EARLY DAYS AT THE FRONT
If Minister Shoots Minister!—A Brighter Side—A Beautiful Story—Pastors and Members in the Firing Line—A German Pastor—The Retreat through Belgium—The Work of Heroes—A Rear-guard Action—Seeking the Wounded—Refugees Stupid with Terror—Behind the Rear-guard—A Narrow Escape—A Night to be Remembered—The Man who Saved the British Army—God has been with Me—The British Soldier will Joke—Why Not?—Awful Experiences—A Monotony of Horror—Picking up Wounded Stragglers—Lines of Broken Men—Still Retreating—A Wonderful Triumph of Will—Thirsty Heroes—The Ambulance Found—The End of the Retreat—Mentioned in Despatches—No Parade Services.
Viewed from a Christian standpoint, the most distressing things about this war are: (1) That Christian nations are engaged in a life and death struggle. It is a lamentable confession, an awful fact. Two thousand years of Christian teaching have absolutely failed to keep Christian nations at peace.
And yet are these nations Christian? Has not Germany by its adoption of a false philosophy forfeited the title of Christian? So far as its military class is concerned I fear we must say "Yes," but so far as hundreds of thousands of its inhabitants are concerned we rejoice to believe we can still answer "No." They are fighting because they must, and because they do not understand. And we are fighting in another sense because we must. Like Luther, "We can no other." May God forgive us if we are wrong! We believe—with all our hearts we believe—our cause is just.
HELPING THE HELPLESS.
Royal Navy Division helping Belgian soldiers and refugees during the retreat from Antwerp.
Drawn by Ernest Prater from sketches made by one who was there.[ToList]
And out of this first distressing thing there emerges another. (2) Christian ministers are opposed to each other in the ranks, not because they want, but because they must. The law of conscription in Germany and in France applies to them as to others.
Surely these might have been left out of the call, or at any rate might have been left free to respond or not as their conscience dictated, as was the case in England. The consequence is that hundreds if not thousands of churches are left without their spiritual leaders, and everywhere the flock is destitute of the shepherd's care.
I said "a distressing thing," but is it not a tragedy? And if they should meet—these Christian ministers—across the trenches or in the line of battle, and minister shoot minister, or perforce meet him in a bayonet charge!
But there is a brighter side even to this dark picture. There are twenty thousand priests, "religious," and seminarists serving in the French Army. Among them are three bishops. Monsignor Ruch, coadjutor of Nancy, is one; he is employed as a stretcher-bearer. Another, Monsignor Perros, is a sub-lieutenant; and the third, Monsignor Mourey, is simply Private Mourey in the ranks. It is quite an ordinary thing for confessions to be heard by soldier priests in the trenches, and for absolution to be given before the charge. Protestant ministers, too, fighting in the ranks never forget they are ministers, and their ministry may be even more effective than that of the chaplains, for are they not comrades too? Thus the armies are leavened by Christian men, whose supreme business must be the Kingdom of God.
A beautiful story comes to us from the early days of the war. In the hall of a great railway terminus in Paris, a number of wounded were laid out on straw waiting to be taken to a hospital. Several of them had evidently not long to live. One especially was very restless, and a nurse moved to his side, and began to do what she could for him.
"I badly want a priest," moaned the dying man.
The nurse looked round upon the company of wounded.
"Is there a priest here?" she asked. A voice in little more than a whisper replied:
"Yes, Sister, I am a priest. Take me to him."
There he lay at the point of death, wounded and wounded sorely. It was a strange sight—his dirty ragged uniform not yet removed, the stains of war and of awful travel from the front upon his face, and he a priest!
"Take me to him," he repeated.
She said: "You are not fit to be moved, I dare not do it." And then insistently he whispered:
"Sister, you are of the faith. You know what it means to the dying lad. I must go."
He tried to rise from the straw on which he lay, and seeing his determination the nurse had him moved to the dying soldier's side. A few whispered words of confession, and the priest motioned to the Sister.
"I cannot raise my arm. Help me to make the sign," he said.
The Sister lifted his arm and together they made the sign of the cross. And then, exhausted, the soldier priest fell back. His comrade felt for his hand, clasped it in his dying grasp, and together priest and penitent passed away.
Thus heroically are many French priests doing a double work, at once fighting for their country and for their faith.
