That plain Cross of bronze, with the simple motto, "For Valour," is the most honoured and coveted military decoration in the world. It has been won in the present war, down to the end of 1915, by as many as twenty-one Irishmen, who have splendidly sustained their country's inspiring heritage of bravery on the battlefield.
Courage, bravery, valour, are, in a way, mysterious attributes. We all understand what they mean; we all regard them as noble and heroic; we all desire to be possessed of them. Yet we know that only to the few comparatively do they belong; and in a puzzled mood we ask ourselves—Why is it that in the face of death in warfare one man should be fearless and another timid and faint-hearted? It is supposed that most men are naturally cowards. I remember hearing a remarkable statement made by Archibald Forbes, a famous war correspondent of the past, in a lecture on his experiences as a journalist on the field of battle. He said there is infinitely less steadiness in the soldier of any nationality under fire than the civilian imagines. He had watched the conduct on the field of the armiesof eight European nations, and there was never an engagement in which he did not see what he called "a stampede," or, more explicitly, soldiers flying in the wild disorder of terror.
Forbes did not attempt to explain why this was so. He simply recorded the fact. To me it seems as if the quality which is commonly called cowardice is but a form of fear, and fear is an instinctive emotion which is to be seen displayed throughout the entire animal kingdom. It shows itself at a very early age in the shrinking apprehensiveness of the infant. The purpose of it appears to be that of self-protection and self-preservation. One of its first impulses is to avoid the danger which threatens by running away from it. We see that in the action of a horse harnessed to a vehicle which, by reason of a sudden fright, breaks from human restraint, and dashes wildly through the streets, endangering itself and everyone that crosses its course. Man is also prone to take flight under the pressure of fear for his life. Unlike the horse, he controls his actions by reason, more or less. But to fly from danger is, in most circumstances, allowable to the civilian, under the law of self-preservation. He can run away without any hurt to his self-esteem, or any risk of being called a coward.
It is a crime for a soldier on the field to turn his back on danger. Of course there is nothing despicable in a retirement under orders when faced with overwhelming odds. We can see Wellington at Salamanca, caught in themêléeof a British flight before a dashing charge of French cavalry—as Maxwell saw him, "With his straight sword drawn, riding at full speed, and smiling." He fled that he might live, and win the battle. But the soldier must stand firm when the shells are bursting terrifically around him and the bullets whistle their death tune in his ears, or advance undauntedly towards the hidden enemy, who thusmenace him with death and mutilation, until a command or a bullet stops him.
Yet even in the soldier to shrink from pain, danger and death is a natural impulse, for it is one of the instincts of which no amount of training and discipline can entirely divest humanity. President Abraham Lincoln was very reluctant to sanction the execution of soldiers for cowardice during the American Civil War. He used to say it was impossible for a man always to control his legs. "How do I know," he would ask, "that I should not run away myself?" Happily there are things which help to sustain and embolden the soldier in that terrible trial. Some of these enheartening influences are external to the soldier himself. His country's cause and the reputation of his regiment help to brace him for the ordeal. The companionship of his comrades in a common danger and the fury and tumult of battle are also very animating. But in the last resort the soldier must rely upon his own innate qualities, both mental and physical. For bravery lies in the blood, and courage in the mind, and valour is the combination of the often thoughtless fire and dash of the one, and the calculated enterprise and determination of the other.
Bearing these considerations always in mind, let us never cast the contumelious stone, or say a bitter word, against any regiment, or party of men, who in war are overborne by the black terror of apprehension suddenly arising; but rather let us ever give the greater honour and glory to those rare beings, those supermen, who without a thought of self, dash into the fiery blast to save a stricken comrade, or who strike a ringing blow for their cause under the jaws of horrid death, whose hands are stretched out to clutch them.
In the light of these general reflections on human nature let us consider first the achievement ofDrummer William Kenny, who, though serving in the 2nd Battalion of the Gordon Highlanders, is a Drogheda man. Near Ypres, on October 23rd, 1914, he exposed himself to heavy fire on five separate occasions, in order to rescue wounded men. Twice previously he saved machine-guns by carrying them out of action. "Also on numerous occasions," says the official record, "Drummer Kenny conveyed urgent messages in very dangerous circumstances over fire-swept ground." What makes Kenny's heroism very remarkable is that it was not displayed in a single instance, by one act; but was, as we see, repeated over and over again, and in a variety of ways.
He is a very modest as well as fearless man. I saw him at the Mansion House, London, one day in March, 1915, when he was presented with a gold watch by the Lord Mayor, on behalf of the Musicians' Company. The first thing that caught my attention in his appearance was the mingled kindliness and resolution expressed in his face. It was obvious, from his shy manner, that he was greatly embarrassed, if not made quite miserable, indeed, by being so much noticed, and would have rather remained in the background. "Thank you all," was his simple acknowledgment of the Company's expressions of admiration and regard. He is also a reticent man. Not a word did he say to anyone about his exploits until the announcement that he had been awarded the Victoria Cross appeared in the newspapers. Even then, he declined to be regarded as a hero. "It was just what anyone would do in the circumstances," he said. "There are many others out there who have done the same thing, only nobody knows it. You see some of your pals lying out in the open under fire. You know it is they or you; so you just go out and fetch them in." It was the same in regard to his single-handed action in saving the machine-guns. "The Maxims had to befetched," he said; "and I did it. That's all." As a case of unobtrusive and, indeed, unconscious heroism that of Drummer Kenny would be hard to beat.
