The town of Bushirc stands on what would be an island, were it not for a low-lying tract of sand which joins it to the mainland. This causeway is known as the “Mashilah,” and is from five to seven miles across. During high tides it is occasionally inundated, and at all times the area of firm dry sand is narrow. The presence of British warships made it impossible for the Tangistanis to approach Bushire by sea, and so the Mashilah offered the only possible line of advance. Its main drawback from  the invader's point of view is that not an inch of cover can be found anywhere until the island of Bushire is reached. Round the edge of the island on the Mashilah side is a line of low cliffs, which form a kind of natural rampart. These cliffs, however, are intersected by numerous nullahs, or gullies, sloping down from the island to the Mashilah. At the top of them are loose rocks and boulders, and at the foot of them a belt of palm-trees extends for some distance. It the Tangistanis could contrive to cross the Mashilah under cover of darkness, they would be able to take up a strong position on the edge of the island, and to find shelter from our fire by dodging behind the rocks and palm-trees. And this is exactly what they did.

 

The ships lying off Reshire Point were the Juno, Pyramus, and Lawrence. It would be idle to pretend that they were enjoying life, for no one does that at Bushire during the hot weather. The shade temperature was always hovering in the vicinity of 100° Fahrenheit, and the atmosphere was always damp and sticky. Their routine was largely made up of rehearsals for the Tangistani performance, which they knew to be imminent. Parties were landed on the beach, and in the comparatively cool hours of the early morning they went through their field exercises, practised the art of bringing a machine-gun into action rapidly, and received instructions about the handling of it under fire. The rehearsals were conducted by Captain George Carpenter, R.M.L.I., of H.M.S. Juno, in conjunction with the gunnery lieutenant of that ship. By tapping the resources of the three ships the Navy managed to provide a field force of seven officers, 153 men, and four maxims, as well as supplying to the Russian Consulate a guard of twenty men and a maxim, and a further six men to work the searchlights.

 

On the night of 8th September Captain Carpenter landed with three officers and sixty men of H.M.S. Pyramus, spent the night at the base camp near the Telegraph Station, and at six o'clock next morning was busily engaged in putting them through their exercises. When they returned to the camp for breakfast they found that a message had just come in from Brigadier-General Brooking, who was in command of the troops at Bushire, ordering them to proceed to the reserves' camp at Imam Zada. This suggested that something must be happening, so they sent for their transport carts, swallowed their breakfast, and got under way. In that region the sun begins to get hot at six in the morning, by seven it has become unpleasant, and by eight it is beyond the pale of printable language. The glare of it strikes against the white dust on the track, so that the most capacious sun-helmet does not avail to shield the eyes. Here and there relief is found in a cluster of green palms, such as shade the British Residency and a few other European dwellings, but the general aspect at this season is of a parched and dreary land, unredeemed by God or man. I remember the first time I landed at Bushire I had just been re-reading Omar Khayyam's ecstasies about his Persian garden, and my hopes ran high at the prospect of setting foot in Persia. But I landed at the wrong place. If I had gone to Shiraz, there, perhaps, I might have seen the real thing, and might even have feasted my eyes upon a “moon of my delight who knows no wane.” That is one of our misfortunes in the Navy - we seldom have the chance of seeing the best of the countries we visit.

 

The men of H.M.S. Pyramus trudged on steadily, while the perspiration dripped from their faces and soaked through their cotton clothes, until they reached the camp at Imam Zada. Here they found another message from the G.O.C. ordering them to advance farther east to a tower near the village of Zangena, and there take up the best position they could find, in order to command the two gullies leading down to the Mashilah at that point. The British outposts were situated at intervals along the edge of the Mashilah as far as a point south of Zangena, and then stretched across the island to the sea on the west side. The village of Halilah was suspected of harbouring enemy agents, and was therefore shut out beyond our line of defences. To man these outposts and to provide supports and reserves, we had only two small detachments of Indian troops - Rajputs and Ghurkhas. The latter had been on duty all night, and consequently the general did not want to use them if it could be avoided. We had, however, a big pull over the enemy in the possession of artillery, consisting of field and mountain guns, and we had also a small body of cavalry ready to move out on the Mashilah as soon as the Tangistanis showed signs of retreating.

 

The general had seen at once that the troops holding the outposts were insufficient to drive off the enemy, who were over 600 strong, and that he must call up his reserves from Reshire, including the naval party. It took an hour or so to bring them up, and in the meantime the Rajputs at the outposts clung on grimly, for they knew well enough that they were not likely to receive quarter if the Tangistanis once got in among them. The batteries were also busily engaged, though there was always a danger that an enterprising rush on the part of the enemy would sweep right over them, or that a flank attack might get in behind them.

 

The men of the Pyramus, now painfully conscious that each one of them was carrying his rifle and equipment, while some of them had the additional burden of machine-guns and ammunition-boxes, had reached within 800 yards of the objective when they came under heavy rifle-fire from Tangistanis hidden behind rocks 300 yards away. They were ordered to lie down and take breath, and then the advance was continued by means of short rushes in the orthodox style. It is an exhilarating exercise when carried out on the fields of good old England, but the effect is very different when a tropical sun is beating down on one's head, and a choking dust is filling the mouth and nostrils. It is no disparagement of Tangistani marksmanship to record that our casualties from heat stroke exceeded those caused by bullets.

 

They got to the tower at last, and mounted a maxim there. Another maxim was got into position at the left end of the line, but the gun on the right could not find cover of any kind, and was subjected to a tornado of bullets from the enemy.

 

The gun's crew had to fall back from it, but Captain Carpenter called for volunteers to bring it into action, and Lieutenant-Commander Dorman and Yeoman of Signals Wood immediately went forward to it. Wood was mortally wounded as soon as he reached it, and fell right across the gun. Carpenter then saw that the enemy's fire was too accurate, and that he could not afford to risk further casualties in his small force, so he called to Dorman to come back. There was no danger of the enemy capturing the gun, for the two other maxims completely covered their line of advance. So there the little force remained, taking what cover they could find, and seizing every chance to pot a Tangistani when he was rash enough to show himself. Carpenter sent a message to the G.O.C. informing him of the position of affairs, and asking for a stretcher-party to remove the wounded and heat-stroke cases. The G.O.C. sent back word telling him to hang on until the reserve infantry arrived to clear up the situation, and that medical assistance would be sent as soon as possible.

 

Soon after ten o'clock Lieutenant-Colonel Lane came up with the reserve infantry, and charged right into the enemy, who promptly broke and fled, and that was virtually the end of the business. The naval party moved forward with their machine-guns to hold the gullies, and proceeded to deal with any stray Tangistanis found lurking among the palm-trees. The cavalry moved on to the Mashilah and got right into the fleeing tribesmen, while the artillery lengthened their range and played havoc with them all the way across. The Arabs brought up donkeys to remove most of their dead and wounded, but we collected between fifty and sixty of them near the edge of the Mashilah.

 

So ended the great coup which Wassmuss had been planning for months beforehand. Its failure must have been a serious blow to his prestige, for, although there were plenty of alarums and excursions during the succeeding months, and various tribesmen showed a good deal of unrest, there was no other concerted effort against Bushire. The little colony of British subjects went about their vocations with untroubled minds, and slept peacefully in their beds. Captain Carpenter was awarded the D.S.C. for his services at Dilwar and Bushire, and was shortly afterwards promoted.

 

 

 

THE NAVY IN ROUMANIA

 

 

CHAPTER XIV

 

THE BATTLE NEAR TOPALUL

The British Armoured Car Force of the Royal Naval Air Service had seen quite a lot of the world before they found their way to Roumania. They had done their bit in Belgium, they had wandered thence to Russia, and they had sampled the roads of Persia; in fact, a kind of supernatural instinct seems to have led them to all the best places for a lively scrap, and, as soon as the liveliness was at an end in one quarter of the globe, they were off to another.

 

In the late autumn of 1916 they had abandoned Persia, having come to the conclusion that it was completely played out as a theatre of war, and they had assembled at Odessa, wondering where they should go next. They definitely belonged to the Russian Army, and they made up their minds that it was up to the Russian Army to keep them supplied with jobs. Roumania had just entered the lists, and for a time things seemed to be going well with her, until General Mackensen began his great push in the Dobrudsha, and then the British armoured cars said to themselves, “Here is a job for us,” So they appealed to the powers that governed the Russian Army at that time, and obtained permission to transfer themselves to Roumania, and there attach themselves to the Russian forces operating in that country.

 

Of course they knew in their hearts that an armoured car is not really the same thing as a ship, but when the white ensign is fluttering above it, they think and talk of it as though it were a ship. The man who said that R.N.A.S. means Really Not A Sailor was no psychologist, and failed altogether to appreciate the psychological effect of the white ensign. When an officer in command of a car receives his instructions, he calls them his Sailing Orders, and sometimes the officer who writes them out in his best official language, heads them with the words "Sailing Orders” in black and white. But, on the whole, they are very careful with their official reports, and all such expressions as “Put the helm hard over to starboard,” or “Proceed full speed astern,” have been translated into the lingo of the motor garage.

