Tommy Atkins at War Part 6

According to an officer in the Royal Flying Corps the worst aerial experience in war is to go up as a pa.s.senger. "It is 'loathly,'" he says, "to sit still helplessly and be fired at." In one flight as a spectator his machine was "sh.e.l.led and shot at about a hundred times, but luckily only thirteen shots went through the planes and neither of us was. .h.i.t." An interesting account of a battle seen from the clouds is given in a letter published by _The Times_. "I was up with ---- for an evening reconnaissance over this huge battle. I bet it will ever be remembered as the biggest in history. It extends from Compiegne right away east to Belfort. Can you imagine such a sight? We flew at 5 p.m.

over the line, and at that time the British Army guns (artillery, heavy and field) all opened fire together. We flew at 5,000 feet and saw a sight which I hope it will never be my lot to see again. The woods and hills were literally cut to ribbons all along the south of Laon. It was marvelous watching hundreds of sh.e.l.ls bursting below one to right and left for miles, and then to see the Germans replying."

Another officer of the Flying Corps describes his impression of the Battle of Mons, seen from a height of 5,000 feet. British sh.e.l.ls were bursting like little bits of cotton wool over the German batteries. A German attack developed, and the airman likens the enemy's advance formation to a "large human tadpole"--a long dense column with the head spread out in front.

Evidently the anti-aircraft guns, though rather terrifying, do very little damage. Airmen have had sh.e.l.ls burst all round them for a long time without being hurt. Of course they are careful to fly at a high alt.i.tude. When struck by shrapnel, however, an aeroplane (one witness says) "just crumples up like a broken egg." On the other hand, bombs dropped from aeroplanes do great damage, if properly directed. A petrol bomb was dropped by an English airman at night into a German bivouac with alarming results, and another thrown at a cavalry column struck an ammunition wagon and killed fifteen men. A French airman wiped out a cavalry troop with a bomb, and the effect of the steel arrows used by French aviators is known to be damaging. The German bombs thrown by Zeppelins and Taube aeroplanes on Antwerp and Paris do not appear to have much disturbed either the property or equanimity of the inhabitants. So far as aerial excursions are concerned the most brilliant exploit is undoubtedly that of Flight-Lieutenant C.H. Collet, of the Naval Wing of the British Flying Corps, who, with a fleet of five aeroplanes swept across the German frontier and, hovering over Dusseldorf, dropped three bombs with unerring effect upon the Zeppelin sheds.

Bomb-dropping, however, has not been indulged in to any great extent by either of the combatants, and the chief use to which air machines have been put is that of scouting. The Germans use them largely for range finding, and they seem to prove a very accurate guide to the gunners.

"We were advancing on the German right and doing splendidly," writes Private Boardman (Bradford) "when we saw an aeroplane hover right over our heads, and by some signaling give the German artillery the range.

The aviator had hardly gone when we were riddled with shot and sh.e.l.l." A sergeant of the 21st Lancers says the signaling is done by dropping a kind of silver ball or disc from the aeroplanes, and the Germans watch for this and locate our position to a nicety at once.

As scouts--and that, meantime, is the real practical purpose of aeroplanes in war--the British aviators have done wonders. Their machines are lighter and faster than those of the Germans, and as they make a daily average of nine reconnaissance flights of over 100 miles each it will be understood that they keep the Intelligence Department well supplied with accurate information of the enemy's movements.

French airmen are particularly daring both in reconnaissance and in flight, and the well-known M. Vedrines, whose achievements are familiar to English people, has already brought down three German aeroplanes. In one encounter he fought in a Bleriot machine carrying a mitrailleuse, and the enemy dropped, riddled with bullets. So completely have some of the aeroplanes been perforated, without mishap, says the _Daily Telegraph's_ war correspondent, that the pilots have found a new game.

Each evening after their flights they count the number of bullet holes in their machine, marking each with a circle in red chalk, so that none may be included in the next day's total. The record appears to be thirty-seven holes in one day, and the pilot in question claims to be the "record man du monde."

Zeppelins have not maintained their reputation in this war. One sailed over Sir John French's headquarters and indicated the position to the enemy, but they are no match for the swift and agile aeroplanes. A wounded dispatch carrier saw one English and two French machines attack a Zeppelin and bring it down instantly. A half hour's fight with another is recorded; among the captured pa.s.sengers in this, according to a soldier's letter, was a boy of nine. Private Drury, Coldstream Guards, saw one huge German aeroplane brought to earth, three of its officers being killed by rifle fire and one badly injured.