His native town of Drogheda has reason to be proud of Kenny, and it showed its esteem in a splendid way. On St. Patrick's Day, 1915, the Mayor and Corporation went to High Mass with Kenny, who was accompanied by his mother and father; and afterwards, at a public meeting in the square, attended by an enormous crowd, the noble fellow was presented with a cheque for £120, and the freedom of the borough. When he wrote his name on the roll of Drogheda's freemen, Kenny found among the preceding signatures those of such famous historical personages as the Duke of Ormond (1704); Henry Grattan (1782); Sir Arthur Wellesley (1807); Isaac Butt (1877); Charles Stewart Parnell (1881), and Sir Garnet Wolseley (1882).
The deeds of three other Irishmen who have won the Victoria Cross were, like those of Kenny, deeds of mercy—the rescue of wounded comrades. For a full appreciation of them it is necessary to understand the awful plight of the soldiers who are stricken down on the unsheltered open ground between the opposing trenches. When the engagement in which the men fell is over this space is swept, on the slightest movement, by volleys from rifles and machine-guns. It is often impossible, therefore, to bring timely help to the wounded. At night only, in the sheltering darkness, some of the least disabled wounded may be able to crawl back to their trenches. Otherwise they have to lie out there in the open while life ebbs away to the most bitter torments. That is, unless there are at hand men moved by the unselfish and tender emotion of pity, men susceptible to suffering, men of refined and imaginative minds; and therefore able to project themselves by the power of thought into the cruelsituation of their tortured and helpless mates, and feel to the full all the horror of it; and men, too, whose high ideal of duty and right conduct impel them irresistibly to go out to succour, even at the risk of meeting the same terrible fate themselves. Of such noble men are Drummer Kenny, and also Lance-Corporal Joseph Toombs, 1st Battalion King's Liverpool Regiment, who comes from Warrenpoint, Co. Down; Private Robert Morrow, 1st Royal Irish Fusiliers, a native of Co. Tyrone, and Private John Caffrey, 2nd York and Lancaster Regiment, who was born at Birr, King's County, and has his home in Nottingham.
The official account of the achievements for which Toombs was awarded the Victoria Cross is as follows:—
"For most conspicuous gallantry near Rue du Bois on June 16th, 1915. On his own initiative he crawled out repeatedly under a very heavy shell and machine gun fire to bring in wounded men who were lying about one hundred yards in front of our trenches. He rescued four men, one of whom he dragged back by means of a rifle sling placed round his own neck and the man's body. This man was so severely wounded that unless he had been immediately attended to he must have died."
"For most conspicuous gallantry near Rue du Bois on June 16th, 1915. On his own initiative he crawled out repeatedly under a very heavy shell and machine gun fire to bring in wounded men who were lying about one hundred yards in front of our trenches. He rescued four men, one of whom he dragged back by means of a rifle sling placed round his own neck and the man's body. This man was so severely wounded that unless he had been immediately attended to he must have died."
Morrow got the V.C. "for most conspicuous bravery near Messines, on April 12th, 1915, when he rescued and carried successfully to places of comparative safety several men who had been buried under the debris of trenches wrecked by shell fire. Private Morrow carried out this gallant work on his own initiative and under very heavy fire from the enemy." I am able to supplement this official record by a statement made by one of the men who was saved by Morrow: "The enemy opened fire unexpectedly. A shell fell in the trench, burying over a dozen men, of whom I was one, in the wreckage. Those who were able ran to shelter, for that shell was followed by manymore; and the trench having been laid bare, the enemy opened a hot rifle and machine-gun fire upon it. At the same time the enemy was making an attack in force. Accordingly it was a risky thing to be there. Morrow didn't mind. He came up to where we were pinned under the remains of the parapet and a dug-out. He dragged me out and carried me on his back to a place of safety. Then he went back to look for others. He made the journey six times, bringing all the men that were alive. It was slow, laborious work, and all the time Morrow was under heavy fire from the Germans."
On the same day that the notice of Private Morrow's distinction was published, his death was announced in the list of casualties. He was killed on April 25th, 1915, at St. Julien, while in the act of again succouring the wounded. His widowed mother, at Newmills, Dungannon, received the Victoria Cross that was awarded to her gallant boy with an autograph letter of sympathy from the King.
Private John Caffrey got the Victoria Cross for a gallant display of bravery and humanity near La Brique on November 16th, 1915. A man of the West Yorkshire Regiment had been badly wounded, and was lying in the open, unable to move, in full view of, and about 300 to 400 yards from, the enemy's trenches. Corporal Stirk, Royal Army Medical Corps, and Caffrey at once started out to rescue him, but at the first attempt they were driven back by shrapnel fire. Soon afterwards they started again, under close sniping and machine-gun fire, and succeeded in reaching and bandaging the wounded man, but, just as Corporal Stirk had lifted him on Private Caffrey's back, he himself was shot in the head. Caffrey put down the wounded man, bandaged Corporal Stirk, and helped him back into safety. He then returned and brought in the man of the West YorkshireRegiment. "He had made three journeys across the open, under close and accurate fire," says the official record, "and had risked his own life to save others with the utmost coolness and bravery."