 

Towards the end of November 1910 they found themselves at Hirsova on the Dobrudsha side of the Danube, where General Sirelius of the 4th Siberian Army Corps told them that they were just in time for a big battle, and that he wanted them to take an important part in it. Things had been going badly of late, for General Mackensen had been mopping up Roumanian divisions on a wholesale scale, and walking through the Dobrudsha as though it were the Unter den Linden. But there was just a possibility that the advance had been too rapid, and that a counter-attack might find the enemy unprepared, and with his supply columns many miles to the rear. A Russian force, sweeping down between the Danube and the Black Sea, might be able to cut off the enemy's forces, which had crossed the river and were operating against Bucharest, and cheery optimists among the Russians even contemplated the recapture of Cernavoda bridge and of the port of Constanza.

 

The push was timed to start on 29th November, and the force of armoured cars was ordered to be in readiness to lead the attack. But when the day arrived all these orders were cancelled unceremoniously, and the cars were told to proceed across the Danube to a destination near Bucharest. The truth of the matter was, that the Roumanian Army defending Bucharest had failed to hold their positions, and the capital was in imminent danger. The general in command of the Russian forces co-operating with the Roumanians had at once sent out an S.O.S. signal, of which the effect was, “For Heaven's sake send us the British armoured cars.” Commander Gregory, in charge of the force, at once sent scouts to examine the state of the roads, for it is one thing for a general at Bucharest to say he wants armoured cars, and another thing for the people in the cars to get them to him. The scouts all reported that the roads leading to the pontoon bridge across the Danube were too bad for any parliamentary language, and quite unfit for motor traffic. So Commander Gregory went to the Chief of Staff of the 4th Siberian Corps, and told him that it was beyond human possibility to comply with the latest order that the force had received. Incidentally he relieved his mind by pointing out that he had been given nothing but contradictory orders, one on top of another, for the past six weeks.

 

Now, when General Sirelius heard from his Chief of Staff what Commander Gregory had been saying, he smiled blandly, for the truth of the matter was that he did not want to part with the British armoured cars. Already the Bucharest army was taking from him all the best of his reserve battalions, which were to have enabled him to carry out the great push through the Dobrudsha, and was transferring them across the Danube to the defence of Bucharest. The result was that the great push had to be postponed, and the general intended to wait until fresh reserves could be sent up to him. But here again his intentions were frustrated, for it was not many hours before another S.O.S. signal came from Bucharest. “For Heaven's sake make your push, or do something to cause a diversion.” This was rather hard on the general, first to take away his reserves, and then to tell him to make his push; but such things are liable to happen when things are going badly, and he consoled himself with the thought that, at all events, they had not succeeded in robbing him of the armoured cars. So he ordered that the push should commence next day - 30th November.

 

The British armoured cars were divided into three squadrons, two of them to operate from the village of Topalul towards Ballagestii and a third from the village of Panteleimon towards Saragea. The morning broke dull and misty, and the artillery soon found that they were quite unable to observe the effect of their shells; but soon after noon it cleared up, as Lieutenant-Commander Belt, in command of Number One Squadron, was ordered into action along the road running from Topalul to Ballagestii. He found that the enemy was leaving nothing to chance; first there was a forest of barbed wire entanglements, then another forest fifty yards behind the first, then the first line trenches fifty yards behind that, and then the second line trenches fifty yards behind the first line.

 

The road along which the cars had to advance to the attack was no road at all, but just an unmetalled track running through cultivated fields. The ground on either side of the track was soft and uneven, for, though it had not received any recent ploughing, it was equally unprepared as a terrain for fighting cars. Two Russian cars of powerful build, carrying two maxim guns each, had joined the British squadron, and when they were ordered to attack the enemy's trenches, they went full speed along the track right up to the barbed wire. They then conceived the idea of turning off the track and running along the barbed wire, so as to enfilade the trenches all along the sector. It was a bold scheme, but it failed to take into account the factor of specific gravity. An armoured car is no fairy with light fantastic toes to trip nimbly over arable land. They had no sooner left the track than they found themselves firmly embedded in the soft ground, with their flanks almost touching the barbed wire, and infuriated Bulgarians expressing their indignation by means of a hot fusillade.

 

Then came a telephone message from the Russian observation post, ordering one of our light “Lanchester“ cars to go in to support the Russian cars, and incidentally to assist the Russian infantry in launching an attack. Lieutenant-Commander Belt sent Sub-Lieutenant Lefroy, accompanied as usual by a motor cyclist, whose job it was to watch the progress of events, and bring back reports from time to time. Now, the ordinary practice when going into action is to turn the car at a respectful distance from the enemy's lines, reverse the engine, and approach stern first towards the enemy. This is a fairly simple operation on a metalled road, but when there is no road worthy of the name, the whole science of fighting an armoured car has to be reconsidered. Unfortunately, there was no time to work out the problem, for the Russian infantry were waiting to advance, and Lefroy's main purpose was to lead the way for them. He proceeded up the track to the enemy's first line, the Russian infantry followed, and the great push had begun.

 

When he had approached within a few yards of the barbed wire, he decided that it was high time to carry out the ordinary manoeuvre of reversing the engine, and advancing stern first. But, first of all, he had to turn the car round. Turning a heavy car on a narrow farm-track is no easy operation under the best of circumstances, and when rifles, machine guns, and artillery are devoting the main share of their attention to frustrating the effort, it becomes a decidedly ticklish job. He had put the lever over to the lowest speed when, as ill luck would have it, a shell exploded underneath the car and jambed the speed-gear, so that he was doomed to stick to his lowest speed until he could get back to the repair shop. Meanwhile his wheels were steadily subsiding into the soft earth, and the enemy was making things so uncomfortably warm for him that he had no alternative but to try and get out of his tight corner. Luckily, he managed to extricate his wheels, but he did not enjoy the journey home at the speed of a perambulator pushed by a superannuated nursemaid suffering from rheumatism, and with high explosive shells following him steadily all the way.

 

Next, Lieutenant Walford was sent into action with another light “Lanchester.” By this time the enemy had made up their minds that they did not like armoured cars, and had become obsessed with the idea that if their rifles and machine-guns could only pour enough lead into the brutes, they would become discouraged and retire gracefully from the action. This theory suited the Russian infantry admirably, for it enabled them to advance under far pleasanter conditions than they had anticipated. When Walford got within forty yards of the stranded Russian cars, the patter of the bullets on his armour plating grew louder and louder; but an armoured car does not worry much about bullets, so long as they do not come through the loopholes. The trouble was that they split into fragments, and the fragments caused a kind of mist, so that the driver of the car could not see the track in front of him. In trying to turn he did just the same thing as Lefroy had already done before him - got his wheels stuck in the soft earth at the side of the track. He succeeded, however, eventually in getting round, and then the maxim in the car opened fire on the enemy, doing considerable damage at that close range, until a bullet came through a loophole and punctured the maxim's water-casing, which keeps the gun cool. This effectually put the gun out of action, and there was nothing for it but to take the car back to safety. It is regrettable to have to record that the personal beauty of Lieutenant Walford and of the driver of his car were completely spoiled for the time being by the nickel splashes of the enemy's bullets. These had found their way into the car, and dug themselves into the faces of its occupants, until they looked like the masterpieces of a post-impressionist artist.

 

Meanwhile the two Russian cars were hopelessly stuck, and were being subjected to a terrible fire from rifles, machine-guns, and artillery, so Lieutenant Commander Belt himself went to the rescue. He had exactly the same experience as his predecessors when he tried to turn his car, and for nearly a quarter of an hour he remained with the front wheels of his car deeply embedded in the mud.

“If I was to tighten up the gears a bit,” suggested the driver, “I think we might get her to move.”

So he got to work with a screw-driver, while the enemy got to work with artillery, maxims, and rifles, and concentrated everything they could bring to bear on the car. At last, with a series of protesting snorts and vigorous jerks, she began to move. By this time it was quite dark, and moreover the road had become pitted with shell-holes, so that the journey home promised plenty of excitement. But there were the two derelict Russian cars lying a few yards away shrouded in gloom, and the thought of leaving them to their fate was not an easy one. There are times when it requires more courage to avoid a danger than to run into one, and this was just one of those occasions. Lieutenant-Commander Belt knew that the result of any further attempt to rescue the Russian cars would be that the enemy would be able to rejoice over three derelicts instead of two, so he braced himself up to the decision that there was no alternative but to cut the loss. On his way back through the dark he met another “Lanchester,” coming to the rescue, but this too he ordered to return, for he knew it could do no good. It afterwards transpired that three of the crew of the first Russian car were killed by a shell, and that the remainder were badly wounded, but managed to escape in the dark, as also did the crew of the second Russian car. The two cars had to be destroyed by the Russian artillery.

