WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
metal of all had been posted on Bricks Hill, an eminence of some four hundred feet, immediately above the Rother, and about six thousand yards from Catcliffe, already referred to as the key of our defences.
Suddenly, at sunrise, a low boom was heard from this point. This was the opening German gun of the artillery preparation for the attack, which was now evidently developing, and although the distance was nearly six thousand yards, yet the bursts of the huge shells were seen to have been well timed. Another and another followed, and presently these huge projectiles, hurtling through the air and bursting with a greenish-yellow smoke, showed that they were charged with some high explosive. No sooner had this terrific tornado of destruction opened in real earnest from the enemy, than the field artillery, massed as has already been described, commenced their long-distance fire at a range of about three thousand five hundred yards, and for a period, that seemed hours, but yet was in reality only about fifty minutes, the awful cannonade continued.
The British guns had already come into action, and intermittent firing of shrapnel and other projectiles was now directed against the German batteries.
These latter, however, were mostly carefully concealed, effective cover having, by means of hard spade-work, been thrown up during the night. The British guns were mostly served by Volunteers and Militia-Artillerymen, who, although burning with patriotism, were — owing to the little real practice they had had in actually firing live shell, having mostly been drilled with dummy guns — utterly incompetent to make any impression upon the enemy’s lines of concealed artillery.
It was plain, then, that the Germans had adopted the principle of massing the bulk of the guns of their two divisions of the VIIth Corps at such a point that they might strike the heaviest blow possible at the defence, under cover of which, when resistance had been somewhat beaten down, the infantry might advance to the attack. This was now being done. But away to the south was heard the distant roar of other artillery, no doubt that of Haesler’s Corps, which had apparently crossed the river somewhere in the neighbourhood of Renishaw, and advancing via Eckington had established themselves on the high ground, about five hundred and twenty feet in altitude, just north of Ridgeway, whence they were able to pour in an enfilading fire all along the British position from its centre at Woodhouse almost to Catcliffe itself. This rendered our position serious, and although the German guns had opposed to them the southernmost flank from Woodhouse to Norton Woodseats, yet it was plain that the main portion of the British defence was in process of being “turned.”
The heavy firing continued, and at last, under cover of it, the rear attack now began some two hours after the opening of the fight.
The 13th Division, under Doppschutz, were evidently advancing by the main Doncaster road. Their advance guard, which had already occupied Rotherham, had also seized the bridge which the invaders had neither time nor material to demolish, and now swept on across it, although exposed to a heavy onslaught from that line of the British position between Tinsley and Brinsworth. Those sturdy, stolid Westphalians and bearded men of Lorraine still kept on. Numbers dropped, and the bridge was quickly strewn with dead and dying. Yet nothing checked the steady advance of that irresistible wave of humanity.
Down the River Rother, at Kanklow Bridge, a similar scene was being enacted. The railway bridge at Catcliffe was also taken by storm, and at Woodhouse Mill the 14th Division, under Von Kehler, made a terrific and successful dash, as they also did at Beighton.
The river itself was about an average distance of a mile in front of the British position, and although as heavy a fire as possible was directed upon all approaches to it, yet the Germans were not to be denied. Utterly indifferent to any losses, they still swept on in an overwhelming tide, leaving at the most not more than ten per cent. of casualties to be dealt with by the perfectly equipped ambulances in their rear. So, for the most part, the various regiments constituting the divisions of the two German commanders found themselves shaken, but by no means thwarted. On the west bank of the river, the steep slopes rising from Beighton to Woodhouse gave a certain amount of dead ground, under cover of which the foreign legions took refuge, in order to dispose themselves for the final assault.
A similar state of things had taken place to the south. General Graf Haesler had flung both his divisions across the river, with but little opposition. The 15th, composed mainly of men of the Rhine, under Von Kluser, crossed at Killamarsh and Metherthorpe Station, while the 16th, under Lieut.-General Stolz, crossed at Renishaw, and, striking north-easterly in the direction of Ridgeway, closed in as they advanced, till at length they were enabled to be within effective reach of their comrades on the right.
The German attack had now developed into an almost crescent-shaped formation, and about noon Von Bistram, the commander-in-chief, issued his final orders for the assault.
The cavalry of the VIIth German Corps under Major-General von Landsberg, commanding the 13th Cavalry Brigade, and the 14th Cavalry Brigade, consisting of Westphalian Hussars and Uhlans, under Major-General von Weder, were massed in the neighbourhood of Greasborough, whence it might be expected that at the critical stage of the engagement if the British defences gave way they might be launched upon the retiring Englishmen. Similarly in the valley over by Middle Handley, a little south of Eckington, were found the 15th and 16th Cavalry Brigades of the VIIIth Corps, consisting of the 15th of Cuirassiers and Hussars of the Rhine, and the 16th of Westphalians, and the Grand Duke of Baden’s Hussars, under that well-known soldier, Major-General von Briefen. All these were equally ready to advance in a northerly direction to strike the crushing blow at the first of the many important cities which was their objective.
Unless the scheme of von Bistram, the German generalissimo in the North, was ill-conceived, then it was plain, even to the defenders, that Sheffield must eventually give way before the overpowering force opposed to it.
Within the city of Sheffield the excitement now rose to fever-heat.
It was known that the enemy had closed in upon the defences, and were now across the river, ready at any moment to continue their advance, which, as a matter of fact, had developed steadily without intermission, notwithstanding the heroic efforts of the defenders.
In these days of smokeless powder it was hard for the Germans to see where the British lines of defence were actually located, but the heavy pounding of the artillery duel, which had been going on since early morning, was now beginning to weaken as the German infantry, company by company, regiment by regiment, and brigade by brigade, were calmly launched to the attack. They were themselves masking the fire of the cannon of their own comrades as, by desperate rushes, they gradually ascended the slopes before them.
The objective of the VIIth Corps seemed to be the strongpoint which has already been referred to as dominating the position a little west of Catcliffe, and the VIIIth Corps were clearly directing their energies on the salient angle of the defence which was to be found a little south of Woodhouse. From this latter point the general line of the British position from Woodhouse north to Tinsley would then be turned.
The British stood their ground with the fearless valour of Englishmen. Though effective defence seemed from the very first futile, steady and unshaken volleys rang out from every knoll, hillock, and shelter-trench in that long line manned by the sturdy Yorkshire heroes. Machine-guns rattled and spat fire, and pom-poms worked with regularity, hurling their little shells in a ceaseless stream into the invaders, but all, alas! to no purpose. Where one German fell, at least three appeared to take his place. The enemy seemed to rise from the very ground. The more stubborn the defence, the more numerous the Germans seemed to become, gaps in their fighting line being reinforced in that ruthless manner which is such a well-known principle in German tactics — namely, that the commander must not be sparing in his men, but fling forward reinforcements at whatever cost.
Thus up the storm-swept glacis reaching from the Rother struggled thousands of Germans in a tide that could not be stemmed, halting and firing as they advanced, until it became clear that an actual hand-to-hand combat was imminent.
The British had done all that men could. There was no question of surrender. They were simply swept away as straws before a storm. Dead and dying were on every hand, ambulances were full, and groaning men were being carried by hundreds to the rear. General Woolmer saw that the day was lost, and at last, with choking emotion,