There is something strange, mysterious, and insubstantial about the war in the air that the soldiers do not yet feel or comprehend. Often the feverish activity of aircraft at a high alt.i.tude is known only to a very few practised observers. A gentle purring in the air and the scarcely audible ping-pong of distant revolver shots may represent a fierce duel in the clouds, and often the soldiers are unaware of the presence of a hostile airman until the projectiles aimed at them burst in the trenches. One evening, a graphic official message states, the atmosphere was so still and clear that only those specially on the lookout detected the enemy's aeroplanes, and when the bombs burst "the puffs of smoke from the detonating sh.e.l.l hung in the air for minutes on end like b.a.l.l.s of fleecy cottonwool before they slowly expanded and were dissipated."

Of course, the tactics adopted for dealing with hostile aircraft are to attack them instantly with one or more British machines, and as in this respect the British Flying Corps has established an individual ascendency, Sir John French proudly declares that "something in the direction of the mastery of the air has already been gained."

XIII

TOMMY AND HIS RATIONS

A medical officer at the front declares that the British Expeditionary Force is, without doubt, the "best fed Army that has ever taken the field." That is a sweeping statement, but it is true. It is confirmed over and over again in the letters of Tommy Atkins. It is acknowledged by the French. Even the most sullen German prisoners agree with it.

There has been universal praise for the quality and abundance of the food, and the general arrangements for the comfort of the British soldier.

One French description of the feeding says that the English troops "live like fighting c.o.c.ks," another marvels at "the stupendous pieces of meat, and bread heavy with b.u.t.ter and jam," a third speaks of the "amazing Tommees" who "carry everything in their pockets and forget nothing at all." And so on.

But the most remarkable tribute of all to the perfect working of the transport and supply service is that given by the British officers and men themselves. Captain Guy Edwards, Coldstream Guards, says: "They have fed our troops wonderfully regularly and well up to the present; we have had no sickness at all, and every one is in splendid spirits." In another letter an officer refers to the generosity of the rations. "In addition to meat and bread (or biscuit)," he says, "we get 1/4lb. jam, 1/4lb. bacon, 3oz. cheese, tea, etc., while the horses have had a good supply of oats and hay." During the whole of the long retreat from Mons, says an officer of the Berkshires, "there was only one day when we missed our jam rations!"

And it is the same with the men. Here are some brief extracts from their letters:

Private ----, 20th Field Ambulance:

"Our food supply is magnificent. We have everything we want and food to spare. Bacon and tomatoes is a common breakfast for us."

Driver Finch: "I am in the best of health, with the feeding and the open-air life. The stars have been our covering for the last few weeks."

Sergeant, Infantry Regiment: "The arrangements are very good--no worry or hitch anywhere; it is all wonderful."

Cavalryman: "We live splendidly, being even able to supplement our generous rations with eggs, milk and vegetables as we go through the villages."

Gunner: "Having the time of my life."

Of course, the exigencies of war may not always permit of the perfect working of the supply machine. Already there have been many hardships to be endured. Incessant fighting does not give the men time for proper meals, sleep is either cut out altogether or reduced to an occasional couple of hours, heavy rains bring wet clothing and wetter resting places, boots wear out with prolonged marching, and men have to go for days and even weeks unwashed, unshaven, and without even a chance of getting out of their clothes for a single hour.

The officers suffer just as much as the men. After a fortnight or three weeks at the front one cavalry officer wrote that he "had not taken his clothes off since he left the Curragh." "For five days," another says, "I never took off my boots, even to sleep, and for two days I did not even wash my hands or face. For three days and nights I got just four hours' sleep. The want of sleep was the one thing we felt." Sleep, indeed, is just the last thing the officers get. Brigadier-General Sir Philip Chetwode outlines his daily program as "work from 4 a.m. to 11 p.m., then writing and preparations until 4 a.m. again." To make matters worse just at the start of the famous cavalry charge which brought Sir Philip such distinction, his pack-horse bolted into the German lines carrying all his luggage, and leaving him nothing but a toothbrush!

One of the Dorsets' officers reports that "owing to the continuous fighting the 'evening meal' has become conspicuous by its absence," but in spite of having carried a 1lb. tin of compressed beef and a few biscuits about with them for several days they are all "most beastly fit on it." "No one seems any the worse, and I feel all the fitter," writes an officer of a Highland Regiment, "after long marches in the rain going to bed as wet as a Scotch mist."