 

Such is the record of the first day's fighting, so far as the armoured cars were concerned in it. It must be put to their credit that, by causing the enemy to concentrate his fire upon them, they had enabled the Russian infantry to capture a hill on the left flank, and to get a footing on another hill on the right flank near the river. This was something to the good, but it was already becoming painfully obvious that the enemy were fully prepared, and that ground could only be gained from them by means of a ding-dong struggle. All through the night the Russian infantry pressed forward the attack, but only at the cost of heavy losses, which made General Sirelius parody the great Augustus, exclaiming, “Varus, Varus, give me back my reserves.” The truth of the matter was that the breakdown of the Roumanian forces defending Bucharest had placed the Russian army in the Dobrudsha in a most unenviable position, and had completely ruined the chances of a successful counter-attack against Mackensen.

 

All next day (1st December) the fighting continued, and again the armoured cars did valuable work. No more Russian cars were available, but the British cars kept on running through heavy fire right up to the enemy's trenches, pouring a hot fusillade into them, and running back again before the artillery could get their range correctly. For two solid miles each way they had to run the gauntlet of bullets and shells, and the enemy never left them in any doubt as to the opinions he entertained about them, for he devoted all the best of his energies in their direction. On one occasion, when Lieutenant Crossing had brought his car within 300 yards of the enemy, he noticed that a Russian shell had made a neat gap through the parapet, exposing to view a large number of fleeing Bulgarians. He immediately switched his machine-gun on to them, and got through two belts of ammunition before the high explosive shells began to fall uncomfortably close to him.

 

So far the attack had been pressed mainly from Topalul in the direction of Ballagestii, and, though the Russian infantry had advanced without hesitation, they had gained but little ground, and that little had been very expensive in casualties. In fact, what reserves had been left to General Sirelius were now all used up, and by the end of the second day's fighting the whole Corps was so thoroughly worn out that there was a grave danger that a counterattack on the part of the enemy might prove too strong to be resisted by tired and dispirited troops. When day dawned on 2nd December the situation had become critical.

 

At 9 o'clock in the morning Commander Gregory was requested by the Russian Staff to send two ears into action, and he promptly complied with the request. But the cars went into action alone, unsupported by the Russian infantry, who made no attempt to advance. The bitter truth was that they were in no fit condition to advance, and the sending of the cars into action was merely a device to deceive the enemy into thinking that the push was still in progress. It was a vital necessity to conceal the fact that the Russian troops were so badly in need of rest and recuperation that a counter-attack on the enemy's part would find them incapable of adequate resistance. For nearly two hours the cars of Lieutenant Walford and Sub-Lieutenant Gawler carried on this pseudo-attack against General Mackensen's army, dodging up and down the road to keep the hostile artillery from finding the correct range, and pouring many hundred rounds of ammunition into the Bulgarian trenches. The notion of two armoured cars fighting an army has something of the farcical about it, which must have appealed strongly to the British sense of humour. The strange part of it is that the ruse succeeded, and on that part of the line the enemy attempted no counter-attack, but patiently waited to see what was going to happen next.

 

It was in the direction of Panteleimon that the counter-attack was made, and there Lieutenant Commander Wells Hood with his squadron had been standing by for orders during the past two days. On 2nd December the enemy commenced an attack in strong force, and immediately the cars were ordered to proceed along the road between Panteleimon and Saragea to meet the attack. There were three of them, and they went into action at intervals of 150 yards along the road, Lieutenant-Commander Wells Hood leading. They soon came under heavy shellfire, and when they were about half-way to Saragea the rifles and machine-guns opened fire on them. The leading car was only 60 yards from the Bulgarian trenches when the enemy were seen to be advancing in open formation - a long line of Bulgarian infantry coming forward at the double. The range was 400 yards, and the maxim in the car soon began to make appreciable gaps in the line. But the moral effect of an armoured car is even greater than the material damage it can inflict; it is always a nasty job to attack an object which is impervious to rifle-fire, while it is pumping out hot lead faster than a street-corner orator can pump out hot air. The Bulgarian infantry dropped back into their trenches, and the maxim pumped another 500 rounds into them there, just to show them that there was no scarcity of ammunition, in case they should care to make another effort.

 

The next manoeuvre was to turn the car round, and to reverse towards the enemy, so as to get near enough to enfilade the trenches. There was an ulterior object in this manoeuvre, for the hostile artillery had found the range of the ear, and shells were falling too close to be pleasant. If the car could only get close enough to the Bulgarian trenches, the artillery would be forced to discontinue their attack, for fear of hitting their own men. Such at least was the theory, but in practice it did not prove successful. The artillery shortened their range, pursuing the car relentlessly, until it became obvious that the new position was untenable. When the car started forward again the engine suddenly stopped, and it was discovered that the pressure petrol tank had been pierced in two places by bullets. This was an awkward predicament at such a juncture, when the car was within a few yards of the enemy's trenches. But the driver treated it as though it was all in the day's work, and promptly switched on to his gravity spare tank. The next problem was how to start her up again, and this was solved by the gunner. Chief Petty Officer Vaughan, who, without a moment's hesitation, jumped out of the car, started her up, and jumped in again, before any Bulgarian sniper had time to realise his chance. So they successfully got back to Panteleimon, where they filled up with water, repaired the petrol tank, and took a fresh supply of ammunition aboard.

 

Meanwhile the two other cars were not enjoying life quite so whole-heartedly. Lieutenant Mitchell's car was about 40 yards from the road on the left-hand side, and there it seemed to be stuck. It had been noticed that the gun was at its extreme elevation, and that three of the crew were outside the car, but what they were doing, or trying to do, was not clear. The third car, commanded by Lieutenant Ingle, was also on the left hand side of the road, about 400 yards from it, and only a few yards from the Bulgarian trenches. This car also seemed to be stuck. The history of its exploits was not known until the next day, but it will be convenient to relate them here.

 

The car had run very nicely until it was traversing No Man's Land, when the soft wet earth clogged the wheels badly, with the result that the engine stopped at a spot uncomfortably close to the enemy. Lieutenant Ingle jumped out, and started her up, but after a few yards she stopped again. Again Lieutenant Ingle risked the chance of stopping a bullet, and started her up once more, but the result was just the same; she stopped after a few spasms. Lieutenant Ingle was indefatigable; for the third time he tried to start her up, and, in doing so, became a handy target for some Bulgarian sniper. A bullet struck him just above the knee, breaking his leg, and at the same moment the enemy's artillery began to drop shells in the vicinity. He rolled into a trench close to the car, and ordered his men to do the same. It was a lucky chance that he did so, for immediately afterwards a shell hit the car, twisting the turret beyond recognition, and carrying away the waterjacket of the maxim. Strangely enough, however, it did very little damage to the engine.

 

So there were the whole of the crew hiding in a trench on the wrong side of No Man's Land, and the next thing to happen was a Bulgarian advance which swept right over them, Some Bulgarian soldiers presently came up to them, and intimated that they were prisoners, and must march to the rear of the Bulgarian lines. Then they grasped the fact that Lieutenant Ingle was wounded, and could not march, so they solemnly went through the motions of carrying a man on a stretcher, to indicate that they were going back to fetch one. By this time it was quite dark, and when Lieutenant Ingle was left alone to think things out, he came to the conclusion that he did not want to become a prisoner of war. Slowly and painfully he started to crawl out of the trench towards the Russian lines. He knew that many hours of darkness lay before him, and that if he could only traverse the distance before his strength failed, he ran a very good chance of getting through without being detected. That crawl lasted exactly twelve hours - twelve weary hours on all fours with one of them broken. At daybreak some Russian soldiers in their trenches saw a British naval officer lying on the other side of the parapet, and dragged him into safety. Then they got a stretcher and took him to the hospital at Panteleimon.

 

In the meantime things had been happening all round Lieutenant Ingle, in which he would have been keenly interested under happier circumstances. As soon as night had fallen the Russians had counterattacked, and had succeeded in driving back the Bulgarians for 300 yards. This again brought our cars within the Russian lines, and it only remained to send a party of men and horses to tow them out of the mud. It was not an easy operation in the dark, especially when Bulgarian snipers discovered what was happening; but both cars were successfully recovered, and those who worked hard and risked much to recover them had their reward, when they saw an enemy communiqué reporting the capture of two British armoured cars. It was the main feature in the communiqué, for both Germans and Bulgarians had an unreasoning prejudice against the cars, and hailed their capture in grandiloquent phrases; nor did they take the trouble to issue an amended statement, when they found that they had been counting unhatched chickens.

 

Of the crews of these two cars it is regrettable that all except Lieutenant Ingle were taken prisoners, but it is some consolation to know that the work of the three cars between Panteleimon and Saragea had most important results, and that official information was forwarded to the commanding officer of the Armoured Car Force to the effect that, had it not been for the three cars operating at this point, the Russian trenches would have been captured, and the line broken. General Sirelius took the trouble to write an autograph letter of thanks to the officers and men of the force, in which he referred to their “brave and unselfish work during the battle,” and regretted that it had entailed such heavy losses upon them.

