Told in gallant deeds

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

PREFACE

The great war will leave more than a deep mark on our country; when it is over, there will be a different England, a different Scotland, a different Ireland. Grown-up people will always remember vividly the old, happy, peaceful, confiding England, as she was before her placid contentment was rudely shattered in a night.

But what of the children? There are thousands and thousands of little children who will look back all their lives to this war as their first important recollection, the first impact on their minds of the great world of realities lying outside all childish things. It will not be possible to keep from them the knowledge of many horrors and savage brutalities, and it is therefore the more necessary that there should be shown to them as soon as possible the other and glorious side of the shield. It is the more necessary that for our children, through the long years that lie before them, the memory of the Great War should be touched to noble issues—that it should be, first and foremost, a memory of deeds as gallant as any that have ever been inscribed in Christendom’s long roll of honour.

There can hardly be one British child whose little world of personal affections and interests has not been roughly disturbed by the war. Many have seen their fathers and brothers going off to fight, and to many those dear fathers and brothers will never come back. Even the children who have no kindred in the Navy or Army have friends who have gone out. In every village familiar faces are missed, and some will never be seen again. In every town, great and small, it is the same—this new and disturbing sense of personal loss.

In this book the writer has endeavoured to show by force of contrast that savagery and brutality are not of the essence of war. The Happy Warrior is to be found in all ranks and in all armies, and it is an inspiring thought that, for every brave deed the record of which has leapt to light, there must be ten others of which the stirring story will never be known.

Every intelligent child must have gradually become aware that this great war illustrates the enormously increased havoc that may now be wrought by various scientific engines of destruction. But it is the object of the writer to demonstrate that the personal valour of officers and men remains the ultimately decisive factor. Man can never devise a more marvellous war machine than himself. All through the ages we see that battles are really won, not by improvements in weapons of precision, but by the unquenchable spirit of the individual soldiers and sailors who wield them.

The writer has, wherever possible, linked on each tale of heroism to one like it in the annals of past wars. This serves to bring out what is perhaps the most splendid lesson of the present gigantic struggle, namely that the soldiers and sailors of the present day are indeed the worthy successors of the heroes of the past.

The writer has also drawn on the treasures of the older English poetry with which some modern children are not too well acquainted. It is her experience that children instinctively respond to the best in literature, and also that lines which to their elders may seem hackneyed keep all their old power to thrill and uplift the young imagination.

Moreover, Belgium and France are rich in historic and literary associations, and the writer has ventured to refer to books such as Tristram Shandy, Vanity Fair, and Villette, which children ought to know about now, and to read when they are older.

As to the sources from which the deeds of valour and of chivalry recounted are taken, they range from the brilliant, highly literate accounts written by war correspondents to extracts taken from the wonderfully vivid and picturesque narratives contained in letters written home to mothers and wives by soldiers and sailors just after the actions described.

To all these unknown helpers to whom the best part of her book is due, the writer tenders her grateful thanks.

TOLD IN GALLANT DEEDS

CHAPTER I
BELGIUM

“Now tell us what ’twas all about,”

Young Peterkin, he cries.

And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting eyes;

“Now tell us all about the war,

And what they fought each other for?”

Like the children in Mr. Southey’s poem, you will want to know first of all why we joined in with France and Russia in the great war against Germany and Austria. Well, the answer in a word is—Belgium.

Supposing you had solemnly promised to protect a little kitten and afterwards a big dog came and attacked the kitten, would you not keep your promise, and do all you could to help the kitten? Of course you would. Belgium was the kitten, and Germany was the big dog. We had faithfully promised to protect the little country of Belgium, and the terrible thing is that Germany had promised too, but she broke her promise.

Germany wanted to get into France.

If you look at the map, you will see that the Germans might have tried to go straight in without touching Belgium. Only then they would have had to break through a very strong line of forts which the French had built to defend their country. The Germans did not feel sure of doing this, and they said to themselves, “The longest way round is the shortest way in.” That meant going through Belgium.

You have probably heard grown-up people, when discussing this great war, mention “a scrap of paper.” You may even have wondered what a scrap of paper could have to do with the war. I will tell you. On the dread day when our mighty country threw down the gauntlet, the German statesman who had worked hard to keep England out of Germany’s quarrel with France and Russia exclaimed, “You are going to war for a scrap of paper!” He spoke truly, but on that scrap of paper or parchment was written the solemn promise of both England and Germany to be like big brothers to Belgium and protect her from being bullied.

At first the Germans were very nice to Belgium. They said, “Only let us come through your country, and when we have conquered France we will give you a splendid reward!” But France also had promised to be a big brother to Belgium, and so Belgium said “No!”

England also said “No!” England said to Germany, “If you touch our little friend Belgium, we will fight you.”

So that is why the British Empire went to war with Germany. If we had chosen the easy way of breaking our promise by simply doing nothing, by standing out and merely looking on at the awful struggle, would we now be proud of being English? I think not.

Germany did more than break her promise to protect Belgium. When she found that the brave little country was gamely going to fight, she sent her great armies, hundreds of thousands of trained soldiers with fleets of aeroplanes and terrible big guns, whose shells, as they are now called, could kill people miles away. She thought she would easily be able to march through Belgium right into France, and she fully expected to capture the city of Paris—all in one month!

In fact, Germany made the worst mistake that can be made in war—the mistake of despising her enemies. She despised the power of the French armies, and she also very much despised the British Army. She had a good deal of respect for the British Navy because it is big, but because the British Army was small she thought it did not matter. Well, she was taught a richly-deserved lesson by Sir John French and his splendid troops, of whose gallant deeds you will read in this book.

Most of all, Germany despised the army of poor little Belgium. And yet the game little kitten, though suffering terribly herself, contrived to inflict some severe scratches on the big German dog. She actually held him up for quite a long time, to his great surprise and rage, and that delay was of the utmost benefit both to France and to England. It enabled them to make their final preparations for serious fighting, and it gave us time to send our Army across the Channel to join up with the French forces.

Notice, also, that it would have been very useful to France to send her armies through Belgium to attack Germany. What prevented her? Just “a scrap of paper,” just her pledge and promise. She could not break her word, because it would not have been playing fair, it would have been taking a mean advantage—the same mean advantage that Germany did not hesitate to take.

But you may ask, “Why did not the French at least send plenty of soldiers to defend Belgium?” The answer is that they did offer to send more than 200,000 men. But Belgium refused. She believed that Germany would keep her written promise. “Can the Kaiser put his name to a lie?” she asked.

Terribly did Belgium suffer for her trust in German honour. But once she saw her trust was betrayed, her little army fought with splendid courage, thousands of Germans were killed in the first battles, and thanks to the splendid defence put up by the forts of a Belgian town called Liège, she delayed the vast, oncoming German hosts till Britain and France were ready to take them on.