No more moving story of the devotion of a private to an officer, to whom he was regimentally attached, is to be found than that enshrined in the record of the deed for which the Victoria Cross was given to Private Thomas Kenny, 13th (Service) Battalion Durham Light Infantry, part of "Kitchener's Army." Kenny, aged thirty-three, was living with his wife and seven children, and following the occupation of a quarry-man, at Hart Bushes, a hamlet two miles outside Wingate, County Durham, when on the outbreak of war he joined the Army. His battalion was sent to the front on August 25th, 1915. On the night of November 4th, 1915, Kenny won the Victoria Cross near La Houssoie, for conspicuous bravery and devotion to Lieutenant Brown of his battalion. The deed is finely described in a letter written by Major C.E. Walker, of the 13th Durham Light Infantry:—
"I just want to write to you to tell you how proud we all are of your husband, Pte. T. Kenny, for the magnificent pluck and endurance he showed under very heavy fire when Lieut. P.A. Brown was wounded. Your husband was what we call 'observer' to Lieut. Brown—that is to say, he acted as a sort of shadow to his officer, who never moved anywhere without him. The Lieutenant went out in front of our trenches in a thick fog to superintend a party of our men mending our barbed wire, Kenny, as usual, accompanying him. They over-ran our wire and lost their bearings in the fog. Finding that they were on unfamiliar ground they sat down to listen for sounds to guide them. After a while they decided to go back. As soon as they rose a rifle was fired from a listening post about 15 yards away. (They were only about 30 yards from the enemy trenches, and a listening post runs out from their front line.) Lieut. Brown fell, shot through both thighs. Kenny at once went to his assistance, and although Lieut. Brown was a good-sized man, got him slung on to his back and started off with him."The Germans in the listening post—there are generally four to six there—opened rapid fire at him. He therefore dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling, with the officer still on his back. Lieut. Brown was hit about 9.45. Kenny carried him in this manner, under heavy fire from the enemy every time they heard him, for over an hour in spite of the wet, clinging nature of the ground. At last he came to a ditch he recognised, and being utterly exhausted, he made the Lieutenant as comfortable as he could and then started off for our lines for help. He found an officer and a few men of his battalion at a listening post, and having guided them back to where he had left his officer, Lieutenant Brown was brought in still living, but died at the dressing station. His last words were, 'Kenny—you're a hero!' The General is delighted with the pluck, endurance, and devotion shown by your husband, and has recommended him for the Victoria Cross. Kenny is a splendid fellow, and you may well be proud of him."
"I just want to write to you to tell you how proud we all are of your husband, Pte. T. Kenny, for the magnificent pluck and endurance he showed under very heavy fire when Lieut. P.A. Brown was wounded. Your husband was what we call 'observer' to Lieut. Brown—that is to say, he acted as a sort of shadow to his officer, who never moved anywhere without him. The Lieutenant went out in front of our trenches in a thick fog to superintend a party of our men mending our barbed wire, Kenny, as usual, accompanying him. They over-ran our wire and lost their bearings in the fog. Finding that they were on unfamiliar ground they sat down to listen for sounds to guide them. After a while they decided to go back. As soon as they rose a rifle was fired from a listening post about 15 yards away. (They were only about 30 yards from the enemy trenches, and a listening post runs out from their front line.) Lieut. Brown fell, shot through both thighs. Kenny at once went to his assistance, and although Lieut. Brown was a good-sized man, got him slung on to his back and started off with him.
"The Germans in the listening post—there are generally four to six there—opened rapid fire at him. He therefore dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling, with the officer still on his back. Lieut. Brown was hit about 9.45. Kenny carried him in this manner, under heavy fire from the enemy every time they heard him, for over an hour in spite of the wet, clinging nature of the ground. At last he came to a ditch he recognised, and being utterly exhausted, he made the Lieutenant as comfortable as he could and then started off for our lines for help. He found an officer and a few men of his battalion at a listening post, and having guided them back to where he had left his officer, Lieutenant Brown was brought in still living, but died at the dressing station. His last words were, 'Kenny—you're a hero!' The General is delighted with the pluck, endurance, and devotion shown by your husband, and has recommended him for the Victoria Cross. Kenny is a splendid fellow, and you may well be proud of him."
Lieutenant Brown's mother wrote from Beckenham, Kent, to Kenny, expressing her deep gratitude for his services to her son: "I am thankful to feel that he died among friends and that he was able to thank you," she says. "I know you will value his last words. He had often mentioned you to me in his letters home, and talked of 'my observer Kenny, a very nice Irishman from Co. Durham, who goes with me everywhere.' His life had been a very different one before this dreadful war, but he gave up everything for pure patriotism."
These are rare, fine, and noble actions. They are not necessarily actions which only a true soldier could accomplish. They are the outcome of fortitude, that spirit which supports a man to go through with a tremendous task, involving pain of body and trouble of mind, but a task from which his sense of duty will not permit him to turn aside; and fortitude is a quality found not uncommonly in the ordinary daily round of civil life as well as on the battlefield. The other awards of the Victoria Cross to Irishmen were made for deeds of quite a different character; realsoldierly deeds, bold, dashing, and intrepid; deeds, if not of reckless bravery, certainly of bravery reckless of life for the attainment of the purpose in view. In a word, they are deeds more representative of the traditional fiery fearlessness of Celtic valour.
