to retire none too soon, for we had just left the trenches when the Germans swept across the plain where we had been entrenched. Our officer in command was wounded at 3.30 a.m., but notwithstanding his wound he stuck to his post, and it was not until 1 p.m. that we discovered he was wounded and unable to walk. As we marched past him it cheered us greatly to hear him say, 'Good boys, you've had a very successful day.'"

In one of the first battles of the war a British soldier rode on a bicycle through the bullets of German sharpshooters to warn French soldiers that they were going into an ambush. After the daring deed the French commander dismounted from his horse, took from his own tunic a medal he himself had won for bravery, and pinned it on the British cyclist's breast. "It was given to me, mon camarade," he said, "for saving one life. I have the honour to present it to you for saving the lives of hundreds."

Private J. Warwick, of the 2nd Durham Light Infantry, did not wish to speak of the deeds for which he was recommended for the V.C. After some persuasion, however, he told the story. "The Germans were entrenched not 80 yards away on the other side of a hill, their trenches being far more formidable than ours. We had not very long to wait before shells and bullets began to fly about us in all directions. Our men tried to rush up the hill, but first one and then the other fell under the hail of fire. The Germans were at least twelve to one, but our men held their own, fighting as I have never seen men fight before. We had a great leader in Major Robb. He led the men splendidly. Lieutenant Twist, one of our number, tried to advance with a company up the hill, but he was quickly shot down. I saw him shot, and although the shrapnel was flying and bullets were coming like rain, I made a dash and brought him back to the trenches. Then I saw Private Howson, a Darlington chap, fall, and I succeeded in bringing him from the firing line. The poor chap was shot through the neck and the shoulders, though I believe he is still living. I then went back and succeeded in bringing Private Maughan. My last journey was the most difficult of all. I had to travel over the crest of the hill to within 30 yards of the German trenches, and how I escaped being killed I really do not know. I crawled on my stomach and got along as best I could, and I am glad to say that I succeeded in bringing Major Robb back right, as it were, from the very noses of the Germans. It was a hard job to get him, and in my effort I was shot through the back and fell."

A Royal Fusilier wrote: "While we were chatting and smoking, German shrapnel began to burst on the trees above us.... I did not think I should see home again, but we were all cool enough.... Eight volunteers were wanted to cross the bridge and tell a section in danger of being captured to retire. I made one volunteer, and my chum another. We were walking between some railway trucks when bullets began to whistle through; one could almost feel the heat of some of them, so close did they pass. We lay down for a minute, and I said, 'We must get there somehow.' Four stayed there and four of us went on. Directly we got up more bullets came over, and one poor fellow got one in the neck. We left him in the care of the other four and made a run for it. We got there and warned the section. Coming back we had to keep running and lying down alternately, but got back in the end with only one wounded."

[CHAPTER XI]

Brothers-in-Arms

Whatever Christians who profess more do in reference to brotherly love, British soldiers are real brothers to each other on active service. Each man seems to say, "He that sheds his blood with me, shall be my brother."

The following is from a sergeant's letter in The Evening News: "Out there sublime deeds of heroism are being performed every day by common soldiers whom the ordinary 'civvy' would pass by with contempt in times of peace. After Cambrai I was thrown a lot with a wild Glasgow Irishman belonging to the Royal Scots and a wounded man of the Dorsets. We took refuge in a farmhouse, and one day the Irishman had the ill-luck of showing himself to a party of Germans on the prowl. He took it into his head that he hadn't played the game by bringing the Germans down on us, and after reporting their presence he said he was going out just for a bit of a dander. He had not an earthly chance of escaping. Before he left I told him so, but that didn't weigh with him at all. 'It's like this,' he said, 'you've got a missus and children to look after. So's that chap in the corner. I'm as bad as they make 'em, and nobody will be a thraneen the poorer if I'm shot this very minute. It was my carelessness in going about that gave us away to the Germans. They don't know there's anybody here but me, and if I rush out they'll get me and go off content. He walked coolly out to the front gate, and made a rush into the fields to the left. The Germans saw him and fired. He fell riddled with bullets, and they went after him. They must have thought that he was the only man in the house, for they didn't come back, and we lay there for three days until we managed to get back to our own lines."

