The charge of the Coldstream Guards at Le Cateau is another bayonet exploit that ought to be recorded.  “It was getting dark when we found that the Kaiser’s crush was coming through the forest to cut off our force,” a sergeant relates, “but we got them everywhere, not a single man getting through.  About 200 of us drove them down one street, and didn’t the devils squeal.  We came upon a mass of them in the main thoroughfare, but they soon lost heart and we actually climbed over their dead and wounded which were heaped up, to get at the others.”  “What a sight it was, and how our fellows yelled!” says another Coldstreamer, describing the same exploit.

Tommy Atkins has long been known for his accurate artillery and rifle fire, but the bayonet is his favorite arm in battle.  Through all our wars it has proved a deciding, if not indeed the decisive, factor in the campaign.  Once it has been stained in service he fondles it as, next to his pipe, his best friend.  And it is the same with the Frenchman.  He calls his bayonet his “little Rosalie,” and lays its ruddy edges against his cheek with a caress.

V

CAVALRY EXPLOITS

“We have been through the Uhlans like brown paper.”  In this striking phrase Sir Philip Chetwode, commanding the 5th Cavalry Brigade, describes the brilliant exploits in the neighborhood of Cambrai when, in spite of odds of five to one, the Prussian Horse were cut to pieces.  Sir Philip was the first man to be mentioned in despatches, and Sir John French does not hesitate to confirm this dashing officer’s tribute to his men.  “Our cavalry,” says the official message, “do as they like with the enemy.”

There is no more brilliant page in the history of the war than that which has been furnished to the historian by the deeds of the British cavalry.  They carried everything before them.  In a single encounter the reputation of the much-vaunted Uhlans was torn to shreds.

The charge of the 9th Lancers at Toulin was a fine exploit.  It was Balaclava over again, with a gallant Four Hundred charging a battery of eleven German guns.  But there was no blunder this time; it was a sacrifice to save the 5th Infantry Division and some guns, and the heroic Lancers dashed to their task with a resounding British cheer.  “We rode absolutely into death,” says a corporal of the regiment writing home, “and the colonel told us that onlookers never expected a single Lancer to come back.  About 400 charged and 72 rallied afterwards, but during the week 200 more turned up wounded and otherwise.  You see, the infantry of ours were in a fix and no guns but four could be got round, so the General ordered two squadrons of the 9th to charge, as a sacrifice, to save the position.  The order was given, but not only did A and B gallop into line, but C squadron also wheeled and came up with a roar.  It was magnificent, but horrible.  The regiment was swept away before 1,000 yards was covered, and at 200 yards from the guns I was practically alone—­myself, three privates, and an officer of our squadron.  We wheeled to a flank on the colonel’s signal and rode back.  I was mad with rage, a feeling I cannot describe.  But we had drawn their fire; the infantry were saved.”