 

The battle was over, and the result was profoundly unsatisfactory. It may have produced a diversion, which for the moment relieved the pressure on Bucharest, but the original objective of a sweep through the Dobrudsha between the Danube and the Black Sea down to Cernavoda had faded away like a dream, leaving only the consciousness of a heavy casualty list, and a general feeling of depression. The cars returned to Hirsova, where the repair staff got to work on them at once, anticipating that it would not be long before they were wanted again. In fact, the general had applied for permission to retain them with his division, and had intimated that he hoped shortly to renew the operations.

 

No account of the battle of Topalul would be complete without mentioning the work of the medical staff attached to the British armoured cars. Staff-Surgeon G. B. Scott was in command of them, and at once placed all his resources at the disposal of the Russian Senior Medical Officer. He sent Surgeon Glegg with two sick berth ratings and an ambulance to Panteleimon, while he and Surgeon Maitland Scott, with the rest of the staff, attached themselves to the hospital at Topalul. At six o'clock in the evening of 30th November the Russian wounded began to arrive, and continued in a steady stream until three o'clock the next morning. There was only one Russian officer capable of performing operations, and before many hours he was completely worn out. He appealed to the two British doctors to take over all the operating work, and this they did cheerfully, carrying on until 4 a.m., when they finished for the night and turned in.

 

On 1st December Staff-Surgeon Scott was aroused early in the morning by the Russian S.M.O., who had a new problem to present. One day's fighting had filled the hospital, and the battle was to continue. The question was, how to get the cases removed to a place of safety. The only medical transport the Russians possessed was a lot of horse-drawn carts, which were very slow and of small capacity. The only possible solution of the problem was to borrow some of the transport lorries of the Armoured Car Force, and convert them into ambulances. Commander Gregory agreed to lend the lorries for this purpose, and in a very short time some of the ratings belonging to the force were busy fitting them up with naval cots and spare stretchers, and covering the floor with loose straw. By eight o'clock in the morning the fleet of improvised ambulances was not only ready for service but was loaded up with 116 wounded men, and off they went on the road to Chisdarestii, where the cases were to be placed on barges and taken down the river to the base.

 

It is astonishing to find how little sleep a man requires when necessity compels him to keep awake. The two naval doctors had been busy with operations until 4 a.m., but at 8 a.m. they were on their way to Chisdarestii with the new British medical transport section that had been improvised within the last hour. It is equally astonishing to find what versatility there is in the average man, when occasion calls for it. Before long Staff-Surgeon Scott and his staff found themselves playing the role of road-makers, for there was one spot between Topalul and Chisdarestii where the road was quite impassable by motor traffic. Fortunately Staff-Surgeon Scott had anticipated this, and had armed all the drivers and spare drivers with picks and spades. By picking away the road in places where there was more than enough of it, and transferring it to places where there was a great deal too little, they made quite a decent road, and all in the space of half an hour. At Chisdarestii they put all the wounded men safely on board the barges, and then went back for another load. The second trip removed 84 men to safety, making a total of 200 for the morning's work. And then the two doctors went back to the hospital, starting in again at 10 a.m. with the routine work.

 

On this day (1st December) they were able to get to bed at midnight, and it requires no great effort to believe that they slept soundly. But they were up again early next morning for more transport work, and they took another 300 cases to Chisdarestii before they resumed the professional work at the hospital  - again at 10 a.m. Three o'clock had struck on the morning of 3rd December before they were able to turn in, but they did so with thankfullness in their hearts, for they knew that the fighting was over for the time being, and they had been able to get through three days of stress without any breakdown or serious hitch in the medical organisation. On turning out they performed an abdominal operation on a case, who had been brought in during the small hours, and then accompanied the heavy lorries with another batch of cases to Chisdarestii, taking fifty of them all the way to Hirsova to relieve the pressure on the barges. The lighter lorries could no longer be used because the road had become too bad. At Hirsova they found Lieutenant Ingle, sent there from Panteleimon, and they set his broken leg. In spite of the assistance rendered by the British motor-lorries, it was found impossible to provide all the wounded Russians with transport, and large numbers of lightly wounded men had to tramp the ten miles to Chisdarestii.

 

Staff-Surgeon Scott mentions that at Topalul he and his stall were treated with the utmost kindness by the Russian Senior Medical Officers and staff. The modesty of this statement is admirable, but one is left wondering where the Russian medical arrangements would have been without the fortuitous assistance of the medical unit provided by the British Navy. During the whole period of the battle the two doctors and their staff of sick berth ratings had worked almost day and night, and by their energy and resource in making use of the transport lorries they had averted the catastrophe of a hopeless congestion at the field hospital. It had been a period of gloom and depression for the allied forces, but the devotion to duty of these officers and men, and the unflinching courage of the combatants, both Russian and English, endow the battle of Topalul with a shining ray of light. It is the courage which "mounteth with occasion", that is the best brand of all.

 

 

 

CHAPTER XV

 

THE RETREAT FROM THE DOBRUDSHA

 

(click map to enlarge)

 

Those were dark days for Roumania in December 1916, when Mackensen's giant strides had rushed an army through the Dobrudsha, while on the other side of the Danube the Austro-German forces were steadily closing on Bucharest. It is not for me to try and fix the responsibility for her misfortunes, even if it were possible to do so from the mass of conflicting accounts which have emanated from various eye-witnesses; but a warning may not be amiss that all such accounts must be received with caution. When things are going wrong, everybody blames everybody else; such is human nature. A distraught staff officer eases his mind with a few forcible expressions about the regimental officers, while the regimental officers are equally eloquent about the staff officers; and the General sends for his Chief of Staff in order to blow off steam about the War Office and the Government - all in the strictest confidence. When two nations, very wide apart in race and national characteristics, join hands for the purpose of waging war, and when, moreover, the alliance is based, not upon an old-established friendship, but upon political expediency, it would be strange if, in the hour of disaster, each did not ascribe the chief share of the blame to the other.

 

In the Dobrudsha a Russian army had been striving to stem the tide of Mackensen's onslaught, and had even attempted a counter-attack to push him back beyond the Cernavoda Bridge. But on the eve of that counter-attack all the reserves had been hastily snatched away from General Sirelius, and thrust across the Danube in a desperate effort to save the Roumanian army which was defending Bucharest. The counter-attack was a failure in all except the spirit shown by the Russian troops, who throughout the battle of Topalul were faced by greatly superior artillery, and except the courageous efforts made by the British armoured cars. If bravery alone could win battles, Mackensen's army would have suffered a heavy defeat that day, but unfortunately in modern warfare a great deal more than the soldiers' heroism is required to gain success. The fighting quality of every individual man may count in the long run, but, however brilliant it may be, it is of no avail if the great machine behind it is faulty.

 

So the Russian army in the Dobrudsha, denuded of its reserves, failed to drive back the enemy, and was on the point of sitting down to recover its breath, when the news came through that Bucharest had fallen. It was a staggering blow, not only on account of its political aspect, but also because it exposed the flank of the Dobrudsha army. It must be remembered that General Sirehus had been asked to make his great effort at Topalul before fresh reserves had had time to reach him, in order to cause a diversion, and so relieve the pressure on the Roumanian army before Bucharest. The fall of the capital, therefore, added another failure to the list of those objectives which he had attempted to secure. Moreover, it placed his army in serious jeopardy. The general, however, had no such word as "panic“ in his vocabulary; he immediately sought some means of putting heart into his dispirited troops, and his mind, surveying the events of the past few days, lingered over the work of the British armoured cars.

“Give me the list of those Englishmen in the cars who have been recommended for decorations,” he said to his aide-de-camp. The list was handed to him, and he ran his eye down the sheet. “Tell the Chief of Staff that I want a full parade of the division to-morrow morning,” he said, “and send a note to Commander Gregory to tell him that I want to see these men there.”

On 7th December 1916 the general presented the crosses and medals of St. George to the men of the British armoured cars before a full muster of his troops, and when the presentation was over he made a little speech to thank them for what they had done. Then he turned to his troops and told them about the work of the armoured cars.

“On 2nd December,” he said, “the enemy's forces made a strong counter-attack on our left flank at Panteleimon. It was a critical moment, for I had no reserves available, and if the enemy had broken through our line, it is impossible to say what might not have happened. It was then that the squadron of British armoured cars, under Lieutenant-Commander Wells Hood, went right beyond our first line and poured into the advancing infantry of the Bulgarians such a heavy fire that they were obliged to get back into their trenches. Their counter-attack was broken up, and our lines were saved. That was at Panteleimon. At Topalul our English comrades were performing similar feats. Bulgarian prisoners who have been brought in declare that no less than half their casualties have been due to the fire of the armoured cars.”

This parade was held near Braila, on the left bank of the Danube, where the railway from Bucharest into Southern Russia begins to skirt the river. The place was in a state of hopeless confusion, for Roumanian fugitives, both soldiers and civilians, were streaming through it, so that the railway and the roads were blocked by them, and only the river was left to the Russians as a line of communication. Here Commander Gregory received orders from the staff that the armoured cars were to cover the right flank of the army during its retreat from the Dobrudsha, and with these orders he hastened back to Hirsova, where his force was carrying out a hurried refit.