Another man also thought of wife and kids. "In a night fight one of the Gloucesters had his rifle knocked out of his hand, and a big German lunged at him with a bayonet. Quick as lightning one of his mates sprang between him and the German, and received the thrust in his chest. He died within an hour, and when they asked him why he did it, his answer was, 'Oh, God, I couldn't help it. He's got a wife and kids.'"

A corporal of the Bedfordshire Regiment wrote: "Near our trenches there were a lot of wounded, and their cries for water were pitiful. In the trenches was a quiet chap of the Engineers, who could stand it no longer. He collected all the water bottles he could lay hold of, and said he was going out. The air was thick with shell and rifle fire, and to show yourself at all was to sign your death warrant. That chap knew it as well as we did, but that was not going to stop him. He got to the first man all right and gave him a swig from a bottle. No sooner did he show himself than the Germans opened fire. After attending to the first man he crawled along the ground to others until he was about a quarter of a mile away from us. Then he stood up and zigzagged towards another batch of wounded, but that was the end of him. The German fire got hotter and hotter. He was hit badly, and with just a slight upward fling of his arms he dropped to earth like the hero he was. Later he was picked up with the wounded, but he was as dead as they make them out here. The wounded men for whose sake he had risked and lost his life thought a lot of him, and were greatly cut up at his death. One of them who was hit so hard that he would never see another Sunday said to me as we passed the Engineer chap, who lay with a smile on his white face, and had more bullets in him than would set a battalion of sharpshooters up in business for themselves, 'He was a rare good one, he was. It's something worth living for to have seen a deed like that, and now that I have seen it, I don't care what becomes of me.' That's what we all felt about it."

One of the King's Royal Rifles told in a letter how a Highlander milked a cow under rifle and shell fire to get something for his wounded mates to drink when the water ran out. Also how a boy of the Connaught Rangers rushed out of the trenches under heavy fire to an orchard near by to get an apple for a wounded comrade who was suffering from thirst and hunger. "He got the apple all right, but he got a German bullet or two in him as well on the way back, and dropped dead within 50 feet of the goal. The wounded chap had his apple brought in after an artillery man had been wounded in getting at it. I hope he valued it, for it was the costliest apple I ever heard tell of bar one, and that was a long time ago."

Sergeant J. Rolfe, 2nd Battalion King's Royal Rifles, wrote: "When I got hit, I couldn't say how long I lay there, but a chum of mine, Tommy Quaife, under a perfect hail of bullets and shells, dragged me to safety, and said, 'Cheer up, Smiler, here's a fag. I'm going back for Sandy' (his other chum). He never got there. Poor Tommy got a piece of shell and was buried the same night."

In a lancer charge near Cambrai a man dropped a letter. It had arrived just as the order was given to mount, and he had not had time to read it. Even in mid-charge a comrade saw it fall out of his tunic and returned it at great risk.

Two Highlanders were carrying a wounded comrade, and he dropped a stick of chocolate, a thing of which only soldiers in the field under trying conditions know the value. He fretted and worried about it, and at last one of his chums volunteered to go back for it to where it had been dropped, not more than two hundred yards away. He never came back. In full view of his companions he was hit by a bullet and fell dead. There was another case where a religious Dublin Fusilier lost his life because he stayed just long enough to cross the hands of a dead comrade, and say a prayer for his departed soul.

One night a man of the West Yorkshire Regiment took off his coat and wrapped it around a wounded chum who had to lie there until the ambulance took him away. All that night he stood in the trenches in his shirt-sleeves, with water up to his waist, and the temperature near to freezing point, quietly returning the German fire. On the afternoon of the following day he had acute pneumonia.

The following was related by a British Hussar. After the charge of the Highlanders on the German heavy guns near Hanbourdin the Hussar was sent with a message to the base. On the way he encountered a Seaforth Highlander going in the same direction. Something in the man's set face prompted the question: "Are you hurt?" "Aye, a sma' matter," was the reply. The man's arm was shattered from shoulder to elbow. "Are you going to sick bay?" said the cavalryman. "It's a mile and a half away. Get on my gee." "No, no," said the Scot, "I'll just walk, you'll find many worse hit than me."