A GLORIOUS STAND.
The position to which the British were now slowly retiring was in the neighbourhood of Le Cateau,[48] to the south-east of Cambrai.[49] Your geography book tells you that Cambrai gave its name to the fine linen or muslin which was first made in the fifteenth century, and is known as cambric. Le Cateau has important woollen and merino spinning-mills, and figures in British history as the place where peace was signed between England, France, and Spain in the second year of Queen Elizabeth's reign. The proposed British lines extended from Cambrai through Le Cateau to Landrecies,[50] on the Sambre. Landrecies is famous as the birthplace of Dupleix,[51] who founded French power in India. There is a bronze statue to his memory in the little town.
The ground had been partly prepared and entrenched on the previous day; but Sir John French tells us in a dispatch that, owing to the ever-increasing numbers of the enemy, he had grave doubts as to the wisdom of making a stand before he had shaken off the foe. Early as the start had been, it was late in the day before the first of the troops from the north reached the new line, and night had fallen when the last of them came in. By this time a new British division had reached Le Cateau. It had been brought up by train, and was now hurried off to protect the left flank of the retreat.
The moment our weary men reached their position they were set to work entrenching their front. Then they had supper, and lay down for that long sleep which they sorely needed. There was a gap in the British line which Sir John French meant to fill up, but "the men were exhausted, and could get no farther on without rest." By nine o'clock all was peaceful along the front of the Second Corps, and on the right the men of the First Corps were settling down for a night's rest. Half an hour later there came a sudden alarm. The silence was broken by the zip-zip of rifles, the roar of guns, and the whine of shells as they flew towards our lines. The Germans were making a night attack in force on the British right.
The night was dark; the sky was thick with clouds; a drizzle of rain set in, and soon developed into a downpour. Behind their cavalry screen the enemy had pushed forward a vanguard of North Germans, who had marched rapidly through the leafy shades of the Forest of Mormal, where they were hidden from our airmen, and were able to advance with less fatigue than along the sun-baked roads amidst clouds of choking dust. The Germans were, therefore, fairly fresh when they formed up along the margin of forest which lies close upon the outskirts of Landrecies. They advanced in heavy column through the pouring rain and the blackness of the night, holding their fire and drawing nearer and nearer, confident that the harassed and worn-out British could make no long stand against them.
The 4th British Brigade, consisting of the 2nd Grenadiers, the 2nd and 3rd Coldstreams and the 1st Irish Guards, held Landrecies. About 9:30 the pickets of the Coldstreams, who were guarding the road from the forest, heard the dull tramp of armed men. They cried out, "Who goes there?" and a voice replied in French, "We are the French. Do not fire." The interpreter with the British was not satisfied with the accent of the man who replied, and he asked the officer to repeat the challenge. This he did, and was at once knocked off his feet by the foremost "Frenchman." Then the Germans rushed forward, swept away the pickets, and poured into the narrow streets of the town.
For a few minutes there was confusion amongst the Guards, who were caught unawares. Then their splendid discipline told. They opened a brisk fire, and soon the first line of the Germans was hurled back. On they came again in enormous numbers, until the streets were thronged with them. The Guards lay on the ground across the road, and a stream of bullets flew from their rifles; while the machine guns, some on the road and others on the housetops, tore blood-red lanes through the dense masses of the advancing enemy.
The Germans were beaten back, but they rallied and came on again, while other columns tried to work round to the rear of the town through side streets. Everywhere they found their way blocked by the British, and all night long the fight raged. Hand-to-hand combats were frequent, and terrible struggles were witnessed in the flickering light of the houses that had been fired by the German shells.
Men of the 9th Lancers saving the Guns. (See p. [88].)
From the drawing by Dudley Tennant.
German batteries pushed up close to the town. Some of the guns began firing at the Coldstreams almost at point-blank range. For a moment, in the midst of this death hail, our gallant fellows wavered. A major, however, rallied them. "Don't retire, boys," he yelled; "come on up." And the men advanced again. Well-aimed shots killed the enemy's gunners, and the bodies of a thousand German dead cumbered the streets.
Von Kluck's vanguard had been checked; it had hoped to rush the town easily, but it had miscalculated the strength of British valour and endurance. Shortly after midnight the Germans knew that they had failed, and gradually their firing died away. Then the Guards flung themselves down amidst the flaming houses and the dead and dying, and snatched what slumber they could.
While the Guards at Landrecies were adding a new and glorious page to their proud record, there was heavy fighting at Maroilles,[52] a little to the north-east, where Sir Douglas Haig's 1st Division was holding a difficult position. A message was sent to Sir John French begging for reinforcements. He had got into touch with two French reserve divisions on his right, and now he urged them to come up with all speed. To the men struggling desperately at Maroilles the French seemed terribly slow in arriving. At length, to their great relief, they heard the sound of distant firing, and knew that support was at hand. Partly by the help of the French, but mainly owing to the skilful generalship of Sir Douglas Haig, the First Corps was withdrawn from its perilous position.
At Cambrai, the newly-joined brigade which was protecting the left flank was also in action. A soldier of the Connaught Rangers thus describes the fighting in which he was engaged:—
"It was a grand time we had, and I wouldn't have missed it for lashins of money.
"It was near to Cambrai where we had our best time.
"The Germans kept pressing our rearguard all the time, and at last our colonel could stand it no longer, so the word was passed round that we were to fight. There were at least five to one, and we were in danger of being cut off.
"With that up got the colonel. 'Rangers of Connaught,' says he, 'the eyes of all Ireland are on you to-day, and I know you never could disgrace the ould country by allowing Germans to beat you while you have arms in your hands and hearts in your breasts. Up, then, and at them, and if you don't give them the soundest thrashing they ever got, you needn't look me in the face again in this world or the next.'
"And we went for them with just what you would know of a prayer to the Mother of our Lord to be merciful to the loved ones at home if we should fall in the fight. We charged through and through them, until they broke and ran like frightened hares in terror of hounds.
"After that taste of the fighting quality of the Rangers they never troubled us any more that day."
While our worn and wearied men were sleeping the death-like sleep of exhaustion, Sir John French spent some of the most anxious hours of his life. He had intended that the retreat should be continued before dawn, and that Smith-Dorrien's corps, with Allenby's cavalry, should hold back the enemy on the left while Haig's corps on the right pushed southwards. Now he knew that this was impossible. Before daybreak he learnt that the enemy was preparing to throw the bulk of his strength against Smith-Dorrien; some three hundred thousand Germans were moving up to encircle his little force, while six or seven hundred guns were being brought into position against it. Sir John had no supports to send to his left, and he had earnestly besought the commander of a French cavalry corps on his right to come to his aid. Alas! the horses of this corps were worn out, and the general was unable to move. Smith-Dorrien's corps must depend on itself, and stand or fall by its own exertions. If it fell, nothing could save the British army from destruction or surrender. The left of the Allies would be gone, and the retreating French would be at the mercy of hordes of Germans. The prospect was enough to make the bravest man tremble.
