In the old days a battle lasted a day or two at most; victory frequently came within a few hours, and couriers were speeding away with the news of victory or defeat before night had shrouded the stark bodies of the slain. But in this war battles have continued for weeks; one contest has merged into another, so that it is hard to say where one ends and another begins. The great series of fights which we call the Battle of Ypres began on 19th October, and did not end until 17th November; it lasted for thirty days!
The First Battle of Ypres was not only remarkable for its long duration, but also for the mighty armies that were arrayed against each other. Never before in the history of the world have such huge forces struggled for victory. During the battles of the Seven Years' War the combatants on both sides did not exceed 120,000, and in the Napoleonic wars the opposing armies at no time reached a total of 450,000. At Waterloo there were but 170,000 engaged, and at Inkerman, in the Crimean War, there were not 90,000. Some 320,000 men fought at Gravelotte[98]during the Franco-German War of 1870-71, and at Mukden, in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5, the forces engaged totalled about 510,000. These numbers sink into insignificance compared with the multitudes who fought in Artois and West Flanders during the thirty days of the Ypres battle. Germany alone had not less than a million men.
Great was the price of victory. Britain lost at least 40,000 men, the French and Belgians 70,000, and the Germans probably 250,000—that is, 360,000 in all—a number far exceeding the total of the whole armies engaged in any single battle of modern history down to the close of the nineteenth century. Whole battalions of the British army disappeared—the 1st Coldstreams, the 2nd Royal Scots Fusiliers, the 2nd Wiltshires, and the 1st Camerons were practically wiped out. One regiment went into the campaign 1,100 strong, and came out with only 73. Another took 1,350 to Flanders, and had but 300 when the Battle of Ypres was won.
You have already heard how the 7th Division was reduced to a shadow of its former strength. Sir Henry Rawlinson tells us that when the division was withdrawn to England to refit it was found that out of 400 officers who set out from England there were only 44 left, and out of 12,000 men only 2,336. One general, two brigadiers, nearly a dozen staff officers had fallen, and eighteen regiments and battalions had lost their colonels. Junior lieutenants frequently found themselves in command of a battalion, while a brigadier was left with one or two companies. History records no such tale of slaughter. More men fell in the Battle of Ypres than the North lost in the whole of the American Civil War.[99]
Two striking features of this long series of contests must detain us for a moment. The first is the extraordinary valour of the boys and elderly men who formed a large part of the German levies. They charged in mass again and again, and went to death in droves. The second is the even more extraordinary defence which the British—never more than 150,000 in number—made against overwhelming odds. There have been instances of armies holding forces which outnumbered them four or five times for a single day; but the British resisted for weeks against forces five times as great. Around Ypres during the worst part of the fighting we had but three divisions and some cavalry to meet five army corps, three of them belonging to Germany's first line. For the best part of two days the 7th Division of 12,000 men held a front of eight miles against 120,000! In all the long fighting annals of Britain no such feat had ever been performed before.
The Allies merely held their lines, yet really they won a great victory, because they had achieved their object. They had defeated a turning movement and a piercing movement, and had blocked the German advance to the sea. Thereafter in the west the enemy was not free to move, save at the will of the Allies; he was besieged from the Vosges to the North Sea.
The British played the lion's part in the great struggle; but without the splendid support of the French and the Belgians they could have achieved nothing. The regular regiments of the line proved themselves to be composed of the finest fighting material in the world; the cavalry, playing the part of infantry, on foot and in the trenches, were no less wonderful; and the gunners, though outmatched in numbers and weight of artillery, showed marvellous skill and tenacity; while the citizen soldiers, called from their peaceful pursuits to the unfamiliar work of war, displayed the spirit of veteran troops. The great struggle round Ypres was a soldiers' victory. There was little room for generalship; nevertheless Sir John French, by his coolness and doggedness, by the confidence with which he animated his men, and by the cheery good will with which he encouraged them, must be regarded as the real inspirer of victory.
In the centre of Calcutta is the famous Maidan,[100]or Esplanade, a great space of turf and trees and gardens, which is the special glory of the city. Here you will find monuments to the great soldiers and statesmen who have won and kept for us "the brightest jewel in the British crown." Perhaps the noblest of all these monuments is that which commemorates the martial fame of Lord Roberts of Kandahar.[101]Frederick Sleigh Roberts was born at Cawnpore[102]five years before Queen Victoria came to the throne. He was educated in England, but when his school days were over he returned to the land of his birth, and became an officer in the Indian army.