 

During his absence at Braila he had left Lieutenant Commander Belt in charge, and this officer had been informed by General Sirelius that Hirsova was liable to be attacked by the enemy at any moment, and that he had better make all preparations for removing the cars and their gear down the river. The advice was doubtless excellent, but how to act upon it was a problem. The quay was in a state of indescribable chaos; all the barges alongside it were thronged with soldiers and civilians, every man of them bent upon his own aims; the soldiers were loading up military stores, and the civilians were struggling to evacuate as much as they could of their household furniture and stock-in-trade. There was no one in authority to procure any semblance of order, and consequently every one was getting in every one else's way, so that none were making much progress with the work. Lieutenant-Commander Belt saw at once that drastic measures were necessary, if the property of the Armoured Car Force was to be saved. He obtained the necessary sanction to commandeer a couple of barges, and, accompanied by an armed guard, he went down to the quay and commenced to load up all the heavier cars, the damaged cars, transport cars, spare stores and ammunition, and finally the sick men and those of the force who would not immediately be required. This left a squadron of light fighting cars, a few transport ears for supply, and a sufficient number of men for present needs.

 

The mobile force, which was thus reserved, was intended for the defence of Hirsova. There was some danger that Austrian monitors might come down the Danube and attack the town during the evacuation, and in that case the armoured cars would offer the best form of rear-guard on account of their mobility. As things turned out, however, the monitors neglected their opportunity, and, when all the inhabitants and all the troops had made good their retreat, the armoured cars received orders that they could leave the place to its fate.

 

Rain had been falling steadily for several days past, and consequently the roads were in a more horrible condition than usual. Commander Gregory had taken the precaution of reconnoitring them, in order to ascertain which of them offered some possibility of escape, and the result of the reconnaissance was that they had all been placed upon the black list with the exception of the road running eastwards to Alebei Chioi. Thither they started oil at daybreak on 14th December, and a tedious journey they found it. Every now and then they came across a hole in the road big enough to swallow a pantechnicon, and covered over with an unappetising mixture of mud and water about as thick as pea soup. The forty odd miles occupied the whole of the day, and some strong language was heard on the road from Hirsova to Alebei Chioi. By the time they reached their destination they all felt quite ready for a nice hot supper followed by bed; but when the sailor goes a-soldiering he learns, among other things, that nice hot suppers and beds are not always to be picked up when they are wanted. It is no longer a case of going below to the mess deck and sitting down at a nice clean table, while the mess cook brings something fragrant and steaming from the galley; but he has to suffer an introduction to the mysteries of the commissariat and the field kitchen, and the hunt for billets.

 

At Alebei Chioi the village was under Roumanian control, and, to make matters worse, it was full of Austrian prisoners. For some time the men of the armoured cars could find no accommodation at all, and when at last they tumbled into some kind of a place with a roof to it - well, it is best not to go into details. Suffice it to say. that previous occupants had negligently left a few little things behind them. Of course it was inevitable that one of these desirable residences should be christened the Ritz, and another should become known as the Carlton. That is where the Britisher scores every time over the Hun and most of the other tribes of the earth - his sense of humour never fails him. In such quarters they spent the next two days, and then came an order from General Sirelius that they should proceed at once to Braila, there to fill in an ugly gap in the Russian lines, which was threatening to grow wider at any moment. Just as they were about to start in the early morning, the clattering of a horse's hoofs was heard coming up the road, and a mounted orderly drew rein in front of them. He had ridden in hot haste with an urgent message from the general: “The enemy has broken through the lines in two places during the night. Dobrudsha army in full retreat. Cancel all previous orders, and proceed without delay to Tulscha. Two barges will be sent there to meet you, and bring you up the river.”

 

So the Dobrudsha was to be resigned to the enemy, and the last flickering hope that it might be held until sufficient force could be collected to drive Mackensen southward, had died out. At Tulscha they found another scene of wild confusion, consequent upon an order to evacuate the place within forty-eight hours. There were no other means of retreat than by boat or barge up the Danube, or by road to Isakcha, where there was a pontoon bridge across the river. Needless to say, the more favoured of these two routes was the river, and consequently all floating craft was in great demand. The two barges referred to in the general's despatch were either mythical, or had been commandeered long ago by some distraught army officer, who was not likely to have made particular enquiries as to whether they were intended for some one else. After many hours, Commander Gregory succeeded in securing the whole of one barge to take the armoured cars to Reni, and half of another to take the lorries, stores, ammunition, and provisions to Ismail. He had just completed this arrangement, when a new problem was suddenly brought to his notice.

“How about the nurses of the Scottish Women's Hospital?“

This hospital had sent a unit to accompany a Serbian division fighting in Roumania. The division had been badly cut up, and very little was left of it, but the ladies of the Scottish Hospital had remained to carry on their good work, and found more than enough occupation in ministering to the soldiers of the Russian Army. They had recently been stationed at Braila, where some 8,000 wounded soldiers had been collected from the scenes of fighting on the Bucharest side of the Danube. And now they were lending their aid to the Russian medical units attached to the Dobrudsha army.

 

The problem of their evacuation from Tulscha was solved by invoking the aid of Sub-Lieutenant Turner, who proudly escorted his charge on board a barge, and, having signed a receipt for them and for the heavy transport lorries, which were also placed under his charge, he shoved off en route for Ismail, whence they were to proceed to Bolgrad. The light transport cars were taken by Lieutenant-Commander Belt along the road to Isakcha, and over the pontoon bridge to Bolgrad. The fighting cars went by barge with Commander Gregory to Reni. Thus, by a process of devolving his responsibilities, the commanding officer succeeded in shaking the chaotic dust of Tulscha from his feet.

 

The story of the fighting cars is the one which most concerns us at the moment, for the adventures of the transport lorries and the nurses belong to other realms than those of naval operations. When the cars reached Reni, they were so badly shaken by the rough roads they had traversed in the Dobrudsha that they had to be handed over to the repair stall for a hurried refit. It was fortunate that just at this time some extra cars arrived by train from Archangel, brand new from England. For the 4th Siberian Corps at Braila were sending S.O.S. signals, of which the burden ran, “For Heaven's sake send us some of the British armoured cars.” Now there was a liaison officer attached to the force, and there was also at Reni an officer belonging to the Russian armoured cars. With these Commander Gregory consulted as to the prospects of armoured car operations in the vicinity of Braila. Their advice was the same as that of Punch to young persons about to get married - Don't.”

“The roads round Braila,” they said, “are quite impossible for armoured cars. If you send those nice new cars of yours there you will lose them. The best thing you can do is to take the whole of your force to Odessa, and there wait upon events. That is what the Russian armoured cars are going to do.”

But Commander Gregory was as obdurate as are most of the young people to whom Punch offered his advice.

“You see, it's this way,” he said. “We were sent out here as a fighting force, and the first duty of a fighting force is to fight. I say nothing against Odessa as a delectable place for a rest cure, but it is not the kind of place for a fighting force, not at present. And if all the Russian armoured cars are going there, that seems to me an excellent reason why the British cars should stay within easy reach of the firing-line.”

Of course he put it more politely than this, but he left no doubt as to the state of his mind on the subject. So the Russian cars went to Odessa, and the British cars remained at Reni, except a special flying squadron which was sent under the command of Lieutenant Smiles to Braila. The story of the achievements of this squadron is told in another chapter.

 

On 21st December the town of Tulscha fell into the hands of the enemy, and from that moment the Danube Army ceased to exist. In its stead a new army was formed under the title of the Sixth Army, and to this the British armoured cars were now attached. Commander Gregory, after conferring with Headquarters, decided to collect all the remainder of his force at Galatz, where they would be within call of the Army based on Braila if any urgent need for their assistance should arise. In making this decision he knew that he was incurring considerable risk, for, in the event of a sudden retreat, it was very doubtful whether he would be able to extricate his force. There were no adequate roads behind Galatz leading to the rear; the railway was blocked with Roumanian refugees, while the stretch of river between Galatz and Reni was likely to be commanded before long by the enemy's artillery. On the other hand, there was the prestige of British arms to be considered, and this consideration was enough in itself to determine him to remain near the firing-line up to the last possible moment.

 

The repair staff, by working night and day, had made every one of the lighting cars fit for immediate service, when they were placed on a barge and taken up to Galatz. There they were joined by the light transport cars, brought from Bolgrad by Lieutenant Commander Belt, after some minor adventures with an Austrian aeroplane near the demolished pontoon bridge at Isakcha. The heavy transport lorries also found their way to Galatz, and so did the doctors and nurses of the Scottish Women's Hospital. In fact, none of the British contingent found the charms of Odessa powerful enough to entice them from the vicinity of the firing-line.