There is the case of Private Edward Dwyer, of the East Surrey Regiment, who was born at Fulham, London, of Irish parents, his father being a Galway man and his mother a native of Omeath. I saw him one sunny day in July, 1915, coming down the Strand at the head of a recruiting procession, and his appearance gave me at first a shock of surprise. I do not know why it should be so, but it is the fact that we usually associate intrepidity and resolution with men of powerful physique and demeanour that suggests fearlessness. Perhaps the illusion has taken its rise from misty recollections of the heroes of the fiction-reading of our youth. That illusion has been dispelled, for me, at least, by those V.C.-men of the war whom I have seen, and I have seen several of them. In all of them, without exception, I should say it was the mind that told and not so much the body. Dwyer looked quite a boy, and one of small stature, too, as he walked that day between two burly sergeants, to whose shoulders his head just about reached. But I could see the Victoria Cross of dark bronze and its red ribbon on the left breast of his khaki tunic. His hearty laughter and smiles told of his pride and joy in the demonstration, of which he was the central figure—silk-hatted men baring their heads to him; women, young and old, pressing forward to kiss him; and the air filled with shoutings and the blare of brass instruments. Then, from the plinth of the Nelson Monument in Trafalgar Square, standing between two of Landseer's great lions, he made a sprightly recruiting speech. "I promise you this," said he, "a drink and a cigar for the first ten recruits to come up here.Age is nothing. I was only sixteen when I joined. I think the recruiting-sergeant must have been a little short-sighted on purpose, because he enlisted me without any trouble. Out at the Front there are men who are grey-headed. Doesn't it shame you?" he cried, turning sharply to the young men in the crowd.
What was it that was done by this youngest of the V.C.'s this stripling of eighteen who, before he enlisted, was a messenger-boy to a greengrocer? He displayed "most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty" at Hill 60 on April 20th, 1915; and he did so in a very singular way. "When his trench was heavily attacked by German grenade throwers," says the official record, "he climbed on to the parapet, and although subjected to a hail of bombs at close quarters, succeeded in dispersing the enemy by the effective use of his hand grenades." Those vague, general terms do not enable us to see the episode. It discloses itself vividly in the terse sentences of Dwyer himself:—
"All our chaps were either killed or wounded. I was the only unwounded man left in the trench. The Germans were in a trench only fifteen yards away, so close that I could hear them talking in their lingo. I knew that if they took the trench I was in it would be a bad job for our trenches behind. So I collected all the hand grenades left in our trench until I had about a hundred in all. There were three steps leading up to the parapet of the trench. For a while I sat crouched on the middle step. Then I found myself on the parapet hurling grenades at the Germans. Shells and hand bombs were bursting all over and around me, but nothing touched me at all. I kept on throwing until help came and the trench was safe. I was pretty well done up when I jumped down into the trench, mad with joy and without a scratch. The relieving party chaffed me a lot, and called me 'The King of the Hand Grenades.'"
"All our chaps were either killed or wounded. I was the only unwounded man left in the trench. The Germans were in a trench only fifteen yards away, so close that I could hear them talking in their lingo. I knew that if they took the trench I was in it would be a bad job for our trenches behind. So I collected all the hand grenades left in our trench until I had about a hundred in all. There were three steps leading up to the parapet of the trench. For a while I sat crouched on the middle step. Then I found myself on the parapet hurling grenades at the Germans. Shells and hand bombs were bursting all over and around me, but nothing touched me at all. I kept on throwing until help came and the trench was safe. I was pretty well done up when I jumped down into the trench, mad with joy and without a scratch. The relieving party chaffed me a lot, and called me 'The King of the Hand Grenades.'"
Dwyer gives an interesting account of his sensations in battle. As a rule, introspection in suchcircumstances is almost impossible, for the mind, when concentrated solely on the existing situation and strained with excitement almost to the cracking point, cannot well observe itself; but Dwyer is made of uncommon stuff mentally as well as physically. "Fear is a funny thing," he says. "It gets at you in all kinds of curious ways. When we've been skirmishing in open order under heavy fire I've felt myself go numb. Then the blood has rushed into my face—head and ears become as hot as fire, and the tip of my tongue swollen into a blob of blood. It isn't nice, I can tell you; but the feeling passes and one's nerves become steadier." He added what showed his real mettle: "I've never expected to get out of any fight I've ever been in. And so I just try to do my bit, and leave it at that." Dwyer made a most successful recruiter for the Irish regiments, in which, on account of his nationality, he specially interested himself.
Turning now for a while from the Irish privates to the Irish regimental officers who have won the V.C., we find the same pluck, endurance, and devotion to duty displayed. Second Lieutenant George Arthur Boyd-Rochfort, of the 1st Battalion Scots Guards, is a type of the Irish gentry who have contributed to the British Army so remarkably large a number of gallant regimental officers and distinguished commanders, from the Duke of Wellington to Viscount French of Ypres. He had done no soldiering before the present war. The eldest son of the late Major R.H. Boyd-Rochfort, of the 15th Hussars, he succeeded to the family property at Middleton Park, Westmeath. Aged thirty-five, and the head of his family, all his interests centred in the work of the estate. Yet when the war broke out Mr. Boyd-Rochfort felt it his duty to join the Army, so that he might serve his country along with his youngerbrothers—Captain H. Boyd-Rochfort, of the 21st Lancers (now Brigade-Major of the 21st Cavalry Brigade), and Lieutenant Cecil Boyd-Rochfort, of the Scots Guards. To qualify himself physically for a commission in the Scots Guards he had to undergo two operations, which confined him to hospital for close on five months. He got his commission in April, 1915, went to the Front in June, and won the Victoria Cross on August 3rd, in the trenches between Cambria and La Bassée.