It is the same with French Protestant ministers. All of military age have had to go. The President of the French Wesleyan Conference, the Rev. Emile Ullern, is fighting as a private soldier in the French Army, and many another. Two-fifths of the pastors of the Reformed Church of France are also in the ranks. Already three of them, plus a missionary and a most promising theological student, one of the Monod's, have fallen on the battle-field. Our French churches are without pastors, and the work of many years is seemingly being ruined. But their members are at the front too, and it is a joy if, now and then, they meet and are able to comfort one another in the firing line.
It is the same in Germany. Already we hear of one German Methodist minister who has fallen at the front—Rev. Friedrich Rösch, Ph.D. He graduated brilliantly in philosophy and languages at Strasburg University. He then offered for missionary work and rendered excellent service among the Mohammedans of Northern Africa. He had a good knowledge of Arabic and had learned two other African languages. Now a British or French bullet, or shrapnel shell, has cut short his career.
This is the grim tragedy of this awful war—Christian fighting Christian, Christian minister fighting Christian minister.
Our business, however, is with the British army and with Christian work therein. Our task is a difficult one, for the veil of secrecy which enveloped the early days of the war has hardly as yet been lifted. Only here and there has that veil been raised just a little, but wherever we are privileged to gaze we are filled with admiration. The work of our chaplains and doctors and nurses has been heroic, and the no less noble work of Christian soldiers fills us with thanksgiving.
The war began with retreat. That apparently invincible German army strode ruthlessly through Belgium, leaving fire and rapine and death in its track. It found a garden, and it left a wilderness; prosperity, and it left starvation. It will be remembered for all time for barbarities that disgraced war. Belgian mothers will tell their children, and the story will be passed down the ages, of broken hearts and ruined lives, and a tortured devastated land.
And then, the devoted little army of Belgium thrown upon one side, the clash of war began in France. Our British Expeditionary Force had been rushed across the Channel with General Sir John French in command. With marvellous efficiency it had crossed without a single casualty, convoyed by British and French men-of-war. With the forces went the chaplains of the different denominations, their numbers to be steadily augmented throughout the war.
But the French were not ready, and our force was all too small for the task allotted to it. To our eternal credit, we also were not ready. Our Army did the work of heroes, but the huge German Army steadily marched on, and there was nothing to be done but retire. When the full story of the retreat from Mons comes to be written, what grim reading it will make!
Of course, in those desperate days all that the chaplains could do was to look after the wounded and bury the dead. Organised services were out of the question. A few men gathered here or there at the close of a terrible march, a prayer or two, a message of cheer or consolation, and then a brief sleep, and the inevitable weary march again, the rear-guard fighting all the way. But all day long there were opportunities of individual service and these were used to the full.
From the publications of the Salvation Army we get a vivid picture of those days. Being an international institution it had, and still has, its agents in every part of the fighting area. Germans, Russians, French, Belgians, and British are all the same to it—they are men who need salvation. It has been as vigorous in its work among Germans as among any others, and its trophies won upon German battle-fields will be bright jewels in our Redeemer's crown.
Brigadier Mary Murray, who rendered signal service during the South African war, and who wears the South African medal, was in Brussels when the Germans entered the city. She gives us a vivid picture of her experiences in connexion with the German occupation. I quote from the War Cry of September 12, 1914:
"At last I am able to write. Twelve days of silence, no post, no papers, nothing but such news as the Germans cared to put up, and all the time a sound of heavy firing.
"We reached Brussels last Tuesday week. The first impression was of a town en fête. The streets, even the poorest, were gay with bunting and flags; on every side black, orange, and red caught one's eye.
"In trying to get an extra man officer for our party we were still in Brussels on Thursday, and by twelve o'clock found ourselves German prisoners. Every house in the better part of the town was closed and the windows shuttered. The empty streets at twelve o'clock gave one a horrid chill, but by four o'clock dense masses of people watched the German Army pass. Old men, young men, bare-headed women, women with hobble skirts, but one and all holding tiny dogs in their arms! Behind, the cafés were in full swing.
"Hour after hour the 4th German army corps rolled along the cobble streets, a solid grey line of burly men and magnificent horses. I turned from watching and saw a boy in the act of throwing a heavily-weighted belt dragged away by two policemen. In the cafés men were drinking the inevitable beer and playing cards. I turned again. Still on they came, cavalry, artillery, and infantry—a man to my right in French said, 'One of these men told me they knew they were going to their death.' Just then a cavalry man, catching sight of my uniform, very courteously and gravely saluted me, saying, 'Heils Armee' (Salvation Army).
"The next day—still the army passing through,—a gunner, bending down, said, 'Heils Armee—Hallelujah!' Wild rumours throughout the town; atmosphere electric, a single act of violence, and one felt the Germans would have opened fire. Notices were posted all over the town imploring the people to be calm; every day, often all day, we tried for a way to get out, but without a ray of hope; day after day refugees arrived with tales of misery and horror.
