XV. A NIGHT PATROL
The regiment was acting as advance guard to the brigade, so considerable responsibility rested on Goyle, who was senior officer of the three companies employed. Goyle had been through the war from the beginning, and had learnt the difference between reckless dash and careful handling of men. Goyle had had four of his subalterns killed and most of his original company replaced by reinforcements. He had held the canal bank at Mons and fought slowly backwards from house to house at Le Cateau. What he did not know of the Germans and their methods of fighting no general knew, nor staff officer with red-banded, brass-rimmed cap. Perhaps the generals and their staff officers knew as much theoretically and had learnt a good deal from the result of actions in which the divisions and units under their command had been engaged, but none knew more than Goyle, who was a plain regimental officer and lived daily in the firing-line. Had many but he been in command that night the advance guard would have been cut up.
We had covered the first part of our march uneventfully, and were now moving along a stretch of open road which ran between two deep ditches with ploughland on either side. The Dorchesters were following us, and they, we knew, had reached a village about half a mile behind. Goyle was from the first extremely anxious not to let the gap between ourselves and the Dorchesters get too wide. Our orders were to halt on a cross-road at some point farther down along the road on which we were marching. It was quite dark, and we were proceeding very slowly, as we were uncertain of the whereabouts or strength of the enemy. Goyle had got all the men off the road, and was making them move single file by companies along the ditches. We proceeded some distance in this way, but no cross-roads could be found, and after a bit Goyle halted and sent back for further instructions. He discovered at the same time that communication had not been maintained with the brigade on the right, and that the Dorchesters showed no inclination to leave the village they had reached, but were disposed to billet there. In fact, everything pointed to a slight muddle having arisen, as a result of which the three companies of my regiment might be severe sufferers in their isolated position if the enemy suddenly attacked. It was the sort of occasion when many officers less experienced than Goyle might have done something which would have led to a disaster. Many, for instance, would have pushed boldly on until they found the cross-roads or met the enemy. They would have said that those were their orders and that it was not for them to wonder whether there was any mistake. However, Goyle was not of this sort. He believed in using his own judgment and acting as circumstances seemed to dictate. His first concern was for the lives of his men, which he would throw away as lightly as his own if necessary, but which he always guarded jealously against the possible perils of tactical mistakes.
"I don't like this," he said once or twice, as we were standing there waiting for the reply to the message he had sent back. "It is all very well, you know, but if they came for us now in any strength we should get scuppered." It was dark, and we seemed a long way out along the road from the other troops. I understood what he meant, and saw the danger. Presently the orderly returned with a written message from the Commanding Officer: "You are to go on as far as the R in ——, and remain in the village for the night." Goyle pulled out his map, and we bent over it. —— was a village of a few cottages, apparently about a quarter of a mile down the road. I could see Goyle did not like the order. "It is all very well," he said; "probably the enemy are in the village—a nice trap we shall be walking into. I shall send on a patrol, and if the village is held I shan't move on till daylight, when we have got some reinforcements up."
It was then decided that I should take out a patrol and go and scout the village. "Take a lance-corporal and a man with you," said Goyle; "and when you get to the village one of you go into the first house, leaving the other two outside; if the one who goes into the house does not come out, another is to follow him in, and if he stays too, the third is to come back and tell me. If we hear shots and none of you return we shall know the village is occupied."
"Very good, sir," I said; and, wishing I was anywhere else, I went off to get the patrol. I called my platoon together, explained the work on hand, and asked for volunteers. I got a N.C.O. without difficulty, but there was no response when I asked for a man. Much disgusted at the want of spirit in the men, I was preparing to go off alone with the lance-corporal rather than force anyone to go with me, when a man stepped out of the ranks and made the party complete. Afterwards Jenkins, my soldier servant, from whom I used to get tips about handling the men and various bits of barrack-room gossip, explained to me why I had got an N.C.O. easily enough, but had had difficulty in getting a man. It appeared that the men had a rooted dislike to patrols composed of an officer, a non-commissioned officer, and a man, as they considered the man was always made the victim of the enterprise, being sent on when the danger point was reached to draw fire. He said that had I asked for two men they would have come forward willingly, but, having got the N.C.O., no one cared to offer himself to take the place of the private.