 

Of the formation of a second special squadron under Lieutenant-Commander Wells Hood, to operate in the neighbourhood of Tudor Vladimireseu, not much need be said, for the roads there were found to be quite impossible for armoured cars. The squadron left Galatz in a blinding blizzard, lost their way several times, eventually arriving at Tudor, where they reconnoitred the roads in several directions, but were obliged to condemn them all. They had considerable difficulty in getting back to Galatz again, for the main road was being continually cut up by heavy artillery retreating eastwards.

 

The next event was the decision to evacuate Braila, the base from which Lieutenant Smiles's squadron was operating, and Commander Gregory therefore sent a telegram to recall him. But late in the evening of New Year's Day an urgent message came through from General Sirelius, begging that the squadron might remain with him, and undertaking to place at their disposal a special train to take them from Braila to Galatz at the last moment.

“The cars,” he said, “have established such an ascendency over the enemy that he never attacks when they are present, knowing that he is sure to suffer heavy losses by doing so, and, moreover, the cars produce a great moral effect upon my own men, which is invaluable to me at this critical juncture.”

So Commander Gregory cancelled the order recalling Lieutenant Smiles, sent him two new cars to take the place of two which had been damaged in the fighting, gave him a fresh supply of ammunition, and wired to the general that the squadron was to remain at his service.

 

From the quayside at Galatz they could see a fierce battle raging in the Dobrudsha - the last desperate effort to contest Mackensen's advance. Far and wide across the long stretch of flat country great fountains of smoke kept on shooting up into the sky, and mingling with the river mists, while the bursts of the shells gave a lurid tinge of red to the overhanging pall. As a spectacle it was magnificent, but to the watchers at Galatz it was all too evident that the Russian artillery was no match for that of the enemy, and that the Russian infantry was everywhere being driven back by superior numbers. In the evening of 2nd January Matchin - the last town in the Dobrudsha - fell into the enemy's hands, and nothing now remained but to extricate the Russian troops by withdrawing them across the river.

 

It is a curious illustration of the uncertainties of war that on that very morning the General commanding in the Dobrudsha had actually been contemplating an offensive, and three cars belonging to Lieutenant Smiles' s squadron had been sent across the Danube in the afternoon to assist the attack. When they arrived, however, the whole situation had changed; the Russians had been shelled out of their positions, and, instead of expecting to advance, the general was now wondering whether he could get his forces out of the tight corner in which they were placed. The three cars proceeded to a position 400 yards in advance of the Russian lines, and did not drop back until the evening. One car developed engine trouble, and had to be towed home, while another was ordered to return, as it was a heavy car with a 3-poundcr gun, which could not be used advantageously after dark. This left Sub-Lieutenant Kidd in a light Ford car abreast of the Russian first-line trenches, where he remained after the commanding officer of the Cossacks had announced his intention of retiring the whole force from the trenches.

 

For another quarter of an hour he kept up an intermittent fire on the enemy, while the Russian infantry made good their retreat, and then he slowly followed them - the sole barrier between the Russian forces and Mackenscn's advancing army. A small body of cavalry were just ahead of him, and he followed them slowly towards the pontoon bridge, until he came to the last line of Russian trenches, where he found some infantry in possession but on the point of retiring. He had no definite orders, but he considered that it was his job to see the whole of the Russian army off the premises and over the river before he himself left the Dobrudsha. So he waited for twenty minutes to let the infantry get away, keeping his machine-gun rattling away from time to time at the unseen foe. It was very dark and very foggy, and he could not help speculating upon the chances of running his car into a shell-hole, and so losing it. At last he moved on again, picking his way very cautiously through a thick bank of fog. Presently a voice hailed him through the darkness. It was the Cossack commander, who wanted to thank him for what he had done.

“They're all over the bridge,” he said, “cavalry and all.”

 

“Where is the bridge?“

 

“Here, you've just come to it; and we must hurry up and get across, for our fellows are going to blow it up.”

So Sub-Lieutenant Kidd splashed through the mud on to the pontoon bridge - the very last unit of the allied forces to leave the Dobrudsha. Less than an hour later the bridge was no more.

 

At Galatz there was a scene of bustle and activity, for it was obvious that in a few hours the town would be subjected to bombardment, and all the available barges were being loaded up with stores, ammunition, and everything not immediately required by the defending force. The army from the Dobrudsha had brought with them a large number of sick and wounded, and it was fortunate for these men that the nurses of the Scottish Women's Hospital were at Galatz to receive them. There was also a unit of the British Red Cross Society under Dr. Clemow and Mr. Berry. The former is an English doctor who has spent many years of his life at Constantinople, and whose intimate knowledge of the Near East and its inhabitants made him a very valuable asset to the medical forces in Roumania. All the nurses stoutly refused to leave Galatz until the last possible moment, and the Russian staff, finding that neither argument nor entreaty produced the least impression, besought Commander Gregory to intervene. He effected a compromise by persuading them to transfer their hospital to a big barge, where they could carry on with their work, and then shove off at once when the first shells began to fall on the town.

 

Here are a few extracts from letters received from some of the nurses.

“Commander Gregory of the British Armoured Car Corps sent down a message to say that in the last resort he would see us out, so we were able to work with quiet minds. We owe a great debt to Mr. Scott, surgeon to the British Armoured Car Corps, who asked us if he could be of any use. I sent back a message to say that we should be most grateful, and he worked with us without a break until we evacuated. He has just pointed out to me that we operated for thirty-six hours on end the first day, with three hours break in the early hours of the morning, and, as we had been working twenty-four hours before that - admitting patients, bathing, and dressing them - you can imagine what a time we had. Dr. Corbett has also been calculating, and she says we worked sixty-five hours on end with two breaks of three hours' sleep. We came out of it very fit - thanks to the kitchen.

“A Roumanian officer talked to me about Glasgow, where he had once been, and had been 'invited out to dinner, so he had seen the English custims.' It was good to feel those 'English custims' were still going quietly on, whatever was happening here - breakfasts coming regularly, and hot water for baths, and everything as it should be. It was probably absurd, but it came like a great wave of comfort to feel that England was there - quiet, strong, and invincible behind everything and everybody.”

Yes, England was there, to stand by Roumania in her hour of trial, even as she had stood by Serbia; even as she had shared in the retreat from Mons, and more recently in the retreat from the Isonzo. Since the war began England has always been there, in every part of the world where fighting was to be done - in the conquest of the Cameroons, of East Africa, of South-West Africa, in the advance across the plains of Mesopotamia, and over the hills of Palestine. Sometimes alone and sometimes aided by her Allies, wherever the guns have been fired in anger, by sea or by land, England has been there.

 

 

CHAPTER XVI

 

 

THE BATTLE OF VIZIRUL

 

 

(click map to enlarge) 

 

When Lieutenant Smiles left Reni on 21st December 1916, with a party of eight officers, five chief petty officers, and thirty-seven petty officers, forming a special service squadron of armoured cars to assist the 4th Siberian Corps at Braila, the situation had already become critical. Bucharest had fallen, and the Russian Army in the Dobrudsha was being steadily driven back by superior forces, while its right flank was all the time exposed to attack from across the Danube. In fact, it had alreadv been decided that the Dobrudsha must be evacuated, and the next problem was how to extricate the Russian troops on the other side of the river, and bring them back to the line of the Sereth, or any other line which it was possible to hold. One of the virtues of the armoured car is that it can be as serviceable for a retreat as for an attack, its mobility enabling it to harass the advancing enemy up to the last moment, and then make good its escape.

 

Lieutenant Smiles is an Irishman by birth, and has the Irish gift of quick intuition, which is invaluable to one whose responsibilities continually call for promptness of decision. He had served with the armoured cars in France, Belgium, and Persia, and had just recovered from a wound received in the Dobrudsha, but this did not deter him from volunteering to lead the special squadron, which was sent off in a hurry to Braila upon receipt of a message from General Sirelius earnestly soliciting their assistance. He took with him two heavy cars and six light Ford cars, as well as lorries for the transport of ammunition and stores. These all proceeded by barge to Braila, where they were unloaded and prepared for immediate action. The force was then divided into two sections, one going to Movila under the command of Lieutenant Hunter and the other, under Lieutenant Smiles, proceeding to Valea Canepei. It was not long, however, before the squadron was united again, for the roads in the direction of Movila were found to be unfit for armoured cars, and Lieutenant Hunter returned to Braila, proceeding thence to Valea Canepei to rejoin the rest of the squadron.

 

At Valea Canepei General Sirelius greeted the British officers by inviting them all to lunch with him, for he had a warm place in his heart for the armoured cars. The next business was the inspection of the front, which was carried out the same afternoon by Lieutenant Smiles, in company with Lieutenant Edwards and Chief Petty Officer MacFarlane. The Huns must have scented trouble in store for them, for they greeted the trio with an extra dose of shells. Colonel Bolgramo, who was in command of the brigade at that point, conducted the party and showed them all the beauties of the place, including the village of Roobla in the distance, where enemy troops were said to be billeted in large numbers. Lieutenant Smiles called to mind a similar scene somewhere in France, and remembered how the heavy cars there used to wander up towards the enemy's trenches, blaze away with 3-pounder guns at certain objects behind their lines, and then, when the Hun artillery began to fmd the range of them, used to dodge back to safety. He saw a glowing prospect of playing the same kind of game on the road to Roobla.

