- from 'The Sphere' November 16, 1918
- 'The Munsters in the Retreat'
- by Mrs. Victor Rickard
During the Great Retreat of 1918
Lewis gunner left behind
The Munsters in the Retreat from St. Quentin March 27, 1918
This is the first detailed narrative of how a part of the 5th Army retreated during the German onslaught of March 1918.
During the heavy fighting that followed the opening of the German offensive on March 21, the 2nd Battalion Royal Munster Fusiliers were in the line some miles in front of Peronne, holding Epehy, where Colonel Ireland, then in command, was killed. From this point they fell back after a desperate struggle, and on March 26 the remnants of the battalion were in the battered village of Chuignolles. The German wave of onrushing troops was advancing steadily, and south of Chuignolles, by Herleville and Vauvilliers, the enemy were approaching in an almost unbroken strength.
East of Méricourt a Royal Irish battalion, composed of a dismounted regiment of Irish Horse, were holding the line, and on the morning of the 26th the Munsters received orders to take up a position on the right to extend the line.
Méricourt is situated below one of the loop-like bends in the Somme, for the river winds into a whole section of curves, between a dozen little woods, and spaces here and there of solitary marsh land. Next in the line to the Munsters, the Dublins protected the bend of the river at Morcourt, where the division had its headquarters, and beyond them, towards Prozart and Framerville, the enemy had gained the little villages which lay near the railway line running from Amiens to Nesle and onwards. The fighting of the previous weeks, and a spell of forty-six days in the trenches, had wearied both officers and men, and the numbers had dwindled to a very few. Everything was likely to be a hazard, and the troops were already terribly exhausted.
By noon a gap on the left gave the German troops a further advantage, and they occupied a little ridge which ran in the direction of Chuignolles, from the Canal de la Somme, and from this point they were able to dominate the lower ground where the Munsters were situated.
The commanding officer, a man of great personality and swift powers of decision, decided at once, even with his very limited numbers, to organise a counter-attack. Commanded by a lieutenant, and assisted by Regimental Sergeant-Major J. Ring, M.C., who volunteered to go with the storming party, a dozen men of the Munsters went out to the attack.
The day was clear and bright, and the rise was sheltered by a small copse which gave further protection to the enemy's forces, but the Munsters went towards their objective with a fierce dash.
The small party of men vanished into the wood like a pack of hounds sweeping into covert, and their comrades in the trenches climbed out to watch the battle. After a few minutes the German troops began to run out from all sides, and with all the odds against them the rise was left in the hands of the Munsters. The lieutenant, having now got his men into touch with the Irish Horse and prevented a break through which would have isolated the Munsters and Dublins and probably shattered the battalion of Irish Horse, held the ridge with six men and one Lewis gun.
For ten hours they held the hill, and gradually the attacking forces settled into comparative quiet, so that they were able to retire after dark.
About seven o'clock in the evening the commanding officer found that it was no longer possible to get into touch with brigade headquarters. Morcourt, where he supposed them still to be, lay directly south of Méricourt, about two miles from the line which they held.
The nearing sound of the German guns and the information which came in all showed that the situation was growing extremely serious. The sun was setting, and the night promised to be clear as the moon was nearly at full. While the colonel was discussing the situation with his second-in-command, a very dashing and gallant soldier, the officer commanding the Royal Dublin Fusiliers came into the headquarters' dug-out and reported that the right was in the air, and that he, too, had failed to get into touch with headquarters at Morcourt.
The moment had come for a final decision to be made, and the choice was as perilous as it well could be. There remained the decision either to stay in the present position until the enemy forces appeared in overwhelming numbers, when the end must be deith or captivity, or the alternative of taking that magnetic possibility, a sporthig chance, and evacuating their position during the night in the hope of finding the British troops.
Like many decisions which alter the whole after-fate of peoples or history, there was very little time for reflection, and the colonel, temperamentally a man to whom the call of adventure is in itself an inspiration, decided at once that it was best to take the chance and try to rejoin the division, which he believed might still be somewhere in the near neighbourhood of Morcourt.
The plan made was that the Dublins were to join the road below Méricourt, after leaving their trenches at eight o'clock; the Munsters to follow them, the Irish Horse coming third in the column. The north bank of the Somme offered the most promising way of escape from the impasse, as the Germans were held in the north. The main scheme was to cross the river at a lock, close to a hamlet known as Ecluse, and from there to work westwards in the direction of Chipilly and Cerisy.
At twilight the withdrawal was carried out, and the men marched down the road in fours and waited until the whole number was collected.
One Lewis gunner was left behind in the long tangle of empty trenches. He had to fire at intervals, and the task imposed upon him must have been strange and lonely. Every minute widened the distance between him and his comrades, and, if he were to be wounded, he had neither help nor pity to expect. His solitary figure haunts the imagination, and he remained at his post in the growing darkness, firing at the hidden foe, not knowing at what moment he might be overpowered and killed. The Lewis gunner carried out his orders, and at ten o'clock he left his post; later on he caught up with his regiment, and is among the survivors of this dramatic march.
When the Munsters started to march down the road to Ecluse the night was clear and calm, and also very quiet-as quiet as though the furies of battle had flown past and permitted to this particular stretch of land a queer immunity and peace.
A little towing path led along the bank of the canal under a row of poplars, and just as the column was within a short distance of the lock it became evident that, in spite of the uncanny quiet, things were not as easy as they promised. The bridge at the lock was held by Germans.
