Contemptible | Page 8

like a terrific
thunderstorm, rolled on till dusk. A few aeroplanes flew overhead,
looking like huge birds in the blue sky. As yet the troops found it very
hard to distinguish the Germans from the English, although several
pamphlets had been issued on the subject.
As evening drew on, the trenches began to assume a more workmanlike
aspect, although when one got down deeper than three feet the ground
was like chalk and very difficult to cut.
Thus ended that memorable Sunday, when the English line, the last
hope of the French, was pierced at Mons, when the appearance of a
huge force, above all strong in cavalry, appeared on the left of the
English line, and rendered the whole strategic position of the Allies so
dangerous, that there was nothing for it but to fall back in order to avert
a terrible catastrophe.
To ensure against surprise, he posted three sentry groups to his front.
They had not been out more than half-an-hour before a huge fusillade
broke out along the whole line. The groups had the greatest difficulty in
crawling back to the trenches without being shot down in mistake for

the enemy. He saw that this "peace method" would have to be given up;
sentries in future would have to remain in the trenches.
Intermittently throughout the whole night firing continued. A
searchlight had been played continually on the lines, and if anything,
the artillery duel began before it was light.
This was his first opportunity to watch shell fire. The shells sailed
overhead so slowly that he half expected to see them in their flight. The
noise they made was very difficult to describe. They hurtled, they
whizzed, they shrieked, they sang. He could imagine the thing spinning
in its flight, creating a noise something like steam escaping jerkily from
an engine.
An English battery was firing from somewhere unseen on the right, to
meet an attack apparently launched on the left. Furious messages were
passed up the line that the artillery were firing on their own men, and
whether this was true or not, soon afterwards the attack ceased.
At about seven o'clock the Major gave orders to withdraw his Platoon
when the Company on his right should retire. This surprised him; for,
knowing nothing of the general situation, he had felt that they would
hang on, and fight the battle out then and there, to the last gasp. He
gave orders to his section commanders, and then lay down to await the
development of events.
At about nine o'clock a general retirement seemed to be taking place on
the right. It is a very difficult thing to pick upon exactly the right
moment to retire. If you retire too early, you allow the enemy to
advance without having inflicted sufficient loss, i.e. you allow him to
succeed too cheaply, to say nothing of rendering the position of units
on your flanks precarious. On the other hand, if you hang on to your
position too long, you become committed to a close fight, from which it
is almost impossible to withdraw without the most serious losses.
There are no hedges in Belgium; the ground was perfectly open, and
the Subaltern could easily see what was happening on the right. It
seemed to him that some unit delayed too long, for the rest of the line

showed signs of envelopment. Eventually, however, the retirement to
the village was effected quietly, and without loss. He led his Platoon to
a second defensive position about a mile behind the village, but already
shells were beginning to drop around, and even beyond it.

CHAPTER V
THE BEGINNING OF THE RETREAT
It was from this point that the great "Retreat from Mons" really began.
The road in front of the Battalion was hit by one or two shells.
Apparently it was being "searched," and so the Battalion was hastily
moved into the open fields, assuming what is known as "Artillery
Formation," i.e. small collections of troops, moving on the same
objective, with "irregular distances and depths." By this means many
lives must have been saved. After about a mile of very hurried
marching, through turnip fields and stubble, the road was again reached,
and the Battalion was apparently out of the enemy's range.
The heat was beginning to be intense. The men had marched for the last
three days almost incessantly, and without sufficient sleep. Sunday
night in the firing-line had been full of excitement of battle, and all
Monday morning had been spent at digging trenches. Imagine the state
of the men! Dirty from digging, with a four days' growth of beard,
bathed in sweat, eyes half closed with want of sleep, "packs" missing,
lurching with the drunken torpor of fatigue, their own mothers would
not have known them! There