"My diary runs: 'All cafés to be closed early. Germans send for quicklime to cover their dead. 7000 wounded arrive—all Germans. Germans posted notices to-day: "English badly beaten; French retreated." Threatened to sack Brussels. No milk, no bread, no eggs, no butter. We were mobbed to-day, as the rumour had spread that Brussels had been betrayed by the English. Notice out not to touch water, as German dead were lying in great numbers unburied near Mallien.'"
From Brussels Brigadier Murray made her way to Le Havre. The scenes she witnessed among the flying Belgians were terrible. One picture will ever live in her memory—and ours.
"A woman who had to fly at night from her village had to do so with three tiny children; the baby she put into her apron with some clothing, the other two she carried. Through the darkness she had to walk to the junction, where ensued a wild scramble for seats. When the train had started the distracted woman discovered that the baby had dropped from her apron, when and where no one could discover."
Later Brigadier Murray has had charge of the first ambulance sent out by the Salvation Army.
The bravery of these women Salvation Army officers is past description.
During the battle of Mons Adjutant L. Renaud, a French-Swiss officer, was in charge of the Salvation Army corps at Quaregnon, near Mons. She tells us her experiences during those fearful days.
"Here in Quaregnon it has been terrible—beyond all expression. More than 300 houses have been destroyed, and many civilians killed, not only men and women, but also children, but none of our Salvation Army comrades has been touched. We have been protected in a marvellous manner. We can say with David, 'The Angel of the Lord encampeth around those that fear Him and plucks them out of danger' (French translation). God has done that for us. The battle continued from Sunday morning at eleven o'clock to Monday evening. The bombardment did not cease a moment; while it was on we had thirty of our comrades with their little children in our large cellar."
We understand that the officers got possession of this house with the large cellar last year. The hall is on the ground floor. In their former house there was no cellar. The adjutant proceeds:
"I am so glad that I remained at my post, to aid and encourage not only my Salvation Army comrades, but also the population. The people were completely panic-stricken. I do not know how it has happened, but the Lord has enabled me to rest in a great calm and without any fear. Lieutenant and I have been enabled to go amongst the people, comforting them and taking help to them even when the balls have whistled by our ears. Oh, how God has protected us! That night of August 23 will never be forgotten by me.
"The day after the battle—what horrible sights! Dead bodies in the streets, the wounded, and from all sides poor maddened people flying to save themselves with their little children—all the people weeping. I could never describe what I have seen. How is it possible that such things could take place in this age of education? And now the misery is here for the poor workers. It is already seven weeks since the men (colliers) could work. The food has been seized and more often than not wasted by the German troops. The future is very dark for these poor people.
"When the English soldiers came here the Lieutenant and I prepared tea for them while they dug trenches. After the battle, when the Germans came, we lodged many of them in our hall and did what we could for them. Then I thought of all our dear Salvationists who are in the different armies—English, German, French, Austrian, Russian, Belgian. Oh, how glad I am that I remained at my post to help my comrades! On the Sunday during the bombardment the cry went forth, 'Let all those save themselves who can do so!' I went outside to see if there was any serious danger. Then I said to the people, 'Come with us in the hall; I will take care of you as much as I can.' They came, and were content to be with their officers. They said, 'If it be necessary for us to die, well, we will be with our officers; it will be better for us to be with them.' Thus they remained with us, and God has protected all. Blessed be His Holy Name!"
Adjutant Renaud and her Lieutenant, however, were not the only women Salvation Army officers who stuck to their posts. They all did so, nerving themselves with the strength of Christ, and daring all things in His name. And to-day many of them are still working in Belgian and French towns overrun by German troops doing their best for Christ and the Kingdom.
It is time, however, that we rejoined the British troops who by this time are retreating from Mons. There had been terrible fighting around Mons for four days, but the opposing forces were overwhelming, and they had no option but to retire fighting a rear-guard action all the way. The retreat began on or about August 24, 1914, not three weeks after the declaration of war. It was a pitiful experience for our soldiers who are not accustomed to turn their backs to the foe.
It is not our purpose to tell the story of that awful retreat—other books will do that. Nor is it possible as yet to tell in full the story of the Christian work attempted during the hurried marching of those fearful times. In the first place commissioned chaplains are not permitted as yet to publish reports, and in the second place all work attempted was necessarily unorganised and fragmentary. It could be nothing more than caring for the wounded and whenever possible burying the dead.