Lieutenant Boyd-Rochfort was afterwards wounded in a single-handed fight with two Germans—he knocked one down with the butt-end of his empty revolver and the other with his fist—and was invalided home, when the whole countryside turned out to do him honour. He gave the following account of his exploit:—
"It was at break of day, just before we were ordered to 'stand to,' we were working in the first line of trenches, and a trench that was nothing more than a graveyard. The first German trench was no more than fifty yards away, and their mortars and rifle grenades were simply spilling into us. Our trench was getting badly knocked about by the flying missiles. You must distinguish between these mortars and shells, because the mortars have a time fuse which explodes them without striking. I was just raising my head over the front of the trench, and, hearing the whiz, I said to my men, 'Look out.' Down they went. The bomb landed, and started to roll down from the top of the trench. I dashed forward and seized it, and threw it over the top of trench. Scarcely had it left my hand and reached the outside of the trench than it exploded with a terrific report. We were all buried under falling earth, but fortunately no one was hurt, although my cap was blown to pieces. My men were very appreciative of my action, and cheered and thanked me. Afterwards they wrote and signed a statement of what I had done, which they handed to the Colonel."
"It was at break of day, just before we were ordered to 'stand to,' we were working in the first line of trenches, and a trench that was nothing more than a graveyard. The first German trench was no more than fifty yards away, and their mortars and rifle grenades were simply spilling into us. Our trench was getting badly knocked about by the flying missiles. You must distinguish between these mortars and shells, because the mortars have a time fuse which explodes them without striking. I was just raising my head over the front of the trench, and, hearing the whiz, I said to my men, 'Look out.' Down they went. The bomb landed, and started to roll down from the top of the trench. I dashed forward and seized it, and threw it over the top of trench. Scarcely had it left my hand and reached the outside of the trench than it exploded with a terrific report. We were all buried under falling earth, but fortunately no one was hurt, although my cap was blown to pieces. My men were very appreciative of my action, and cheered and thanked me. Afterwards they wrote and signed a statement of what I had done, which they handed to the Colonel."
Another gallant Meath man was the late Lieutenant Maurice James Dease, 4th Batt. Royal Fusiliers (Cityof London Regiment), who fell during the retreat from Mons, and was the first officer to gain the Victoria Cross in the great war. He was the only son of Mr. Edmund F. Dease, Culmullen, Drumree, Meath, and heir-presumptive to his uncle, Major Gerald Dease, of Turbotston, Westmeath. He was born September 28th, 1889, and was educated at Stonyhurst and at the Army Class, Wimbledon College. He entered the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, and was gazetted Second Lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers in February, 1910, becoming Lieutenant in 1912. In the same year he was appointed machine-gun officer to his regiment, and it was whilst in command of this section at Nimy, near Mons, on August 23rd, 1914, that Lieutenant Dease was killed and awarded the Victoria Cross. The official record is as follows:—
"During the action the machine-guns were protecting the crossing over a canal bridge, and Lieutenant Dease was several times severely wounded, but refused to leave the guns. He remained at his post until all the men of his detachment were either killed or wounded and the guns put out of action by the enemy's fire."
"During the action the machine-guns were protecting the crossing over a canal bridge, and Lieutenant Dease was several times severely wounded, but refused to leave the guns. He remained at his post until all the men of his detachment were either killed or wounded and the guns put out of action by the enemy's fire."
From the South of Ireland came the late Captain Gerald Robert O'Sullivan, 1st Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, who won the V.C. in Gallipoli. A son of the late Lieutenant-Colonel George Ledwill O'Sullivan, 91st Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, and of Mrs. O'Sullivan, of Rowan House, Dorchester, he was born at Frankfield, near Douglas, county Cork, and spent most of his boyhood in Dublin. He passed into Sandhurst in 1907, and was gazetted to the Inniskillings on May 15th, 1909. Captain O'Sullivan was awarded the V.C. for conspicuous gallantry on two occasions, the official record of his deeds being as follows:—
"For most conspicuous bravery during the operations south-west of Krithia, on the Gallipoli Peninsula. On the night ofJuly 1st-2nd, 1915, when it was essential that portion of a trench which had been lost should be regained. Captain O'Sullivan, although not belonging to the troops at this point, volunteered to lead a party of bomb-throwers to effect the recapture. He advanced in the open under very heavy fire, and in order to throw his bombs with greater effect got up on the parapet, where he was completely exposed to the fire of the enemy occupying the trench. He was finally wounded, but not before his inspiring example had led on his party to make further efforts, which resulted in the capture of the trench. On the night of June 18th-19th, 1915, Captain O'Sullivan saved a critical situation in the same locality by his great personal gallantry and good leading."
"For most conspicuous bravery during the operations south-west of Krithia, on the Gallipoli Peninsula. On the night ofJuly 1st-2nd, 1915, when it was essential that portion of a trench which had been lost should be regained. Captain O'Sullivan, although not belonging to the troops at this point, volunteered to lead a party of bomb-throwers to effect the recapture. He advanced in the open under very heavy fire, and in order to throw his bombs with greater effect got up on the parapet, where he was completely exposed to the fire of the enemy occupying the trench. He was finally wounded, but not before his inspiring example had led on his party to make further efforts, which resulted in the capture of the trench. On the night of June 18th-19th, 1915, Captain O'Sullivan saved a critical situation in the same locality by his great personal gallantry and good leading."
This gallant officer is believed to have been killed during the attack on Hill 70, or Burnt Hill, at Suvla Bay, on August 21st, 1915. He advanced at the head of his men to the second line of Turkish trenches, where he fell. The body was not recovered.
