THE STORY OF BATTERY L OF THE R.H.A.
The retiral of the British army from the La Fère-Noyon line was the signal for the Germans to advance. Small rearguard actions were continually fought, and on 1st September there was an engagement of a very fierce character, during which Battery L of the Royal Horse Artillery covered itself with glory. I must tell you the story in detail.
Gunner J. C. Eyles, one of the survivors of L Battery, says: "After bivouacking at Compiègne some of us had a fine river swim, and, what is more, we washed our underclothing for the first time since we left England in August. And it wanted it, too! I was a bit unlucky, for my clothes were still wet when I was ordered to take outpost duty at night. Therefore I had to pack my wet things on the front of my saddle, and do duty in only my tunic and riding pants. It was just a bit cold.
"On the following day we had a long, weary march until dusk, when I had the misfortune, while giving my horse water from a stream, to lose trace of my battery. Making the best of a bad job, I tracked towards what I thought would be our lines. While trudging along with my horse, my revolver in my hand, I heard the sound of galloping hoofs. I pulled into the grassy slope on the side of the road, thinking that my time had come, and that that would be a good place to face it. Dismounting, I awaited events, and after a minute or so I was relieved to see two of the 2nd Dragoon Guards, to whom I shouted in good old English. It was lucky I did, too: I had been unconsciously walking straight towards the German lines, and the two British soldiers were, as a matter of fact, being chased by a large patrol of Uhlans. In a second I was riding off with the dragoons, and, like them, escaped."
Battery L of the R.H.A.
"One lone gun in the dawn."
The gunner rejoined his battery, and found the men exhausted but looking forward to advancing against the foe. Early on the morning of 1st September Battery L was at Néry,[80] a little village about two and a half miles south of the southern edge of the forest. It was a chilly morning, and the surrounding country was heavily veiled in fog. About 4 a.m. the battery received the order to unsaddle and rest the horses. Overnight a ridge about 600 or 800 yards away had been occupied by French troops, but during the darkness they had retreated. No order to retire had reached L Battery, probably because the Germans had cut the telegraph wires.
About 4.30 many of the gunners and drivers were lying on the ground with their tunics off, and others were shaving and washing. The horses were unsaddled, and had their nosebags on. Suddenly ten or a dozen German guns galloped up to the ridge, unlimbered, and opened a heavy fire on the battery; while Maxims, which had been brought up on motor cars, enfiladed them with a murderous rain of bullets. The first volley killed most of the horses, and strewed the ground with dead and dying men. The survivors attempted to reach their guns and make a reply; but three of the guns were so battered by the enemy's shells that they were useless. The other three, however, were brought into action; but before long two of them were silenced, and the gunners shot down.
"Captain Bradbury, who had been walking behind the guns giving orders and encouraging the men to fight to the last like true R.H.A. soldiers, was killed. Lieutenant Giffard, although seriously wounded, continued at his post of duty, telling the gunners to 'stick it,' and refusing to leave until he was practically forced by some of our men to seek cover behind a haystack. All the other officers were killed, and all our sergeants were dead with the exception of one. But a fine last stand was made at that last gun by Gunner Derbyshire and Driver Osborne, under the orders of Battery Sergeant-Major Dorrell. Quite unconcernedly they continued their duty—Driver Osborne, although wounded in the back, supplying the ammunition; and Gunner Derbyshire firing the gun, apparently unaffected by being hurled from his feet two or three times, owing to the great force of impact as shells struck the ground near at hand.
"Other survivors had been ordered to take cover, and it was no pleasant experience to crawl like snakes, as we did, through a very muddy mangold-wurzel field, especially when you have only shirt and trousers on. However, that didn't hurt us. Meanwhile I Battery of the R.H.A., stationed about two miles to our rear, evidently realizing the true state of affairs, gave the Germans a hot taste of British gunnery—so hot, in fact, that everyone of the Kaiser's guns was silenced. Then cavalry (of the 1st Brigade) and a force of the Middlesex attacked; the German guns were captured, and over six hundred prisoners were taken. To the end Gunner Derbyshire and Driver Osborne held out, and although the only comment of each is, 'I only did my duty,' the battery is naturally proud that they have been recommended for the Victoria Cross."
I cannot leave this incident without quoting the fine verses which appeared in the Times shortly after the glorious valour of Battery L was reported in England. They are worth learning by heart.
BATTERY L.
Battery L of the R.H.A.— Oh, the cold gray light o' the dawn— Woke as the mists were wreathing pale, Woke to the moan of the shrapnel hail; Battery L of the R.H.A. Sprang to their guns in the dawn. Six guns all at the break o' day— Oh, the crash of the shells at dawn— And out of the six guns only one, Left for the fight ere the fight's begun, Battery L of the R.H.A. Swung her round in the dawn. They swung her clear, and they blazed away— Oh, the blood-red light o' the dawn— Osborne, Derbyshire, brave Dorrell, These are the heroes of Battery L, These are the men of the R.H.A. Who fought that gun in the dawn. Ay, that was a fight that was fought that day, As the gray mists fled from the dawn, Till they broke up the enemy one by one, Silenced him steadily gun by gun— Battery L of the R.H.A., One lone gun in the dawn.
