In The Firing Line 8

In The Firing Line 8

In such tales of these men in hospital, and in the letters they have

written home, there is a common agreement that the German rifle

shooting is beneath contempt--“they shoot from the hip and don’t seem

to aim at anything in particular;” but their artillery practice is

spoken of with respect and admiration. The German artillery is very

good, writes Private Geradine, of the 1st Northumberland Fusiliers,

but their aeroplanes help them a lot. It is a pretty sight to see the

shells burst in the night, he adds--it’s like Guy Fawkes Day!

 

 

I like too, such robust cheerfulness and gay good-humour in face of the

horrors of death as sounds through the letter of Sapper Bradley:

 

 

I have never seen our lads so cheery as they are under great trials.

You couldn’t help being proud of them if you saw them lying in the

trenches cracking jokes or smoking while they take pot shots at the

Germans.... We have very little spare time now, but what we have we

pass by smoking concerts, sing-songs, and story-telling. Sometimes we

have football for a change, with a German helmet for a ball, and to

pass the time in the trenches have invented the game of guessing where

the next German shell will drop. Sometimes we have bets on it, and the

man who guesses correctly the greatest number of times takes the stakes.

 

And surely no less do I like the equally courageous but more sombre

outlook of the Scottish Private who complained of the famous retreat

from Mons, It was “Retire! retire! retire!” when our chaps were longing

to be at them. But they didn’t swear about it, because being out there

and seeing what we saw makes you feel religious.

 

I like that wonderful diary kept by a driver of the 4th Ammunition

Column, 3rd section, R.F.A. It was sent over from Paris by Mr. Harold

Ashton, _The Daily News_ correspondent, and is as naïvely and minutely

realistic as if it were a page out of Defoe. The driver’s interests

are naturally centred in his horses, they hold the first place in his

regard, the excitements of the war coming second. He records how he

went from Hendon to Southampton on the 21st August:

 

 

Got horses on board all right, though the friskiest of them kicked a

lot. Got to Havre safe. Food good--rabbit and potatoes and plenty of

beer, not our English sort, but the colour of cyder. Us four enjoyed

ourselves with the family, had a good time, and left ten o’clock next

day well filled up. Our objective was Compiègne. We got through all

right, watering our horses on the way from pumps and taps at private

houses. The people were awful kind, giving us quantities of pears, and

filling our water-bottles with beer. That was all right. Our welcome

was splendid everywhere. At Compiègne we got into touch with the

Germans. Very hot work. We marched from Compiègne about eleven o’clock

on the 31st, which was Sunday. The way was hard. Terrible steep hills

which knocked out our older and weaker horses. Collick broke out among

them, too, and that was bad. We lost a good many.... Slept until 5

a.m. and then marched on again, still retreating. Hot as ----. Nothing

to eat or drink. Plenty of tea, but nothing to boil it with. At last

we got some dry biscuits and some tins of marmalade. Bill ----, whose

teeth were bad, went near mad with toothache after the jam.... No dead

horses, thank God, to-day. I hope we have checked that ---- collick,

but my horse fell into a ditch going through the wood and could not get

out for over an hour. I couldn’t go for help, because the Germans had

got the range of the place and their shells were ripping overhead like

blazes. Poor old Dick (the horse), he was that fagged out by the long

march. At last I got him out and went on, and by luck managed to pick

up my pals.... The Germans were lambing in at us with their artillery,

and poor old Dick got blowed up. I thank God I wasn’t on him just

then. Sept. 2.--More fighting and worser than ever. I don’t believe we

shall ever get to Paris.... Now we come to Montagny, and fighting all

the time. Rabbits and apples to eat gallore, but still no money, and

no good if we had because we carnt spend it. Sept. 3.--We progressed

this day four miles in twelve hours. Took the wrong road, and had to

crawl about the woods on our stummoks like snakes to dodge the German

snipers. We had one rifle between four of us, and took it in turns to

have goes. We shot one blighter and took another prisoner. They was

both half starved and covered with soars. Then the rifle jammed, and we

had nothing to defend ourselves with. At last we found the main body

again. They wanted more horses, and we were just bringing them up and

putting them to the guns when a German areyplane came over us and flue

round pretty low. The troops tried to fetch him down, and some bullets

went through the wings, but then he got too high. He dropped a bomb in

the middle of us, but it exploded very weak and nobody was hurt. Next

day we started on a night march, and got to Lagny Thorigny, and camped

outside the town, where the people fed us on rabbits again. I said I

was sick of rabbits, and me and Bill walked acrost to a farmhouse and

borrowed three chickens, which we cooked. It was fine.... Outside Lagny

there was more fierce fighting--20 miles of it--and the Germans were

shot down like birds. Sept. 3 (continued).--Firing is still going on,

but it is not so fierce, though scouts have come in and told us there

are 10,000 Germans round us this day. To-night I got two ounces of

Navy Cut. It was prime. Sept. 8.--We are marching on further away from

Paris. We shall never get there, I guess. Sept. 12.--In the village of

Crecy. Plenty of food and houses to sleep into. Here we have got to

stay until further orders. Collick still very bad.