The horrors of the retreat can only be known by those who experienced them, and there was little light amid the darkness of apparent failure. It must be remembered that our men were fighting all the time, sometimes it seemed to them succeeding, but really only succeeding in allowing the main body to retreat to the rear. For twelve days the retreat continued and did not terminate until Saturday, September 5.
Here and there we get a little light in the darkness. The War Cry of September 19 contains a story from the pen of a motor driver in the R.F.A., who was also a Salvation Army bandsman, which has to do with the battle more than the retreat, but which may as well be told here, leaving a description of some incidents in the retreat itself to follow later.
"We got everything ready for the enemy, the trenches dug and the guns fixed, and then came the worst job of all—waiting. For thirty-six hours we lay there watching and listening for the first sign of the Germans. Then for five hours the battle lasted without cessation.
"Having brought my transport wagons up to the firing lines with my motor, I had to help load the guns. Shells were flying and bursting all round us. I was wounded by a splinter from one of the shells, but as it was only a flesh wound I bound it up and went on with my work.
"Now, the enemy seemed to be beating us, then again they retreated. All the time my comrades were falling around me, and the Germans were falling in hundreds too. So thick were the enemy's dead that when the advance was given we simply had to force the motor up and over heaps of bodies—there was nothing else for it.
"At last the battle, so far as the batteries in our neighbourhood were concerned, went in our favour, and we were ordered to follow the retreating Germans. In doing this six of us got lost, and for four days we were tramping about without a mouthful of food or drink!
"By day we lay concealed in the corn or grass fields, and by night we crept along, without any guide, only hoping and praying—I've prayed many times in the past, but never so much as on these nights—that all would come right.
"On the first day we were fairly well, on the second we were very hungry, on the third our tongues were hanging out, and two of my comrades went mad.
"On the fourth night we fell in with a British ambulance section and were taken into camp. As I was passing an ambulance tent I heard some one singing:
'I'm a child of a King,
I'm a child of a King,
With Jesus my Saviour,
I'm a child of a King.'
I asked who it was, and was told it was a Salvationist.
"In the stillness of another night from one of the tents I heard—
'Then we'll roll the old chariot along,
And we won't drag on behind.'
"I tell you it was thrilling; it made me dance for joy. Two or three Salvationists were having a Free and Easy; after the chorus had been sung once or twice I heard it taken up by other Salvationists in other tents, and presently from many parts of the camp could be heard the old Salvation Army song. It was splendid!
"My, didn't the old verse go with a swing—
'If the Devil's in the way
We'll roll it over him!'
By this time the whole camp had joined in. Some of the non-Salvationists would sing it with a slight change.
"Another favourite with us Salvationists was the last verse of 'I'm a child of a King'—
'A tent or a cottage what need I fear,
He's building a palace for me over there.'
"I was unable to get to chat with any of the Salvationists, because if you want to go from one battery to another you have to get permission. But one night I did go and listen outside one of the tents to their singing. It cheered me only to know I was near some of my comrades. I learned that the Salvationists in camp came from various parts of England, some were bandsmen, some local officers, and others soldiers. I didn't hear that any had been wounded beyond myself, although the comrade I heard singing in the ambulance tent was in all probability injured!"
But now for the retreat itself! The passage I quote is from the pen of the Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins, as printed in the Methodist Recorder.
Mr. Watkins had already seen much war service. He was in Crete. He accompanied the British Army to Khartoum and was present at the battle of Omdurman. He went through the South African war and was shut up in Ladysmith during the siege. He knows what campaigning is, and he knows how to describe what he sees. When this war broke out he was attached to the 14th Field Ambulance, in command of which was Lieut.-Colonel G.S. Crawford. The personnel of the ambulance consisted of nine medical officers, one quartermaster, two chaplains—Rev. D.P. Winnifrith (Church of England) and himself (Wesleyan)—and 240 non-commissioned officers and men. His full description of the retreat is as fine a piece of writing as I remember to have seen in connexion with this war.
"On we tramped through Maretz, our destination being, we were told, Estrées. Never a halt or a pause, though horses dropped between the shafts, and men sat down exhausted by the roadside. A heavy gun overturned in a ditch, but it was impossible to stay to get it out, so it was rendered useless, and the disconsolate gunners trekked on. When horses could draw their loads no longer, the loads were cast by the roadside; there could be no delay, for the spent and weary infantry were fighting in our rear, and every moment's delay had to be paid for in human lives.