Hardly had he returned when that terrible uprising of the native soldiers which we call the Indian Mutiny began, and the first warfare which young Roberts knew was against the well-armed and well-trained sepoys[103]who had broken their oath of loyalty to the Queen, and were striving to drive the British out of the peninsula.
Some years ago, when I visited India, I went, as in duty bound, to Delhi,[104]the present capital, and the great storm centre of fighting during the Mutiny. Memorials of that terrible time abound in Delhi. About a mile to the north of the city is the "Ridge," a low, narrow hill on which a band of Britons, the mere skeleton of an army, hungry, fever-stricken, "stormed at with shot and shell," held its own against an army of sepoys during the awful heat of an Indian summer.
From the Flagstaff Tower in which the women and children took refuge during that dread time a road runs directly to the city, and on the right of it is a little garden in which stands a bronze statue to John Nicholson,[105]the hero of the siege. Close by the Nicholson statue is the Kashmir Gate, preserved in its ruinous condition to recall the marvellous daring of the six Britons who blew it up, and thus opened a way for the British troops to enter the city. Roberts, as a young subaltern of twenty-five, saw Nicholson lying wounded and dying by the side of the road not far from this gate. Nicholson was the most distinguished of that group of young men who by almost superhuman devotion saved India for the Empire during the Mutiny. It was under the influence of such men as Nicholson—men of lofty ideals of duty, of iron resolution and unfaltering courage—and amidst scenes of the most glorious heroism, that Roberts began his military career. Nicholson was his type and model. When the Mutiny was at an end Roberts was a veteran of ability and experience, and he wore the Victoria Cross on his breast.
For forty-one years he served India, taking part in all the important campaigns, and gradually rising in the service until, in 1885, he became Commander-in-Chief. He won great fame in the Afghanistan campaigns, and became the idol of the Indian army, to whom he was known as "Bobs." No Indian commander-in-chief has ever been so admired and loved by the troops under his command. He never strove for popularity, but he could not escape it. His men assayed him, and found him pure gold throughout.
By no means was his life-work done when he left India. When disaster succeeded disaster during the early months of the Boer War, the nation looked to him as the one man who could pluck victory out of defeat. With his appearance on the veldt came the turn of the tide, and after his great march to Pretoria[106]the issue of the contest was no longer in doubt. Full of years and honours, he might have retired from public life, conscious that he had served his country greatly, and that his fame was secure. But he ever "scorned delights and lived laborious days," and when he had long passed the allotted span he devoted himself to the task of trying to bring home to the British people the danger of allowing their young men to grow up unprepared for that great European war which he was convinced would come within a few short years. Alas! we did not heed him, and when the day of battle arrived it found us unprepared, and forced to improvise armies while strife was raging and the fate of the Empire was hanging in the balance.
Soon after the beginning of the great war which he had foreseen, Lord Roberts addressed the following message to the children of the Empire:—
"CHILDREN OF THE EMPIRE:"You have all heard of the war; you have all heard of the fighting forces sent from every part of the Empire to help the Mother Country. Why are we fighting? Because the British Empire does not break its promises, nor will it allow small nations to be bullied."Now, the British Government promised, with all the Great Powers of Europe, including Germany, that no army should set foot on the territory of the little nation of Belgium without her leave; in other words, she 'guaranteed the neutrality of Belgium.'"Germany, however, was bent on war, and on dominating other nations. Britain did her best to keep the peace, but Germany (breaking her word) marched her armies into Belgium to try and conquer France."Children of the Empire, this is why we are at war—to hold our promise, to help our friends, and to keep the Flag of Liberty flying, not only over our own Empire, but over the whole world."God save our King and Empire."
"You have all heard of the war; you have all heard of the fighting forces sent from every part of the Empire to help the Mother Country. Why are we fighting? Because the British Empire does not break its promises, nor will it allow small nations to be bullied.
"Now, the British Government promised, with all the Great Powers of Europe, including Germany, that no army should set foot on the territory of the little nation of Belgium without her leave; in other words, she 'guaranteed the neutrality of Belgium.'
