CHAPTER VII.

1914.

In 1909, when Francis went hunting north of the Zambezi, he travelled to the Victoria Falls with Colonel Marling, V.C., then Brigadier-General commanding the Potchefstroom district. He used to stare across the veld for hours at a time out of the window of the observation car, and once Colonel Marling asked what he was thinking about. “I was thinking how beautiful all this is,” was the answer. “It makes me long to do something great.” What makes the hero? Emerson asks, and replies,

“He must be musical, Tremulous, impressional.”

I never heard that Francis was musical, and he was about as tremulous as a brick wall. But he was always most sensitive to impressions, and in both the Twins a vein lay hidden of unspoken poetry. They now entered upon the struggle with a kind of awed and hushed expectation. It had long been at the back of their minds, and consciously and unconsciously they had been preparing for it. This little book is not a war memoir, for only a fraction of the Twins’ lives fell under the great shadow—for Rivy about five weeks, and for Francis less than ten months. But, looking back, the war seems to have been always a part of their outlook. Both had the standpoint of the regular soldier; neither suffered the hesitations and divided impulses of the less fortunate civilian. But their outlook in one sense was not the common professional one—of the man who looks forward to the practice of an art in which he has been trained. Coming, as it did, to relieve them from their perplexities, the crisis seemed to them to carry with it a solemn trust, which they undertook with willingness, indeed, but with something of the gravity of those who feel themselves in the hands of destiny.

The declaration of war found them together at Tidworth. Rivy was determined to go out with Francis, so he managed to get himself transferred from his proper unit, the Bucks Hussars, as a reserve officer of the 9th Lancers. Every moment of his time was devoted to sitting at his brother’s feet and learning what he could teach him of the art of war, and to buying his equipment with feverish haste. The Twins decided to take six horses between them, and they borrowed an additional groom from the Duke of Westminster. “I am to take command of a squadron,” wrote Francis in glee to Lord Grenfell. “My regiment was never better or more prepared in its history.... My dear old Uncle, you have been so kind to us that words to thank you fail me. If we survive you, we will look after your children and see that they get jolly well swished at Eton.” On Thursday, 13th August, I find this note in his diary:—

“The Colonel [David Campbell] had dismounted parade at two o’clock. He made a splendid speech in which he recalled all the great deeds of the past which had been performed by the 9th: how in the Mutiny the regiment had carried out its duties and several officers obtained V.C.’s, with such distinction that when it left India the Viceroy gave orders that it should be saluted by forty-one guns. This had never been done before, and has never been done since. In Afghanistan it had been greatly praised by Lord Roberts; in South Africa it fought for two years with the greatest distinction, and received the highest compliments from all its commanders. He also reminded us that Lieutenant Macdonald had on one occasion fought till every man and himself had been killed. He told us that we were going forth to the war with the greatest traditions to uphold. Nothing could be finer than his speech, or could possibly have appealed more to the officers and men.”

The regiment embarked on the 15th. That morning Francis wrote to Lord Grenfell:—

“You will receive this when we have gone forth to war. We entrain to-day at 1 p.m., and hope to reach France to-night. We leave very quietly as if marching to manœuvres, but a more magnificent regiment never moved out of barracks for war. Every one is full of enthusiasm. Rivy goes with me, and it is a great thing having him. Good-bye, my dear Uncle. You have all my affection, and no one has ever been kinder than you have been to me during my lifetime. So far I have been the luckiest man alive. I have had the happiest possible life, and have always been working for war, and have now got into the biggest in the prime of life for a soldier. We will tell you some fine tales when we return with a bottle of the best from the Rhine.”

That same day Rivy wrote to me—the last letter I had from him. “I cannot leave the country without writing to thank you, my dear John, for all you have done for me in our troubles.... Thank God, we are off in an hour. Such a magnificent regiment! Such men, such horses! Within ten days I hope Francis and I will be riding side by side straight at the Germans. We will think of you, old boy.”

They got to Boulogne late on the evening of the 16th, and, passing through Amiens and Maubeuge, detrained at Jeunot in the afternoon of the 17th. The letters home from both during those days were very scrappy, consisting chiefly of references to the hard game of polo which they expected to play at any moment, and the close touch which they had established with the other players. Francis, however, kept a careful diary, and it is curious, considering what was to happen, that his main object seems to have been to record every moment which he spent with Rivy, and all that Rivy said or did. He was in command of “B” Squadron, and was determined to keep it up to the mark. Take, for example, this entry on 18th August: “I had reason to find fault with the turn-out of the men, boots and spurs having been allowed to get rusty; so I formed up the squadron and told them I insisted on the turn-out being good throughout the campaign, as it was proverbial that the best turned-out troop was nine times out of ten the best fighting one. I said that because the men were on active service there was no reason why they should imagine that they had ceased to be the Ninth and become colonials. I ordered the few men whose turn-out was very bad to march two miles on foot on the way home, and I told them in future that any man who was reported to me badly turned out would have his horse taken away from him and be made to tramp. I am certain that this had a great effect on the squadron.”