The men are just as cheerful as their officers. "You can't expect a blooming Ritz Hotel in the firing line," is how a jocular c.o.c.kney puts it. An artilleryman says they would fare sumptuously if it weren't for the German sh.e.l.ls at meal times: "one sh.e.l.l, for instance, shattered our old porridge pot before we'd had a spoonful out of it!" Lieutenant Jardine, a son of Sir John Jardine, M.P., relates this same incident.

Gunner Prince, R.F.A., has a little joke about the sleeping quarters: "Just going to bed. Did I say bed? I mean under the gun with an overcoat for a blanket." There is no sort of grumbling at all. As Lieutenant Stringer, of the 5th Lancers, expresses it, the A.S.C. "manage things very well, and our motto is 'always merry and bright.'"

Occasionally, when there is a lull in the operations, the men dine gloriously. Stories are told of gargantuan feeds--of majestic stews that can be scented even in the German lines. Occasionally, too, there is the capture of a banquet prepared for the enemy's officers as the following message from the _Standard_ ill.u.s.trates: "A small party of our cavalry were out on reconnaissance work, scouring woods and searching the countryside. Just about dusk a hail of bullets came upon our party from a small spinney of fir trees on the side of a hill. We instantly wheeled off as if we were retreating, but, in fact, we merely pretended to retire and galloped round across plowed land to the other side of the spinney, fired on the men, and they mounted their horses and flew like lightning out of their 'supper room.' They left a finely cooked repast of beef-steaks, onions and fried potatoes all ready and done to a turn, with about fifty bottles of Pilsner lager beer, which was an acceptable relish to our meal. Ten of our men gave chase and returned for an excellent feed."

Another amusing capture is that of an enterprising Tommy who possessed himself of a German officer's bearskin, a cap, helmet, and Jaeger sleeping bag. He is now regarded as the "toff of the regiment." The luxury of a bath was indulged in by a company of Berkshires at one encampment. Forty wine barrels nearly full of water were discovered here, and the thirsty men were about to drink it when their officer stopped them. "Well," said one, "if it's not good enough to drink it'll do to wash in," and with one accord they stripped and jumped into the barrels! Nothing has been more notable than Tommy's desire for cleanliness and tidiness. It is something fine and healthy about the British soldier. One wounded man, driven up to a hospital, limped with difficulty to a barber's shop for a shave before he would enter the building. "I couldn't face the doctors and nurses looking like I was,"

he told the ambulance attendant.

Of all the soldiers' wants the most imperative appears to be the harmless necessary cigarette. All their letters clamor for tobacco in that form. "We can't get a decent smoke here," says one writer. An army airman "simply craves for cigarettes and matches." From a cavalryman comes the appeal that a few boxes of cigarettes and some thick chocolate would be luxuries. "Just fancy," to quote from another letter, "one cigarette among ten of us--hardly one puff a-piece."

In the French hospitals the wounded men are being treated with the greatest kindness, and during convalescence are being loaded with luxuries. "Spoilt darlings," one Scottish nurse in Paris says about them, "but who could help spoiling them?" They are so happy and cheerful, so grateful for every little service, so eager to return to the firing line in order to "get the war over and done with." "We've promised to be home by Christmas," they say, "and that turkey and plum-pudding will be spoilt if we don't turn up."

Home by Christmas! That is Tommy Atkins' idea of a "Non-stop run to Berlin"--the facetious notice he printed in chalk on the troop trains at Boulogne as, singing "It's a long way to Tipperary," he rolled away to the greatest battles that have ever seared the face of Europe.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: Extract from _The Times_ report of the German Emperor's Army Orders, dated Headquarters, Aix-la-Chapelle, August 19th, 1914.]

[Footnote B: Copyright Chappell & Co., Ltd., 41 East 34th St., New York.]

[Footnote C: _Daily Express_, Sept. 25th, 1914.]

[Footnote D: The Irish Guards were created entirely on the initiative of Queen Victoria, and as a recognition of the fine achievements of "Her brave Irish" in the South African War.]

[Footnote E: Gunner Batey, Royal Garrison Artillery, writes of a comrade, Gunner Spencer Mann: "He seems in his glory during the fighting. He fears nothing, and is always shouting, 'Into them, lads: the sooner we get through, the sooner we'll get home.'"]

[Footnote F: "The German officers are a rum lot," writes Sergeant W.

Holmes; "they lead from the rear all the time."]

[Footnote G: "When they are working hardest their rations would not do for a tom-t.i.t," says Sergeant J. Baker.]

[Footnote H: This letter was written to the son of a London vicar, and published in _The Times_, Sept. 12th, 1914.]