 

Next day at dawn, Lieutenant Lucas-Shadwell went into action with the “Ulster” heavy car, and started to demolish the village of Roobla. On the east side of the road the houses were stoutly built, and it was said that the enemy had a battery there hidden behind two of the houses, Lucas-Shadwell found the range at 1,200 yards, and blew those two houses into little chunks. Then he turned his attention to the west side of the road, where the houses were more flimsy, and where the troops were supposed to be billeted, and he felt his way systematically up and down the village, firing deliberately and taking careful observation of the fall of the shells. He spent just a quarter of an hour at it, and then, according to orders, brought his car out of action. It was not until he was on his way back that the Hun artillery woke up and started to speed him on his journey. The scouts at the advanced base reported that he had done good execution.

 

Next morning another heavy car, a “Londonderry,” commanded by Sub-Lieutenant Henderson, went into action, while the "Ulster” was held in reserve. The “Londonderry“ is a bit top-heavy, and consequently difficult to steer. Lieutenant Smiles anticipating that there might be trouble with it, came up behind on an ordinary bicycle, which he had borrowed from a Russian officer, and ordered the “Pierce Arrow“ lorry to stand by with a couple of tow-ropes in case of accidents. His orders to Henderson were to bombard Roobla and the roads round about it, not to remain in action more than fifteen minutes, not to attempt to go beyond a certain shell-crater in the road, and, if he got stuck, to fire three rifle-shots in quick succession. The anticipation of trouble was an intelligent one, for the “Londonderry” had no sooner reached the Russian advance post than it slid gracefully into a ditch. Smiles at once cycled back to Vizirul for the “Pierce Arrow“ lorry, at the same time ordering Sub-Lieutenant MacDowall to take the “Ulster” into action.

 

Then came the job of pulling the “Londonderry “out of the ditch. It was rather a long job, and it was not rendered any easier by the enemy's artillery, which always showed a marked partiality for a stationary target in the shape of an armoured car. It should, however, be observed that the artillery was very inferior to that brought against us in the Dobrudsha. The truth of the matter was that the enemy forces closing on Bucharest had moved so rapidly that their heavier pieces were still many miles to the rear. The tow-ropes were attached to the stranded “Londonderry,” and the “Pierce Arrow“ began to haul, but at first no visible impression was produced. Then various devices were tried to ease the path of the sunken wheels. The workers were so much absorbed in their task that they had no time to look round towards the enemy's lines, and worked on in blissful ignorance of the fact that the Bulgarian troops had climbed over their parapet and were advancing steadily towards them. At last, with a squelching sound, as the wheels were drawn out of the mud, the “Londonderry“ began to move, and in a few minutes was on her way along the road towards Vizirul. Less than half an hour later the enemy were in possession of the spot where she had been lying.

 

The “Ulster” returned about the same time, and Lieutenant Smiles called at Colonel Bolgramo's Headquarters for further orders.

“Do you see that long hne of infantry?“ said the colonel, waving his hand towards the enemy. “They are advancing on Vizirul, and, if they take it, Heaven only knows how we shall extricate ourselves. I want you to go at once to the general, and ask leave to send all your cars up to the front lines, for I honestly believe that is the only way of beating off the attack.”

To the general he went, and the order to send up all the cars was confirmed. Henderson, MacDowall, and Lucas-Shad well were sent off post-haste, and Smiles himself followed in a Ford. On his way he saw Colonel Bolgramo at the field telephone, and the colonel signalled to him to stop.

“My fellows have lost terribly,” he said. “They cannot stand much more of it. I want you to go right beyond our barbed wire, and do what you can to check the advance.”

The Ford car used by Lieutenant Smiles was in the nature of an improvisation. The ordinary armoured car had often proved too heavy for its purpose in districts where the so-called roads were little more than cart-tracks. When the force was in Persia they found endless difficulties in getting over the ground where dust a foot deep lay on the tracks, and it was soon driven home to their minds that some lighter form of car was essential in the East. They conceived the idea of converting an ordinary Ford car into an armoured car by rigging steel plates round it, and mounting in it a maxim with a gun-shield. Thus the Ford armoured car came into being, and proved very useful for skirmishing, though of course it could not take the same risks as a “Lanchester“ or any of the heavier cars. It was usually manned by an officer, a driver, and a gunner - sometimes only by driver and gunner, and the latter very often lay on his back, so as to get shelter from the steel plates, and worked his gun in that position.

 

Smiles found that he could not get his car to reverse, and therefore had to go into action forwards. The disadvantage of this is that the car has to be turned round in order to get back again, and on a narrow road turning is not an easy process under any circumstances, and is quite impossible if the car refuses to reverse. There was, however, no choice in the matter, so he went full steam ahead past the line of barbed wire, and was 500 yards beyond it before he stopped. Then he opened fire with his maxim at the advancing Bulgarians and played havoc with them. It is a queer sensation to be stuck out in the midst of No Man's Land, unsupported by friends, and a conspicuous target for foes. It seems that all the rifles, all the machine-guns, and all the artillery the enemy can muster are directed at you and no one else. You seem to be such a landmark for miles round that you start wondering how the Hun's big guns can possibly contrive to miss you. At the same time you experience a kind of exhilaration from the sense of fighting an army single-handed, and the sight of enemy infantry dropping one after another, accompanied by the sound of shells bursting all round you, and the strident ha-ha-ha-ha of your own machine-gun, has a curiously stimulating effect. Life is so full of crowded moments then that you lose count of the passage of time, or rather, you exaggerate the count, and imagine that the space of a few minutes has sent the clock round many hours, for those few minutes contain as much excitement as the majority of people find in a whole life-time. All the same, the officers in command of an armoured car has little opportunity to study these psychological effects, for he has sooner or later to make up his mind upon the chances of receiving a direct hit by a shell. When the artillery has crept up closer and closer, so that the shells begin to straddle him, he knows that the moment has come to get a move on.

 

Now Lieutenant Smiles had gone into action nose forward because he could not get his car to reverse. When he wanted to come out of action, he found that the road was too narrow to turn in, and was bordered on either side by a ditch. But hope springs eternal in the human breast, and he had a vague notion that the old car, which had thrown its hand in when asked to reverse into action, would be so jolly glad to get out of it that it would not only reverse, but would stand on its head if necessary. So he told the driver to try the reversing gear. There was a grunt, a groan, and a squeak; and then silence. The engine had stopped. The silence, of course, was only inside the car; outside it there was plenty of noise, for bullets were whistling and shells were bursting incessantly. Lieutenant Smiles, however, showed no hesitation; he jumped out of the car, seized the handle, started up the engine, and jumped in again.

 

There was just a moment of extreme suspense, when every one inside the car was wondering would she go, or would she not, and then she began to move, slowly and protestingly, but still she moved, and moved backwards. For fifty yards she floundered along the road, with about as much grace as an old sow being pushed through the gate of its sty, and then the engine again stopped dead. Smiles was outside the car in a moment, and was turning the handle vigorously; but the engine made no response to his efforts, and just as the unwelcome truth dawned on him that the car had an unreasonable prejudice against progressing backwards, a bullet caught him in the leg just above the knee. He rolled into the ditch by the side of the road to do a little quiet thinking. Petty Officer Classey put his head out and shouted to him:

“Shall I have a try, sir?“

Leading Petty Officer Graham also put his head out.

“I think I might be able to manage it, sir.”

But Lieutenant Smiles was firm. It was quite useless to start the engine up because it would only stop again; it had consistently refused to work when the reversing gear was applied, and, being an inanimate thing, it could not realise the extreme necessity of overcoming its prejudice. In extenuation of its behaviour it must be observed that all four tyres had been punctured by bullets, and consequently the strain on the engine was considerable even when the car was going forwards. The process of quiet contemplation was not aided by the persistent attentions of the enemy's artillery, which became all the more persistent when it was realised that the car was stuck.

“You fellows had better come and join me in the ditch,” said Lieutenant Smiles; “they'll be scoring a direct hit before long, if they have a decent gunlayer among them.”

The two men jumped out of the car and dropped into the ditch,

“Look here, Graham,” said the officer, “the chances are that some of those Russian sportsmen will be thinking of coming to the rescue. I want you to crawl back along this ditch, get hold of their commanding officer, and ask him, as a special favour, not to let a single Russian soldier risk his life on our account. Tell him that we are all right, and can look out for ourselves.”

So Graham started off towards the Russian lines, keeping himself under cover as far as the depth of the ditch would allow.

“As a matter of fact,” said Smiles, “I see no reason why we shouldn't get out of this mess after dark.”

 

“If we could get space enough,” said Classey, “to turn round without reversing.”