"Germany, however, was bent on war, and on dominating other nations. Britain did her best to keep the peace, but Germany (breaking her word) marched her armies into Belgium to try and conquer France.
"Children of the Empire, this is why we are at war—to hold our promise, to help our friends, and to keep the Flag of Liberty flying, not only over our own Empire, but over the whole world.
"God save our King and Empire."
When Indian soldiers were summoned to help the Mother Country in her hour of need, Lord Roberts felt a great desire to go over to France in order to meet them face to face once more, to greet them in their own languages, and to inspire them with some of his own dauntless courage. "I must go and see the Indian soldiers," he said. "It is the most useful thing I can do at this moment." He arrived in France on Wednesday, 11th November, and next day he saw the men to whom he was bound by such strong ties. Everywhere they greeted him with admiration and affection. On Friday evening he was found to be suffering from chill; disease of the lungs set in, and the old warrior, now in his eighty-second year, had no strength to resist the attack. He gradually sank, and at 8 p.m. on Saturday, 14th November 1914, within sound of the guns thundering around Ypres, he died.
Lord Roberts was a man of war from his youth up, and it was fitting that he should pass away on a battlefield, amidst the soldiers who adored him. Officers from every corps in the British and Indian armies, and representatives of the French army, escorted the coffin to the hall at St. Omer where the body was laid in state, and a simple but affecting funeral service was held. The Prince of Wales[107]was there, as well as Prince Alexander of Teck, and all the chiefs of the army who could be spared from their duties. By the head of the coffin stood Prince Pertab Singh,[108]taking a last farewell of the warrior who was his old friend and ideal.[109]The hymns, "Now the labourer's task is o'er," and "O God, our help," were sung, and it seemed quite natural that Christian, Hindu, and Mohammedan should all join in the service.
"It was a gloomy day," says one who was present, "with frequent cold showers; but as they took the coffin out the sun shone forth brilliantly, drawing across a dark bank of cloud opposite a vivid and most perfect rainbow. An aeroplane was flying out of the cloud into the sunshine, and the trumpets of the French cavalry rang out triumphantly. Then the minute guns started booming; the coffin, draped in the Union Jack, was placed in a Red Cross car; and so the gallant little hero went home from the war.
"I thought during the service of Lord Roberts, almost a boy, attending John Nicholson's funeral at Delhi, and of all the span of life between, and the link of simple courage and devotion to duty binding all the varied incidents of it together, and was glad of the privilege of having known him."
Last scene of all to end this strange, eventful history. Beneath the dome of St. Paul's, the resting-place of Nelson and Wellington, amidst a vast throng of the great and good of our nation, and with a sorrowing people outside, the last words of prayer and hope were said; and when all was over, thousands of citizens passed reverently by his grave.
"It is the most useful thing I can do at this moment:" this was the keynote of Lord Roberts's life—to be of use to his country. There is a lesson in these simple words for you and me. Lord Roberts was happy in his life; he would be happier still in his death were all his fellow-countrymen to ask with heart and voice, "What is the most useful thing I can do for my country now and hereafter?"
The long struggle round Ypres was a series of combats in which everything depended on the courage and endurance of the rank and file and their regimental officers. Incidents abounded, and almost every man in the firing line had experiences worth relating. Before I give you some of these experiences, let me refer again to the extraordinary courage of the Germans in pressing on against our line to what, in many cases, must have been certain death. No doubt this was largely due to patriotism and to the iron discipline of the German army, but we have evidence that frequently the men were driven forward by the revolvers of their officers. "Eye-witness" gives us the following statement of a wounded German prisoner:—
"On the 28th October my section received orders to go forward to the attack, and the officers warned us that if we gave way fire would be opened upon us from behind. This threat was carried into effect when the losses which we suffered compelled us to retire. Indeed, it was by a German bullet that I was wounded. Having fallen on the ground, I remained between the lines without food or care for two days, at the end of which time I dragged myself to a ruined house. During the whole of this time the German shells, which were short, were falling about my shelter. . . . Officers told us if we fell into the hands of the French we should be sent to the Foreign Legion,[110]and certainly massacred by Moroccans."