"Darkness fell and still we marched—I dozed in the saddle to waken with a start, but still nothing but the creak and rumble of waggons and guns, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of men. I cannot give a connected account of that night—it lives in my memory like an awful but confused nightmare—the overpowering desire for sleep, the weariness and ache of every fibre of one's body, and the thirst. I had forgotten to be hungry, had got past food; but I thirsted as I had only thirsted once before, and that was in the desert near Khartoum.
"About midnight we reached Estrées, and I asked a staff officer where the 14th Field Ambulance was camped. 'Camped!' he exclaimed. 'Camped! Nobody camps here. Orders are changed and there must be no halt.' Then, as an afterthought, 'What Ambulance did you say?' 'Number 14.' 'Do you belong to it?' 'Yes.' 'Then I congratulate you, for if reports are true, you are all that is left of it: it is said to have been wiped out by shell fire.' I said I thought the reports were, to say the least, exaggerated, and rode on.
"Shortly after I heard a familiar voice also asking for the 14th Field Ambulance. It was Major Fawcett, R.A.M.C, who, like myself, had been detached from the Ambulance on special duty. We greeted each other with joy, and for the rest of that awful march had company.
"At last we felt we could go no further (remember, in the last four days we had only ten hours' sleep, and three proper meals), and were in danger of dropping out of our saddles from exhaustion. So we dismounted, sat by the roadside holding our horses, and at once were fast asleep.
"Two hours later we wakened, dawn was just breaking over the hills, and still the column creaked and groaned its way along the road, more asleep than awake, but still moving. A wonderful triumph of will over human frailty. But at how great a cost to nerve and vitality was revealed by one look at the faces of the men.
"I was noticing how worn and gaunt my companion was looking, and was about to remark upon it, but the same thought was in his mind and he forestalled me. 'Isn't it wonderful how quickly this sort of thing tells upon a man? You know, Padre, you look as though you had just got up from a serious illness, and only three days ago you looked as hard as nails, and as fit as a man could be.'
"Soon after sunrise we came up with two of our ambulance waggons and one of our filter water-carts. The wounded were in such a state of exhaustion with the long trek, and the awful jolting of the waggons, that Major Fawcett decided to halt and make some beef-tea for them, so rode on ahead to find some farm where water could be boiled. He had hardly gone when a battalion of exhausted infantry came up with us, and as soon as they saw the water-cart, made a dash for it.
"Hastily I rode up to them, explained that there was very little water left in the cart, and that little was needed for their wounded comrades.
"'I'm thirsty myself,' I said, 'and I'm awfully sorry for you chaps, but you see how it is, the wounded must come first.'
"'Quite right, sir,' was the ready response. 'Didn't know it was a hospital water-cart,' and without a murmur they went thirsty along their way."
Soon the retreat was renewed and steadily they marched to the rear until St. Quentin was reached, where they got their first wash and actually eight hours' sleep. Then on again—back, back, always back. The River Aisne was passed, soon to be regained and made memorable by a brilliant fight. But now it was all retreat. Day after day, night after night they trekked. The days were tropical, the nights arctic. Often it was too cold to sleep, though sleep was needed badly.
At last, on Saturday, September 5, they reached Tournan, south of Paris, and were informed that the retreat was over, and that they would ere long turn to attack the foe who had so ruthlessly followed them.
The men were not down-hearted even through that awful march. Down-hearted? No! They were always asking when they could get "a bit of their own back." Their one desire was to turn and face their enemy. This was a retreat, not a defeat. The men were ragged, bearded, footsore, unkempt, but were unconquered and unconquerable. The spirit of their country burned in them and blazed through their eyes, and when the message of Sir John French came thanking them for their magnificent courage and promising them a share in the rounding up, they cheered until they could cheer no longer.
When Sir John French published his first list of names for honourable mention, the names of seven chaplains were "mentioned in Despatches." And among the seven the name of the Rev. Owen Spencer Watkins was mentioned twice.
No Parade services—they were out of the question,—hardly any short unofficial services such as we grew accustomed to during the South African War. Just a hearty handshake, a "God bless you," a whispered text, or a hearty word of cheer, but the ministry to the wounded always, and wherever possible the burial of the dead. No more is possible in such a retreat. But the Christian soldier is cheered by the sight of his chaplain. His "494" is never forgotten, and as he passes along the lines of the wounded they look up and call him blessed.
Thank God, the Cross is always where there is suffering and death, and never is it needed more than on the stricken field, or in such a retreat as "The Retreat from Mons."
"IT'S A LONG, LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY."[ToList]