I saw what Jenkins meant, and decided to remember the point for future guidance. As a matter of fact, I had decided that we should all go together, anyway until the occasion came for entering the houses, when it would be time enough to arrange who should go first.
Having got my N.C.O. and man together, I explained to them the work that was on foot, and said that at the first shot from the enemy each was to run for himself, and that no one was to wait to reply to the fire; all we had to do was to find out whether or not the place was occupied. Liking the job less each minute, we started off down the road. After going a little way it occurred to me that an old military rule was to keep a Maxim on a road at night, and that we should get rather in the way of this if the enemy had one and opened fire. Accordingly I ordered the patrol off the road on to the ploughland beside. This was a good manœuvre, as we were able to creep over the soft soil noiselessly. We felt our way on for some distance, until I saw two dark objects. These were the first of the houses we had to explore. Praying fervently that they might be empty, I led the way towards them. Suddenly there was a sharp burst of fire ahead along a front of about fifty yards. The shots could not have been fired from more than ten yards range. We had evidently all but walked into a German trench. The enemy had heard us, and blazed into the night. The effect of the shots suddenly fired out of nothing was most startling. As one man we all three turned and bolted in the opposite direction. The corporal dropped his rifle, I lost my cap; the private, being a fine sprinter, got slightly ahead, and we all three ran like mad. After a couple of hundred yards I went head over heels into a ditch. The corporal paused a moment to see if I had been hit, but continued as soon as I got up; the man kept an unchecked course for home, looking neither to the right nor the left. In the fall I slightly dislocated my knee, but this was as nothing, and, hardly hindered by a limp, I followed at full speed in the wake of the rout, the man now holding a good lead, the corporal lying second, and myself a bad third. I bethought me as I ran that we should probably draw the fire of our own men, who would think we were the enemy, and halloaed: "Goyle—Goyle—this is the patrol returning."
"Shut up, you blithering idiot," I heard his voice from the road; "do you want all Germany to know where we are?"
I flung myself on the ground beside him and breathlessly reported what had happened. "H'm," said Goyle, "just what I thought. I shan't try to occupy that village to-night."
Just then the Major commanding the regiment and Adjutant, who had been back with the reserve company, came up. "Well, what is it, Goyle?" said the Major testily; "why don't you push on into the village?"
The Major was a very gallant officer, with considerable war experience behind him. To his mind "dash" was the great thing. But the Major's experiences had been chiefly in savage warfare, and he had no knowledge of German methods. He had only come out from England two days before to take the place of our Colonel, who had been wounded.
Goyle pointed to me, said that he had sent out a patrol, and that the village was occupied. "Oh," said the Adjutant, "probably only two or three half-scared Uhlans. You ought to have tackled them and brought back their helmets"—this to me.
I offered with acid politeness to indicate the position of the "Uhlans" so that the Adjutant could go out himself and get their helmets.
"I think the enemy are entrenched, sir," said Goyle to the Major.
"Well, have at them and drive them out," the latter answered.
"We are rather isolated here, sir, and we are too weak to attack the village by ourselves."
"Maybe—maybe—I should push on, though," the Major answered.
"If you will excuse me, sir, I feel the responsibility rather too great—if you would take command of the attack, sir." This was a master-stroke on Goyle's part, as it brought home to the Major the responsibility of throwing his men without proper support against a position of unknown strength in the dark. He hummed and hawed, and finally decided to leave things as they were till daylight, and returned with the Adjutant to the reserve company.
As things turned out, it was lucky for all of us that Goyle had been firm about advancing farther; for, so far from there only being a few half-scared Uhlans ahead of us, we discovered afterwards that the Germans were in force and strongly entrenched, and any attempt at attack by the three companies must have failed disastrously.
When the Major had gone Goyle decided to move back, so as to get in closer touch with the Dorchesters. We withdrew, therefore, to the outskirts of the village, lined out on the ploughland on either side of the road, and set the men to entrench.