In the diary of a German soldier we find a very severe condemnation of his officers for their bad leadership. "Before noon," runs the diary, "we were sent out in a regular storm of bullets by order of the major. These gentlemen, the officers, send their men forward in the most ridiculous way. They themselves remain far behind safely under cover. Our leadership is really scandalous. Enormous losses on our side, partly from the fire of our own people, for our leaders neither know where the enemy lies nor where our own troops are, so that we are often fired on by our own men. It is a marvel to me that we have got on as far as we have done. Our captain fell, also all our section leaders and a large number of our men.
"Moreover, no purpose was served by this advance, for we remained the rest of the day under cover, and could go neither forward nor back, nor even shoot. A trench which we had taken was not occupied by us, and the British naturally took it back at night. That was the sole result. Then when the enemy had again entrenched themselves, another attack was made, costing us many lives and fifty prisoners.
"It is simply ridiculous this leadership. If only I had known before! My opinion of German officers has changed. An adjutant shouted to us from a trench far to the rear to cut down a hedge which was in front of us. Bullets were whistling round from in front and from behind. The gentleman himself, of course, remained behind. The 4th Company has now no leaders but a couple of non-commissioned officers. When will my turn come? I hope to goodness I shall get home again!
"Still in the trenches. Shell and shrapnel burst without ceasing. In the evening a cup of rice and one-third of an apple per man. Let us hope peace will come soon. Such a war is really too awful. The English shoot like mad."
Now that I have shown you the Germans in an unfavourable light, let me tell you of an incident in which they appeared to advantage. Corporal J. Reardon of the 1st Grenadiers wrote home to his mother as follows: "The night our battalion got cut up the Germans shouted, 'Guards, fetch your wounded.' We did so, and they did not fire a shot. I think they were a crack regiment; anyhow they were jolly decent."
You have already heard something of the courage and devotion of our young artillery officers, who frequently went far in advance of the guns to direct the fire of their batteries. Here is another story[111]of similar heroism:—
"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 a church. 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 German 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 reduced to a scrap-heap, but still Davidson sat tight 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 his 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 the 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.'
"In the infantry of the 14th Brigade men can talk of nobody else but 'Davidson of the Gunners.' They themselves face death every hour of the day and night; they themselves do unrecorded deeds of heroism worthy of the 'V.C.'; but withone voice they declare, 'Davidson is the real thing. If he doesn't get the V.C.—well, nobody deserves it.'"
In telling you stories from the battlefield I always try to include one or more which show you the zeal, skill, and devotion of those whose duty it is not to take but to save life. Here is the story of a French doctor who tended the wounded during the bombardment of Ypres.
For four days, with the help of volunteer assistants, he cared for fifty-four German wounded, and the hospital had been frequently struck by shells, one of them intended to set it on fire. The supply of bread was failing, but the doctor and the nurses shared their portion with their patients. The doctor was urged to quit this dangerous post, but he said, "The mission of France is to elevate the Germans to our own level. So I shall remain here and continue to look after wounded Germans, showing them that a French doctor laughs at their shells, and only knows his duty." Unhappily this heroic man was killed by a shell on 13th or 14th November. The surviving wounded, in the sole charge of two nuns, were then removed to a safer place.
Soldiers' letters to their friends at home are full of accounts of the fierce fighting about Ypres. Corporal G. Stuart of the Camerons, one of the regiments which was nearly wiped out, thus describes how he was made a prisoner by the Prussian Guard, and how he escaped:—
"My regiment, or what was once a regiment, was holding a part of the trenches outside Ypres, and about half-past five in the morning the enemy's guns opened an awful fire on our trenches, and continued till about nine o'clock.
"To make matters worse, there was a very heavy mist on, and we could hardly see a yard in front. About this time the mist cleared up, and there, about 200 yards in front, were the Germans—the famous Prussian Guards—advancing on us, a solid mass of men.
"We immediately opened fire on them; but, rapid as it was, it was impossible to stop them. They managed to get right through on our right. Then the next thing I saw was that I was properly surrounded, with no earthly chance of escape, so I was made a prisoner. Well, what do you thinkthe Huns did? There would be about a dozen of us, I think, made to advance in front of them, to get shot at by our own people, who had retired to take up another position. Any man who made the least sign of resenting was immediately shot, and not yet being tired of life, I went, thinking I might have a possible chance of escape.