James L. Harvey.
On the same day, at a place about fifteen miles east of Néry, another fierce rearguard action was fought. The Germans surprised the 4th Guards Brigade—Grenadiers, Coldstreams, and Irish—amidst the woods. They were in a field by a stream, preparing for a long-delayed "tub," when the first shell crashed into them. At once the bugles rang out, and the Guards, angry at being balked of their bath, scrambled into their trenches and loaded their rifles, eager for the enemy's onset.
The German cavalry dashed out of the woods in great strength, and drove forward the British left, thinking that they had only to walk over a broken and defeated army. They were soon undeceived. The Guards held their fire until the enemy was well within effective range, and then the rifles rang out and the Maxims got to work. Many German saddles were emptied; the horsemen broke and fled.
Meanwhile the German guns were worming their way nearer and nearer to the British line, and behind them the infantry were coming on in close-knit ranks. Our artillery now opened fire, and rifles and guns swept lanes of death through the ranks of the enemy. They wavered and retired.
Again the enemy, reinforced by machine guns and artillery, with cavalry on the flanks, bore down upon the British. At this moment our cavalry appeared, and the Guards, leaping to their feet, doubled towards the top of a neighbouring hill which the Germans were bent on seizing. The enemy reached it first, dug himself in, and brought up his guns, which immediately began a furious cannonade. Our men went to earth at once in hastily-made trenches. Three German cavalry regiments now flung themselves at the thin khaki line of the Irish Guards; but these gallant fellows were quite undismayed. With wonderful coolness they fired continuously on the advancing foe, and at the word "Charge!" swept forward with gleaming bayonets, singing "God save Ireland." For a few minutes there was a mad confusion of plunging horses, whirling sabres, and stabbing bayonets, and then all was over. The German horsemen turned tail, and the Irishmen, dropping to earth, picked them off as they retired. The German infantry behind the retreating cavalry hesitated to advance; but their artillery moved up to new positions, and fired upon our men with deadly effect. The British horsemen were loosed at them: some of the guns limbered up and dashed off into safety; those that remained were captured and their gunners were sabred. This done, the British cavalry charged into the German masses again and again.
The enemy had been soundly thrashed, and the British continued their retreat unmolested. For five days they marched southwards without attack. On 3rd September they crossed the Marne, blowing up the bridges on their line of retirement. That day our left was almost within gunshot of the eastern forts of Paris. Two days later the British army lay south of the Grand Morin,[81] a tributary of the Marne. The long retreat was over.
It is impossible to overpraise the indomitable spirit of the British army during its retirement from the Belgian frontier. Our men bore the heavy fighting, the weary marches through chilly and often wet nights, the awful strain on nerves and temper, with wonderful fortitude. All that they asked was to be allowed to stand and "go for" the enemy. An officer thus describes the talk of the men during the last days of the retreat:—
"'Hang it all, sir,' one man said to me, 'if we can do thirty miles a day without food and sleep in a retreat, we could do fifty in an advance.' Constantly the question I was asked was, 'When are they going to let us halt and have another go at them?' or, 'How soon do you think it will be before they let us turn and get a bit of our own back?' or, 'I suppose it's a trap we're leading them Germans into. We're the bait, so to speak, and the French all this time are getting in behind them.' It was fine to listen to and watch them—ragged, footsore, bearded, dirty, and unkempt, gaunt-eyed from lack of sleep, but upheld by that invincible spirit which is the glory of the race."
From Mons to the Grand Morin our men had tramped 135 miles, as the crow flies, in fourteen days. For the British troops the long days of the retreat "had been like a moving picture seen through a haze of weariness and confusion. Blazing days among the coal heaps and grimy villages of Hainault, which reminded our north countrymen of Lancashire and Durham; nights of aching travel on upland roads through fields of beet and grain; dawns that broke over slow streams and grassy valleys upon eyes blind with lack of sleep; the cool beech woods of Compiègne; the orchards of Ourcq[82] and Marne now heavy with plum and cherry. And hour after hour the rattle of musketry and the roaring swell of the great shells; the hurried entrenchments and the long, deadly vigils; or the sudden happy chance of a blow back, when the bayonet took revenge for dusty miles and crippled bodies and lost comrades. On the evening of the 4th the van of the retreat saw from the slopes above the Grand Morin a land of coppice and pasture rolling southwards to a broad valley, and far off the dusk of many trees. It was the forest of Fontainebleau[83] and the vale of the Seine. The Allies had fallen back behind all but one of the four rivers which from north and east open the way to Paris."[84]