 

“There's only one way, and that is to run her off the road across this ditch, turn round in the field, and then run her back again on to the road.”

 

“I don't see why we shouldn't be able to do it after dark. But, bless my soul, sir, you're bleeding.”

 

“So I am. I stopped one when I was trying to start up the engine - just above the knee. For Heaven's sake, man, keep your head down.”

Petty Officer Classey was too busy rendering first aid to worry about the bullets whistling over his head, and Lieutenant Smiles had to remind him constantly not to expose himself. But he made quite a neat job of the bandage, and when he had finished it the pair of them began a long weary wait for nightfall.

 

The reaction after the excitement of the last quarter of an hour was painful; nothing to do but wait all through the day, remaining in a cramped position in order to secure the shelter of the ditch. At times the artillery did their best to hit the abandoned car, but fortunately they never scored a direct hit. While their efforts lasted, however, they made life very uncomfortable for the two in the ditch, and during the lulls it quite astonished them to find how little a man heeds a perfect tornado of rifle and machine-gun bullets, when he has successfully passed through the ordeal of shell-fire. When darkness had fallen they crawled out of the ditch and into the car, Classey having started up the engine. She bounded forward with a mighty jerk, as though eager to show what she really could do when people did not play silly tricks with the reversing gear. With a mighty lunge she waddled across the ditch by the side of the road, took a short tour round the adjacent field, and then tried to waddle back across the ditch on to the road. The second waddle, however, was not so successful, and it required a good deal of hard shoving to help her up the slope of the ditch. Once on the firm road she was off in a twinkling, and was soon safely back in the village of Vizirul.

 

Meanwhile the other cars of the squadron had been having little adventures all on their own. Lieutenant Shadwell had experienced the same trouble as his leader in getting his car to reverse, but he had taken her right up to the enemy's barbed wire, and done some good execution with his machine-gun. Just as he was withdrawing, a bullet caught him in the neck, causing a nasty wound, which put an end to his activities for the day. MacDowall with his “Ulster“ was one of the first to go into action in the early morning, when there was a heavy mist, which obscured his view of the enemy. Chief Petty Officer MacFarlane and Petty Officer Fear went up the road as scouts, and presently came back with a report that a body of Bulgarian infantry were creeping up towards the car. The crew in the car waited until the Bulgarians were about 150 yards off, and then let drive at them with machine-gun and rifles. This had the effect of thinning the ranks, but not of stopping the rush, and it soon became obvious that they intended to capture the car by storm. Possibly they were not sufficiently conversant with the various breeds of armoured car to know a heavy one from a light one, for when MacFarlane and Fear dropped their rifles and got to work with the 3-pounder, the Bulgarians were completely dismayed. They turned and fled, some of them dropping into a shell-crater about 50 yards up the road from where the car stood, and here the 3-pounder dropped two or three shells into them just to make sure that they would try no more of their storming tactics. The supply of shells was then finished off on the village of Roobla, the road leading to it, and finally into the trenches 1,000 yards away, and then the car came out of action, having suffered no casualties.

 

After a short interval MacDowell went into action again. The enemy were then advancing in rushes against our advanced posts, and at times it looked as though they stood an unpleasantly good chance of breaking through the Russian lines. The car ran up to within 700 yards of the advancing Bulgarians and started pumping lead into them as hard as it could, which had the effect of checking the advance for the time being, and of compelling the enemy to dig themselves in. Unfortunately it is not possible for an armoured car to carry any large stock of 3-pounder ammunition, and so it behoves its occupants to use their shells sparingly, reserving fire until they see a group of three or four of the enemy together. After two hours steady pummelling of the Bulgarian infantry, the car had to withdraw for more ammunition, but it went back into action almost immediately and contrived to remain in action for the next five hours until darkness began to fall. To the enemy it must have been a constant source of annoyance, for the troops had no inclination to advance against shell-fire at point-blank range, and wherever the armoured cars were operating the enemy's offensive was completely held up.

 

Lieutenant Henderson had the "Londonderry” car in which he took up his station near the entrance to Vizirul village, and steadily shelled the enemy from half-past nine in the morning until two o'clock in the afternoon. He had some trouble with his turret, which refused to budge until Chief Petty Officer Common and Petty Officer Wildbore got out of the car under heavy fire to swing the turret round by means of the gun. Then the “Londonderry“ played its old trick of sliding into a ditch, where it sat patiently for some time, and was finally rescued by the “Ulster.”

 

Just before nightfall the enemy drew off his infantry and commenced another artillery bombardment, which only ceased when darkness fell. That night the Russian scouts were busy collecting rifles from Bulgarians who had fallen in the fight. In one spot, where the armoured cars had been busy, 380 rifles were collected. Colonel Bolgramo had many appreciative words to offer Lieutenant Smiles upon the work done by the armoured cars during the day. The outstanding fact, which eclipsed all others, was that at that point in the Russian line the enemy had been completely repulsed. Unfortunately, however, it was the only point of which this could be said, and before long there were messages coming through showing that both flanks to right and left of Vizirul had been driven back.

 

The next morning dawned with the usual thick fog clinging to the valley of the Danube and the marshes on either side. It was impossible to see more than 100 yards ahead, and, though a fresh attack was expected at any moment, it was not likely to materialise under such conditions. At eleven o'clock the fog had abated, and the scouts reported that the Bulgarians were advancing in great numbers on the road from Roobla to Vizirul. Lieutenant Smiles at once went into action with the "Ulster“; he was 300 yards beyond the Russian trenches before he saw any sign of the enemy, and then he was greeted by a storm of bullets from rifles and machine-guns. He had to drop back a bit, but he kept his maxim searching up and down the Bulgarian trenches, while his 3-pounder, at a range of 1,500 yards, was peppering one of the enemy's observation posts. All the time he moved his car backwards and forwards to baffle the enemy's artillery, and by this means contrived to keep in action all day until half-past five in the evening.

 

The enemy was still held at bay between Roobla and Vizirul, but this did not compensate for the fact that he had been successful everywhere else, and had advanced so far on either flank that the Russian forces at Vizirul were in danger of being surrounded. On the evening of 28th December the colonel received orders to evacuate Vizirul during the night, and, with a view to making a demonstration. Lieutenant Hunter and Sub-Lieutenant Kidd were sent with a couple of cars up to the Russian first-fine trenches. There they stopped their engines, and the Russian infantry silently pushed them into No Man's Land. At midnight the Russians crept out of their trenches, and the retreat began, while the two cars kept up a merry tattoo with their maxims, to give the enemy the impression that they were about to receive a furious onslaught. For three-quarters of an hour they blazed away, and then began slowly to follow the Russian troops. Kidd led the way, and, as ill luck would have it, missed the line of the road in the darkness and slid into a ditch. Hunter came up behind and found that Kidd's car was damaged sufficiently to make its extrication a matter of impossibility under the circumstances, so there was nothing for it but to salve the gun, demolish the engine, radiator, petrol-tank and coils, and abandon the wreck to the enemy. Some of the crew managed to get into Hunter's car, and some had to walk, but all of them managed to overtake the Russian rearguard, and reached Locul Sarat at five o'clock in the morning. They had the satisfaction of knowing that the retreat had been completely successful, and that out of the whole Russian force at Vizirul, only one man had been wounded during the evacuation.

 

The battle of Vizirul was over, and, though the arms of the Allies had suffered another reverse, the defeat reflected as much credit upon the armoured cars of the Royal Naval Air Service as if they had participated in a glorious victory. The bare recital of the facts is sufficient to indicate how invaluable were the services of these cars to the Russian army at a very critical juncture, and if further testimony were needed it can be found in the words addressed by the General Commanding the 6th Army to Commander Gregory on New Year's Day - three days after the battle ended. “I am proud to have under my command such a brave and splendid force as the British Armoured Car Division, and I thank our British comrades very much for their help in all these fights of the last few days, and in the Dobrudsha.... The squadron of cars commanded by Lieutenant Smiles saved the left flank of my army twice in forty-eight hoars at Vizirul. It is an achievement for which I can find no adequate words of praise. 1 wish you all a happy New Year, and 1 want to take an early opportunity of rewarding the gallantry of the men under your command by conferring on them the Crosses and Medals of St. George.”

 

The reader will probably have observed that Lieutenant Smiles went into action on the day following that on which he was wounded. He himself speaks lightly of his wound, but others have expressed a different opinion. The fact is that he persuaded Petty Officer Classey to join in a conspiracy of silence about it until the battle was over, for the Irish blood in him revolted from the prospect of being cooped up in a hospital when there was real fighting to be enjoyed. Some days later the story reached the headquarters staff at Galatz, and the Chief of Staff sent for Commander Gregory and asked him for the name of the British officer who went on fighting after he was wounded. For his share in upholding the highest traditions of the British Navy and the prestige of British arms in Russia and Roumania, Lieutenant-Commander Smiles has been awarded the Distinguished Service Order.

THE ADEN PATROL

CHAPTER XVII

AN OUTPOST OF EMPIRE IN SOMALILAND