"We advanced a few hundred yards, when they halted, and this time they made us put on their packs. Anyhow we had to advance again. This time we came under our own artillery fire, and I don't know yet how I was not blown to pieces. Really it makes my blood creep every time I think of it.
"Well, we had to lie down, and I just turned to speak to a chum, when I got one right through the neck. I rolled up in a heap, but came to myself a few minutes after, and managed to make my way to a farmhouse, where I found the Germans were dressing their wounded.
"I asked one of them to put my bandage on; but instead they made me go and look for 'Vater, vater.' I looked around for the 'vater,' but finding none, I went round to the other side of the house, and from here could see our guns just about 300 yards off. Now comes my chance. I had a good look round to see if everything was clear, so I dropped the jug I was to carry the 'vater' in, and 'hopped' it. Well, if the time was taken for that run, I bet a champion sprint winner would not have a look-in."
"I shall never forget the first night attack," writes Bombardier N. Tully of the R.F.A. "We had many guns in position—apparently more than the Kaiser's hordes bargained for. They came on out of their trenches shouting, 'Hoch! hoch! hoch!' but a few minutes afterwards they were screaming and cursing. Our shrapnel was mowing them down wholesale. . . . We gave them a bit of old England that night; the din of the guns and rifles was indescribable. We had a few spasmodic attacks the next few nights, but they gave me the impression that they were half-hearted and discouraged. I think it is the enemy who is fighting an uphill battle now. Our fellows are full of confidence in the final result.
"I am awfully glad I am British. It does one good to see how cheerful our boys are, no matter how bad the weather; but, like me, I am sure they will long for the slaughter to cease, and to return to the best bit of land under the sun."
"It is the shell fire," wrote a correspondent, "which has made the Battle of Ypres a test of endurance such as no army has experienced before. Officers and men say that it has been ten times worse than on the Aisne. It has been persistent, and it has been deadly. Day and night there has been a succession of 'Oompahs,' 'Oompees,' 'Bowlers,' and 'Pipsqueaks'—'Oompahs' being the big shells, 'Oompees' the smaller ones, 'Bowlers' the projectiles thrown by trench mortars,[112]and 'Pipsqueaks' shrapnel. Atkins has a name for them all. The soil around Ypres is not a holding soil, but shifty and difficult to trench—unlike that on the Aisne—and constantly the trenches were being blown in by shells."
A private in the Honourable Artillery Corps tells an amusing story. "The first time we manned the front trenches," he says, "we had just got in—it was, of course, pitch dark—and we were peering cautiously about to see where we were. There were a few weird noises and strange lights, and I moved towards our corporal to ask him something, when suddenly a wild, unearthly wail went up apparently at my very feet. My blood ran cold, and I grasped him by the hand. 'What was that?' I cried. 'You're standing on a cat, I think,' he replied. And, indeed, I was! What it was doing there I don't know, but it remained with us off and on all day.
"Later, when it was dark, there was a German attack on our left. We were ordered to man our trench, and then suddenly the order came along, 'Sights at zero,[113]and fire low.' We waited, quivering with excitement, when all at once I saw something feeling its way cautiously over the trench in front of me. I sprang up to bayonet whatever came. It was not only a cat, but the same old cat! Twice it had pulled my leg in twenty-four hours."
Aprivate of the London Scottish thus describes his experiences during the fighting at Messines on Halloween[114]and the following day:—
"We roused out at 4 a.m., and spent the morning wandering about from wood to wood, being followed by aeroplanes—beastly things. Finally, we entered a village, and a spy in a windmill gave them the range, and we had our first shells—horrible 'coal boxes,' and then shrapnel. We lost five men wounded there; then we went on, and finally extended to open order, and the battalion attacked up a valley, and we had to lie in a gutter about two feet deep along a road with poplars. There we stuck for two and a half hours, getting shelled all the time. It was dreadful. The big 'coal boxes' kept shaking the ground and covering us with dirt. I got a bit of shrapnel through my pack, and had my things spoilt, but wasn't touched.
"Then we had to advance across a field about a quarter-mile under fire, and get into a deserted trench. There we stopped till dark, still being shelled, and hearing the regiment snapping away in the distance. At dusk we made another trench, and seven of us went into it. There we had a fine time—moonlight, and Germans only 200 yards off. We could spot them through the glasses, and made very good practice; some of them crept down a hedge to twenty yards, but we did them in. You could hear them all talking; and twice they came on in force, but we beat them off, and they left any amount on the ground.