From Jeunot the Ninth moved to Obrechies. “B” Squadron was the first cavalry unit to arrive, and naturally had a great reception from both French and Belgians. On the 19th and 20th it did a reconnaissance into Belgian territory, and on Friday the 21st marched to Harmignies. There Sir John French, it will be remembered, was taking up position in advance of the left flank of the French Fifth Army, preparatory to a move against the German flank in Belgium. The presence of von Bülow’s Second Army was fairly well known, but there was more or less a mystery about the whereabouts of von Kluck. He was believed to be somewhere in the neighbourhood of Waterloo, but neither the French nor the British Staff had any guess at the strength of his forces, or the great wheel which he was to undertake. That Friday night the Twins were billeted in Harmignies, and on Saturday the 22nd they remained there till the evening, when the Ninth were sent out to Thulin, where they arrived early in the morning of the 23rd. They were now behind the left flank of the British 3rd Division.

Francis and Rivy were much perplexed by this strange kind of battlefield. As cavalrymen they had hoped for the wide rolling downs which had been predicted as the terrain of any continental war. Instead they found themselves in a land full of little smoky villages, coal mines, railway embankments, endless wire, and a population that seemed as dense as that of a London suburb. They were puzzled to know how cavalry could operate, and they were still more puzzled to understand what was the plan of campaign—an uncertainty they shared with a million or so other soldiers. On that hot Sunday morning firing began early to the north-east and grew heavier as the day advanced. In the afternoon the Colonel sent for the squadron leaders and told them that six German cavalry and three infantry divisions were advancing, and that their business was to retire slowly, fighting a rear-guard action. The rest of the day was spent in deep mystification, with no knowledge of the fall of Namur, or of Lanrezac’s defeat at Charleroi, or the other calamities which were to compel Sir John French to retreat. But at 11.30 came definite orders. They were instructed to entrench at the railway station south of Thulin for an attack at dawn. Spades were procured with difficulty, and they were about to begin when another order came not to entrench but to barricade, and to hold Thulin station and the road to the south of it. This was done, and the position was occupied during the darkness, while the wretched inhabitants straggled down the south road, and the guns in the north grew steadily nearer.

Monday the 24th saw the beginning of the retreat from Mons. This is not the place to repeat an oft-told tale. Our concern is only with one cavalry unit engaged in acting as a rear-guard. At four o’clock that morning Francis, who had retired from Thulin at 10.30 the night before, was ordered to reconnoitre the town at dawn. He had gone only a little way through its streets when he came under heavy fire at short range, and in withdrawing had his horse “Ginger” shot down. Presently from his position at the railway station he saw a mass of German troops advancing. A sharp fight ensued of which he records, “Rivy and I found ourselves for the first time standing together under fire, and not much disconcerted.” He had a bullet through his boot, and as the enemy was advancing in considerable numbers and outflanking the little post, “B” Squadron fell back upon the regiment, and was sent into reserve. The 9th Lancers then retired to a ridge more to the south, where they came under a heavy shell-fire.

It was now about midday. The 2nd Cavalry Brigade was south of Audregnies, with the exception of the 18th Hussars holding the high ground north of that village. The 5th Division was moving along the Eloges-Audregnies road. General De Lisle ordered the 9th Lancers to a position on the north-west of Audregnies, in order to support the 18th Hussars. There they assembled on a low hill where some shelter was obtained from buildings. The men were dismounted, and firing at 1,200 yards against the German infantry, who were advancing deployed. Presently the retiring 5th Division, which had now been in action for some twenty-four hours, was threatened with an enemy envelopment, and Sir Charles Fergusson asked for protection from the cavalry for his western flank. De Lisle decided to charge the flank of the advancing masses, the 4th Dragoon Guards on the left and the 9th Lancers on the right.