From the North of Ireland came the late Captain Anketell Moutray-Read, of the 1st Northamptonshire Regiment, who was killed on the night of September 24-25th, 1915, at the Battle of Loos, and was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross. He was the youngest son of the late Colonel John Moutray-Read, of Aghnacloy, County Tyrone, and one of his ancestors was High Sheriff of the county as far back as 1721. Owing to casualties in the Northamptons Captain Moutray-Read was in temporary command of the battalion when he fell. The official record of the award of the Victoria Cross is as follows:—
"For most conspicuous bravery during the first attack near Hulluch on the morning of September 25th, 1915. Although partially gassed, Captain Read went out several times in order to rally parties of different units which were disorganised and retiring. He led them back into the firing line, and, utterly regardless of danger, moved freely about encouraging them under a withering fire. He was mortally wounded while carrying out this gallant work. Captain Read had previously shown conspicuous bravery during digging operations on August 29th, 30th, and 31st, 1915, and on the night of July 29th-30th hecarried out of action an officer, who was mortally wounded, under a hot fire from rifles and grenades."
"For most conspicuous bravery during the first attack near Hulluch on the morning of September 25th, 1915. Although partially gassed, Captain Read went out several times in order to rally parties of different units which were disorganised and retiring. He led them back into the firing line, and, utterly regardless of danger, moved freely about encouraging them under a withering fire. He was mortally wounded while carrying out this gallant work. Captain Read had previously shown conspicuous bravery during digging operations on August 29th, 30th, and 31st, 1915, and on the night of July 29th-30th hecarried out of action an officer, who was mortally wounded, under a hot fire from rifles and grenades."
In all the theatres of war representatives of that famous fighting stock, the Irish gentry, are to be found defending the British Empire by maintaining the martial reputation of their race. At Shariba, Mesopotamia, the late Major George Godfrey Massy Wheeler, 7th Hariana Lancers, Indian Army, won the Victoria Cross for "most conspicuous bravery." He was a descendant of General Sir Hugh Massy Wheeler, whose son, John George Wheeler, was married to a Miss Massy, of Kingswell House, Tipperary. "On April 12th, 1915," says the official record, "Major Wheeler asked permission to take out his squadron and attempt to capture a flag which was the centre point of a group of the enemy who were firing on one of our pickets. He advanced and attacked the enemy's infantry with the lance, doing considerable execution amongst them. He then retired while the enemy swarmed out of hidden ground and formed an excellent target to our Royal Horse Artillery guns. On April 13th, 1915, Major Wheeler led his squadron to the attack of the 'North Mound.' He was seen far ahead of his men, riding single-handed straight for the enemy's standards. This gallant officer was killed on the mound."
In another far-distant and remote field of operations, the German protectorate of the Cameroons, West Africa, a scion of the same stock of Irish gentry likewise achieves glory, leading blacks against blacks led by Germans. There the hero is Captain John Fitzharding Paul Butler, of the famous Butlers of Ormond, Tipperary, attached to the Pioneer Company, Gold Coast Regiment, West African Frontier Force. "On November 17th, 1914," says the record, "with a party of thirteen men, he went into the thickbrush and attacked the enemy, in strength about one hundred, including several Europeans, defeated them and captured their machine-guns, and many loads of ammunition. On December 27th, 1914, when on patrol duty with a few men, he swam the Ekan River, which was held by the enemy, completed his reconnaissance on the further bank, and returned in safety. Two of his men were wounded while he was actually in the water." Bald as the story is, thus officially told, it kindles the imagination, and we can picture the wild and hazardous life led by this adventurous Irishman in that mysterious land of mountain and forest.
The Brookes of Colebrooke have been settled in Fermanagh since the time of Queen Elizabeth. If you look through Burke's "Peerage and Baronetage" you will see that in every generation the family have given sons to the Army and Navy. Lieutenant J.A.O. Brooke (grandson of the late Sir Arthur Brinsley Brooke of Colebrooke, baronet), 2nd Gordon Highlanders, has crowned the martial reputation of the family by winning the Victoria Cross. Near Gheluvelt, on October 29th, 1914, he led two attacks on the German trenches under heavy rifle and machine-gun fire, and regained a lost trench at a very critical time. He was killed at the moment of success. "By his marked coolness and promptitude on this occasion," says the official record, "Lieutenant Brooke prevented the enemy from breaking through our line at a time when a general counter-attack could not have been organised." Two Victoria Crosses have thus been won for the Gordon Highlanders by Irishmen—Drummer Kenny and Lieutenant Brooke.
In order to be able rightly to appreciate the honour and glory of the Victoria Cross, it is necessary to know the conditions regulating its bestowal. A tradition has been established in the Services, though there is nothing in the institution of the Victoria Cross really to warrant it, that the decoration is to be given only for a deed not done under orders. The deed must be a signal one in every respect—exceptionally daring, and difficult, of the highest military value, particularly in the saving of life, and, with all this, absolutely voluntary.
Nevertheless, it will be noticed that in none of the deeds of all these bold, brave, and intrepid Irishmen is there the slightest suggestion of seeking fame and glory at the cannon's mouth. "I almost gasped," said Private Dwyer, "when I was told I was awarded the V.C." Each of the others appears to have been likewise unconscious of his heroism. He did not go and do what he did, thinking of being mentioned in despatches or decorated. He was concerned only about doing what at the moment he felt to be his duty. Fame and glory were probably never farther from his thoughts than at the very time he waswinning them for ever. For the roll of the Victoria Cross, on which his name and deed are commemorated, is imperishable; and his glorious memory will shine as long as Great Britain and Ireland endure.