"Finally, at 12.45, they came on five or six deep, singing their national anthem, and walking quite slowly. Not liking German music, we gave them rapid fire; but they were too many. At last the cavalry had to hop it on both sides of us, and we ran like hares for our main trench; there we were thirty-two, and had the Germans in front, left, and rear five or six deep. There were thousands of them, all creeping up, and bullets everywhere. We all thought it was U P. I even took off my overcoat so as to be freer for the bayonet.
"Then they lit a farm, and the black smoke from the wet thatch blew across our front. They were only fifty yards away, still creeping; so we dashed out to the right, and all got through except six. Then we got separated, and nine of us, including our lieutenant, had to wander round, with one shot through the back, looking for the regiment or British troops. We kept running into shell fire and rifle fire, but finally got to a village, and found some officers at 4.45, very tired; there we reported, and went to join a cavalry regiment about two miles off. We had only had one biscuit and jam since the previous breakfast, except some lozenges. Well, for breakfast we had to attack the same village we had been driven out of the day before. It was most exciting—shells and bullets everywhere.
"Then we got mixed up with the Germans, and got the order to clear the houses with the bayonet. That was great sport; no shells, and only scrapping in a decent sort of way. We took four prisoners and scuppered the rest of them, about 200; then we were just examining the slain for pistols and other handy little souvenirs, when the shrapnel started again all among us. It was very hot, and we had to hop the twig behind a big bank; we were all laughing and joking. . . . One bullet turned my bonnet round on my head, and I sat down in the mud, and I got one through my kilt.
"Finally, they came behind one of our trenches in kilts, and said, 'Schotlant for effer and London Schottish;' but a volley put an end to that. At last the French arrived in force, and we had a stand easy, and were sent back for a rest. I am longing for another dig at them; it is the finest excitement going. One thing we have done—no more sneering at 'Terriers' out here by the Tommies; they are all very proud of us now, and somehow we feel different now that we have been through the hoop."
The following extract is from the diary of a subaltern in the LondonScottish: "I have succeeded in getting hold of a motor 'bus to go for supplies. It is a London 'General.' There are dozens of them here, and it seems difficult to realize that we are so far away when we see the usual advertisements around us....
"It is a funny thing, but a fact, that our fellows bear pain much better than the Germans. To-day I had a small bugler of a British battalion with a shocking shoulder wound, who sat there simply hanging on to himself, and not uttering a sound; while a tremendous German near by, with a bullet wound in his hand, sat nursing himself, weeping at frequent intervals, and making no end of a row."
In the defeat of the Prussian Guard on 11th November the Black Watch played a splendid part, and pursued the enemy for over a mile. ADaily Chroniclecorrespondent says: "It was only when a batch of wounded and prisoners of the Prussian Guard arrived at —— that our fellows actually realized the kind of men they have been fighting during the last few days. Huge fellows they are, all over six feet in height, one of them nearing seven—an exceptional giant, of course, but still not looking so very big among his fellows. When one realizes that this magnificent regiment has now been severely handled by our troops for the third time, and that they are looked upon as the flower of the German army, then one also realizes just what a magnificent performance our own men must have put up.
"After submitting for over eight hours to a terrible shell fire of both lyddite and shrapnel, our men, as may well be imagined, were getting very tired, and it was next to impossible to send relief to our advanced trenches until after dusk. The Germans, anticipating the condition of things, and realizing that it was now or never, massed in force their Prussian Guards and some other forces, and drove our troops back through sheer weight of numbers.
"Back they went, contesting stubbornly every trench as they vacated it. When within about sixty yards of where our artillery was hidden, our own men, acting under orders, suddenly split their line and dispersed on either side, leaving ahuge gap—the break in the British line which the enemy had been trying to make for weeks. Into this break came the Prussian Guard, wildly shouting and cheering—into the jaws of death came the finest of the Kaiser's troops. They had advanced within fifty yards of the muzzles of our field guns when they belched forth fire at point-blank range, while our Maxims fired into the 'brown' from either side. Imagine those shells tearing their whistling and shrieking way through masses of men who a moment before were shouting in gleeful confidence of victory already won.