That charge was as futile and as gallant as any other like attempt in history on unbroken infantry and guns in position. But it proved to the world that the spirit which inspired the Light Brigade at Balaclava and von Bredow’s _Todtenritt_ at Mars-la-Tour was still alive in the cavalry of to-day.... Francis formed his squadron in line of troops column, and they galloped into a tornado of rifle and machine-gun fire and the artillery fire of at least three batteries. No objective could be discerned, for the Germans at once took cover among the corn stooks. The ground had not been reconnoitred, and long before they came near the enemy the Lancers found themselves brought up by double lines of wire. In that nightmare place Francis’s first job was to get his squadron in hand. He could not find his trumpeter, so he blew his whistle and cursed with vehemence anybody he found out of place. The charge had swung somewhat to the right. Captain Lucas-Tooth, commanding “A” Squadron, reached a high mound of cinders, and behind it and in a donga running eastward found shelter, and was presently joined by some of the 4th Dragoon Guards. Meantime Francis found a certain amount of cover behind a house. “We had simply galloped about like rabbits in front of a line of guns,” he wrote, “men and horses falling in all directions. Most of one’s time was spent in dodging the horses.”

Very soon the house was blown to pieces, so the squadron moved off to the shelter of a railway embankment. Francis remembered that on one occasion the regiment had been ordered to trot in South Africa under a heavy fire, and he now adopted this method of keeping his men together. Under the embankment he collected the remnant. He found a number of odd 9th Lancers besides his own squadron, and as senior officer he took command and attempted to sort the troops out.

South of the embankment was the 119th Battery, R.F.A., under Major G. H. Alexander, who for this day’s work was to receive the Victoria Cross. It was under a desperate fire from three of the enemy’s batteries, one of which completely enfiladed it, and most of its gunners had been killed. Seeing the position, Francis offered his services. At that moment he was hit by shrapnel. “It felt as if a whip had hit me in the leg and hand. I think an artery was affected, as the blood spurted out, and my observer, Steadman, and young Whitehead very kindly bound me up. We also had to put on a tourniquet, and referred to the Field Service Regulations to find out how it had to be put on. This would have amused you. Of course, we found out how to stop blood in every other part of one’s body except one’s hand, but eventually came upon this useful information. Things began to go round and round, and I luckily remembered that in the wallets of the horse I had borrowed I had noticed a flask. This proved to contain a bottle of the best old brandy, and my observer and I at once drank the lot. I now felt like Jack Johnson, instead of an old cripple.”

Major Alexander asked Francis to find if there was an exit for his guns. The diary continues the story.

“It was not a very nice job, I am bound to say, and I was relieved when it was finished. It meant leaving my regiment under the embankment and riding out alone through the guns, which were now out of action and being heavily shelled all the time, to some distance behind, where I found myself out of range of the shells. It was necessary to go back through the inferno as slowly as possible, so as to pretend to the men that there was no danger and that the shells were more noisy than effective. I reported to the Battery Commander that there was an exit; he then told me that the only way to save his guns was to man-handle them out to some cover. My experience a few minutes before filled me with confidence, so I ordered the regiment to dismount in front of their horses, and then called for volunteers. I reminded them that the 9th Lancers had saved the guns at Maiwand, and had gained the eternal friendship of the gunners by always standing by the guns in South Africa; and that we had great traditions to live up to, as the Colonel had reminded us before we started. Every single man and officer declared they were ready to go to what looked like certain destruction. We ran forward and started pushing the guns out. Providence intervened, for although this was carried out under a very heavy fire and the guns had to be slowly turned round before we could guide them, we accomplished our task. We pushed out one over dead gunners. I do not think we lost more than three or four men, though it required more than one journey to get everything out. It is on occasions like this that good discipline tells. The men were so wonderful and so steady that words fail me to say what I think of them, and how much is due to my Colonel for the high standard to which he had raised this magnificent regiment.”

According to Major Alexander, the enemy infantry were within 500 yards before the last gun was got out of shell range. Meantime Captain Lucas-Tooth had arrived, and being the senior officer took command of the regiment. “B” Squadron waited till all the battery had gone, and then, wrote Francis, “wandered about for some time looking for some one to give us orders.” Eventually they halted by a main road along which an infantry column was marching. Here Francis was overcome by his wounds, and was forced to leave the squadron. It was now about seven o’clock. “The N.C.O.’s and the men came and shook me by the hand and gave me water from their water-bottles. I cannot tell you how much this day has increased the feeling of confidence and comradeship between me and my squadron. My fingers were nastily gashed, but the bone was not damaged; a bit of shrapnel had taken a piece out of my thigh; I had a bullet through my boot and another through my sleeve, and had been knocked down by a shell; my horse had also been shot, so no one can say I had an idle day.”