For sheer daring, contempt of risks, resourcefulness, and extraordinary physical powers, a high place must be given to the action by which Corporal William Cosgrave, 1st Royal Munster Fusiliers, won the Victoria Cross in Gallipoli. It took place on April 26th, 1915, the day after the famous landing of the Dublins and Munsters at "Beach V," when the survivors of these battalions were advancing to the attack on the Turkish positions on the heights of Sedd-el-Bahr. The first defensive obstacles encountered were barbed wire entanglements of exceptional strength and intricacy, behind which was a trench of enemy riflemen and machine-guns. "Those entanglements," says Sir Ian Hamilton, "were made of heavier metal and longer barbs than I have ever seen elsewhere." A party of the Munsters were sent forward to cut them down, but the men's pliers had not strength and sharpness enough to snip the wires. Then it was that Cosgrave, a giant in stature and vigour—6 ft. 5 in. in height and only twenty-three years of age—"pulled down the posts of the enemy's high wire entanglements single-handed, notwithstanding a terrific fire from both front and flanks thereby greatly contributing to the successful clearing of the heights," to quote the official record. The deed has a distinction peculiarly its own, for it is the only thing of the kind to be found in the long roll of the Victoria Cross.
Cosgrave was wounded in the bayonet charge which subsequently carried the trench. A bullet struck him in the side, and passing clear through him splintered his backbone. He was invalided home to Aghada, a little fishing hamlet in County Cork, where he wasborn and reared and worked as a farm boy until he enlisted in 1910. Seen there, he told the story of his exploit, as one of the party of fifty Munsters ordered to rush forward and remove the entanglements:—
"Sergeant-Major Bennett led us, but just as we made a dash a storm of lead was concentrated on us; Sergeant-Major Bennett was killed with a bullet through his brain. I then took charge and shouted to the boys to come on. The dash was quite one hundred yards, and I don't know whether I ran or prayed the faster. I wanted to succeed in my work, and I also wanted to have the benefit of dying with a prayer in my mind. Some of us having got up to the wires we started to cut them with the pliers, but you might as well try to cut the round tower at Cloyne with a pair of lady's scissors. The wire was of great strength, strained like fiddle strings, and so full of spikes that you could not get the pliers between. Heavens! I thought we were done; I threw the pliers from me. 'Pull them up!' I roared to the fellows; and I dashed at one of the upright posts, put my arms round it, and heaved and strained at it until it came up in my arms, the same as you would lift a child."I believe there was great cheering when they saw what I was at, but I only heard the scream of bullets and saw dust rising all round me. Where they hit I do not know, or how many posts I pulled up. I did my best, and the boys that were with me did every bit as good as myself."When the wire was down the rest of the lads came through like devils and reached the trenches. We won about 200 yards' length by twenty yards deep and 700 yards from the shore. We met a brave, honourable foe in the Turks, and I am sorry that such decent fighting men were brought into the row by such dirty tricksters as the Germans."
"Sergeant-Major Bennett led us, but just as we made a dash a storm of lead was concentrated on us; Sergeant-Major Bennett was killed with a bullet through his brain. I then took charge and shouted to the boys to come on. The dash was quite one hundred yards, and I don't know whether I ran or prayed the faster. I wanted to succeed in my work, and I also wanted to have the benefit of dying with a prayer in my mind. Some of us having got up to the wires we started to cut them with the pliers, but you might as well try to cut the round tower at Cloyne with a pair of lady's scissors. The wire was of great strength, strained like fiddle strings, and so full of spikes that you could not get the pliers between. Heavens! I thought we were done; I threw the pliers from me. 'Pull them up!' I roared to the fellows; and I dashed at one of the upright posts, put my arms round it, and heaved and strained at it until it came up in my arms, the same as you would lift a child.
"I believe there was great cheering when they saw what I was at, but I only heard the scream of bullets and saw dust rising all round me. Where they hit I do not know, or how many posts I pulled up. I did my best, and the boys that were with me did every bit as good as myself.
"When the wire was down the rest of the lads came through like devils and reached the trenches. We won about 200 yards' length by twenty yards deep and 700 yards from the shore. We met a brave, honourable foe in the Turks, and I am sorry that such decent fighting men were brought into the row by such dirty tricksters as the Germans."
In Sir Ian Hamilton's despatch describing the storming of "Beach W"—close to "Beach V"—by the Lancashire Fusiliers, there are some striking passages relating to men of the battalion who rushed forward to cut passages through the entanglements. "Again the heroic wire-cutters came out. Through glasses they could be seen quietly snipping away under a hellish fire, as if they were pruning a vineyard." For his gallantry in this undertaking PrivateWilliam Keneally, one of the many Irishmen in the Lancashires, got the Victoria Cross. The distinction is greatly enhanced by the fact that Keneally was selected by his comrades in the ranks as the one among them best entitled to it. The official record says:—
"On April 25th, 1915, three companies and the Headquarters of the 1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers, in effecting a landing on the Gallipoli Peninsula to the west of Cape Helles, were met by a very deadly fire from hidden machine-guns which caused a great number of casualties. The survivors, however, rushed up to and cut the wire entanglements, notwithstanding the terrific fire from the enemy, and, after overcoming supreme difficulties, the cliffs were gained and the position maintained. Amongst the many very gallant officers and men engaged in this most hazardous undertaking, Captain Willis, Sergeant Richards, and Private Keneally have been selected by their comrades as having performed the most signal arts of bravery and devotion to duty."