There was nothing to do but try a further cast, and turn about, to proceed along the canal bank in the direction of Morcourt, hoping to cross by a bridge between Cerisy and Chipilly, which might still be standing. The adjutant of the Dublin Fusiliers went on ahead, till they could see the outlines of the village of Cerisy clear against the sky. The Munsters and their comrades halted under the deep shadow of the trees some distance from the bridge, and the colonel received the report, from an officer of the Munsters, that the streets were crowded with German transport, and that, through the lighted window of an estaminet, he had seen a number of German officers smoking and drinking. It seemed as though the chances of escape had dwindled to the merest fraction, and the tired group of Irishmen, waiting in the shadow, were, in all reality, completely surrounded by an unconscious enemy. The adjutant followed the shelter of the trees and crept as close as was possible to the bridge.
The bridge itself was a large one, of the wide, spacious kind, and spanned the Somme at a gentle curve between Chipilly and C6risy, and at this same point the canal made one of its vicarious crossings, and was also spanned by a very much smaller bridge, part of which had been set on fire and was still smouldering. The river bridge had been very much damaged in the recent fighting, though the villages had escaped, and the girders were still holding. On the near side it was practically intact, but on the further side a large gap yawned between the point where it had fallen into the water and the bank beyond it. It was possible to cross, under normal circumstances, by the wide bridge. The small foot bridge, little wider than a plank, was the way over the canal.
Both bridges were held by German guards, and, as the adjutant crouched in the shadow, he saw numbers of parties of the enemy going backwards and forwards. The bridge guards were very much on the alert, and it was quite evident that they allowed no one to pass without giving the countersign. It was very dark where he was, and there was no sky line, but, by the flare of light from the burning canal bridge, he could see, mingled with the moonlight, the outlines of a great many men moving on the river bridge, though the village itself was perfectly quiet.
After a time he came back to the canal path where the column was still waiting, and still not detected. A hurried discussion took place. The darkness under the trees, the pitiless brightness outside in the night, the sense of tension and the desperately difficult task of doing nothing but keep quiet, had made itself felt. They unanimously agreed to charge the bridge guard, having first given the German countersign, overpower them, and push on towards Sailly-Laurette, which, by now, was only a little further ahead on the north bank of the river.
The colonel gathered his Munsters together, and, taking their place behind the contingent of Dublins, they marched boldly up to the bridge, where the sentry on guard halted them and demanded the countersign. The adjutant, who could speak some German, and had overheard the countersign, called it out. A second of silence followed, and then a rattle of musketry. The column knew that they were out now to buy life; they charged the bridge, and a fierce melee followed.
The colonel took up his position on the near side of the bridge and watched the men go by at the double, shouting as they charged, while he fired steadily at the scattered German troops who, on the alarm, came running from the buildings of the village. The fierce contact of the Irish troops shattered the resistance of the guard, and the colonel, when he was satisfied that all his men were over, followed himself, and they raced towards the canal bridge. By this time the Germans in the village were alive to the fact that the guard had been overpowered, and the canal bridge, which was very narrow and partly burnt, was held by a still stronger guard, who put up no fight at all, but ran away as the Irish troops came towards them.
By now the Munsters were over the Somme, and had left the towpath by the canal, but it was by no means safe to stay anywhere in the region of Chipilly. Their chance was again a desperate one. It consisted of a waste of marsh land lying on the north side of the canal, as the Somme, in one of its many bends, had again wound to north of the Munsters; and between them and the crossings at Sailly-Laurette there intervened a gaping tract of sodden swamp. With a determination and courage which never failed, even in the face of such bitter difficulties and hopeless chance, the column went straight out into the marshes. They had only gone a few yards when a mine exploded, and the great white fountain of smoke rose into the moonlight. No casualties were reported, and it was as though the indifference of exhaustion had come upon the men. The excitement of the fight was over, and there was an endless stretch of bog to plod through before any bourne was reached, and even yet there was no promise of certainty ahead. After desperate marching the bog was crossed, and the column halted near the river bridge of Sailly-Laurette. Here there was every chance of coming in touch with British troops, but as the battalion halted, the challenge once again came in German.
Not knowing in the least in what strength the bridge might be held, the column retreated, with the idea of crossing the canal southwards; and, following the road, they discovered that their adventures were still far from ended. At a turn of the road the Munsters, who were now leading, found themselves suddenly face to face with an officer's patrol. Everywhere around there were German troops, and, after all the desperate Work of the night, the position seemed even worse than at the outset.
The canal bridge was now the objective, and between them and it there was the German patrol and unknown possibilities of enemies hidden at any turn or corner. On the moment the Munsters fired, and, killing every man of the patrol, rushed the bridge, which the column crossed in safety.
Once again the same pursuit of a possible chance began, and the direction taken was now westwards, towards the Bois de Hamel.
Disappointment seemed so likely, and any kind of expectation that things would be well at last was gone; the only thing which remained was the glorious courage of the officers and men.
It was getting towards dawn and the moon had set when they reached the wood of Hamel.
It was held by troops, but what troops no one knew. A low ground mist was turning into streaming grey wraiths, and the change before dawn was touching the sleeping woods. The column waited, for it was not possible to see anything clearly, and a sentry peered at them, standing at the "ready." Never have any words of welcome been so blessed to hear as the challenge shouted out in a British voice:-
"Halt! Who goes there?"
The Munsters had marched through nine miles of enemy territory, and rejoined their brigade headquarters just at dawn.
Mrs. Victor Rickard