Room could not be found in any ambulance, so he was left by the roadside. Luckily a French Staff officer came by in a motor car and took him to Bavai. There he fell in with the Duke of Westminster, who took charge of him; and he also found Rivy, who had been doing galloper to De Lisle. I quote again from the diary.

“They took me to a French convent, which was under the Red Cross and was full of wounded. A civilian doctor and six nurses attended me, each lady trying to outdo the others in kindness, which was rather alarming. There was a chorus of ‘_Pauvre garçon! Comme il est brave! Comme il est beau!_’ The difficulty arose as to how my leg should be treated. I suggested my breeches should be taken off, but the senior Red Cross lady said that that was impossible—‘_Car il y a trop de jeunes filles._’ So my breeches were cut down the leg. The doctor took me to his house and put me to bed. I am bound to say I felt rather done. I got into bed at ten o’clock. At midnight Rivy told me to get up, as the town was to be evacuated. The doctor gave me some raw eggs and coffee, and I left Bavai at 1.15 a.m. in Bend Or’s motor. I cannot say how nice it was to find such a friend at such a time. It is wonderful what Bend Or has done for Rivy and me. He took me to Le Cateau, which we reached about four in the morning, where I slept that day heavily in his bed. Next morning I heard of the arrival of the 4th Division, and I also met Hugh Dawnay. I left Le Cateau at 9 a.m. on the 26th in a cattle truck with five other wounded. A very amusing thing happened in the railway station. About 500 refugees were there, all in a great state of distress and alarm, and a few gendarmes and soldiers. Suddenly a German aeroplane came over. You would have roared with laughter as all the refugees started yelling and rushing about the station. Every gendarme or stray soldier who possessed any sort of firearm loosed it off into the air, which made the women yell all the more. A very fat officer seized a rifle and rushed forward to shoot the aeroplane, which was about five miles away. The bolt jammed, so he put it on the ground, gave it a kick, and it went off through the roof.”

He reached Amiens safely that day, whence he was transferred by way of Rouen to hospital in England. He arrived very chastely dressed in his regimental tunic and a pair of pyjamas, his breeches having been sacrificed to the modesty of the French nuns. I well remember how, out of the confused gossip of those first weeks of war, the exploit of the 9th Lancers emerged as a clear achievement on which the mind of the nation could seize and so comfort itself. For his work on that grim day Francis was recommended by Sir Charles Fergusson, the General commanding the 5th Division, for the Victoria Cross. The award was gazetted early in November, and so to Francis fell the distinction of being the first man in the campaign to win the highest honour which can fall to a subject of the King.

He was taken to Sister Agnes’s hospital, and then to Mr. Pandeli Ralli’s house in Belgrave Square. There he stayed a week, and afterwards went down to Lord Grenfell at Overstone. On 8th September he wrote to Rivy that he hoped to start back in a week for the front, though the doctors pretended that it might be a fortnight. He was desperately restless. “I am wondering what has happened to you in the meanwhile, and also to my squadron, as I am afraid you will have been having incessant fighting ever since I departed, and the strain must be very great. Even the little I went through practically knocked me up, and I have been in bed ever since.” He was greatly embarrassed by his sudden fame, and he could not believe that he had done anything worth speaking about. “What a muddle it all was! How I should have liked to see somebody who knew what was going on! I have not yet discovered _what_ we charged. All I saw was some infantry nearly a mile off.” He had for the moment no pride in his exploit, only vexation at the fuss made about it. “Some infernal correspondents from France have written a lot of rot which makes me feel very uncomfortable. I have been bombarded with letters and telegrams from all over the place, and every sort of person has called to see me in hospital. I never felt such a fool in my life. After all, I only did what every other man and officer did who was with me.... The King came to see me in hospital, and was extraordinarily nice; also Prince Arthur, who stayed an hour with me. Lord Roberts came and asked rather direct questions as to why we charged and whom we charged, and who gave the order to charge.... Mrs. Asquith came too, and asked after you. There is every sort of wild story about us, and a poem was even written in the _Times_ on how we _captured the guns_.... Tell the officers to write on receipt of this, and I will bring out anything they want to them. Cable if you are all right.”