"On April 25th, 1915, three companies and the Headquarters of the 1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers, in effecting a landing on the Gallipoli Peninsula to the west of Cape Helles, were met by a very deadly fire from hidden machine-guns which caused a great number of casualties. The survivors, however, rushed up to and cut the wire entanglements, notwithstanding the terrific fire from the enemy, and, after overcoming supreme difficulties, the cliffs were gained and the position maintained. Amongst the many very gallant officers and men engaged in this most hazardous undertaking, Captain Willis, Sergeant Richards, and Private Keneally have been selected by their comrades as having performed the most signal arts of bravery and devotion to duty."
Precedents for the choice of a comrade by his fellows to wear the V.C. on their behalf are to be found in the records of the Indian Mutiny, and it is an interesting fact that in each case the man chosen was an Irishman serving in an English or Scottish regiment. In September, 1857, the Cross was awarded to Private John Divane, of the 60th King's Royal Rifles, for successfully heading a charge against the trenches at Delhi. Divane was elected by the privates of his regiment for the distinction. In November of the same year Lance-Corporal J. Dunley, 93rd Highlanders, the first man of the regiment to enter the Secundra Bagh with Captain Burroughs, whom he supported against heavy odds, was similarly chosen by his comrades for the V.C., and likewise Lieutenant A.K. French, 53rd Regiment, who showed distinguished gallantry on the same occasion, was elected by his brother officers to wear the decoration.
Keneally was born in Parnell Street, Wexford, in1886. His father, Colour-Sergeant John Stephen Keneally, served for twenty-four years in the Royal Irish Regiment. In 1890 Keneally's parents removed to Wigan. The father got work as a miner in the Wigan coalfield, and the son, at the age of thirteen, started in the same life as a pit-boy. William afterwards joined the Army, served for six years, and on returning to civil life worked again in the pits. On the outbreak of war he rejoined his old regiment, the Lancashire Fusiliers, and was then one of five brothers serving with the Colours. The brave fellow did not survive to enjoy the honour of having the V.C. pinned to his breast by the King. He was wounded on July 29th, 1915, in the course of an attack on a Turkish position, which was repulsed, and was never seen afterwards. "It is a matter of sincere regret to me," says the King in a kindly letter to the hero's father, "that the death of Private Keneally deprived me of the pride of personally conferring on him the Victoria Cross—the greatest of all military distinctions."
For quite a different achievement the Victoria Cross was awarded to Sergeant John Hogan, 2nd Battalion Manchester Regiment, an Irish lad who was brought up at Oldham, Lancashire. On October 29th, 1914, Hogan and Second Lieutenant Leach (who also got the V.C.) recaptured unassisted a trench that had been lost by the regiment. Two attempts to retake the trench in force having been repulsed, Leach and Hogan voluntarily set out one morning to try to recover it themselves. The trench was about sixty yards' distance from the nearest German trench. It did not run in a straight line, but took a zig-zag course, consisting of a number of traverses in this form:—
Though it was held by the Germans, its connection with the other British trenches was not cut off. Starting at one end of the trench, Leach and Hogan drove the Germans out of each traverse, one after the other, by putting their right hands round each corner and firing their revolvers, while they kept their bodies concealed. It happened that the Germans were armed only with rifles, and those weapons they could not use without exposing themselves to the revolver fire of their attackers. Thus favoured, Leach and Hogan advanced by crawling on their stomachs, capturing corner after corner, and section after section, until they got near to the other end of the trench, when they heard a voice exclaiming in English, "Don't shoot; the Germans want to surrender." The speaker was one of their own men, who had been taken prisoner by the Germans when they captured the trench. Altogether Leach and Hogan killed eight Germans, wounded twenty, and took sixteen prisoners. It was a peculiar exploit, cleverly planned, and daringly executed. The story of how Private John Lynn, 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, a County Tyrone man, won the V.C., is inspiring for its bravery and endurance. Near Ypres on May 2nd, 1915, as the Germans were advancing behind their wave of asphyxiating gas, Private Lynn, although almost overcome by the deadly fumes, handled his machine-gun with very great effect against the enemy, and when he could not see them he moved his gun higher up on the parapet, which enabled him to bring even more effective fire to bear, and eventually checked any further advance. The great courage displayed by this soldier had a fine effect on his comrades in the very trying circumstances. He died the following day from the effects of gas poisoning.
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary," says the soldier's favourite song. But, long as it is, SergeantJames Somers, 1st Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, brought there the Victoria Cross from Gallipoli, when he came home invalided to stay with his parents at Cloughjordan, in September, 1915. Naturally, the Tipperary village was decorated, and the hero was received by Tipperary crowds, with bands and banners; and, better still, War Loan stock to the value of £240, subscribed for by as many as 1,500 of the local Tipperary community, was presented to him at a public meeting by Major-General Friend, Commander of the Forces in Ireland. At the meeting Mr. B. Trench, secretary to the reception committee, made the remarkable statement that out of a total of eighty Victoria Crosses then awarded for services in the war eighteen had been won by Irishmen. "If the people of Great Britain had done as well," said Mr. Trench, "they ought, according to their population, to have received 220 Victoria Crosses."
Sergeant Somers is a well-built, good-looking young fellow of twenty-one, full of high spirits, and was boyishly delighted with all the attention paid to him in Ireland. His father was for several years sexton in the parish church, Belturbet, county Cavan; and he himself was a footman in Bantry House, county Cork, before he joined the Inniskilling Fusiliers in 1912. Like Dwyer, of the East Surreys, he got the V.C. for a daring bombing exploit. The official record of the award is as follows:—