The Retreat from Mons / By one who shared in it

by Arthur Corbett-Smith

A blue-grey mass of enemy infantry appears advancing with steady, swinging pace. At 500 yards or a trifle more one of our regiments opens rapid fire upon them. You can actually see the lanes in the German ranks ploughed through by the British rifle-fire. Still they advance, for the gaps are filled almost immediately. Nearer and nearer, until that regiment which began the advance has almost ceased to exist. The remnant breaks and scatters in confusion, and as they break away another new regiment is disclosed behind them. Such is the method of the German massed attack, overwhelming by sheer numbers.

But rarely did they get near enough to the British lines for a hand-to-hand fight. Regiment after regiment would be held at bay by the murderous rifle-fire of the little handful of British; regiment after regiment would appear to fill the gap. Now and again the weight of the attack would tell, and the Germans would get close enough for a final rush on the British trench. Then, at the critical moment, a British company, slightly forward on the flank, pours in a withering enfilade fire, and while the German infantry stagger under this unexpected attack the British cavalry charge through our own lines straight on the front and flank of the enemy. There are a few minutes of mad cut and thrust, and the Germans, who always dread the cold steel as a Chinese dreads rain, break and run as though all the fiends of hell were after them.

Just about this time General Smith-Dorrien and a couple of his Staff officers were following the fortunes of the battle from some rising ground not far from the centre of the line. A sudden outburst of heavy and incessant firing was heard from the direction of Cambrai, where, it will be remembered, the enemy were trying to outflank us.

"Good heavens," cried the General, "the Germans have got round our left!" And, jumping on to his horse, he galloped off towards the firing.

To his astonishment and delight he found, as he drew near the flank, that the firing came not from victorious Germans, but from some of our French comrades.

Never was help more opportune; seldom can it have come in more dramatic fashion. By all accounts General Sordêt with his cavalry should have been sitting by the roadside, forty miles away on the British right, tending his worn-out horses. Yet, at the call for help, by sheer grit and determination he and his Corps had carried through that long forced march (Heaven knows how the horses did it!), and swept up on our left with his squadrons and horse artillery. Everyone knows what splendid work the French gunners can do, and—well, this was one of their best days.

It was a thrilling episode, and why, in common justice to our gallant Allies, the details have not been published I do not know. You will find General Smith-Dorrien's record and appreciation of the invaluable help thus given by General Sordêt in the second Appendix at the end of the book.

While such were the conditions about midday up with the front line, the situation immediately in the rear was fast becoming indescribable in its confusion and complexity. Looking back at it now, after the lapse of so many months, it seemed very much like a theatrical performance where a "front cloth" has been lowered to conceal from the audience a strike of stage hands and the despair of the actors at setting the stage and getting on with the play. Before the front cloth a special "turn" is performing to gain time and appease the growing impatience of the audience.

There was, for instance, a particular centre of cross-roads, nearly a mile beyond where German shells were bursting. It was just outside a large village, and the inhabitants were streaming out with their belongings, yet uncertain whether there was actual danger or no.

At the cross-roads were gradually arriving ammunition columns, remnants of battered regiments, motor-lorries, and odd cavalry patrols; and no one had the vaguest idea as to why they were there nor where they were to go next. A Staff officer standing there was as much at sea as the rest. Every moment more and more transport would roll up, and more and more stragglers, while hanging on to the outskirts of the crowd were increasing numbers of frightened women and children. An old curé alone seemed calm and collected. Over another village a little way back down the road the German shells come bursting ever nearer. It must be remembered that even the Staff had but a hazy idea of the trend of events, and that outside the Staff not a soul had any notion of what was really happening to the Force. It was just a matter of doing your own special bit.