That brief meeting in Bavai was the last time Francis saw his brother. During the afternoon of 24th August, when Francis and his squadron were charging the remote German infantry, Rivy had been acting as galloper for De Lisle. “A rather heavy job on a weary horse,” he wrote. “He sent me to find General Gough, which I did; and the latter told me he had received no orders, and could not find Allenby, but since he had heard heavy guns in the direction of Eloges he intended to stay where he was.... We found Allenby about 11.30. He told De Lisle to go back and take the ridge from which we had been firing in the morning, but not to get too heavily engaged. De Lisle took his brigade back and sent the 18th Hussars about a mile north to a sugar factory, and followed himself, with me. Then I was sent to tell the 9th to wait north of Audregnies. As I gave the message an awful fire burst out from Quiveran. The Colonel told Abadie to hold the ridge. I had to gallop back across the line of fire to De Lisle, but when I had got there he had gone. The guns took up a hurried position behind the railway, but as they galloped to position a very heavy enemy fire was opened on them, the Germans soon finding the range. I went to the railway to look for De Lisle, and on approaching the ridge saw four artillerymen destroyed by shell. I then went round by the south bridge to find the 9th; but they, I was informed, had just charged. Meanwhile riderless and wounded horses were galloping everywhere, and bullets and shells were falling like hailstones.... At last I found Colonel Campbell looking for the Brigadier to try and get some reinforcements. We found the Brigadier, but he had no troops with him. Colonel Campbell told me to stay with him. He had been ordered to charge towards Quiveran. Why, he did not know, as there was an open space for about a mile, and he had lost nearly all his regiment.... I was told to rally what force I could at Wiheries. I found some 4th Dragoon Guards, and then retired towards Athis with the Colonel. Afterwards we fell back, a very dejected force, to Bavai. I wondered how the devil I could get news of Francis.”

Rivy’s day’s work, though he was the last man to admit it, was a very remarkable and courageous performance. Francis used to say that that solitary bit of reconnaissance, all alone, was braver than anything he ever did—a raw civilian riding for hours under heavy fire on a tired horse on missions of vital importance. That day established Rivy’s reputation with the regiment. For the next ten days he was busy with the great retreat, and had very little time for letter-writing. On 29th August there was a short note to Francis telling him that both had lost all their belongings and begging him to bring out a new outfit. “An infernal trooper has bagged my horse with all my kit on it, and has got lost himself.” There was a letter to one of his sisters, dated 2nd September, and a postcard to Francis the next day, and after that the next news was his death. In that feverish fortnight David Campbell wrote: “Rivy was with me as galloper and general utility officer up to the time I left. He was of the very greatest help, and carried out a very good reconnaissance with two scouts the day before I was hit. He was always splendid, and I shall miss him fearfully.” On 5th September came the turn of the tide on the Marne, and the Cavalry Corps moved northward again. On the 7th the 2nd Brigade was acting as flank guard to the division, with the 9th Lancers as the advance guard; and at Moncel the Ninth, a troop and a half strong, led by David Campbell himself, brilliantly charged with the lance and dispersed a German squadron.

On 11th September the 2nd Brigade was on the left bank of the Vesle river, and on the 13th began the crossing of the Aisne by the British infantry. The 9th Lancers, with the 4th Dragoon Guards and the 18th Hussars, crossed the river in advance near Bourg, and pushed up the heights towards Vendresse. There they were relieved by a battalion of the infantry advance guard, the 60th Rifles, and retired for the night to Pargnan. On the morning of the 14th the Ninth again formed the advance guard, and leaving at 3 a.m. marched north by Vendresse and Troyon. They had been given an objective which turned out to be about a mile behind the German trenches. Pushing fast through the dark up a winding road towards the Chemin des Dames, they passed the pickets of the 60th, and presently ran into a German picket. The regiment dismounted, while Rivy, with a section, dashed forward to a position near a haystack. He engaged the enemy picket, and enabled the regiment to regain its direction.

He seems to have been in wild spirits, and to have encouraged his little band with jokes, and with that peculiarly cheery hallo of which he had the secret. But, in his anxiety to see the effects of the shots, he exposed himself, and a German bullet cut his revolver in two and passed through the roof of his mouth. He died instantaneously. The last words which his men remember were his shout, “Steady your firing, boys. We have got them beaten.”

The Ninth fell back, leaving his body in the enemy hands, but that afternoon the 60th advanced and recovered it. Rivy had been in the field twenty-five days—days of such crowded endeavour and endurance as few campaigns in history can show. From the first hour he had been supremely happy, for he had found his true calling. He had seen his brother safe out of danger and covered with glory, and with the removal of any anxiety about Francis had gone the one thing which could dim his cheerfulness. From what I have been told by his men and his brother officers, I am certain that that last fortnight of his life had washed clean from his mind all the weary sense of reproach and futility which had been clouding it, and that he went to death as one who “finds again his twentieth year.”