The Germans, as you know, strove hard to cut off the retreating defenders, and in the villages to the east and south of Ghent the British forces and the French Marine Brigade made a stand against an army which numbered about 45,000. When they had checked the enemy, they decided to retire westwards towards Bruges. That night, under a wintry moon, a long march of twenty-six miles was accomplished, the 7th Division and the French Marines acting as the rearguard.
After a brief rest the retreating forces turned south-south-east, the cavalry scouring the country in advance, and on the following evening reached Thielt,[33] where it was discovered that the pursuit had so greatly slackened that the weary men were enabled to get the first good sleep which they had enjoyed for several days. It is said that they owed this piece of good fortune to the mayor of one of the neighbouring towns, who deliberately sent the Germans off on a false scent. When the Germans discovered that they had been misdirected, the mayor was promptly shot.
On 13th October the Allies reached Thourout,[34] where they divided into two parts. Admiral Ronarc'h and his Marines, along with the Belgian forces which had been holding Ghent, moved west to the Yser, where they joined the remnants of the Belgian army which had retreated through Bruges. Here the undaunted King Albert, accompanied by his devoted wife, Queen Elizabeth, rejoined the exhausted army, and helped to reorganize it for the terrible struggles which lay before it. Meanwhile Sir Henry Rawlinson's forces pressed on southwards, and arrived at Roulers,[35] en route for Ypres, on 13th October, the day on which Lille fell into the hands of the Germans. By that time part of the German army which had been besieging Antwerp, and had been released for other operations when it fell, had swept through Bruges, and had occupied Ostend. German soldiers were seen strolling on the sands which in the early days of July had been crowded with laughing bathers and merry holiday-makers. Many of the German soldiers had never seen the sea before, and they gazed upon it with open-mouthed interest, straining their eyes in the vain attempt to see the shores of that island kingdom which was so steadfastly blocking their path to victory.
Mr. C. Underwood, an interpreter who was attached to the 7th Division, which played such an important part in the fighting retreat from Ghent, tells us[36] that it was the delay caused by sending back the transports of his division to Dover that prevented Sir Henry Rawlinson from marching to the relief of Antwerp.
"We left Roulers for Ypres," he says, "at 9.30 a.m. (October 14), and four Taubes flew over us on the road, but too high to be shot at. We arrived at Ypres at 6.30, and that evening I saw our first lot of allies, reserve dragoons dismounted in the square to receive us. The Germans had been through and stayed one night, the 7th, the day we landed at Zeebrugge. They had taken up their quarters in the famous riding school, and the first thing they had done was to break open the mess-room and cellars, and take out all the wine, after which they broke up everything and stole the mess-plate. When I saw it, a week later, the school was strewn with broken bottles—champagne, claret, port, etc., etc.—and every drawer and cupboard burst open and ransacked. They had cut all communications at the station, demanded an indemnity of 65,000 francs (£2,600), and stolen all the money they could lay hands on from the Banque National. Six thousand loaves were requisitioned in the evening to be ready next morning, failing which there was a penalty of £800 (20,000 francs). At 10.30 a.m. a Taube, with pilot and observer, had been brought down; but they were not captured till 4.30, as they concealed themselves in a wood. They were both brought in, furious with rage, as each was seized by the collar, and a revolver pointed at their heads by Belgian officers. They were driven off in a car at the rate of sixty miles an hour at least!
"Next day the whole brigade marched out to Halte on the Menin-Ypres road, dug trenches, and remained in them all night. It was pitch dark in the morning when we were ordered to attack a patrol of Germans towards Menin. About a quarter of a mile beyond Gheluvelt[37] we engaged advance party of Uhlans at 8.30 a.m. in a thick fog. A file of the Bedfords brought in a suspect, whose papers, not being in order, I escorted into Ypres. He was there detained at the town hall, and I heard no more of him. Had quite an amusing skirmish with the daughter of the proprietress of the hotel of the Three Kings. Feeling very hungry, I asked for lunch. She said she had nothing; asked for an egg, same reply; bread, the same; finally, in a fury at such disobliging conduct, I asked her whether she did not think herself most ungrateful, considering we were there to defend them against the Germans. This had the desired effect, and she asked me to come in, cooked me a splendid omelet, brought out a bottle of wine, and plenty of bread and cheese, for which she only charged me two francs."
On Sunday, the 18th, Mr. Underwood's brigade had its baptism of fire at a village a little to the north-east of Gheluvelt, where a British battery silenced the guns of the enemy. All night they waited for an attack, but the Germans left them alone until the morning. Then the fighting was continued, and thus began that series of desperate conflicts—"ten Waterloos a week"—known as the Battle of Ypres. I shall give you a full account of this gigantic struggle in a later chapter.
The enemy against whom the 7th Division was now fighting consisted of four reserve corps which had left Germany on 11th October. Three of the corps had assembled in Brussels, and without losing an hour had been sent on an eighty-mile march westwards. They largely consisted of Landwehr[38] and new volunteers, and ranged from boys of sixteen to stout gentlemen in middle life. Though quite new to the work of war, they soon showed themselves as desperate in attack as the most seasoned veterans. Mr. Underwood says: "On questioning one of the prisoners, he informed me that they were all Landwehr men, fathers of families, about the age of thirty-nine and forty, who had been called up quite recently. There was no doubt that the Germans were well equipped; all their clothes were in excellent order and brand new. They seemed relieved, and evidently overjoyed, when I told them that they would probably be sent to England. They were afraid that the report which had been made to them that we shot all prisoners was true."