"Not even the Prussian Guard could stand up to a terror like this. They broke and wavered and fled! But they had penetrated to within a few yards of our artillery. They turned back in headlong flight—a flight which was aided by a savage charge made by the Black Watch. The whole thing was beautifully timed by both artillery and infantry alike. Not only were the Germans driven back over the trenches, which but a short time ago they had taken from our men, but they were pursued by the Highlanders for over a mile beyond. The net result was that the enemy lost over 1,000 men killed and some 3,000 men wounded, as well as their own advanced trenches."
The following soldiers were awarded the Victoria Cross for deeds of valour done during the period from 31st October to 30th November 1914:—
Sepoy Khudadad, 129th Duke of Connaught's Own Baluchis. Sepoy Khudadad had the signal honour of being the first Indian to win and wear the Victoria Cross, which, prior to this war, was only conferred on British-born soldiers. On 31st October, at Hollebeke, Sepoy Khudadad showed extraordinary courage and steadfastness. Though the white officer in charge of his detachment had been shot down and the other Maxim in the trench had been put out of action, Khudadad remained working his gun until all his five comrades had been killed, and he himself was badly wounded. The King in person pinned the decoration on the gallant Sepoy's breast during his visit to the front on December 3, 1914.
Drummer Spencer John Bent, 1st Battalion, East Lancashire Regiment. On the night of the 1st-2nd November, near LeGheir,[115]the officer, sergeant, and section commander of this hero's platoon were struck down, and the unit was without a leader. Drummer Bent at once took command, and with great presence of mind and coolness succeeded in holding the position. He had previously distinguished himself on the 22nd, and again on the 24th October, by bringing up ammunition under a heavy shell and rifle fire. Again, on the 3rd November, he went out and brought into cover several wounded men who were lying exposed in the open. He rescued one of his comrades by hooking his feet under the wounded man's arms and by dragging him in this manner for twenty-five yards to the shelter of a trench.
Captain John Franks Vallentin, 1st South Staffordshire Regiment. On 7th November, at Zillebeke, Captain Vallentin very gallantly led an attack against the Germans, but while doing so was struck down. He struggled to his feet, and tried to press on, but was immediately killed. His men carried the trenches, and this was due in great measure to the confidence with which their captain's repeated acts of bravery and ability had inspired them.
Lieutenant Walter Lorrain Brodie, 2nd Battalion, the Highland Light Infantry. On the night of 11th November Lieutenant Brodie, who was in charge of a machine-gun section, moved up to the trenches near Becelaere[116]to relieve a unit of another regiment. When darkness fell, and the men on guard had been posted, the remainder prepared to take what rest they could. Lieutenant Brodie and several men were occupying a section of the trench which formed an angle with the other sections. All was quiet, when the alarm was given, and the enemy swooped down on the trench and managed to capture a part of it. They then made a rush towards the section in which Lieutenant Brodie was stationed, in the hope of capturing his machine gun. At once the lieutenant led his men against the Germans, and there was a furious fight in the trench, during which he bayoneted several of the enemy. So gallantly did his men second his efforts that eighty Germans were killed and fifty-one taken prisoners. There is no doubt that Lieutenant Brodie, by his prompt and inspiring courage, relieved a very dangerous situation. Subsequently he was promoted captain.
Lieutenant John Henry Stephen Dimmer, 2nd Battalion,the King's Royal Rifle Corps. As a boy Lieutenant Dimmer won a London County Council Scholarship, and was transferred to Rutlish School. Always fond of soldiering, he started a Boys' Brigade at Wimbledon, and brought it to a high state of efficiency. At fifteen he left school, and entered the office of a civil engineer; but the drums called him, and he offered himself as a recruit for the regular army. His inches were, however, against him; so he joined the 7th Battalion of the King's Royal Rifles (Militia). In his first year he was promoted sergeant, and soon after was transferred as a private to the regular battalion, which saw service in South Africa. In 1903 he was promoted corporal, and his military sketching received high praise from General Lyttelton and General Ian Hamilton.[117]In 1905 he received another step for his services as scout and signaller in the Mounted Infantry, and in the following year was sent to Belgium and Germany to study army methods. Later on he was employed abroad as an intelligence officer, and in 1908 received a commission as second lieutenant.