 

The calm matter-of-fact air with which he encounters whatever comes

to him, the keen joy he takes in small pleasures by the way; his

philosophic acceptance of the fate of “poor old Dick”--the whole thing

is so unruffled, so self-possessed, so Pepysian in its egoism and so

artlessly humorous that one hopes this phlegmatic driver will keep a

full diary of his campaignings, and that Mr. Ashton will secure and

publish it.

 

 

 

 

III

 

THE DESTRUCTION OF LOUVAIN

 

“_Such food a tyrant’s appetite demands._”

 

WORDSWORTH.

 

 

The stupid arrogance of the German military caste has always made them

ridiculous in the eyes of decent human creatures; it was surprising,

amusing, and yet saddening, too, to see an intelligent people strutting

and playing such war-paint-and-feathers tricks before high heaven, but

it appears that the primitive impulses that survive in their character

are stronger and go deeper than we had suspected. There are brave

and chivalrous spirits among Germany’s officers and men; that goes

without saying; but the savage and senseless barbarities that have

marked her conduct of the present war will make her name a byword for

infamy as long as it is remembered. There seems no doubt--the charges

are too many and too widely spread--that her troops have murdered

the wounded, have shot down women and children, have even used them

as shields, driving them in front of their firing line; they have

ruthlessly murdered unarmed civilians, and have blasted farmsteads

and villages into ashes on the flimsiest provocation; sometimes, so

far as one can learn, without waiting for any provocation whatever.

Even if their hands were clean of that innocent blood, the wanton,

insensate destruction of such a city as Louvain is sufficient of

itself to put them outside the pale of civilised societies. No doubt

they were smarting with humiliation that they had been so long delayed

breaking through the stubborn opposition of the Belgians at Liège; but

Louvain was an unfortified city and they were allowed to take peaceable

possession of it. Nevertheless, on August 25th whilst the fighting

round Mons was at its hottest and Russia was sweeping farther and

farther over the frontiers of East Prussia, in some sort of burst of

vengeful frenzy they laid one of the loveliest old cities of the world

in ruins, burnt or shattered most of its priceless art treasures, and

left its citizens homeless. Of course they have been busy ever since

trying to cover up their shame with excuses, but such a wanton crime is

too great and too glaringly obvious to be hidden or excused.

 

Four impressively realistic descriptions of what happened when the

Germans thus went mad in Louvain have been published in the _Daily

Telegraph_:

 

 

1. From a _Daily Telegraph_ Folkestone Correspondent, Saturday, August

29th:

 

 

Among the refugees arriving here to-day were women and children from

Louvain and soldiers from Liège, all narrating thrilling adventures.

Some of the refugees had obviously hurriedly deserted their homes,

wrapping a few of their belongings in sheets of newspaper.

 

One woman from Louvain tore down the curtains from her windows, wrapped

them round some wearing apparel, and ran from her house with her two

children. In the street she became involved in a stampede of men,

women, and children tearing away from the burning town, whither she

knew not. This woman’s story was so disjointed, so interspersed with

hysterical sobs and exclamations, that it is impossible to make a full

and coherent narrative of it. Periodically she clasped her children,

gazed round upon the English faces, and thanked God and bemoaned her

fate alternately.

 

Although suffering from extreme nervous excitement, another woman

had intervals of comparative calmness during which she described her

experiences as follows:

 

“Ah! m’sieu,” she exclaimed, “I will tell you, yes, of the burning of

Louvain. We had pulled down some of the buildings so that the Germans

should not mount guns on them when they came. I believe that was the

reason. We were in a state of terror because we had heard of the

cruelties of the Germans.”

 

Every time the poor woman referred to the Germans she paused to utter

maledictions upon them.

 

“Well,” she proceeded, “they came, and all we had heard about them

was not so bad as we experienced. In the streets people were cruelly

butchered, and then on all sides flames began to rise. We were prepared

for what we had regarded as the worst, but never had we anticipated

that they would burn us in our homes.

 

“People rushed about frantic to save their property. Pictures of

relatives were snatched from the walls, clothing was seized, and the

people were demented.

 

“What was the excuse given? Well, they said our people had shot at

them, but that was absolutely untrue. The real reason was the pulling

down of the buildings. My house was burning when I left it with my

three children, and here I am with them safe in England, beautiful

England. But what we have suffered! We were part of a crowd which

left the burning town, and kept walking without knowing where we were

going. Miles and miles we trudged, I am told we walked over seventy

miles before we came to a railway. I never regarded a railway as I did

then. I wanted to bow down and kiss the rails. I fell exhausted, having

carried my children in turn. Footsore, broken-hearted, after the first

joy of sighting the railway, I felt my head whirling, and I wondered

whether it was all worth while. Then I thought of my deliverance, and thanked God.